Chapter 8 — "Caged"

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“I thought I’d find you here.” His mother entered his room without knocking. “I came down to bring you flowers, but that nice nurse said you had already left.”

She noticed the suitcase sprawled open on his bed, clothes and belongings strewn all over the room, and her expression instantly fell.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice dropping an octave.

“We’re leaving,” Junior said, roughly stuffing a shirt into his bag. “I was going to come find you, but we have to go.”

“Go?” His mom gave a shaky smirk. “Like on a trip?”

She stepped fully into the room, closed the door behind her, tossed the flowers onto the bed, and sat down stiffly.

“No. We need to leave for good,” Junior replied distractedly.

He hobbled around the room, his oversized hospital-issued cast restricting his movements. He dragged himself from place to place, yanking posters off the walls and struggling—and failing—to bend down and pick up the clothes he had dropped. Each rough movement made him wince in pain. His leg itched horribly under the cast.

When he got close enough to the bed, his mother grabbed his arm, tipping his already off-balance body onto the mattress beside her.

“Lightning Bug, what’s going on?” she asked, touching his cheek and forcing him to meet her worried gaze.

Junior shook his head, looking away as his face flushed hot, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Shame and anger bubbled in his chest.

“Mr. Green…” he started but choked on his own words. “This place isn’t what we thought it was.”

Junior looked up at his mother, whose expression remained unchanged. “We have to leave. I don’t… I can’t fight anymore.”

Without warning, his mother shot up from the bed, her face twisted with anger as she clenched her hands into fists, turning away from him.

“You lose one fight, and suddenly you’re a quitter?!” she shrieked.

Junior was stunned; his throat felt dry. His mom spun back around, her brow deeply furrowed.  

“Nothing to say?” she spat.

“Look at my leg, Mom! It’s broken; I’m ruined! I can’t fight like this.” Junior finally found his voice, but it was laced with bitterness.

He tried to push himself up off the bed, but his mom pressed a firm hand on his shoulder, forcing him back down. His injured leg bumped against the frame, making him wince.

“You’ll take a break and get back in the ring. You’ll find your spark again. Hayden pushes you because he believes in you. He wants you to be a champion. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Mr. Green is crazy! He threatened me!” The young Ink Fighter felt small, but he stood up anyway, hobbling toward the door.

His mother’s face hardened, showing no sympathy, as she stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “He knows what he’s doing. He pushes you to be your best.”

Junior tried to gently push past his mother. “You don’t understand; I’m going to find Dad.”

Her hand slammed against the doorframe, her nails scratching against the wood.

“YOU don’t understand,” she said, her voice shaking with fury. “I’ve worked too hard to get you where you are! I told Mr. Green you would be his next big hit. I moved things and manipulated so much for you to be noticed, and I was rewarded with a spot at his side. Don’t you see what I will lose if you mess this up?”

“You tricked me?” Junior sagged, frustration spilling down his face in the form of tears.

“You’re a good fighter; you could be the champion.” Her nails dug into the wall as she glared at him.

“You would sell me to someone you knew would use me.” Junior’s voice cracked, the betrayal cutting deeply. He stumbled backward, trying to process everything.

“We all get used! No matter where you go, you get used. At least I protected you. I gave you a legacy. Made you a fighter who could be the next big thing. You could still be that. You could still make me proud.” Her eyes held the same wild, animalistic fire as the hotel owner’s.

“I can’t. My leg will never be the same.” Junior could feel the flames on his sigils begging to be released, but it hurt even to think about using them.

“Others have come back from worse injuries.” His mother scoffed, her tone cold and dismissive. “I know you’re tougher than that.”

Junior felt like the room was spinning. “This has happened before?”

“It always has. It’s not a forgiving sport, and neither is Mr. Green.”

“I don’t want this life. Dad was right.”  At the mention of his dad, his mother’s face twisted into an ugly expression.

“Your father is a coward,” she screamed, then took a moment to compose herself. She stepped toward him, reaching out to stop him from backing away.

“Don’t fight him on this,” she whispered. Her breath reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke. “Get back on his good side, and everything will be fine. You can’t run from him; some have tried, and it didn’t end well.”

She glanced nervously at the door, as if someone might be listening on the other side. “Your father… we tried. It’s better to play the game and win than to run away from it. Mr. Green takes care of us. It’s better this way.”

He could see the fear in her eyes. For the first time, she looked genuinely concerned for him. But the feeling of betrayal coursing through him was too strong to ignore.

“You don’t care about me; you care about your position as Mr. Green’s new fling,” he said weakly.

She looked defeated. “Do you want to be sent to Pandemonium? Because that’s where fighters disappear to. Or worse…”

She sighed and let go of his arm.

“Fighters get used until they have nothing left. You better get used to that if you want to survive.”

“You knew about all this.” Junior’s eyes burned, though he had no more tears to cry.

“Everyone knows this. Open your eyes, Junior. You buy in, and you get the things you want.”

She was looking at him, and he desperately wished he could say something—anything—that would make her feel better.

“I don’t want this,” he finally muttered.

“Just do the fights, earn enough money to pay your bills, and then you can leave, do whatever you want. Just don’t ruin things for everyone with your temper.” His mom threw her hands up in defeat. “If you run, you’ll always be running. Trust me, he drags back old fighters every week who still have debts to pay. It doesn’t end well for them.”

Junior felt weak and slumped onto the bed.

“I’m just looking out for you, Lightning Bug.” She tried to come closer, resting her hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged away from her touch. Her hand curled into a fist.

“Find a way to be in the fight tomorrow night, or you’ll wish you had listened to me.” She dug a lighter out of her pocket and tried to light the cigarette tucked behind her ear, but the lighter just clicked—empty.

“Damn it!” She threw the lighter onto the ground and then raised her foot, smashing it beneath her large heel.

She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Firefly watched the shattered pieces of glass until they finally stopped moving.

___________________________________________________

He searched desperately for his dad but found no trace of him. Watching the exits, he kept looking for a way to sneak past the doors. Despite what his mother had said, he knew the outside world had to be better than staying trapped here. He’d have to come up with a plan later. The hotel was massive, and every movement was a challenge, taking ages to get from one area to another.

Drenched in sweat, he paused near the lobby, peering down into the pits teeming with patrons. Half a dozen of Hayden’s thugs loitered there, each one bearing the large “H” on their chests. As he peeked around the corner at them, they all turned their heads simultaneously, like someone had given away his location. A shiver ran through him, and his stomach twisted hard.

“Gotta find Dad,” Junior murmured, turning back and making his way toward the last place he knew his father often lingered.

Just as he prepared himself to brave the journey down the stairs to Marty’s studio, a voice made him jump.

“Conrad Junior.”

He turned to see one of Mr. Green’s assistants standing at the end of the hall, the embroidered “H” on his pocket glowing faintly.

“You’ve been requested to attend tonight’s match. Please follow me.”

Junior's fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, and his muscle memory took over. Before the assistant could take another step, Junior lunged through a nearby door, dragging his injured leg behind him.

He found himself in a storage area but spotted another door at the far end. Using the wall for support, he pushed himself forward and stumbled into a brightly lit, chaotic kitchen. Chefs and line workers shouted orders at each other, and flames flared from a nearby stove.

Junior pressed on, accidentally shoulder-checking a line cook carrying a large pot.

“Watch it, kid!” the man yelled, but Junior ignored him, weaving and dodging his way through the crowded space. His focus was singular: the door to the loading dock, the one that led outside. Freedom was just a few feet away, though his injured leg slowed him down considerably.

The assistant from the hallway burst through the door from the storage room, and the entire kitchen fell silent, the workers freezing and moving aside to clear a path for him. Junior was almost there—he had reached the door and was turning the handle, ready to throw it open!

“Conrad Junior.” Standing on the other side was another assistant, arms crossed and blocking his escape. It was as if he had been waiting for him. The first assistant closed in from behind, placing a heavy hand on Junior’s shoulder.

“I… uh,” Junior stammered, searching for any excuse. The assistants’ expressions were grim, and fear gripped him; he didn’t want to lose the use of his other leg.

“Mr. Green has requested you,” one of them said.

Junior nodded dumbly, allowing himself to be led by the first assistant. The door to the loading dock swung shut behind him, and the second thug remained there, watching him with piercing eyes until the door clicked closed, sealing his escape.

Once they were back in the main hotel Junior followed the assistant wordlessly, his mind racing. 

Instead of heading to the elevator that led to the VIP box, the assistant opened the door leading directly to the ground floor of the arena. The match in progress was brutal: Gorilla was relentlessly pounding Dart, the melee Ink Fighter whom Junior had easily defeated just weeks ago. The crowd was throwing popcorn at the ring, and Gorilla’s animalistic roars echoed over the crashing of her massive fists against the cage floor.

Mr. Green sat in the front row, where spectators had to crane their necks to watch the fights. He turned and spotted Junior.  “There you are! Come and sit beside me,” Mr. Green called, patting the folding chair next to him.

Junior slid into the seat, careful to keep his injured leg stretched out in front of him to avoid jarring it. He couldn’t help but notice how close they were to the cage, in the midst of wealthy patrons wrapped in fur coats, their masked faces tilted eagerly toward the violence. The seat next to the hotel owner was empty; his mother was nowhere to be seen. A massive slam from the ring made the row tremble.

“She’s pretty fierce, huh?” Hayden’s voice was even, but his eyes held a new, unsettling coldness when they met Junior’s.

“Yeah.” Junior swallowed, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

The fight wore on, and Junior kept his gaze fixed on it, desperate to avoid making conversation with Mr. Green. Dart stumbled closer to their side of the ring, and Junior noticed something: a bandage wrapped tightly around Dart’s ankle. The fighter stepped gingerly on that foot, clearly favoring his other leg. Frowning, Junior turned his gaze toward the curtain entrance for the fighters. There, leaning against the wall, was Surge. A fresh wound, crudely stitched, ran from his ear to his mouth.

Junior slumped back in his chair. He couldn’t believe he had missed it before: the scars, the bandages, the casts—signs of breaks, fractures, and permanent injuries. Everyone in the league bore these marks in one form or another. His mother had been right. How was everyone okay with this?

Gorilla ended the match with a signature move. As Junior watched her launch herself high into the air and crash onto Dart, he winced at the sickening impact. The crowd roared with approval, but Junior couldn’t bring himself to cheer. He hung his head, feeling a wave of nausea as the medics carried Dart away on a stretcher.

Through the crowd’s uproar, the announcer tapped on his mic, which dangled from a wire at the center of the ring. The sound echoed, commanding attention.

“Don’t jump from your seats just yet, folks! We have a special announcement from the great man himself—MR. HAYDEN GREEN!”

“Excuse me, kid.” Mr. Green stood, adjusting his dark jacket as he stepped around Junior. With a practiced grace, he ascended the steps into the cage. The crowd’s applause shifted—less raucous than for the fighters, more reverent, reserved for someone they truly respected.

Mr. Green raised a gloved hand for silence, and the arena hushed almost immediately. Goosebumps prickled Junior’s skin.

“Thank you! Thank you! How about that fight tonight? Wasn’t Gorilla amazing?” Mr. Green called out, and Gorilla flexed her powerful arms. The crowd erupted, then quieted again at Mr. Green’s command, as though he were conducting an orchestra.

“I have a big announcement, but before I do, I want to give a special shout-out to one of our esteemed fighters—FIREFLY!”

Mr. Green pointed out of the cage to where Junior was sitting. Junior went rigid.

“Now, I know he's had some losses recently and a bad injury, but despite all that, he's still a fan favorite,” Mr. Green said, his eyes locking onto Junior's. “So we wanted to give him one last chance. What do you say, kid? You ready to keep your legacy alive?”

Junior felt the eyes of the crowd and the weight of anticipation pressing down on him. Mr. Green was watching him intently, his face shadowed within the cage. Junior could say what the hotel owner wanted to hear, jump back into the fights, and maybe climb through the ranks again. Maybe Mr. Green would forgive him, and they could pretend the whole incident never happened.

But the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t shake the image of Mr. Green’s menacing face in the hospital room or his mother’s warning. Junior stood shakily, gripping the chair for support. He just needed to find the right words to make everything okay.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement. The door he had come through earlier opened, and a man stood in the shadows. It was his father, looking at him not with disappointment but with something else—defiance.

Suddenly, Junior’s legs began to itch, and then a fire grew around him. Smoke swirled, and fury engulfed him, igniting the fire on his feet. Before he knew what he was saying, he turned toward the hotel owner.

“Kiss my ass, Green.”

The crowd went silent, a shocked gasp rippling around the arena. Even from where he stood, Junior could see Mr. Green’s brow furrow, anger darkening his eyes. But then Mr. Green began to laugh.

“Isn’t he a fiery one?” Mr. Green said, easing the tension in the room. The crowd began to laugh too, thinking it was all part of the show.

“Well, on that note, here’s the announcement you’ve all been waiting for. Gorilla here has been champion for a long time, but I think Firefly has what it takes to try and take her down. In one week, Firefly will be taking on Gorilla for the championship title!”

Junior’s fire extinguished in an instant.

The onlookers erupted with approval, clapping and cheering. Gorilla ran around the ring, hyping up the crowd even further. It had been a long time since she’d faced a new challenger, and now Junior was going to be her next opponent.

Mr. Green never looked away from Junior, his eyes locked on him the entire time.

“Make sure you come and watch him fight tomorrow night as well! He’s always sending up sparks!” The hotel owner’s smirk cut through Junior like a knife.

It was a nail in the coffin. His own words had trapped him into a battle he knew he couldn’t win. Onlookers around him patted him on the back, shouting both encouragement and taunts. Junior did his best to stay upright, feeling like the ground was slipping from beneath him. Mr. Green’s laughter echoed in his ears. 

___________________________________________________

All of the hotel exits were closely guarded. Security had doubled, even at the staff doors in the back. Junior knew then that any hope he had of escaping was crushed.

There was no escape.

He went to bed restless, dreading every voice he heard outside his door. As he tossed and turned, he wondered bitterly if his mother had told Mr. Green about their earlier conversation. Worst of all, he still couldn’t find his dad. After the shocking announcement, Junior had tried to follow his father, but he was gone—vanished into thin air. Morning arrived too soon, and tonight he had a fight, but his thoughts were consumed with the one a week away against Gorilla. Just thinking about it sent a shiver through him.

His leg hadn’t healed enough, but there was no avoiding the upcoming match. Junior was being watched all day by one of Mr. Green’s assistants, who followed him around without even trying to be subtle. If he refused to fight, he knew he’d be dragged there by force. He might as well drag himself there on his own terms.

He needed to stay focused on tonight’s fight—and he had to find his dad. He was already regretting his outburst in front of Mr. Green. His big mouth always got him into trouble.

As the day wore on and he couldn’t find an escape or his father, he finally gave up on looking and focused on preparing for the fight. He spent the afternoon with the nurse, trying to find a way to deal with the stiff cast around his leg. Even after cutting it down, it still felt cumbersome and restrictive.

“Take this off,” Junior groaned, slumping back in pain. “I need to be able to move.”

The bulky cast was removed, and his leg was now braced only with small wooden planks and bandages. It was an ugly fix, but it allowed him to move around on his left leg more easily since he no longer had to drag the heavy cast. However, he still couldn’t put any weight on his right leg, and the pain was much worse without the protection of the cast.

On his way to the match, he had to stop every few feet to lean against the wall, his vision swimming from the effort and pain.

He had been so busy thinking about his upcoming fight with Gorilla and worrying about his limited mobility that he hadn’t even considered who tonight’s opponent would be. As he hobbled toward the curtain, leaning heavily on the wall, he wondered who would be waiting for him on the other side.

“If it’s Slingshot, I bet I can still beat him within two rounds,” Junior thought, feeling a bit more confident as he got closer to the ring. His leg still ached, but the adrenaline was starting to kick in.

The usual opening music and show began on the other side of the curtain, and the fog machine pumped out an extra-thick cloud, making him cough a little.

“Stoke those flames, people! It’s the up-and-coming FIREFLYYYYY!” the announcer roared.  

Firefly stepped through the curtain, engulfed in smoke. He tried not to cough and forced a fake smile, hopping into the ring as smoothly as he could while minimizing any use of his right leg. He had to be careful not to give away that it was a weak spot—any trained fighter would immediately target it.

“Tonight, we have a very special opponent! A newcomer to the league…”

Firefly’s eyes went wide.

“Gnash those teeth, folks! It’s BONE BITERRRR!”

His friend leapt into the ring with a wild howl, crawling up and down the chain-link walls of the cage with an animalistic energy. The crowd roared with excitement.

“Bone!” Firefly let out a sigh of relief, hobbling to the center of the ring. “I’m glad to see you.”

But when Bone turned to face him, there was no sign of their usual playful rivalry—only a cold, ruthless expression. Bone smiled, baring his sharp teeth.

“Get ready to meet the mat!” Bone Biter snarled, lunging at him with his jaws snapping.

“Take it easy, man.” Firefly tried to stay calm, gesturing to his braced leg with a nod. “Let’s just make this a good show.”

“Oh, it’s going to be a show, alright!” Bone’s eyes gleamed under the hypnotic influence of the karmastry lights. “You can’t fool me.”

The two fighters touched gloves, and Firefly, still confused, struggled to hobble back to his side of the ring. He glanced up at the VIP booth and saw a lone figure standing there, silver cane glinting beside him.

The bell rang, signaling the start of the first round.

“Dance circles around him, kid!” his coach shouted, oblivious to the fact that Firefly couldn’t even put pressure on his right leg.

Firefly knew he had to stay defensive. Carefully, he sidestepped, dragging his right leg behind him and using the cage wall for support as best he could. Across from him, Bone Biter was gathering energy into his sigils, his fingers transforming into razor-sharp claws.

The ring felt too small, and Firefly knew he couldn’t keep his distance for long. Bone began circling, clearly enjoying how his prey struggled to move.

“Stay back, Bone!” Firefly called, leaning against the cage for balance. He managed to lift his left leg and send a weak fireball toward his opponent.

Bone easily dodged the attack and lunged forward. Firefly threw himself sideways, landing hard on his back. Bone Biter changed direction and lunged again. Firefly twisted his hips, managing to kick Bone in the face just as he pounced, knocking Bone into the cage wall.

Firefly pushed himself backward, now stranded in the center of the ring, too far from the cage to use it for support. Bone recovered quickly, rubbing the burn mark on his face.

“You little bug!” Bone spat, his eyes burning with rage. “You think you’re so good, even with a bum leg?”

Firefly struggled, trying to backpedal toward the cage. Bone was closing in on him.

“I’ve been watching you,” Bone sneered, lunging once more. “I know you’re useless in close combat!”

“NO!” Firefly yelled, attempting to use his left leg for another fiery attack. But Bone was too fast; he ducked under the blast, grabbed Firefly’s right leg, and tore at the makeshift braces.

“I know this is just a trick! You’re not even hurt!” Bone pulled harder, his claws digging into the injured limb as he lifted it and slammed it down onto the mat, right where the bone had broken.

“AAAGH!” Firefly screamed, curling into a ball as agony ripped through his leg.

Bone let go instantly, the reality of what he’d done flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry!” Bone jumped back, eyes wide with the sudden realization that the injury had been real. “I—”

Bone backed away, horrified, as the referee knelt beside Firefly, slamming his hand down on the mat.

“5… 6… 7… 8!” The ref counted, but the pain was unbearable. Firefly couldn't do anything but curl tighter into himself, wishing he had never set foot in a fighting ring.

“Junior?” Bone's voice wavered with shock and regret. He glanced desperately up at the VIP booth, then back at his injured friend lying limp on the mat.

“9… 10! FIRST ROUND KNOCKOUT!”

The ref blew his whistle, and the cage was suddenly swarming with people. Firefly's coach stormed in, a whirlwind of shouting and frustration, while the crowd roared for more violence. Medics scrambled to reach Firefly, prying at his leg as he clenched it protectively. Everything around him felt cramped and suffocating, and his vision spun as the pain surged through his body.

“Junior!” Bone Biter forced his way past the medics, crouching down beside him, his mouth close to Firefly’s ear, his voice trembling with guilt and panic. Tears streamed down Bone's face.

“Mr. Green told me to do it!” Bone whispered desperately, his words spilling out in a rush. “Gorilla is going to kill you during your match. I heard him say it… make it look like an accident. You have to—”

Before Bone could finish, he was yanked away by the crowd, and Firefly lost sight of him. The chaos swirled around him, people holding him down as his vision grew darker. His left leg twitched involuntarily, sending up small puffs of smoke from his sigils. Someone was speaking to him, but he couldn’t make out the words. Was it Bone?

“Bone?” he murmured weakly, but only darkness answered.

When he came to, he was alone in a hospital bed, his leg encased in thick white bandages. The room was dimly lit, the shadows stretching long in the silence. He could only feel the dull, throbbing ache in his broken leg, his heartbeat pounding in time with the pain.

Bone’s warning echoed through his mind, each word hammering home the reality of his situation. He needed to find his father. If he didn’t, he feared that after his next fight, he would leave the arena in a body bag.

Junior's chest tightened. The walls of the hotel felt closer than ever, as if the arena cage had swallowed him whole, trapping him for good. There was no escaping the HHH hotel.