The electromagnetic train glided on its rail silently across the evening landscape, bearing Kay and Jackson away from Tyle, past miles of farm and woodland. The monorail was never packed on this route, even on a Saturday night. Thus, the friends had an entire car to themselves, although, Jackson almost wished they had company — it would have kept Kay from berating him the whole way to their destination.

“There’s nothing to worry about!” Jackson said, trying to reassure her for what felt like the thousandth time.

Kay scoffed. “Right, if you consider lying to your grandma to enter in an illegal Djinn fight at some abandoned warehouse nothing to worry about.”

“How did I lie to my grandma?”

“Where does she think you are now?”

“At Sato Breeders — oh, yeah, I guess that is a lie.”

Kay let out an annoyed huff. “Not to mention the fact that we’re going there based on the word of some high school dropout who asked us to give a ‘package’ to some lady named Laila that we’ll run into at the fight. Yeah, nothing to worry about at all!”

Jackson laughed, making Kay scowl even harder. “Look, we’re just doing him a favor. I’m pretty sure it’s just a wad of cash — he’s probably using old-fashioned money so —”

He cut himself off, realizing what he was about to say.

“So it can’t be traced as easily?” Kay said. “Wow, yeah, that makes me feel a lot better. And while we’re on the subject, why doesn’t he bring the money himself?”

“I dunno,” Jackson shrugged, “Maybe he had other plans tonight? Why’s it matter?”

“Right, like Tak Rito has something better to do than hang out in the armpit of Djinn Tamer society on a Saturday night,” Kay said. “I’m telling you — something is weird about this.”

“Why are you even here if you don’t want to be?”

“I’m here to make sure you don’t get yourself killed, of course,” Kay said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Jackson rolled his eyes and let out a long sigh. Rather than arguing with Kay further he turned sideways and looked out the window. Up ahead, the light of Perot could just be seen twinkling in the late evening landscape About forty miles from Tyle, Perot was the closest major city around. Jackson had made a few trips there with his grandmother, thanks to the free public transit on the monorail, but hadn’t ever explored it on his own. Most fun things cost money, and he and his grandmother never really had much.

He looked down at the rough map Tak had given him. Just like the envelope of bills in his pocket, the map was also paper and hand-drawn — probably so people couldn’t hack a GPS location and invite themselves to the party. Most Underground bouts were held in abandoned factories or old construction sites on the outskirts of towns.

The monorail made its first stop on the edge of town. Away from the city center, several factories and warehouses surrounded them a short distance away. Since it was a weekend evening, most were closed down or only had a small crew working, as evidenced by the scattered lights in some of the buildings.

After they hopped off the train, Jackson pulled up his projected map and followed Tak’s instructions, wandering down several long streets filled with potholes and lined with half-full dumpsters. Within a block of their destination, he heard the faint booming sound of music with the bass cranked up.

“We must be headed in the right direction,” he said to Kay, trying to sound optimistic.

In response, Kay only hugged Sunshine closer to her chest. Given that Asena wasn’t registered, and that Jackson had no idea how she’d react to a large crowd, the Djinn remained — unhappily — in her ring.

They rounded the corner of an empty building and the supposed Underground location came into view. A large, tin-sided building with busted out windows beneath the roof marked the night’s arena. As they approached, they passed a small group of men and women who looked to be in their mid-twenties. A cloud of neon vape smoke hovered around them as they laughed loudly. One of the men (who sported a couple silver teeth, Jackson noticed) caught Jackson’s eye, but Jackson looked away as they passed.

He scanned the numerous other groups and couples milling around the outside of the warehouse.

“Hey!” Jackson heard a yell from behind.

He and Kay turned to see a heavy-set man with long, black hair push past them towards a tall, lanky man with sunken eyes.

“What’d I tell you about coming here?”

“I’m s-s-s-sorry,” the lanky man said, visibly recoiling at the site of the other man. “P-p-please don —”

“I’ve told you a thousand times,” the heavy-set man said. “You cannot come —”

Before the man could finish, the lanky man had punched the air and released a serpentine Djinn on the man. The Djinn quickly went to work, wrapping itself around the heavy man’s feet.

“Oh, so it’s like that, eh?” The heavy-set man punched the air, and from his own ring popped a similarly short and squat Djinn that resembled its master. Its quadrupedal body was set low to the ground, and it bore a medium-sized snout and sharp teeth. Without even hesitating, the large, rodent-like Djinn launched itself at the serpent, and the two began rolling around violently on the asphalt, hissing and growling all the while.

“I don’t like this,” Kay said as they walked quickly away from the random scuffle.

Jackson rolled his shoulders back, trying to look taller and more confident than he felt. “You need to chill, it’s just an Underground fight — look at all these people having a good time! Nothing to worry about.”

“You’re right,” Kay said in a tone that suggested Jackson was completely wrong. “It’s illegal for absolutely no reason.”

Losing his patience, Jackson just shrugged. “Tak said there’s nothing to worry about — it’s fine!”

“Right, since Tak’s such a great judge of what’s fine. Jackson, I’m serious — I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Jackson fought back the urge to roll his eyes. Kay never wanted to have any fun. “Look, just trust me, okay? Let’s just go in and see what things are like. If it looks sketch I promise we’ll leave. Please?”

“Are you ignoring the completely terrifying fight we just saw?”

“Fine, if we see one more sketchy thing —”

“Jackson!”

“Kay, please?”

Kay bit her lip and turned her head around to look back toward the monorail station a few blocks away.

“Kay, please?” Jackson repeated. "I don’t want to lose the house.”

He knew it was a cheap move before he said it, but Jackson had a hard time feeling guilty — it was the truth, after all.

Kay sighed. “Okay, but no matter what happens, don’t say I didn’t warn you. And I mean it: if anything crazy starts going down I’m getting the hell out of there whether you come or not. I swear, one more unprovoked fight and I’m gone.”

“Aww, yeah. You’re the best, Kay!” Jackson enveloped Kay in an obnoxious bear hug.

Ignoring her rolling eyes, Jackson turned around and headed for the warehouse entrance. The closer they got to battered doors hanging lopsided on their hinges, the thicker the crowd got.

When they entered the building, Jackson had to push his way through a number of people milling around. Most looked like they were cut from the same cloth as Tak: grunge clothes, hair dyed in a myriad of blinding colors and a general expression that said they probably wouldn’t care even if the law decided to show and break up the party.

Before, they’d only been able to hear the bass, but now the music was almost drowned out by a deafening mixture of cheers, screams, boos and any other loud sound along the spectrum of human emotion. It sounded like an actual battle was being fought inside, not just a series of Djinn matches. Jackson felt a tingle at the back of his neck and a wide grin split his face. Now this felt like the real deal.

The warehouse looked to be about a hundred yards long and half as wide. Fighting areas were roped in sections throughout the building, some surrounded by mobs of cheering, jeering bettors, while some of the bigger ones featured rusted bleachers propped up above the masses of people.

High above, strings of generator-powered amp lights shone down on the whole interior with the same intensity as a Gold League stadium. While the evening was cool, the masses of people sucked up all the air, creating a stifling, anxious environment. Every few moments, a geyser, a gust of wind, a rumble in the ground, or a flame blossomed from the different pits. Jackson didn’t know how the combined forces of nature spewing from the battling Djinn didn’t topple the whole building.

Tearing himself away from the temptation to check out every fight, Jackson recalled Tak’s instructions: Go straight to Laila — she’ll be at the registration table, just ask for her. Don’t say why you want to talk to her. Just say Tak sent you. You’ll know her when you see her.

Jackson shouldered his way through the masses of people, in awe at the number of tamers and spectators gathered in an abandoned factory to watch a few amateur Djinn fights. They passed one ring and he paused to watch. A Siercle dove down from the air to tackle a ground-dwelling Marimot, doing its best to throw the squat Djinn onto its back. Jackson glanced over at the tamers, who commanded them with a fierce intensity he hadn’t actually seen in person.

Eyes wide, Jackson paused long enough to see the Siercle gain enough leverage on the Marimot to flip him over with its beak once it dove under. Before the other Djinn could recover, the Siercle bore down on him with its beak, and the Marimot bellowed in pain before falling limp on its back. A man in a top hat and a neon orange vest jumped into the ring and blew an air horn, signaling the end of the match.

“Whoa,” Jackson whispered under his breath.

He’d seen hundreds of miniature Djinn battles play out on his holo-vision, but something about the dust in the air, the roar of the Djinn, and the reverberations in the floor made things a whole lot more real, even if this wasn’t an official League event.

As they continued to push through the crowd, Jackson saw a table surrounded by a handful of identical, large Swinprum Djinn and their owners — big dudes with bulging muscles who wore sunglasses and black sweat suits. Judging by the line of people with either depressed or thrilled expressions on their faces, and those in top hats counting out stacks of bills, Jackson guessed it was the betting table. One of the Swinprum let out an angry snort as Jackson passed by, almost as if it knew he was a newcomer and was warning him not to try anything.

Jackson turned back to look at Kay, who was still following close behind, Sunshine clutched to her chest. He spotted the registration sign up ahead — a long banner with colorful graffiti hanging from a rusted, taped-up pole — and pointed to it. He then pulled her in front of him and guided her through the crowd with his hands on her shoulders. As adamant as she’d been about not coming, he didn’t want to lose her in the increasingly thick crowd.

They waited in line while about a dozen people ahead of them requested fights. To Jackson’s surprise, more than half were turned down and one was even escorted out by one of the sweatsuit-wearing security men when he started arguing. He started to resist until the brawny dude summoned his Swinprum from nearby and started cracking his knuckles. No one else caused any trouble after that.

Compared to the wild, unruly glamor of the rest of the place, the registration looked pretty ramshackle. It consisted of a fold-out table ready to collapse at any moment under its skewed legs and a sign — painted with much less talent than the banner — that said “regiztration” in red spray-painted letters. The way the maker had held the can in too many places too long made the runny red paint look like a splatter of blood in some spots. Given the state of this place, that actually could have been on purpose for all Jackson knew.

Three people worked the table: a big, bald man with grey stubble on his face and head, a dark-haired, glasses-wearing woman in the back counting cash, and another, tougher-looking woman with bright pink hair. The man remained silent, tapping a holo-pad as each person arrived, probably assigning them fights, Jackson assumed. Although Jackson could tell the woman spoke in a loud, boisterous voice, the rowdy atmosphere made it impossible to hear what she was saying.

When they reached the front of the line at last, she stared at Jackson with her lips pursed and looked him over. Jackson cleared his throat and set his shoulders back again. Inside, however, his stomach knotted and he wondered for the first time if he’d made a stupid decision coming here.

“Well?” the woman asked. She projected her voice so loud, anyone else would have been yelling. “Newcomer, eh? We’re a family-run operation around here — how’d you get the memo?”

Looking around at the hundreds of people packed into the warehouse, Jackson very much doubted they were a “family operation” but didn’t want to argue with the woman. The last thing he wanted was an escort out by one of the giant meatheads running security.

“I’m looking for Laila,” Jackson said in a voice that wasn’t half as loud or as confident as the pink-haired woman’s.

“Speak up!” the man at the table barked.

“I said I’m looking for Laila!” Jackson yelled.

The corner of the pink-haired woman’s lips split into what might have been a tiny smirk on one side. “You’ve got the pleasure of finding her. Now what do you want, kid? I don’t have all night to play around.”

She snapped her fingers and one of the bouncers stepped closer to the table. Sunshine bristled in Kay’s arms next to him and a Djinn brawl at the registration table suddenly felt like a very real possibility.

“No, no, no,” Jackson said, holding up his hands. He realized he was speaking very fast but couldn’t help himself. “It’s okay, it’s okay! Tak sent me!”

“Oh, he did, did he?” the woman said. “He better have sent you with some money or you’ll be getting his ass-kicking, kid!”

“I told you!” Kay hissed in Jackson’s ear.

“H-hold on,” Jackson said as two nearby bouncers closed in on them. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the envelope and halfway extended it across the table. The pink-haired woman snatched it out of his hands.

“Count this,” she said, passing it on to another, younger woman behind her. Looking back at Jackson, she smiled and folded her hands on the table.

“Welcome to the family, kid!” she said. “By the looks of things, you won’t last long, though. What can I do for you?”

Jackson forced down his nerves and took a step closer to the table. “I want to fight!”

Laila raised one pierced eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “All right… where’s your ID? You look like you’re twelve.”

“My…ID?” Jackson repeated, confused. He could pop it up on his watch no problem but… “Is this some kind of joke?”

The man sitting at the table next to Laila frowned. “Ain’t no joke, kid,” he said. “We run a tight ship around here — either you got an ID or you don’t. Nobody under eighteen fights.”

“This is an illegal event.”

“And yet even we have our own standards. Imagine that.” Laila snapped her fingers. “Seriously kid, thanks for bringing the money, but quit stalling.”

“I don’t have it on me but I’m nineteen,” Jackson said, hoping the lie would stick and he wouldn’t end up out on his face on the concrete outside.

Laila stuck out her tongue and squinted like she’d eaten something sour. It looked like she had a heart tattooed on her tongue — at least Jackson hoped it was a tattoo.

“Try again. How stupid do you think we are?”

The knotted, tense feeling in Jackson’s stomach turned into a big, bottomless pit.

“I’m not eighteen for a few more months,” he said. “But can’t you just let me fight? Please? I brought the envelope, after all!”

Jackson knew how whiny he sounded in the moment, but being turned away after all their trouble would be catastrophic. He’d told himself on the train that he wouldn’t leave without a Djinn battle and he intended to stick by it, even if it meant getting tossed into the street.

Laila shook her head. “Sorry. That’s the rules. You’re welcome to hang around if you want but you’re not getting a fight.”

Jackson felt his temper boiling up inside of him. Kay placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to calm him down but Jackson shook it off.

“That’s a bunch of bullshit!” he said. Before anyone could stop him, Jackson clenched his fist and pointed his Djinn ring at the ground. In a flash of orange light, Asena appeared. Jackson knelt down and placed a calming hand on her back as the Djinn recoiled at the loud music, bright lights, and large crowd. The surrounding audience of Jackson’s increasingly loud squabble shared murmurs of surprise and admiration at the rare Lyote Djinn.

“Just let me have a fight,” Jackson said, one hand on Asena, who’d gone from being spooked to fur bristling and growling. “If I win, I’ll come back next time for a real battle. If not, I’ll leave without a problem.”

Laila looked up from staring at the Lyote. A small, hungry smile spread across her face. “Not a bad-looking Djinn, kid. Drill! What do you say? Wanna give this kid a shot?”

The man with the shaved head stood up from his seat behind the table. On his feet, he looked even bigger than he had sitting down, easily towering over the crowd and most of the bouncers. “Sure, I’ll put him through the paces for you, Lai.”

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a match, kid,” Laila said. She jerked a finger behind her. “There’s a ring we haven’t filled yet. Show us what you got.”