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knocked back against the cage walls again, and Brijesh pushed in pounding him down with fist and knees. Violento felt the flood of jarring blows beginning to take its toll and struck out with both fists into Brijesh's solar plexus and then jumped as Brijesh stumbled backwards. He grabbed Brijesh's head with both hands and drove his knee up into Brijesh's face.

  Brijesh was stunned and fell backward to one knee, before rushing at Artemio again, jabbing a vicious right into Artemio's face. It caught Artemio by surprise, and he tasted blood. Artemio backed up, and Brijesh charged in narrowly missing him as Artemio jumped and caught the cage ceiling bars. Brijesh jumped up at Artemio, but missed again as Artemio threw himself down across the cage. Brijesh followed Artemio back down to the cage floor and met Artemio's foot in his temple, which sent him rolling across the cage floor.

  Artemio was instantly on top of him pounding him with both fists moving so fast the subscribers at home could only see a blur. Brijesh shot a quick left up through Artemio blur of fists straight into his throat, that sent him up and recoiling across the cage. Brijesh rolled back up onto his feet, his face a bloody mess. He shook his head, and then ran at Artemio, and ducked under Artemio's fists grabbing him by the waist and slamming him down into the ground.

  Artemio had the wind knocked out of him and almost lost consciousness, but Violento's instinct kicked in slamming his hands into Brijesh's face, his thumbs boring into Brijesh's eyes. Brijesh was screaming, and blood was running down Artemio's arms when he realized what was happening. His thumbs were driven through Brijesh's shattered eyeballs, but slid out as Brijesh jumped back away from him. Artemio rose to his feet as Brijesh fell to his knees groping towards the cage wall. Artemio looked down at him, the fight wasn't over yet. He walked up behind Brijesh and reached down. Brijesh's neck cracked in Artemio's hands, and the fight was over.

  When he returned to the locker room the MPs were waiting for him. He knew one of them, Tumelo Koena, an Eco-Revolutionary volunteer from South Africa. They had served together briefly during the war. Artemio didn't recognize the other MP.

  "Don't take off the mask," Tumelo ordered.

  "Alright," Artemio said sitting down on one of the benches. "You guys finally shutting down the UFL?"

  "Not tonight," Tumelo answered. "The UFL isn't a primary concern at the moment."

  "Not a primary concern?" Artemio scoffed. "I thought your task-force's mission is to shutdown the fights."

  "That can't happen as long as everyone is gambling on the fights," Tumelo stated. "When we shutdown the HFL, it just became the UFL. If we shut down the UFL it'll just become something else unless we dismantled the gambling industry first."

  "Sounds like a chicken/egg paradox," Artemio stated. "And if you're not here to arrest me, why are you here?"

  It was an interesting conversation.

  The death of Brijesh Misra dominated the sports news for several days, with politicians and psychologists giving a jumble of opinions about the morality of professional fighting and ineffectiveness of the laws banning it. The fight-talk always seemed to segue back to the up-coming fight between Mudiwa Kachote and the former MP Artemio Torres in Multan. Politicians argued about the validity of the Confederacy continuing to adhere to the Mars Treaty, and its Corporate Mining Zones that effectively created autonomous countries within the Confederacy. Psychologists claimed that the army was allowing soldiers to retire without proper medical treatment, which was to only reason a soldier would become a professional fighter.

  Artemio had no reason to hide the fact that he was returning to Multan, and so caught a shuttle flight back from Sositenya Abeba, where he'd fought Brijesh. The shuttle was launched from a maglev track, and propelled out of the atmosphere to just below orbit, where it changed direction towards Multan, and began its decent. The flight took 43 minutes, and when Artemio walked down the catwalk into the spaceport, Yousaf Dulai was waiting for him.

  Artemio saw Yousaf and walked over to him with a smile, "Concerned I wouldn't come back?"

  "Not you," Yousaf replied. "Just thought I'd see how bad Brijesh got you. Couldn't see much through that mask."

  "A broken metatarsal bone in the left foot," Artemio reported.

  "Explains the limp," Yousaf nodded. "You got some bad eyes too."

  "Brijesh was a hell of a fighter," Artemio observed.

  "I know," Yousaf stated. "He was one of mine."

  "That's unfortunate," Artemio remarked.

  "Not really," Yousaf disagreed. "I've known him since we were both kids, and he's never had a brain-cell in his head. Sure got a lot of pussy though, probably fathered more than a hundred kids. Never did a thing for any of them. Good riddance."

  "Mudiwa's one of yours too," Artemio observed. "Chichi pissed at you or something?"

  Yousaf pulled his e-cigarette from his lips and put it back into the pack to recharge. "We've never been that close. We make money together, that's it."

  Artemio looked at him. Yousaf seemed depressed. His large brown eyes didn't look right. "How many fighters do you have left, Yousaf?"

  He looked at Artemio. "None that matter. Not after you kill Mudiwa."

  "He could take a dive," Artemio suggested.

  Yousaf didn't bother looking up at Artemio. "No, Mudiwa's too much like you, he doesn't take dives."

  "Maybe he'll win," Artemio stated offhandedly.

  Yousaf paused again before replying, "I saw it. At the end. You still blackout, don't you?"

  Artemo didn't respond.

  "I figured ten years in the army might have cleared that out," Yousaf continued.

  "Didn't come up much in the army," Artemio replied.

  "Well, doesn't matter now," Yousaf observed. "We're going to need you to make public appearances in the next couple days."

  "So everyone can see how banged up I am?" Artemio asked.

  "So everyone knows you're Chico Violento," Yousaf stated. "Since you can't officially claim to be Chico Violento without getting arrested, we need everyone to see your face."

  "And my limp," Artemio added. "I'm sure it'll help the odds makers."

  "It will make the gambling more interesting," Yousaf agreed as he pulled another e-cigarette from his pack. He turned it on, and looked over Artemio again before wandering off towards the exit.

  That evening Artemio found Carey at the bar he'd been hired to work at before Artemio had left Multan. He looked like he fit right in, but he always did, it was a gift he had. He smiled when he saw Artemio, but Artemio could see something had changed. He'd been through a tough fight, and could see it reflected in Carey's eyes. When they kissed he knew for sure that things had changed.

  "What's wrong?" Artemio asked. "Everything all right?"

  "Yes, Artemio, but your face!" Carey replied. "Your eyes are cut!"

  "Yeah. Brijesh, in the UFL. Maybe, you saw the fight?" Artemio asked.

  "Everybody did," Carey answered frankly. "I never watched you fight before."

  "Disturb you?" Artemio asked. "I know you don't like the fights."

  "It's not that," Carey shook his head. "You have to fight Mudiwa Kachote in a couple days, and you're eyes are cut. You can't win!"

  "I've also got a broken metatarsal bone," Artemio stated. "But I'll still win."

  "I'm sure you have to believe that, or you couldn't fight," Carey said dismissively. "But the odds are not in your favour."

  "Betting against me?" Artemio asked.

  "I have to make a living, like everyone else," Carey answered.

  "You'll loose," Artemio stated. "What are the odds?"

  "Eight to one against," Carey reported. "Everyone knows you're damaged going into it, and Mudiwa is in excellent health."

  "I've got some Arean credit. Can you place a bet for me?" Artemio asked. "There's a CMZ up in Ceraunius, Calabar. They allow gambling."

  "I've heard of Canaan City," Carey stated dismissively. Calabar, also known as Canaan City, was a small Corporate Mining Zone that was marketing itself as the new Multan. Almost everythin
g was legal in Calabar, gambling, prostitution, professional fighting, offshore banking, almost everything.

  "Place a bet up there. Place it on me," Artemio requested. "At eight to one even a small amount will pay off well."

  "Do you really believe you have a chance in your condition?" Carey asked sadly.

  "I lost the ability to loose a long time ago. I can't explain it better than that. Go back and watch my fights if you want to know what I mean. Either way, don't bet against me. You will loose." With that statement Artemio handed Carey a credit card and rose to leave.

  He had two days to heal as best he could. Months in the UFL had built his muscle mass, but steroids and growth hormones wouldn't help him heal. He needed to rest. He retired to his hotel suite, with enough food and meds that he wouldn't need to leave until the fight, screw Chichi's request for public appearances. He had a gun, but didn't want to be disturbed, so piled the suite's sofa up against the door, and went to bed. He woke up a few hours later, his foot throbbing. He limped to the kitchenette, and made himself some buffalo-steak and eggs he'd brought from Madhabani. He returned to bed and watched a movie on the hotel's pay-per-view. It was an import from Canada, some