"That fire," Branch said, brandishing a smile and rubbing his hands together. "I know that you'll be tremendous tonight, a star. No... No, my star."

"Aye," Will said, Branch's hands grasping onto his broad shoulders. "Well, I'm ready to knock some heads off."

"Good," Jordan said. "That is what I want to hear! You see, Will, can I call you Will?"

"Why not?" He shrugged.

"Well Will, we've known each other for a while now, right?"

"Aye, that we have Mr. Branch," William was sitting on a bench in the dark underbelly of the arena, pulling his gear on. A gauntlet on his right hand had become his signature; him using it, the cave in the skulls of the shuffling undead and any of the living that they tossed at him. The spikes made for an imposing visual, but the electromagnetic charge that pulsated through whoever it contacted was the actual killer. He had even given a name for that punch, the dreaded Metsu-Ken, which in Japanese meant "Destroy Punch." At least, that’s what someone had told him. That what was he did, though; he destroyed lives with that punch, and they all ate it up.

"Oh please, Will. Call me Jordan," he assured him. They hadn't known each other all that well, but Branch had taken a serious liking to him of late, which didn't bother William that much because it was all business at this point. Branch was arguably one of the most powerful men in the world. For all that he or anyone else around knew, Branch was the only powerful man left. There was always this vain hope that there was life and society thriving elsewhere, but Branch painted a rather vivid portrait of how the rest of the world was in chaos and how it was on them to survive, to thrive and to rebuild after all of this time. He should know. He still has a working helicopter.

"Alright, Jordan, then."

"Good, good," he said. "Tonight is a special night. Tonight we add to our menagerie of sorts, our society that we are rebuilding from the ground up."

"That's a good 'un, innit?"

"It is. It is."

"What's this addition now then?"

"The addition is hope, my good friend. It is hope in the way of a new survivor, one that everyone will recognize. He's more than a man to most of them, he's many men, he's a memory of our past opulence and also of our triumphs."

"Some sort of hero?"

"A hero, yes," he said. "Are you familiar with TK Gabriel?"

"He's that picture badass, innit he?"

"That he is, that he is."

"He's here? Fuck off."

"No, really," Branch was staring off into the distance. "He showed up at our doorstep this afternoon. I believe he could be a turning point for our little society here. He's a symbol of hope, a symbol of what existed before all of this."

"That's good, right?"

"It is, and it isn't. He's a symbol of a world that no longer exists and can no longer exist. He hasn't stated that he'd do it yet. In fact, I haven't brought it up yet, but I want him to fight in the arena. I want him to fight you."

"Oh."

"I wouldn't worry about it," he chuckled. "He's a movie star. Yes, he's survived out there in the wilds for years, but you are the best fighter we have. There's no way that he can take you. Will, you are a hero to these people. You are the hero that was created in the Wasteland. You are the new hope, he is the old hope. Do you see what I'm getting at here?"

"Aye," he nodded. "You want me to call the bugger out?"

"Yes. I want him to fight in the arena. I want it all to lead up to a final showdown between the two of you. A battle for the ages, a battle to the death. Your retirement from the arena coming by crushing one of the old gods. I'm salivating at the very thought of it, aren't you?"

"Sounds like my kinda plan," he tightened the gauntlet around his hand. "What about Stuart?"

"Ahh yes, your brother," Branch paused. "Stuart and Viktor are a vital part of my security forces. I don't believe that either has any intention of retiring anytime soon."

"No," he said, "s'pose not. The Twin Terrors will continue on."

"They will. They are simply too good at what they do to stop just yet. You shouldn't be worried about them. It's not like either of you can return home, either. There's no home to return to, your home is here now, your place is here as the beloved Brawler of the Wasteland."

"Suppose so," he said. Will picked himself up and did one last check on his gear. The gauntlet sat snug around his fist and a bandolier of throwing knives hung from his shoulder. Those knives were mostly for show. There wasn't much use for them now that he had the gauntlet, and he hadn't had to use them since his earliest fights. Instead, it was all about the Metsu-Ken. His right hand is what most wanted to see now, with that electrified gauntlet that gave him that boost in power that he needed to put on a good show. Power surged through it on contact and usually exploding the heads of anyone that he touched with it.

A sullen sigh escaped from Will, knowing that he'd still have to keep fighting, knowing that his retirement wasn't in order just yet. Not that it mattered, anyway, it just meant more violence, more killing and more feeling adrift and lost for him. None of that was anything new. He took a swig from a small bottle of scotch that he had tucked into his bandolier, emptying it and tossing it onto the concrete, it shattering into pieces on impact. Hopefully, at least, it meant that he was being saved for something and that he'd have an easy time out there compared to past battles. There were a few that were close calls, those were the few battles he didn't almost return from, and they marked his body up with those scars until the day that he died to remind him of it. That wouldn't be tonight, at least. No, not tonight, because tonight he was the champion. The Brawler of the Wasteland and Jordan Branch had a plan for him. That made him special, or at least more special than those other poor knobs that Branch fed to him..

"Are you all prepared for battle then, my champion?" Branch reached out and grasped onto William's shoulders.

"Aye."

"Good. I'll leave you to it. To battle, my friend!"

"Aye, to battle!"