A Tainted Reputation

During a show, the arena was a place filled with activity as the crowds of cheering, jeering fans made noise that echoed around the building, the stamping of feet and clapping of hands felt as much as heard. It was a very different place when the fights were concluded and the crowds vacated the rows of seating becoming a vast, empty cavern of echoing sounds and long shadows. It was during these hours that the corridors were the domain of the cleaning staff, moving through the empty rows collecting the debris of empty cartons and discarded food, polishing and wiping and sweeping as they went. It was a largely thankless job, but it paid and there was always a need for more cleaners, so there were plenty of bodies to fill the unflattering suits.

It hadn't taken much effort for Jackie to find out who had recently started working a part-time job there to cover their debts. The harder part had been convincing one of the cleaners to part with his keys for a few hours, but after a few drinks (seriously, that stipulation was probably the best idea she'd ever had) and a solemn promise that she was only doing it to surprise her boyfriend for his birthday, and she'd totally leave the keys with him to pass back when they switched shifts. They jangled in her hands as she unlocked one of the rear doors and quietly slipped inside the building, keeping the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up over her head. There were cameras dotted around that kept a vigilant eye over the place, but Jackie had managed to get the cleaning schedule out of the kind donator of the keys, and she knew one place where there wouldn't be any cameras to trouble her. Moving carefully through the corridors, she reached the doors to the East Wing women's toilets, and unlocked them with a click, slipping inside into the darkness beyond. She didn't aim to turn the lights on - she used the small pocket torch she'd brought along to check the room was empty, before locking the door behind her. She glanced at her watch, seeing the time was drawing close to 6am, when the victim she was waiting for would arrive to clean the toilets. She checked she'd brought everything she needed in her bag, then stepped into the nearest stall and clicked the torch off, letting the darkness envelop her.

The lengths she went to sometimes...

The first week had been a little rough, but Army was starting to get used to this janitor job. For one thing, the Japanese kept things cleaner than the venues back home. Tidier. Better supplies. More automated bathrooms. Squeakier. Less trash to collect, less stuff to do. And that's where the worst part came in: the tedium. The soul-crushing ennui. For the most part, his night consisted of going from point A to point B and cleaning everything in between. Boring. No frills.

Thank God for iPopds.

"L’ Via...no dejes de descansar..." He made his way through the halls with a cart in front of him and buds in his ear, humming along to the Mars Volta as he went. A little loud music to help take his mind of the creepy quiet in this place, so dank and so empty that even the tiny speakers seemed to echo around the whole building. At night, the place felt more like a tomb. Long, shadow covering everything. Cracks as the building settled. The whistle of wind through the rafters. All coming together in a way that made you feel so utterly, painfully alone.

Army just shook it off and kept moving. A couple of hours to go in his shift, and he still had plenty of ground to cover. What better way to start than No Man's Land?

He made his way into the women's bathroom and flicked the switch on, then brought his cart inside. Already looking damn clean, damn fine. Just a little scrubbing around the toilets, and it'd all be fine. Give the floor a nice moping.

He turned up the volume, brought out the bucket and started to mix a few chemicals around. Always had to mop the floors extra hard. Given the AFW's target audience, there was no telling what could be encrusted on the tiles.

The lights flickered to life, the sound of squeaking wheels rattling on floor tiles and the chemical scent of cleaning products reaching Jackie in her hiding spot. Beneath the clattering of the cart she could hear a voice sing softly to itself, a voice she recognized, and a smile crept over her lips. Her hand reached into her bag, slow and careful to avoid making any noise as her fingers felt around until they found the lightweight camera she was looking for. It was small, and set on a flexible grip-mount to allow it to be perched on narrow ledges, and she slowly lifted it up to the top of the cubicle's wall, settling it on top as she adjusted the grip to keep it un place, angled slightly down so it could clearly see down into the majority of space within the bathroom. With that in place, she pressed the button to start it up, and reached into the bag for the next item. Show time.

Reeling a foot back, Jackie slammed a kick into the door of the cubicle, slamming it open loudly. She didn't attempt to exit through there though - that was to draw Army's attention. Instead, Jackie dropped low and slid beneath the gap between the floor and the bottom of the cubicle wall, rolling to her feet as she took in her surroundings swiftly.

"Morning arsewipe," she said with a mockingly cheerful tone, sending a second kick into the cleaning cart, intending to send it barrelling into Armando.

Army came close to straight jumping out of his skin the moment the door flung open, hitting him the back and making him stagger forward. The cart crashed into him in the next second, and he saw the flash of movement, some darting out of the stall. He figured it was just some stupid fan that tried to hide out in the bathroom, looking to sneak in - security warning him that happened every now and then. Didn't figure it would go down on the first week, but...

Then he heard the voice. That voice.

"Fucking-" He didn't know why she was here and he really didn't care all that much. Whatever it was, chance were that it involved screwing him over. It was like fucking with him was her only hobby in the world.

He wasn't dressed to fight, just wearing his dark grey janitor jumpsuit, but fuck it, it would do. He knocked the cart aside took a big step forward, swing his leg and trying to kick her like a football. Not the American kind, a regular one.

Jackie cackled as she saw the expression on Armando's face - from shock, to alarmed panic, to bitter hatred, it made having to crawl out of bed early worthwhile all by itself. The cart rolled aside as Army went for her, swinging a kick at her like he was taking a penalty shot, but she easily slipped passed it, pulling out the nightstick she'd shoved down the back of her pants as she slid around the raging Puerto Rican. She swung it out as she passed, swatting him across the ass almost playfully.

"What, no hello? I'm hurt, and with me coming here early just to see you," she purred, taunting the big guy as she circled around him, the nightstick held loosely in one hand, "How're you healing up? You're looking a little stiff still, feeling a bit tight around the chest maybe? Like the new look by the way, very you."

Army couldn't keep up with Jack's speed when he was in the best of shape, and he really wasn't at the moment. His body still ached from the last time they met. Little creaks and spasms as he moved. It wasn't so bad as long as he didn't move around too much, but there was no way he'd ever beat Jack like that.

Still, this was a small space, not too many places for her to hide, and he was still strong enough to throw a solid punch. Maybe...

His thought was cut off as he felt the dull thwack in his ass. She had a weapon. Of course she had a weapon. "Fuck off!" He turned around and swung wide, trying to clobber her with a right cross to the chest. Weapon or not, he wasn't backing down. Not from her. Never from her. "Why the fuck are you even here?"

It was so delightfully easy to get the big lummox mad - a few words, a little tap on the rear, and he was already hurling those big heavyweight shots that they both knew were never going to catch up to her. The nightstick flicked out as the Irish woman brought it smacking into Army's first, cracking off the knuckles as she swatted the blow back, though the impact knocked the weapon around far enough to almost wrench it out of her grasp.

"Didn't I say? I'm here for you, Armando," she purred the words, though they came across less as a playful minx and more the throaty growl of a hunting cat, "I'm here because I want something from you, and I'm going to take it. Now, you can try and resist if you like, but we both know how that will end," she grinned as she spun the nightstick idly in one hand, "I'll put you back in the hospital without a second thought, and I doubt you can afford to cover the bill a second time - not without having to turn to your dear sister anyway."

The cruel grin still playing on her lips, she lifted her free hand to the zipper on the front of her hooded top, pulling it down slowly to reveal that beneath it, her upper body was bare, save for a silken red bikini top. Her toned abdomen was uncovered as the zipper completely unsealed, her eyes glinting as she looked at Armando expectantly. "Get on your knees," she said, a clear and simple command, adding after it, "Unless you'd prefer I beat you down onto them?"

Army grunted at the blow smacked off her fist, numbed it down to the bone, and he staggered back to grasp it, fully expecting her to be on him in the next second. That was how Jack operated. Relentless. Ruthless. He was already wincing, expecting the pain.

But that wasn't what happened. He wasn't sure if what did happen was better or worse.

Her bared body got two immediate reactions from him - one on his face, with a stunned reaction, and the other in a far more private place. Army didn't remember everything from the night they first met, but he remembered her body, the way she'd put it on display and reeled him in with it. Tight. Taut. She was so batshit insane that it was easy to forget how sexy Jack was. Small, yeah. But every inch of her was 100% woman.

What came out of her mouth made his jaw drop even more, but he snapped it shut after the moment passed. Was she serious? She couldn't be. This was another of her mindfucks, getting in his head. There was no way she really expected him to just do...whatever the hell crazy shit she was going for. A part of him hesitated, a part of him wanted to do it. He'd done similar things with Ro. They had their games. But Jack? She wasn't playing.

"You're out of your goddamn mind, bitch." Army reached to the side and grabbed his mop, swinging out like he could get a homerun on her head with it. She had weapons, he had weapons. No way he'd make it easy for her.

As the mop came swinging at her, Jackie ducked beneath it to let the soaking head slap against the wall, her smirk unchanged as she lunged forward. The nightstick snaked out, a shot across the abdomen, going for the spots she'd worked over in their previous match. She didn't put her all into the swing - the point wasn't to break her toy, it was to act as a reminder that he was hurting, and she could make him hurt a whole lot more if she so desired. The blow delivered, she slipped right on past, shrugging off the top entirely as she went. The hoodie fell away to reveal her bared back, glancing over her shoulder at him as she laughed tauntingly, tapping the nightstick against her chin.

"You sure you want to do this the hard way? We both know I'm going to get what I want either way, so why fight it? I mean, it's not hard to see that you want it too..." she winked, her tongue flicking out to run around the tip of her weapon suggestively.

Army swung out and hit nothing, missing Jack all the way. Of course. Life was just fucked up like that wasn't it?

He couldn't even hold on to it for long, she sent out a pinpoint blow to his abs, hitting on a spot that was still achingly tender. He dropped the mop and braced her arm against the wall, needing to do it so he could stay standing. "Damn it..." He grabbed his stomach and hissed as the pain flared.

What hurt worse, though, was knowing how right she was. On his best day, he would be doing good to touch her even once. He didn't stand a chance, here. If she was serious, she could put him back in the hospital for a long, long time. And she was right. He couldn't afford. Carmen couldn't, either. She was trying to get her boxing gym set up, raising money on the side. It wasn't what either of them needed.

He was tired of hurting, tired of being in hospitals, tired of getting knocked around. And God, was she so hot.

Army gritted his teeth hard and dropped, falling down to his knees on the hard, tiled floor. He didn't look up at her. Couldn't. "Crazy fucking bitch."