Kaidu’s phone rang. He held up a finger and lifted it to his ear. “N. Kaidu, Hairdresser.”

Frantic, machine-gun speech came from the other end, too fast for Rowan to catch, but the panic transmitted itself perfectly. Poker-faced, Kaidu nodded once, twice, then replied in a language Rowan didn’t recognize. One more rapid-fire burst, and Kaidu hung up.

“Trouble?” Ikara asked.

“I’m needed at the shop. VIP client showed up. She’ll take nothing less than the best.” He delivered the line straight-faced, without a hint of irony or pride in his expression, as if he merely stated fact.

Rowan bit back a chuckle. “So… no training?”

Kaidu shook his head. “It’ll only be an hour or so. Over there.” He pointed. Rowan followed his finger to a huge, dilapidated structure, half-caved in on itself, proud metal dented and in one place pierced by a half-dozen telephone poles that stuck out of the top like a demented pincushion. “The old arena has low-level monsters, for the most part. The two of you can farm over there. I’ll be back.”

“Alright. I’ll look after Rowan, no worries,” Ikara replied, shooting him a short salute.

“Look after—I beat the first floor! I can handle myself.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” Ikara winked at him.

Rowan sighed.

Nodding one last time, Kaidu spun, dark ponytail snapping out behind him, and marched off, his white jacket billowing behind him.

--

Towering over them, the arena blocked out the sun. Its walls bulged faintly outward, stone façade curving out under the pressure of the debris weighing down on the arena’s top. Bent, dented, and broken, the arena’s roof bulged in and out. In one place, it had been torn open like a cheap tin, and jagged edges still bit at the sky.

Shattered glass littered the walkway leading to the arena. The doors, once glass, hung empty, little more than steel frames. Inside, only darkness awaited them, the light of day unable to penetrate.

“Spooky,” Rowan muttered.

“Dang, you city folk let this shit sit? If this was the GSEZ, it’d be ripped to the bones for scrap within the week. Look at all that metal! All those stones! You could build a dozen houses and sell the extra to the weapons-makers for good money.” Ikara shook her head disbelievingly.

“This all belongs to the government. And technically, the arena still belongs to whoever owned it back before they made this into an exclusion zone. That’s the same in the GSEZ, it’s just…”

“No one cares? Yeah, I know. We know. We’re used to it.” Ikara waved her hand. “I’m not going to scavenge a whole arena on my own, anyways. I don’t have the skills for it, or the crew to make that happen.”

Rowan gave the arena one last look. Grabbing his rake tight, he scaled the steps and passed over the threshold into darkness.

The lobby laid in pieces. The reception desk stood in the middle-back, looming out of the cavernous twilight of the massive, unlit room, but the top had vanished somewhere, and the glass and metal speaking grates laid around in front of it. Everything once inside the desk had been scattered wildly across the floor. Shards of glass mixed with shredded bits of paper and faded pamphlets advertising whatever event had been happening when the area around the arena became an exclusion zone. Torn posters and toppled standing displays littered the floor. Old blood stained the walls on the right side, and the skeletal remnants of a monster slumped to the floor beneath the blood.

“Damn,” Rowan muttered.

“I know, right? Just look at all this good scavenge, going to waste,” Ikara moaned.

Ahead, a crumpled pile of torn steel blocked their way into the arena. A spray-painted arrow directed them into the women’s restroom, off to the left of the blockage.

Rowan hesitated. “Is that… alright?”

“What? It’s not like there’s any women in the restroom,” Ikara replied, rolling her eyes at him. She slipped past the cinderblock back-and-forth and vanished into the darkness.

Hesitating one last second, Rowan followed her into the restrooms.

Nothing exciting awaited him. Darkness, dented sheets of metal to stand in for mirrors, bombed out toilets full of gunk with the doors hanging from one hinge, all of it thoroughly graffitied. The back wall crumbled apart, cinderblocks blasted to pieces, and sunlight shone in the distance, well out the other side.

Ikara picked her way ahead of him, careful. She tucked her hands into the front pockets of her leather jacket and played with something there, rolling small items around in her hands. Rowan followed, on guard, clutching the rake tight.

She stepped through the hole in the wall and glanced left and right, then gave him a thumbs-up.

“What’s that mean? All clear?” Rowan hissed.

Ikara nodded and gave another thumbs-up.

Rowan thumbs-upped at her back, then rolled his eyes at himself. Good job, genius. She can't see you.

On the other side of the hole sat a ruined kitchen, torn apart and completely eviscerated, shelves thrown around, cabinets hanging open, plastic cutlery and paper containers strewn all around. The window which long-gone concessions staff had used to hand out food hung open, and a second spraypainted arrow pointed through it.

“Guess we go out,” Rowan shrugged.

Ikara bent and picked up a cabinet door. She threw it through the window.

A bat monster, easily four feet tall, with fangs dripping poison and brutally sharp, curved talons dropped down from above and snapped up the door. It chomped on the door a few times, then spat it out, disgusted, and shook its head.

“Thanks,” Rowan muttered.

Ikara nodded. “Have any ranged attacks? That bat’s gotta be at least level five. If we can get the kill, that’ll be a fat sack of Exp for a pair of support classes like us.”

“I mean… I can throw stuff,” Rowan said.

Ikara bent and picked up a hunk of cinderblock. “Then let’s get throwing.”