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"My name is Black. And I'm here to get you out of here."
Miller Falls' eyes light up. This leather jacket-clad, spiky-haired female could be his savior. Lying in a dark, dirt-filled cell was not his idea of a good time, and he is more than ecstatic to be rescued. Initially.
"Who are you?" Miller demands, remembering that he should probably be suspicious of strange women in strange Coliseums.
"I'm an ally."
"How do you know I'm an ally?"
"I know," Black says. "Now, you've got about 10 seconds to make a decision, otherwise I leave you here."
"I think I'll take my chances."
Marley, the other prisoner, moves toward the gate. "Can I take you up on the offer?"
"No." Black snaps.
"Why not?" Marley whines. "I've got some coke. You want coke?"
"I don't drink soda," Black answers. "Time's up, Suite."
Black slips back into the shadows she emerged from. Miller tries to discern where she disappears to, but he can't see anything.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Marley asks. He smacks Miller in the forehead. "Some hot chick wants to save you, you get your ass saved! Are you a queer?"
"No, I'm not."
"Then why'd she call you sweet?"
"She said Suite. As in, hotel suite? Card suite?"
"Oh." Marley nods. "Oh! You work for the Suite?"
Miller narrows his eyes. "You've heard of it?"
"It's only the biggest collection of professional thieves in the United States, so yeah, I think I've heard of them."
"We're not that great," Miller mumbles.
*****
Black slides through the crevice in the wall and climbs to her feet. She dusts off her clothes and peers around the Coliseum's perimeter to see if she's clear.
The outside is swarming with guards, but she's thankfully avoided one. She needs to get as far away from here as she can...she can't help Miller right now.
"Hey! You right there!"
Black stops immediately and raises her hands. She's been caught.
"What are you doing out here?"
"Just taking a stroll," Black says, feeling a gun pressed firmly in her back.
Without warning, she drops to the ground and kicks her legs back. Her feet connect with the guard's knees and send him flying to the floor. She rolls over onto her back and wraps her legs around his neck.
With a quick snap, he's dead.
She grabs the gun and shoves it into her leather jacket before hurrying off. She didn't even break a sweat.
"Black. You there?"
Black hears a loud voice in her ear.
"I'm here."
"Miller with you?"
Black adjusts her transmitter, yet doesn't break her pace as she races away from the Coliseum. She slips out into the nearby forest and runs among the tress, not looking back.
"No."
"You didn't get him?"
He's angry.
"There was no time to convince him," Black snaps.
"He's important to the fight."
"I know that," Black insists. "He'll join our side soon enough. A soon as we show him that working for the Suite is like signing a death warrant."
*****
Marley does another line of coke as Miller sits in the corner, speaking to himself.
"Are you going crazy?" Marley asks.
"No."
"Then what gives?"
"I'm working things out."
"Trying to figure out how to contact the Suite?"
"I don't think that's an option," Miller says. "I was brought here...for some reason. From what you tell me, I'm here to fight someone, maybe to my death. I didn't sign up for this."
"No one does."
"My boss is the one who sent me here."
"Oh. So you're saying they want you dead?"
Miller shakes his head. "This has to be a test. Just like, an extension of the one I just finished."
"Man," Marley groans. "You guys get homework?"
"Please stop talking."
"What test?"
"It's not important."
Marley opens his mouth to speak, but the heavy sound of footsteps interrupts him. There are several men approaching from the sound of things.
"What's going on?" Miller demands.
He stands up and goes to the cell bars.
"One of us is next," Marley answers.
"It's you, right? I mean, you've been here longer."
Marley shrugs.
Five guards appear at the cell. They aim their guns directly at Miller. The one in the front smiles at him.
"You're coming with us."
*****
Miller steps into the arena, where he can hear loud cheering. It's too dark for him to see anything except for the light in the arena's center.
He can see two men sparring under the harsh glare of the light. One is Egyptian, dressed in clothes historically known to be worn by Pharaohs. The other, Chinese, wears a white silk robe.
Blood is drawn. The Chinese fighter has him on the ropes. He kicks his opponent in the stomach and sends him flying across the arena. He runs at the Egyptian and leaps, almost flying through the air.
He connects with his opponent and slams him into a wall. The Egyptian coughs up blood and collapses.
The crowd erupts into cheers.
Finally, the Coliseum is illuminated. The crowd isn't of the traditional Roman Coliseum variety, it is populated by apparent businessmen and socialites. Everyone in the crowd wears expensive clothing, drinks champagne, holds money in their fists.
They're placing bets.
This is all for their enjoyment.
This can't possibly be a test. Or have anything to do with the Suite.
"You're next," a guard growls, shoving Miller toward the center of the arena.
Handcuffed, Miller has no idea who how he should protect himself. The question doesn't become easier to answer when the Coliseum lights dim and focus on Miller and the Chinese fighter.
A man's voice speaks in Italian on a speaker system.
Damn. It has to be Italian. For the life of him, Miller could never get his mind around learning Italian.
Whatever is said by the man, however, causes the crowd to cheer once more.
"I am Lao," Miller's opponent announcers. "I shall kill you."
Mandarin. That he understands.
*****
Miller closes his eyes and tries to regain his balance before Lao hits him again. Before he succumbs to the pain and dies.
"Fucking handcuffs," Miller groans. "How do I get these —"
Lao cartwheels toward Miller, kicking him in the face. Miller crumples to the ground and tries crawling toward safety. The cheers from the crowd make it painfully obvious that no one has any money laid on him.
He can't win.
He only won his last fight because of a bulletproof vest. That's what allowed him to kill Marie...his sister.
"Any final words?" Lao asks, placing his foot on Miller's back.
"Does this back rub come with a happy ending?" Miller asks.
Lao digs his foot into Miller's back. He cries out in pain, nearly feeling like his bones are breaking.
Bones.
Strong enough to break...
...handcuffs.
Lao raises his foot again and Miller rolls over onto his stomach. He shoots out his handcuffed arms in the split second that it takes for Lao to shove his foot into Miller's chest.
The blow nearly causes Miller's stomach to tear open, but it does it's job. The handcuffs take the majority of the blow, and they snap. He's free.
Miller scrambles to his feet, yet soon comes to realize that his arms are now in severe pain.
"Broke your arms," Lao says, kicking his leg to connect with Miller's chest.
Miller's hands fly up and catch Lao's leg.
"A lot of fucking pain," Miller agrees. "But not broken."
He throws Lao into the nearby wall, slamming his head into brick.
"Allow me to play dirty."
Miller kicks Lao in the groin and follows with several blows to his face. Lao collapses to the ground. Miller raises his foot and brings its down on Lao's neck.
Snap.
As the crowd cheers on Miller's victory, one man in the far back of the Coliseum watches with a deep intensity.
"He's good," the man, a large, hulking figure, says. He flexes his muscles and clasps his hands together. "I will kill him."
TO BE CONTINUED...
STORY BY
IRA MADISON
NEXT ISSUE:
Who wants Miller dead?
Why is Miller important to Black?
And will he ever learn to speak Italian?
Find out this and more in ... Paper #4: "Nobiscum Deus!"
