Yuki spared no thought for her dead enemy as she stepped over his mangled body and searched the crowd for Jonas. It seemed the riot had become less chaotic, and the many fighters, gangsters, and slaves began dispersing into smaller duels.

She finally caught sight of a young man with golden blonde hair, and her expression turned into a frown when she noticed that he was bleeding profusely, and it was clear from his body language that his fight with Howard Hurts was not going well.

His unfortunate appearance made her feel like joining him, and she wanted to offer her protection, but she willed herself to stay away because she knew Jonas wouldn't be at his best with someone trying to help him win his battle.

Yuki turned her head and saw that a few of Jonas’ friends were fighting the gladiators that belonged to the other gangs. Ralph was going at it with Michael Davis, and it seemed like he was winning, but Pete, who was fighting Rodney White, and Jaden, who was fighting against Bannji Balewa, looked to be on their last legs as their much stronger opponents beat, bashed, and kicked the life out of them. She took a deep breath and sprinted toward the friends Jonas held dear to his heart—help was on the way.

A tremendous battle was occurring on the opposite side of the room. Garth was standing with his fists balled as he launched attacks toward three opponents who had teamed up against him. He stood firm, glorious, and unbeaten.

Ahmed, Simon, and Johnson were giving everything they had to fight against the big, bearded gladiator, but Garth was true to his name as the number one cage fighter in all of Little Wrath City. Although Ahmed could put up a decent fight, it seemed like the two amigos: Simon and Johnson, had run their course, and although they tried their best to act in a supporting role, their lack of strength became apparent because they bled profusely and held on by nothing but their sheer will for freedom.

“Morons!” Garth laughed as he took Simon by the scruff of his neck and pounded his face. With one great toss, he threw the rat-faced man right into Johnson, and the two went crashing into the stone wall. “Ahmed, I’m so disappointed in you right now. You tried to team up with goddamn dummy slaves to beat me. That's embarrassing, isn't it?”

Ahmed was bleeding from head to foot, and his dark, ashen hair swung wildly behind him. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say he stood no chance at beating Garth, but that didn’t seem to phase him. Ahmed was more bothered by the idea that either Johnson or Simon would receive a killing blow in their attempts to help him. His dark eyes watched as the two tried to climb to their feet, but he held up a hand to stop their charge because he had seen enough.

“Simon, Erik,” his voice was quiet, and blood leaked down his forehead. “Go help the others.”

“Ahmed!” Simon looked bewildered, and he had to try and reason with him. Perhaps he was the only one besides Jonas that could even try. “We can do it together. We fought every fucking day for this moment!”

“I know,” Ahmed smiled. “And I’m damn proud of you for that, but this is a fight between us top-fives, and considering that neither of you is a top-five, you need to let things be.”

“Ahmed!”

“Simon!” Johnson spat blood as he clapped his brother on the shoulder. “You heard the old man. He doesn’t want us here,” Johnson nodded at Ahmed. “We can only help where help is wanted, so don’t embarrass yourself by looking down on our friend,” his words broke Simon from his stupor as he looked indecisively toward both Ahmed and Garth.

“I know,” his inner Sloth was causing him to be indecisive, and he worried about the consequences of his actions. He took a deep breath and made his decision. “Fine! You better beat him, Ahmed. We're all depending on you."

“And I’m depending on you,” Ahmed smiled brightly. “Go!”

It seemed to take all his willpower, but Simon gave in to Johnson’s pestering, and the two friends ran after their other friends.

“All done?” Garth chuckled, “I was waiting for the big kiss, like in the movies.”

“Well, if that’s what you want,” Ahmed lifted his chin. “You could kiss my ass,” Garth nodded approvingly toward the old desert warrior.

“You’ve changed, Ahmed. You’ve got much more spunk,” Garth raised his fists and prepared to start round two.

“You think so? Perhaps, someone has been rubbing off on me,” his mind filled with the shit-eating grin of the only person he could ever call his student. On second thought, perhaps Ahmed was the student. The old warrior took a deep breath and then charged toward Garth.

The peak of all the battles had yet to arrive. Ahmed was fighting Garth, Jonas was fighting Howard, and the rest of the fighters and slaves had ganged up against Thomas Vale and the reinforcements from the other gangs. In the corner of the room, Pete was half-standing, bleeding, and trying to strike reason into his opponent: Bannji Balewa.

Pete knew in his heart that he wasn’t a match for a fighter who had once beaten Xiao Lin, but every punch he took from Bannji made him seethe in anger because the black panther inside his chest was roaring in protest.

“So that’s it then,” he huffed as he used the back of his hand to wipe the blood pouring from his broken nose. “The white man says, 'jump,' and you fucking jump?” Bannji stopped in his tracks and made a strange expression toward his opponent.

“Brother, I don’t know what you're on, but this is not a fight of words, but a fight of fists,” Pete could tell that the African fighter hadn’t been in hell for too long because his accent was still strong.

“What would you know about fighting?” Pete scoffed. “You ain’t ever fought a day in your life.”

“What does this mean?” Bannji looked confused. “Brother, I must have put too much power into my hits. You’ve forgotten that I’m a gladiator.”

“You’re a fucking slave, and our goddamn ancestors would be ashamed of you,” Pete spat blood on the ground. “You think our motherfucking leaders died so that you could stop slaves from escaping?”

“Brother,” Bannji made an awkward expression. “I’m from Rwanda. It wasn’t the white man that killed me: it was the fucking Hutus.”

“You're a Tutsi?” Pete's mouth fell agape.

“For life,” Bannji made a strange gesture with his arms and crossed them in the shape of a letter T.

“My bad, brother,” Pete shook his head. “I know you saw some shit.”

“Seen the shit?” Bannji grimaced. “I watched as the Hutus came into my home, and they raped my baby girl, and they chopped her head off in front of me,” his breathing became ragged. “Then they raped my lovely wife and chopped her head off in front of me! Then they raped me and chopped my fucking head off!” His Sin Scars began to light up from across the room. “So don’t tell me I am not a fighter, don’t talk to me about the white man, and don’t tell me about the goddamn struggle! You don’t know my struggle! You don’t know my fight!”

“I know,” Pete went quiet. “I’m sorry about your wife and daughter. I had a wife too.”

“Was she raped and chopped?” Bannji asked ferociously.

“No,” Pete looked down at the floor. “She was beaten to death by men who were supposed to protect her.”

“The policeman?” Bannji asked.

“Yes,” Pete nodded. “The police killed my wife.”

“You're a black panther?”

“For life,” and Pete made a power gesture with his fist.

Bannji sighed, and it could have been colored red with anger. It wasn’t as if the two fighters had become best friends, but it was hard to go back to beating someone to death once he empathized with them.

“Brother, why escape?” Bannji didn’t seem eager to continue the fight. “This is a losing battle, no?”

“Fuck a losing battle,” Pete growled. “Every goddamn battle I’ve ever fought was a losing battle.”

“But this is not so bad, right?” Bannji argued. “We get the food, and we get the women, and we get the booze.”

“Why not have all three, and be free? I promise you, brother, freedom is the chocolate icing that makes everything taste better.”

“What is the point?” Bannji waved him off. “My baby girl is with the angels, and my lovely wife is missing because this place is too fucking big,” Pete recalled a conversation that had once taken place between him and Jonas. It had occurred just after they had reconciled their differences, and Pete had asked his age.

“Nineteen, just a few years over the age limit,” Jonas had said.

“Age limit, for what?”

“To kick it with the Angels on the fifth floor. It doesn’t last long; eventually, you come of age, and they send you packing to the first floor,” as the memory returned to Pete’s mind, he grimaced at Bannji.

“Brother, I hate to break it to you,” Pete sighed. “If you died during the genocide, your baby girl ain’t with the angels anymore.”

“What are you talking about, Brother?” Bannji's smile became strained. “Don’t joke around. Everyone knows that kids go to the fifth floor.”

“But it doesn’t last long,” Pete quoted Jonas. “Eventually, the kids come of age, and the angels send them back to the first floor,” Bannji shook his head in disbelief.

“Brother, do not play jokes on me,” his voice was tense, but he tried to maintain the goodwill between them. “Please do not put that thought in my mind.”

“It’s the truth. I swear to God,” Pete’s one good eye was unblinking. “Once the kids turn eighteen, they get sent back to the first floor to live among us.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Bannji’s breathing became haggard. “Say you are lying to distract me. Say that, and we can be okay,” Pete could only grimace as he witnessed firsthand the emotions that a distraught father could have.

“Bannji,” said Pete. “I swear on my wife’s soul that I’m telling the truth. I swear on everything I stand for as a man, a husband, and a black panther,” but Bannji looked tearful as he began to plead.

“Brother, don’t tell me my baby girl is all alone in this world,” and tears began to fall down his cheeks. “Brother, please don’t tell me that while I’ve been down here… she's been up there fighting for her life.”

“I’m sorry, Bannji,” Pete felt empty inside as he watched a man of Bannji’s caliber cry.

“What have I done?” Bannji punched himself against the head. “Why did you tell me this?” His muffled crying became erratic as he imagined all the horrible things his daughter had gone through while he was eating, fucking, and fighting down in Little Wrath City.

“Bannji!” Pete saw a glimmer of hope. “It’s not too late!”

“No, it is too late,” Bannji was on his knees and buried his face in his hands. “We died many years ago. She has already been here too long, Brother,” he removed his hands from his face, and Pete witnessed Bannji's expression of pure desperation. “I am not good at math. Please help me, Brother,” Pete seemed to understand what he was asking and nodded.

“Tell me, Bannji. When did she die, and how old she was.”

“She died in ninety-four,” he choked. “She was three years old,” Pete began running the numbers in his mind.

“Your daughter is twenty-eight or twenty-nine years old. “She’s been on the first floor of Hell for over a decade.”

“No!” Bannji sobbed. “Why do they do this? Why did the angels kick her out?”

“Brother, I don’t make the rules,” Pete said. “My people never did. We either live by those rules or fight to change them.”

“She could be like me!” Bannji had just come to the realization. "She could be a slave, just like me!”

“And she could be trying to escape, just like me,” Pete knew it was his chance to bring Bannji over to their side, and he had to seize the opportunity. “And just like you, someone could be trying to stop her,” his words contained so much power that Bannji shivered.

“Tell me, Brother,” Bannji’s voice went quiet. “Is it too late for me?”

“You tell me, brother!” Pete shouted, and it shocked Bannji out of his tears. “Did you search every goddamn nook and cranny looking for her? Did you try to find her mother?” Each word pierced Bannji's heart like bullets. “Is it too late for you to get off your goddamn knees to get up and fight for your daughter—to do your goddamn duty as a father and protect her?”

“I don’t know!” Bannji shouted. “If I search for her, how do I find her?”

“Why don’t you ask for some fucking help?”

“Please,” Bannji looked desperate. “Please, Brother. Help me find my baby girl,” he was practically begging. “Please help me find her.”

“Of course, I’ll goddamn help you!” Pete slapped his chest. “But I can’t do shit while we’re stuck in this goddamn sewer! I can’t do shit while I’m a fucking slave! Can you?”

“No,” Bannji began to wipe the tears from his face. “I can’t do shit when I’m a slave. You're right,” he slowly got to his feet.

“There’s only one motherfucking opportunity to make things right, and it’s through that goddamn door over there.”

“Then,” Bannji took a deep breath as his Sin Scars began to glow with new vigor. “We go through that goddamn door, my Brother. I will help you get through that door.”