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Miller can almost hear his skull crack as the fist connects with his head, slamming it into a concrete wall. It hurts too much to cry out in pain, his throat is dry, brittle. Even gasping for air is a task he can barely complete.
"Where are your jokes now?"
Miller slides down the wall in a heap. He can't move. Not because it hurts any longer, but because he can feel nothing. As if his bones are jelly, they aren't hard, they don't feel, they can't move.
The hulking, larger than life figure beating the grey matter out of Miller's head — he's going to win.
Miller's going to lose...
He's going to die.
ONE HOUR EARLIER
"Congratulations, Miller."
Miller stands in front of Monsieur, frustration and anger painted across his face. He wants to be ecstatic that he's finally leaving this place, returning to home...whatever that is. But he can't be. Not when he knows that none of this was necessary.
"Congratulations? Why was I brought here?"
"Pardon?" Monsieur asks.
His raised eyebrow shows that he's not used to being asked questions by his employees, and yet, he somehow fully expects it from Miller.
"I hated killing my sister. But the Suite is only for the best. You lose a mission, you go on ice until you fight someone else who did the same. To the death. I've got that. But this? This isn't a part of the deal."
"I know."
"And until recently, I thought this place was a myth, and — you know what?"
"I can only imagine what you're going through," Monsieur says. "But I only entered you in this game because I trust you. You failed a mission, yes, but you're absolutely one of the best. Only the best represent their agencies in the Coliseum."
"Only the best," Miller intones, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"You showed everyone else that the Suite is best at what we do. We're not common criminals. We're the best."
"Then maybe you should start treating me like I am."
"What does that entail?"
"No more of these games. I want to know more about the Suite. What it is I do," Miller says, nursing his wounds from his Coliseum battle. "I need to know."
Monsieur remains silent. He removes a cigarette from his breast pocket and lights it. Takes a long drag. And then, finally...
"Done."
*****
"Hey! You came back!"
Marley wipes the remnants of cocaine from his nostrils as he glances up at Miller. Miller stands outside the jail cell, hands gripping the bars. He smiles at his former cellmate.
"That I did," Miller says. "I came to say goodbye."
"Boy, you go and kill Lao and get a free ticket out of here, don't ya?"
Miller nods. "Yeah. But before I go...I came to ask you something."
Marley stands up and approaches the cell bars.
"What's up?"
"You knew about the Suite, right? Before I came in?"
Marley laughs. "Everyone knows about the Suite. Living legend, you can look but don't touch."
"Right."
Miller taps the steel bars, his smile turning to a frown.
"You haven't fought anyone yet."
"Excuse me?"
"You've been here for a while, by your own words, and yet...no fight?"
"Guess they haven't found anyone who can match my sheer strength," Marley jokes.
Miller shrugs. "Or maybe you were never actually a prisoner. Maybe someone put you in here so you could pretend you were."
Miller leans in closer to the cell.
"Which begs the question...who the fuck are you? And what the fuck do you want from me?"
Marley smirks. He steps away from the bars and folds his arms, almost taunting Miller.
"What's so funny?" Miller demands.
"Nothing," Marley insists. "I'm just really glad we're separated by a steel cage."
*****
"He's starting to ask questions, Collins," Monsieur hisses, his cell phone firmly planted next to his ear. "You told me this wasn't going to be a problem!"
"He still has a free will. I can't control that."
Monsieur cranes his neck to make sure no one is approaching the room he's in. When he's sure the coast is clear, he returns to his phone call.
"I don't care what you have to do, you deal with Miller Falls before this is allowed to escalate."
"I'll take care of it when he returns."
"I don't think I care for your flippant tone. Need I remind you that any insubordination from you will result in...shall we say, a less than favorable end for your daughter?"
"You don't have to threaten me!"
"Then do your goddamn job."
Monsieur hangs up the phone and slides it into his pocket. As he turns to exit the room and find Miller, he runs smack dab into a wall. Or...DAMN.
It feels like a wall.
He feels like a wall.
"Can I help you?"
"I will kill him."
Monsieur takes a cautious step back. "Excuse me?"
"I will kill him. The man that is a problem for you. He is warrior."
Monsieur scoffs. "That's a bit of an exaggeration."
"You lie. He has power you cannot dream of. I must destroy that power."
"For what purpose?"
"Does it matter?"
"No, I suppose not," Monsieur says. "If you can...dispose of our mutual problem. Perhaps I can do something for you."
"I want nothing from you. Only the thrill of the hunt."
Monsieur nods. As awkward and unnerving as this situation is, he's quite possibly the answer to Monsieur's prayers.
"Sounds excellent."
The hulking, larger than life figure turns away from Monsieur and stomps down the corridor.
"Soon, Gladiator will kill his prey. He shall have his hunt."
*****
"I want some fucking answers!"
Miller grips the bars tighter, nearly pushing his head through them. He wishes he had the strength to tear open the bars with his own arms, but he can't.
Marley rolls his eyes. "I'm done talking, thanks."
"Who are you? What do you want from me?"
"Your blood."
The deep bellow echoes in Miller's head. But before he even has a chance to see where it came from, he feels the blow to his head. Like a ton of bricks.
His head slams into the steel bars. As he tries to gain some semblance of sense of his surroundings, his skulls slips in the warm, sticky blood residue on the bars.
"You will die."
Miller slumps to the ground. Unmoving.
Gladiator stands over him. He breathes heavily. Not out of exhaustion, but out of anticipation. Eagerness.
The thrill of the hunt.
It's exhilarating.
He raises his right fist and brings it down on Miller. But...it was an act. Miller is ready for him, and he catches the blow in his hands. He uses that moment to slide forward and kick Gladiator in the chest.
Gladiator doesn't move. The kick does nothing to him.
He laughs, causing his muscles to ripple. Sweat glistens on his bare skin. His battle gear rattles.
"You will die."
Gladiator breaks his hand away from Miller and punches him with his free arm. The strength of the blow sends Miller and the steel bars crashing. He rolls onto the ground, next to a startled Marley.
"Marley..." Miller gasps.
Marley takes one look at Miller, another at Gladiator, and then he bolts for the nearest exit.
"Oh, fuck," Miller groans.
"You will —"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it!" Miller slowly climbs to his feet. "I'm gonna die! I heard you the first fifty fucking times."
"I am the Gladiator."
"Funny," Miller throws a punch at his opponent, but it does more harm to Miller's hand than it does to Gladiator. "You don't look like Russell Crowe!"
"I grow weary of your jokes. This is a battle."
Gladiator grips Miller around his neck and lifts him into the air. He slams Miller through the cell wall, breaking its foundation. Miller sails through the air, landing in the dirt and sand outside the Coliseum.
"Now we shall really begin."
*****
Monsieur watches from the distance as Gladiator descends upon his prey. He puts on a set of sunglasses and slides into his awaiting limousine. He takes one last look at Miller's limp body being thrown around like a ragdoll before he closes the door.
"You know where to go," he tells the driver.
"Where are your jokes now?
"Just...holding out for a good one," Miller mutters, scrambling to escape.
Not more than a few hours ago he was fighting for his life inside the Coliseum with a grasshopper-like Asian. Now he's fighting for his life against some huge, Incredible Hulk, WWE-looking behemoth.
He just can't win.
"Hey, I think I got one," Miller sputters. "A priest, a pig, and gladiator walk into a bar —"
"Stop this."
Gladiator grabs Miller's arm. He breaks it as easily as Miller would chew a piece of bubblegum. Miller screams in agony as Gladiator flings him into a nearby boulder.
"You should be fighting stronger than this."
He kicks Miller in the chest, sends him flying into the air. As he comes crashes down, Miller feels his bones crunch against the boulder. As the Gladiator roars loudly, preparing to deliver a final blow, Miller feels his body begin to quiver.
Something's wrong. He feels something...
Something...
SEVERAL HOURS LATER
Miller eyes fly open in shock. All of the pain in his body rushes back to him. He gazes up at the dark, starry night. He has no idea where he is.
He tries to move...he can't.
He's in...pain, yes. But there's something else. He can feel something else.
Warm.
Thick...it's blood.
And he's covered in it. His entire body.
Miller can't move his arms. His legs. Only his mouth. Only his mouth, which he drops open to...scream. As loud as he can.
STORY BY
IRA MADISON
NEXT ISSUE:
What memories must Miller uncover?
What does the Suite really want with him?
And will we ever see Marley again? Do we want to?
Find out this and more in ... Paper #5: "As Love Lies Bleeding"
