Jonas awoke on the day of his fight, and he stared gently at the sleeping figure of Yuki. His lips curved when he saw her tiny figure breathing quietly, and he could help but brush a few long hairs off her face.

‘Today, I’m going to put it all on the line,’ he thought. ‘I’m going to make sure that you escape and can make your dreams come true.’

He stealthily got dressed, closed the door behind himself, and made his way to the fight pits, where he would stretch and get a small workout before his fight. The training room was empty, and he walked toward his usual sand pit.

Jonas' heart was feeling reminiscent because he recalled all the blood he had spilled within the fighting pit. He recalled the first moment he had trained with Ahmed and Simon, and Jonas looked over at the stone floor nearby and remembered when he had tossed Ahmed onto it because there was still a blood stain from where the old Berserker had hit his head.

Jonas cringed as he looked over and saw one sandpit that made him recall when Garth had brutalized him, humiliated him in front of everyone, and made him fight for his life. Across the room at the far end was another sand pit: the one where Wolf and his pack would usually train, and Jonas recalled when he had ventured over and knocked Pete unconscious. ‘Everything I’ve been through has led me to this moment,’ he flipped his hands and stared at the two red crosses on the back of them. He had a power inside of him, and for the first time in his life, he truly understood the quote, ‘With great power, comes great responsibility.'

A wrong move, a simple miscalculation, or perhaps even a lack of awareness towards a random detail was all it would take for the plan to go wrong. Jonas knew that when things went wrong in Hell, it meant death, slavery, or an eternity of misery.

Jonas' mind was playing tricks on him, and he hadn’t noticed that instead of warming up, he was sitting on the edge of the pit with glazed eyes as his mind wandered through various scenarios. Almost a half hour passed before he woke from his daydreaming, and the sound of fighters getting ready for their spars filled the once-quiet room with loud bustling noises.

Jonas looked up and caught eyes with his friends who had come together, and they could immediately tell that something was wrong when their leader had beaten them to the fight pits, considering he was nearly always late.

“What’s up?” Simon asked while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “I thought you’d be in bed right now. Don’t you want to sleep before your fight?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” said Jonas. “Too much on my mind. I needed some time to think.”

“There is a lot to think about,” Simon nodded. “But perhaps you need to follow your advice.”

“My advice?” Once more, Jonas looked at him for answers, as he had done many times since they had met over a year ago.

“Stop overthinking everything, and just be yourself,” Simon grinned, and Jonas noticed that his friend looked much more pleasing to the eyes than when they had first met.

“Stop overthinking?” Jonas asked as he looked toward the rest of his group. “You’re right,” he hopped onto his feet and began stretching to the ceiling. “I’m going to do things the way Jonas Ariel does them.”

“So you’re going to run headfirst into danger with no thoughts of the consequences?” Johnson stripped off his shirt and hopped into the sand pit.

“You know me so well, Erik,” Jonas smirked. “Let’s get some sparring done.”

Although there was still some trepidation in his heart, Jonas found that when he was in the company of others, he spent less time in his head and much more time in the real world. The sparring session wasn’t as intense as usual, and it was a simple warm-up for Jonas because he wanted to leave his last cage match with a win.

“I’m going to go hit the shower before my fight starts,” Jonas had nothing to say about the plan, and he knew that everything was in their hands and not his own.

“We’ll see you later,” said Pete. “Don’t worry about anything here. We’ve got it covered.”

“I know you do,” Jonas gave his former enemy a confident smile. “I’ll make sure to do my part, and if anything strange or abnormal comes up, just make sure to trust each other and ask for help,” then he marched away.

Just as Jonas was about to enter his room, his eyes glanced over at an ominous-looking door at the end of the hallway: Garth's room. It had tempted him to walk over many times. However, Jonas had always been too scared to enter the room. 'Fuck it,' he exhaled and made his way toward uncertainty. Garth wasn't the most vital part of the plan, but Jonas had to hear what the big psycho planned on doing. His expression became blank, and his knuckles rapt across the door. Jonas would no longer be afraid because he had the power to fight back.

A few seconds passed, and the door creaked open. Garth's face slowly appeared into view. His black eyes widened, and a smile bloomed as he saw who had knocked on his door.

"Oh, Pretty. You've come to visit me. Do come in," then a scent wafted out from the room and into Jonas' nostrils. It smelled like death and was so disturbing that it curled his stomach and burned his nostrils. Seeing Jonas hesitate, Garth smiled. "You don't have to enter if you're too afraid. I understand," but his words didn't impress the teenager who stood firm.

"Too afraid?" Jonas clicked his tongue. "It smells like shit in there. Have you ever heard of Febreeze?" He pushed past Garth and entered the room.

"That's a sweet smell, Pretty. It's a smell I love above all else. Death is in the air," and Garth closed the door behind them. The room wasn't as dirty as Jonas had assumed it would be. Howard Hurts must have sent gangsters to come in and occasionally clean it. There was only one piece of furniture: a bed with filthy sheets stained with blood and shit. When Jonas stood in the center of the room, he swore he heard whispers from the dark corners. He turned to face Garth and made sure to wear an unperturbed expression.

"I just want to let you know that today is the day."

"Is it that time already, Pretty?" Garth scratched his beard. "Time for you to leave?"

"Garth, I'm not here to play games. Do you want to escape or not?"

"Not," said Garth. "Not ready to part from you. We've barely had any time to get to know each other," his eyes glanced over at the bed.

"There will be plenty of pretty boys to rape when you get to the surface. Why the fuck do you want to stay down here so badly? I don't get it. With your strength, you could do almost anything you wanted."

"Rape is a strong word," Garth licked his thick lips. "And none of them are as pretty as you, Jonas."

"Rape is the right word. However, I don't have time to argue. Why are you afraid of leaving?"

"I like it here. I like the smell. I like the rewards. I like fighting in a cage and being the strongest man around. You may find it strange, but I enjoy this life I've built."

"I do find that strange," said Jonas. "However, when we kill Howard Hurts, what're you planning on doing? You do know that Xiao Lin is on our side, right?"

"Oh, Little Lin has been to my room to tell me. He and Howard are the only people that visit me. What will I do when Howard's gone? You assume that you can kill him. I can't."

"I'm not here to argue whether the plan will work. I want to know what you're going to do. If you're not going to tell me, then I'm fucking leaving. Don't try to stop me."

"Don't leave, Pretty. I've been waiting over a year for the moment that I had you in my room," Garth stepped into Jonas' path, and his hulking figure blocked the view of the door.

"Get the fuck out of my way, Garth," Jonas narrowed his eyes, and the crosses on his hands began to glow and light up the room with a crimson splendor.

"Relax, relax," Garth began to chuckle. "I'll let you go. I'll wait til you fail to kill Howard, and then I'll ask him for you as my prize," Garth stepped aside and grinned broadly. "I'm not telling you my plans because you have no chance of success. My only plan is to wait for you to fail, and then I'll take you to my bed. It'll be so sweet."

"You're wrong," Jonas glared at him. "Stay inside your room while the rest of us break free from slavery. We didn't need you anyway," he passed Garth and grabbed the door handle.

"Oh, Pretty. One more thing?"

"What?" Jonas turned his head and stared into Garth's cold eyes. A big smile bloomed on Garth's face.

"My wife used to tell me that if you played stupid games, you'd win stupid prizes."

"Oh, thanks, Garth," Jonas snorted and shook his head. "My brother used to tell me that cowards come in all shapes and sizes," he left the room and closed the door, and the smell of death was finally gone. Jonas quietly walked back to his room while breathing heavily, and sweat started to drip from his furrowed brow. Being in that room made every single cell of Jonas' body scream in protest. The smell of death lingered on Jonas' skin, and he ran a bath as soon as he returned to his private area.

An hour later, Jonas was lying on his bed with glazed eyes, and a knock at the door awoke him from his daydreams. He got up and opened the door, and Brow came marching into the room.

“It’s time. Preliminary fights are about to start. Are you ready?"

“I’m ready to go,” Jonas was wearing a set of black prison scrubs and a blank expression.

“This will be a tough one,” Brow nodded his head. “But I think you can win. I underestimated you way too much in the past to consider that you might lose just because something is tough.”

“Did you just pay me a compliment?” Jonas looked mildly shocked. “Where is Andrew Browner, and what have you done with him?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Brow shook his head. “You’re a dumbass, but you can do some crazy things that others can't. They don’t call you the Comeback Kid for nothing.”

“I hate that nickname,” Jonas snorted. “I'd rather have one that didn’t imply I fall behind easily.”

“Nobody cares how the first round plays out as long as you win the fight. Remember that it’s all about how you finish the fight that matters.”

“Thanks for the advice,” For the first time since he had planned to escape, Jonas felt a bit guilty that he would be knocking Brow unconscious in just a few hours. Perhaps, in a different scenario, the two of them could have been friends, but Jonas was hard-pressed to open his heart to someone who enslaved humans and treated them like cattle.

Ten minutes later, Jonas and Brow sat on a wooden bench in the waiting room.

“I’ve got a few fights next week for your friends. “I tried picking opponents that best suited them, but it’s hard for Ralph, considering he’s one of the biggest guys in all of Little Wrath City.”

“I’m curious, Brow. Why don’t you watch the fights with Howard and Thomas?” Jonas noticed his words caused a bitter expression on Brow’s face. "You're a Vice President, aren't you?"

“It was the same with Keal,” Brow's voice was quiet. “Even when I managed to raise a top-five fighter, I never got the respect I wanted.”

“But you were the number three?” Jonas pressed. “That had to count for something?”

“I also thought that. I worked my way up the ladder for nearly fifty years before I became the number three, but unfortunately for me, leadership only respects personal strength, and I don’t have much.”

“No one can deny you have an eye for talent," said Jonas. "Your first fighter became a top-five, your second fighter became a top-five, you gravitated towards Ahmed, and now you even have a bunch of other fighters that are winning matches for you. That has to count for something.”

“I wish it did,” said Brow. “Why don’t I hang out with Howard Hurts and Thomas Vale in their private viewing box?” He repeated Jonas’ question. “Because I wasn't fucking invited.”

“Their loss,” said Jonas.

“Not really,” Brow shook his head. “I want a gang, but there is no fucking way I’ll ever be able to accomplish that, not with my lack of talent for Sin.”

“Have you even tried?”

“Excuse me?” Brow’s voice became testy.

“Did you try to overcome your talent? Or did you just give a half-assed attempt and then use your failure as justification for why you shouldn’t have tried in the first place?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Brow growled. “That’s rich coming from Mister Undefeated Champion of the World.”

“I wasn’t always undefeated,” said Jonas. “At one point, I was just a caged nobody who looked at you and told you I would be great.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you already had the talent in you.”

“Fuck that,” Jonas put his hands behind his head. “Before I knew about Sin, and before I knew about talent, I stood right in front of Garth and kicked that big stupid fuck in the chin, knowing full well it might be the last thing I ever did. How can you sit there and talk about talent? Didn’t you see my brains coming out of my skull?”

“I did,” Brow said grumpily. “It was disgusting.”

“Did Simon or Johnson have any talent? Did you ever see those two skinny little bastards winning cage fights?”

“No, I didn’t,” Brow’s voice was just above a whisper. “What the hell am I supposed to do then? How the hell am I supposed to get any fucking respect in this God-forsaken world if I don’t goddamn take it for myself?”

“Why lead a gang?” Jonas scoffed. “Why do you have to enslave other people?”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Brow clicked his tongue. “It’s a way of life: enslave others or be enslaved.”

“You have an eye for talent,” said Jonas. “Isn’t that a talent in itself?”

“Doesn’t do me any good,” Brow laughed. “Even if I find someone talented, how could I demand their respect if I didn’t have Howard Hurts backing me? Do you think guys like you or Ahmed would listen to me if I lead this gang?”

“I might,” said Jonas. “If you earned my respect instead of demanding it.”

“Earning, stealing, enslaving, or demanding,” said Brow. “It all means the same thing in Hell. You take what you want. If you can't, it’s because you’re too weak.”

“I’m not trying to patronize you, Brow,” Jonas said.

“It seems like you are," he crossed his arms, and his eagle eyes narrowed.

“It sucks to see wasted potential, living in the shadow of a lesser man.”

“You think I'm better than Howard Hurts? That man is one of the most respected and feared gang leaders in Little Wrath City. It’s foolish to put him and me in the same sentence."

“You’re a better man than Howard Hurts, Brow. It might not be by much, but you're still better."