If there was any rage left inside of him, Coop would’ve been overflowing with it. Instead he sat a broken, shattered husk of himself staring at his wall wondering where he’d gone wrong. Sam felt awful, even though the chances were she’d saved his eye from Skidz. Still, forcing a corner stoppage in a fight like that remained an unwritten misnomer in the league, a shameful way to lose. Not something he’d get over soon. Then there was the whole losing to Skidz thing, that was a bigger blow than a loss to Kriger.

Ugh.

She sat across from him on the couch, her hand on his knee while he stared off, still raw from the regen tank. It wasn’t her fault, every part of him knew that, but speaking the words out loud was almost impossible, considering how he felt. Everything was still too raw; what losing that fight meant for his career, his uncle moving on to other fighters and those assholes on the Moon looking to take his place. All of it was too fucking much to take in.

“Coop, I...”

“You know, he wanted my eye,” he said. “I know you knew that. You saved this for me, I want you to know that.”

“I know, I just... I know stopping the fight was the right thing and—”

“Please, I know,” he said. “I appreciate what you did for me.”

“But your career?”

“I’ll find a way, I guess. No, we’ll find a way.” Truth be told, he wasn’t sure what that way was, but there had to be something. “Maybe Regis has something for me.”

“Coop, you and I both know that lying sack of shit is out for himself.”

“I know.” It still stung. After all they’d been through, his uncle still saw him as an investment, but it was the reality. “That just means he’ll try to bleed this stone dry until I’m worth nothing for him. None of those boys on Luna are worth much of anything yet.”

“And you’re just gonna let him use you?” she asked.

“If there’s money to be made, Uncle Regis will be there.”

“So we do what, now? Wait for that creeper of an uncle to come knocking again? The last time he did it was this Skidz fight and look, babe, you weren’t ready for it. In fact, you’re lucky you didn’t walk away hurt from it.”

“Yeah...”

Not that her words were wrong, it’s that he let his uncle push him into a fight before he was ready for it and he paid the price. Whatever his career was now, it was his own damned fault for letting Regis push him around like he did. Now there he was, sitting around waiting for a call from his uncle with another fight, knowing there were diminishing returns in his fighting career in the eyes of someone like Tuul or his uncle.

“Oh, I got you a sort of present,” she said.

“What do you mean?” There wasn’t a bone in his body that was in the mood to celebrate anything, although he was trying to be mindful of snapping at her.

“A present. Here, hold on.” She disappeared into the bedroom and Coop settled back onto the couch, eyeing the console across the room, wishing he could jack in and tune out a favorite pastime of his post-fight. Instead, Sam was keeping him awake, alert and in the “now,” even if that now was one that didn’t give two shits about him or the pain he was going through.

When she returned, she was carrying a long and narrow box with her, wearing a difficult to decipher facial expression. It was a blend of apprehension and excitement, far beyond the usual range of passive, dismissive or frustrated expressions she displayed. Whatever it was, he knew showing gratitude was a better look, even if it wasn’t something useful. As much as he disliked those assholes on Luna, in retrospect, the bat was a friendly gesture, even if the bat itself was terrible and nowhere near what he’d want.

“So, I’m not really sure what you’ll think of this.” Sam held the box out toward him. “I did a lot of digging trying to get this right, I even reached out to Kriger’s people and—”

“Kriger?” Coop froze at the sound of his name. What would she contact Kriger about? “What the fuck?”

“Just... open the damned thing, okay?”

Coop placed the box in his lap, wiggling the blank cardboard lid free to reveal a wooden bat with some wear and tear showing on it, laying in a bed of tissue paper. Both remained silent, Sam gnawing on her thumbnail while Coop stared down at it, unsure of how to react. It wasn’t Guy, that much was clear. Nothing would ever be Guy. After a few breaths, he gripped the handle in his right hand, tossing the box aside. On his feet, he choked up on it, taking a few test swings and whistling.

“So?” she asked.

“So,” he said, taking another big swing and smirking. “It feels fucking good.”

“You like it?” Her face lit up.

“It needs some modifications before I can use it, but yeah, it’s good.” Some of the tension in his chest released, a swell of emotions overcoming him.

“Oh babe, I know it’s not Guy. I tried, Kriger’s people were just rude, but I figured you could make this one your own and... it’s a new start, this one can be yours.”

Words didn’t seem to come to him. Instead Coop embraced Sam, who was unprepared for the rare outpouring of emotion from him. This wasn’t some haphazard attempt at replacing Guy. Oh no, this was something different. Sam gave him a chance to rebuild himself in more ways than one. It was a blank canvas for his gruesome art, ready for him to fill in the blanks and use this new brush to make a new Coop Sabre.

“I can’t believe it,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“This is the best gift I’ve ever received.”

“Oh, wow,” she said. “So, does that mean you’re out of your funk?”

“Sam, babe, I’ve got an idea. The phone stopped ringing, and the fights stopped coming, so I’m gonna go find myself fights. Just like the old days.”

“What exactly were those old days like?” she asked.

“Well, it’s gonna be different this time. I’m not taking Regis with me. You’ll come with me, right?” He didn’t need to ask, but wanted to, another sign of him thinking things through.

“Of course I will, but... where?”

“Ushinatta Station.” He had clear memories of his time on that station, filled with vagrants, vagabonds and ex-cons, all itching for a fight.

“I’ve never heard of... what was it? Ushi-not?”

“Ushinatta,” he said. “None of those fancy gyms like up on Luna. This is the real deal. These are real fighters. Trust me.”