Although Coop wouldn’t say he was anywhere near fully healed, it’d have to do. Ramirez awaited him in that arena, a trial by fire for the relative rookie, and a test for Coop’s will. More humans battling in the league at this level made it easier for him to exist in this space.

“One minute,” a flaxian called into the ready room.

Coop knew it was coming and what to expect of his foe, but the other end of the bracket still loomed on the horizon, heavy and suffocating. Winning these next two fights meant a chance at redemption. Another shot at Kriger, that bastard. If it wasn’t Coop, the next best thing would be Ramirez, although he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. Sam mulled about, arms crossed and shoulders tense, like always. It wasn’t difficult to see the impact these fights had on her, even though she put on a strong face.

“Don’t worry.” Coop placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze, watching the red light above the door. “I’ll be okay. You don’t have to always worry like this.”

“I know you will,” she said. “Okay?”

“Yeah, you’re just tense. Shit, you’re more tense than I am.”

“This never gets easier,” she admitted. “Never thought how multiple times in one night would feel. It’s... compounded.”

“I’m ready for this. We know how Ramirez fights. There're no surprises out there.”

“Right. Sorry, I’m just not feeling great is all. My stomach is off.”

“Just take care of yourself in here. Relax, okay?” With as much tenderness as a man carrying an exploding barbed wire bat could, he pulled her in close. “No matter what, we’re good. This here? It’s important to me, but it’s just work. Before I met you I...”

“You what?”

“There wasn’t anything else. This wasn’t work, this was life. If I failed out there, my life was meaningless. That’s not how I see it anymore, Sam.”

That was the first time he’d verbalized those thoughts, another new shade of gray hidden within his chaotic mind. She embraced him tighter while the klaxon blared, the light blinking from red to green, prompting the parting of the mighty doors. Ramirez awaited him across the arena, a proud approximation of what Coop was when he started out. Brash, angry and eager to prove himself as the baddest man in the galaxy.

Sam and Coop’s bodies parted, her touch and scent lingering behind while he stole glances back at her, purple hair dangling over her eyes and that mischievous look that broke through the deep sadness she wore. The crowd’s roars were welcomed and set his mind at the task at hand, turning from his beloved to his opponent, chain wrapped around his wrist and a deadpan expression.

Both men stood, shoulders squared to each other, weapon of choice in hand, ready to pounce. There was a breathless moment between the two, a knowing nod, and release of tension when the announcer commenced with the formalities and the bell rang.

They didn’t need to utter a single word, it all being done backstage before the fight, instead they leaped into action. Coop knew Ramirez wanted to put on a show, but three fights in a row demanded a different pacing. Ramirez wound up with the chain, whipping it around his wrist at his side, Coop taking aim at Ramirez’s hand. The kick was on target, but his opponent was ready for it, snapping the hand back just enough for his boot to go wide and for the chain to wrap around his ankle.

A sudden jerk sent Coop to the ground in a heap, Ramirez whipping the chain free and chuckling from up above. Like the rookie entertainer he was, Ramirez turned his back to Coop, appealing to the bloodthirsty crowd who ate it all up. On instinct alone, Coop dashed up to his feet and almost smashed the bat across Ramirez’s head, holding back and instead cracking it across his shoulders with a thud and a boom.

This was for real and being an entertainer wasn’t the most important part, especially not for these crowds who hungered for blood and destruction. Ramirez tensed up, arching his back while the barbs tore into his leather vest and bit into the flesh. The vest itself allowed a layer of protection, albeit not enough. Coop tugged it free. The barbs kissed with his blood pulling free from his flesh and fabric. Anger painting his face, Ramirez turned to Coop and shook his head.

“C’mon, motherfucker! That the best you got?” Ramirez smashed his knuckles against his jaw and begged Coop to smack him. “Show me what you got.”

Without hesitation this time, Coop swung the bat with all his might, the charged electrified bat cracking across Ramirez’s jaw, barbs sinking into his flesh and the explosion obscuring his face and hair into a smoky, charred mess. Ramirez hit the ground hard, face planted in the dirt with smoke rising from his motionless body.

A hush came over the crowd, half expecting Ramirez to stagger back to his feet and fight back, Coop himself knowing he was done. Ramirez’s hand reached out for the chain, finger-by-finger attempting to grip it, fighting through the pain, Coop stomping on his hand, then planting a kick to his ribs.

“Stay down,” Coop whispered. “Just stay down, it’s over.”

“Didn’t... think you’d do it,” Ramirez panted, picking his bloody, charred face up off the ground. “Didn’t... think you had it in you...”

“Never underestimate your opponent, Ramirez. This is a cut throat business.”

“My face... how... bad is it?”

“Regen tank will take care of that.” He stood up tall and raised his hand high, the crowd roaring at the victory.