Opus Veda

Imany adjusted to the dark, finding herself handcuffed to a bed frame in a mouldy cellar. She tried moving around, but the frame was bolted to the ground.

A crowd's commotion grew above her.

She hugged her knees and agonised over Kasia's unknown fate. Now Imany herself faced the end she asked a dangerous question: what if she had never fought the system? What if she had emigrated and left England to its deserved squalor? She pictured Trinidad, an island of family, food, music.

Her fear settled.

A giant man stepped inside - the one Imany had fought, who thanks to her bore a bandaged nose.

He brought his fists around, goading her. They were covered in Kasia's blood.

Imany's strength left. She had always done what she thought best for her community. The satisfaction in her captor's eyes told her she had failed.

* * *

Sermon used his old charms to get in, feigning friendliness with the doormen as his emotions raged. He entered the pool complex, and found his squadmates standing uncomfortably by the betting platform. Jostling punters surrounded them.

Sermon wedged through the crowd to join them.

"Any sign?"

"They haven't started yet," Curtis pointed out the podium stand at the pool's head, "Pierce will be behind those barriers there. Don't ask me how I know that."

"I'll deal with him. If Imany's here she takes priority over Kasia," he nodded to Zenia, "know your way round the flats?"

"Well enough. Leave Kasia to me, I'll find her."

"Good. Curtis, take the car and keep drivin' around the block. Watch for us," Sermon adjusted the taser under his jacket, "if Pierce won't play along I'll grab Imany and make a dash for the fire exit."

"You certain it'll work?"

"No, but it's the best chance I've got," he zipped his jacket up, "wish me luck."

The squad dispersed. Sermon pushed through punters towards the north stand. The pool menaced him.

Fight clubs were an infamous and illegal pillar of England's nightlife; a spectacle developed nations laughed morbidly at; a primitive and unethical tradition likened to Castilian bull fights and Japanese Geisha.

But those traditions ended.

In the ruins of Great Britain one barbarism lived on, popping up under the sleepy eye of the law. It was an open secret, accepted by everyone, and everyone pretended it happened far away from them, involving no one they knew.

This arena lived under a disused gym, in a drained pool surfaced with grit. Reflective mesh glass screened the edge, enabling live audiences to look in without being seen. Stadium seats bristled with them, many covering themselves with facemasks, though fight clubs earned their reputation for anonymity. Security guards dotted the entryways, showing no sign of revolution allegiance. The changing rooms were converted into a pub and bookies.

The air roared with excitement.

Sermon tripped and fell against the barrier. He had reached the north stand - a well guarded block partitioned from the rest. A VIP area; Sermon glimpsed escorts playing and flirting with guests.

Pierce sat with them, bruised and covered in plasters. An escort with short blonde hair sat on his knee and poked his nose, pretending to tell him off. Pierce looked stern as ever, though slightly giving away his enjoyment.

"Sarnt!" Sermon tried to get in; a security guard held him back, "let me through you cunt I'm the same fuckin' rank as you!"

"No without uniform you're not," the guard sneered, "off you trot look."

"Sergeant Major!"

The escort noticed him, pinched Pierce's ear, and floated off to another VIP. Pierce waded over to Sermon sneering, and pulled him under the stadium seats out of sight. He roared over the crowd.

"Guardsman Mkenda!? How dare you break rank in a place this sensitive!"

"It's your new fighter Sarnt! The Caribbean woman!"

"What of it!? You aren't assigned to this base guardsman! Do not tell me you're here for her!"

"She's family Sarnt you have to get her out! Right now!"

"You do not give orders someone above you guardsman!"

"She's family!" Sermon's voice broke, too fragile to beat the punters around him.

"I know who she is! A lone old woman from your shit-hole estate and I swear to god, if you didn't have your rank you'd be in that pit too for the stunt you pulled!"

"What the hell do you mean!?"

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"You will address me as Sarnt!" Pierce bellowed so loud it knocked Sermon backwards. Heads turned. He leant into Sermon's ear.

"You and your little gang, turning up on the doorstep of our backer; blackmailing her while her children waited outside, one of whom your former squadmate attacked."

"What do you mean... like fuck is Ms Hogarth a backer-"

"Anyone could be a revolution supporter!" Pierce gestured to the crowds in the stadium, "anyone! That was your first fucking message from us. One of many reasons we don't attack civilians and a civilian she was, and a backer she is."

Sermon's lip wobbled. He had nothing to fight with. Pierce grabbed his shoulder.

"Consider yourself lucky I spoke for you boy, she wanted all three of you dealt with. As for your so-called family... someone's head has to roll for this guardsman. Since the police wouldn't help, she turned to us, and we keep our donors happy. Victory depends on it."

Sermon clutched his temples and winced. Imany had followed him and Kasia to Ali's house, and for helping was about to shoulder every ounce of their guilt.

Pierce shook him.

"Sermon! You're a good lad, your heart's in the right place. I know Luca's death hit you hard. But we are your family now. If we pull through we can end all this suffering for generations! It will ask difficult things of us boy!"

The crowd picked up. Pierce faced the pit and nodded, "and those things must be done. There is no choice. Now go on son, get out of here. Don't watch."

Sermon shook himself from his stupor.

"Let me in instead of her, I'll put on a better show-"

"You've done enough Mkenda. Security!"

Guards hooked Sermon's arms and carried him off. He protested to Pierce's back, and caught the escort girl watching, he thought, with sadness.

The noise crescendoed. Sermon stretched over his shoulder and cried out.

It was Imany, wearing the face of an animal sent to slaughter. She ran to the pit's side and tried scrabbling up the wall. Punters laughed. The other fighter strutted around, arms open.

The sight distracted Sermon's guards. He wriggled away and pushed through the crowd. The pit entrance was at the pool's south. He had to get there, get Imany, and fight his way out. He slammed his fists against the barrier, calling Imany's name, but his voice had gone.

The combatant - a bald woman with a face ravaged by addiction - entered a boxing stance. She jabbed her left to range Imany in. All Imany could do was stumble back, overwhelmed by shock. The audience hammered the barriers, furious at her for dithering.

Another jab flew bold, clipping her chin. Imany swung a hook around but her opponent anticipated it and kicked her flank. She clutched her side and fell back. The bald woman leapt through the air, wrapped her leg around Imany's neck, and flipped her into the ground. Locked in a bar Imany choked. Gravel scraped her skin. Sour body odour stung her nose. Seconds ran out.

Imany knew how fight clubs worked. No one was meant to die, but audiences only kept coming back if they saw at least one. And so organisers kept the flow of scapegoats running - vagrants, addicts, people paying for debts and mistakes. Imany was a prime candidate tonight.

If she let it happen.

She thought of her mother, her band, her husband, the girls who replaced them, and the society that let every one of them down.

The bald woman shrieked and rolled off. The crowd murmured, looking to each other for answers. Imany stood and gobbed out a chunk of flesh. Her opponent clutched a ripped thigh.

And the crowd cheered.

Imany attacked before her opponent could recover, rotating the woman's arm back until it broke. The woman used her free arm to pull Imany's hair - an act of desperation. It left Imany free to pummel her face. With every punch Imany felt her old self return.

And the crowd loved her for it.

A bell clanged. The fight had gone on too far. Imany ignored it. The night needed its one fatality. She craned the woman's head and cranked it in a semicircle. The woman jolted once, and stiffened.

The crowd fell into a frenzy.

Imany headed for the pit entrance, but the organisers had more for her. Another fighter dropped down, spinning a club in their hand, stepping around the body of their predecessor.

Too startled to fight well.

A minute later they spread like a bloody angel in the gravel. Imany kept marching to the entrance, wielding her new club, preparing to fight her way out.

Sermon was close, but with each punter he wrestled past, with each step he closed in, the fear of losing grew. He cried Imany's name again, hope rising as she neared the pit's entrance.

A third combatant jumped in moving fast. He struck with his club. Imany parried it but was caught surprised. It deflected into her knee. She yelled and crashed down.

Hands caught Sermon and restrained him against the barrier. Security. Sermon begged and banged his head against the glass. His taser dug into his ribs, impossible to draw. With his last strength he called for Imany.

Imany heard her name. A familiar voice.

She was too tired to recognise it.

She swerved another arcing attack and clubbed her opponent's jaw.

Too weak to hurt him.

Again she heard her name. Stadium lights blinded her, save for the single beady black eye of a camera. She staggered around, searching for the voice.

A VIP plucked Esmé's thong. Esmé forced a smile.

"I told you you'll have to wait-"

"Uh, sorry. Aren't you here to entertain us?"

Esmé saw the indignation of an entitled man. She faced him head on.

"I'm off duty right now-"

"Why you lookin' at me like that for!?" he grabbed her elbow, "why such a sulky face?"

"The fighter tonight reminds me of an old friend..."

"Don't watch then!?" he scoffed, "you aren't paid to look miserable love, you're paid to smile for us."

One of Esmé's colleagues recognised trouble and coaxed the man away. Esmé gestured her thanks and returned to the barrier. Imany was on her last legs. Her opponent psyched the crowd up for the final blow. Imany appeared to be searching the audience, and Esmé saw the moment the hope in her eyes became resignation.

Imany dropped her club and turned to meet her opponent. Esmé closed her eyes. Despite the ecstatic roar of the crowd, she heard the final crack ring through the stadium.

* * *

Security dragged Sermon through the car park, one man needed for each limb. Sermon kicked and writhed and spat, babbling incoherently.

"He's here Curtis, I have him, head to the ramp. You!" Zenia hid her phone and flagged security, flashing her cap badge.

"Sergeant Major Pierce wants him. I've never seen the man so pissed off before please don't make him wait," she shot Sermon a look of scorn, "Guardsman Mkenda stand up. You need to pull it together and come with me."

Security released his limbs. Sermon stood to attention, and with all composure marched to the ramp.

The moment they were in the car he fell into tears again. Curtis swore.

"What about Kasia?"

"Couldn't get her, Chef was on me too quick," Zenia took Sermon's taser and loaded it, "he'll be after me any minute. Let's get the hell away from here."

* * *

Kasia lay frozen in the exact position Pierce had left her, worried a single changed detail would make him hurt her more.

Someone came in - knelt by her side and stroked her face.

Esmé. There was no shock in her face; no sympathy. Only a fixed, serious stare.

Kasia knew then Imany was dead.

The power cut out. Esmé wheeled around and placed herself between Kasia and the door. Occult white flashes bleached the night.

And the Veda's siren wailed.