A Dark Night in Saito.

Only five minutes in, and already this place was put under Christie’s list.

Rotten would be too good a word to describe a washed up old club like Saito. The building looked old, and worn down with its better years practically a decade behind it. The busted up, but bright neon sign in the window was one of the only pieces of light could be seen on such a desolate back alley street. The heavy rain that soaked the streets only made Saito that much grungier, as the wet droplets of water rolled down its concrete infrastructure and poorly spray painted walls. Just looking at the place and even the stupidest tourists could tell it was not a place smart people without a plan would ever visit. The air of hostility clung to the building like the stench of the overstuffed dumpsters nearby. Broken glasses, bottles, and pieces of wood and furniture were all subtle signs of the violent patrons that visited this club on a constant basis. The small glass shards crunched beneath Christie Myer’s boot as the woman eyed the front of the building from beneath her hood. The constant rain made it difficult to see what exactly was going on inside, thanks in part to the darkened windows in front of the club. She was new to this place, here only to fulfill a challenge after finally recovering from her last bout with the leader of WAR. The truth that the Saito club was in actuality a fight club was a fact given to her by her newest “partners” at work. Just walking in and making a ruckus was a great way for something lethal to go down.

Without any decent information on the place, the smart thing to do would be to simply turn around and leave. Who knows what maniacs lurked inside that club? What armed or violent people sat inside, looking to be entertained by the night's fights or to participate in the brutality?

But if Christie had been concerned about any of that, she never would have come this far. There was no way she would back down from a challenge. Her ego and pride wouldn’t allow it! But that didn’t mean she had to play stupid. Sometimes a little discretion could pay off in the long run, and since this was a place that Abattoir found comfortable enough to use as their fighting spot she probably was already familiar with the layout of the place. No point in being caught unaware.

After adjusting her hood, Christie stepped inside the Saito Club.

The first thing that hit her was the smell. Hot air, dust, alcohol, and the faint smell of cleaning supplies. This place had been closed up tight for sometime, probably hadn’t opened a window in all the years it had been in business. The lighting was awful, with one out of every three bulbs broken or otherwise dim to the point of being useless. The entire room was cast in an ugly shadow. Only a few booths and a table remained on the main floor, a pair of drunks drinking their days away as the heat from the room made the poor smells even worse. The only person with halfway decent clothes was a single man behind the counter. Presumably a bartender at first glance, though he seemed far more interested in the book he was reading rather than cleaning any glasses or serving any drinks. The entire floor looked like a restaurant that had already been shut down for months. And yet, there was a distinct thumping noise one could hear if they listened carefully.

Clearly, this floor was a front. One couldn't just walk in and find an entire room full of people ready to kill each other in a cage just for the fun out in the open. Such dark deeds were done away from the prying eye, and out of the public's way. Styx was nice enough to inform her about the real club’s location in the building. A door near the back corner of the place, whose handle was chained down by a lock.

Or at least, that was what it seemed. The trick to the lock was that if you knew which part of the chain to tug, the entire thing would come undone! A stupid little trick, but one that only someone who had been here before would know about. Another bit of helpful advice given to Christie by her fearless “leader”. With just one rough tug on the third link of the chain, the entire thing rolled down to the ground like a headless snake. Christie caught the bartender eyeing her, but he quickly went back to his book after she gave him a glance over her shoulder. She’d passed the test with the locked door, no point getting involved further it seemed.

Sweeping the chain away with her foot, the hooded woman opened the door and found a deep set of stairs, the ends of which were swallowed up by shadows. The sound of music thumping and yelling echoed down the corridor as Christie stared down at the deep blackness. This was the last chance to turn away and walk home. As soon as that door shut, there was no doubt in her mind that the bartender would walk right up and replace the chain on the door for whoever else decided to show up. There was probably a separate exit down there, but Christie would have to waid through whoever was down there…

Whatever...Just get this shit over with.

--

The end of the corridor was a world different from the one Christie had just left behind. Excitement and energy crackled through the air as the bright, expensive looking show lights blasted down the center of the room, forcing the crowd to become a black mass of smiles and cheering as the subject of the night's “entertainment” was laid bare to the newcomer. Two men beating the shit out of each other. Not too unexpected from an underground fight club, but what was unexpected was some of the audience this place seemed to have. Just a quick glance and Christie could tell that this wasn’t the usual crowd of losers with nothing better to do and even less to lose. Looking at the way these people dressed, carried themselves, acted...these people seemed important. Even without the bruises, cuts, or bandages, it was easy to tell who was an audience member or a bodyguard and who was just a regular fighter at a glance.

The fight was starting to wrap itself up. One of the fighters lost their footing, and the other capitalized on it. It was a quick ground and pound, and soon there was a loser, a winner, and a lot of blood on the ring floor. Even from the far back of the crowd, Christie could smell the faint coppery smell of the loser’s crimson blood. It was a nasty place, but that was underground fighting in general. No rules, no morals. Just two fighters trying to prove who is stronger.

“Well, that was longer than I think anyone expected! Seems our newcomer had more spunk then first thought, but it looks like Meat Hook’s meaty hook sealed the deal on this fight~ Delicious display of Domination, Darling~”

Christie’s eyes followed the new pair of lights that flicked to life. The bulbs in these lights were a bright red, casting the figure that spoke in an eerie light. The shadows that he casted were darker and much deeper thanks to the choice of light color, but that didn’t mean he was difficult to see. Quite the contrary, it was clear that this was a person who wanted to be the center of attention in any room he might enter. His dark red messy hair seemed to match the lights that were just above his head, making his thick, black framed glasses stick out on his face all the more as the numerous piercing on his ears gently reflected the light to make their presence known. Even from the back, Christie could see the numerous rings and jewelry the man had all over his finger’s an fur jacket, but what stood out the most was just how soft his face looked. This was a person who had never gotten their hands dirty, perfectly happy with delegating such jobs to someone else. At least, that was the impression Christie was getting. Judging by the actual black pedestal he was standing on, he was probably in charge of this place. Or at the very least ran it while the true owner was away.

“We’ll be gathering up some volunteers for our show in just about a half hour! I hope you enjoy the drinks our lovely bartender is serving while our cleaning staff makes the ring spic and span~ Fighters, the sign up sheet is up by my desk~ Let’s not keep our guests, and our paychecks, waiting!”

Christie had to restrain an annoyed grunt from leaving her clenched maw, instead choosing to get a drink, since she had yet to meet up with Styx or Abattoir there was little point in trying to get anything started just yet.

”I don’t like her.”

Abattoir’s words surprised Styx, enough to make her jump as they made their way down the street. She wasn’t an easily startled woman, not too jumpy. There weren’t a whole lot of things that really caught her off guard anymore - she’d been around half of the world, saw more of it in her thirty years than most saw their entire life. There were few surprises. Few shocks. Few angles to come at her from that she couldn’t see coming.

But Abattoir’s voice was the rare exception. Not what she said, but that she said anything at all. While she had trouble getting an idea of the way this woman’s mind worked for the three something years she’d known her, one thing was clear - she wasn’t a conversationalist. If she said anything at all, it was because someone was saying something to her, and even then it wasn’t a guarantee. Styx had grown used to her just doing whatever she told her to - oh, she might sneer every now and then, give her odd looks and muttered curses, but never anything out loud. As long as there was violence to be done, she would join in.

She straightened up fast enough after the original stumble and shoved her hands down into her pockets for some extra exposure. The two of them had enough eyes directed their way already - her, with her bald head, bomber jacket for the weather, and the hardcore championship belt slung over her shoulder, while Abattoir carried on with her usual Grim Reaper look and her death mask. Didn’t need to draw any more attention from nosey passerbys.

”You didn’t like Jessica, either. You don’t like anybody except the voices in your goddamn head.” That wasn’t far off the mark, either - Styx was about 75% sure she’d heard her partner talking to an invisible someone on a few occasions. She waved her off as they swung around a corner, making some dumbass who’d turned too quick their way hurriedly rush to clear a path. ”It’s not about ‘like’, it’s about getting the job done. WAR’s not a social club.”

”I don’t like her and I don’t trust her.” She elevated her voice, speaking loud enough to carry over the din of the crowd, even with the mask muffling her. ”You trusted Jessica enough-”

”Until she left.”

”Until she left.” Abattoir must’ve sensed the venom in Styx’s voice, because she knew not to linger on that topic for too long. ”Christie’s different. She’s unpredictable, isn’t on board with our mission.”

Styx shrugged and looked off to the side, taking note of the street signs as they neared their destination. Nothing Abattoir said was wrong, not exactly. Most of it was stuff that had been rumbling around her own head for the longest time, but those were doubts she had little patience for these days. ”Look, bottom line? We need a third. You got the Dire Pack still out there and hunting, you got the Bullet Club pulling in titles, the Wrongs are doing crazy shit, who the fuck know what else is coming our way.” She ran a hand over her head as she started to feel the nostalgia seeping in. ”This ain’t like when we started out, when we were the only big game in town. Everyone’s making moves. Only a matter of time before they start making moves on us.”

”I am not saying we don’t need help.” Abattoir flashed a quick look at the belt, before she brought her gaze back to Styx, staring at her as much as she could with the taller woman’s focus being straight ahead. ”I’m saying we need help from the right sources, and I’m not wholly convinced she’s anywhere close to that.”

As if on cue, they turned another corner and found themselves looking at Saito, one of Styx’s most famous haunts. The rumbling beneath their feet already told them all they needed to know - things were in full swing.

”Only way to know someone is to fight them, right?” She nodded towards the entrance. ”Here’s your chance.”

***

It had been a while since Styx visited Saito, since her heavy footsteps had echoed down these halls, and she’d almost forgotten how animated the palace could get when it was going at full tilt. The crowd was simmering down as they arrived, still reeling from whatever acts of brutality they’d just witnessed, but you could feel the residual energy of the place. The people muttered about the last fight and discussed the detail, calls were coming out for collecting bets, and the cleanup crew was hard at work getting the bloodstains out of the canvas, at least enough so that the next fighters wouldn’t be slipping all over the place.

It was in this sea of humanity that Styx and Abattoir found their better third, getting a drink at the bar. The server seemed reluctant to move her way for the order, and having them come up beside her didn’t help matters, but she was working herself up to with each passing moment.

”Yo.” Styx sat on the nearest barstool to Christie with the slightest wince, still having some lingering pain from their bout. It wasn’t enough to slow her down anymore, but it wasn’t going away 100% anytime soon. ”Waited long?”

Abattoir, for her part, just hung back with folded arms, looking her future opponent over, assessinging her.

Christie must simply have a knack for scaring people away. Even in an underground den that was essentially a dressed up fighting pit whose sole inhabitants seemed to be hardened fighters and influential or high profile patrons, this bartending bitch still hadn’t even walked over to take Christie’s order! It had been five minutes since Christie had sat down, and while normally that wasn’t enough time to pick at her admittedly short fuse the bartender had served people that arrived after Christie sat down. Christie would catch the woman occasionally giving her a discreet glance, as though Christie would hopefully go away if she stalled long enough, or maybe someone else would serve her. Of course, nothing of the sort happened, and all those side glances the Bartender gave only got her an annoyed expression from the Grave Keeper. Those crimson snake eyes were quickly burning a hole into the Bar Maiden’s back, as Christie slowly but audibly tapped the counter with her finger as she counted every ten seconds that went by. After an additional three or four went by, Christie’s annoyed expression had morphed into a full on snarl!

“Fucks sake! Are you new here or are you always this shit at your job?!”

The Bartender looked over, only to see Christie up and out of her seat! The maniac looked as though she were just about to jump the counter, her hands planted firmly on the wooden finish on the counter that was the only thing separating the bartender from Christie. She must have been fairly new, because the woman didn’t know what to say to the Grave Keeper. She stammered and flubbed her words, perhaps used to getting away with things because of her looks. Clearly, no one had ever called her out on this type of behavior. At least, no one who was as temperamental as Christie seemed to be.

Suddenly, as if born from the Bartender’s silence, two more scary looking women seemed to appear from out of the crowd! The woman behind the counter had hoped they were with security until the taller woman greeted Christie casually and sat down in the seat next to her. It was a funny thing, reinforcements. It made the other guy change their tunes pretty quick, and despite saying nothing at all, the Bartender simply placed a couple of drinks in front of the two women who had sat down and quickly made to help someone else on the farthest side of the counter.

Such a sudden solution did little to fix the burning frustration in Christie’s gut! She’d wanted to go after the girl, teach her some real manners! But Styx had finally showed up, and that was enough of a reminder that there was another fight she had scheduled. No point in getting into another just yet, even if it would have probably been more fun.

“Fucking bitch.” Was the muttered response to Styx’s question. Christie reached over and took the drinks, sliding one of the bottles over to Styx before snapping the top off of her own. The Grave Keeper didn’t say anything else for a while as she dipped her bottle back for a quick swig, only to quickly spit the contents out on the floor like it was poison. One look at the label on the bottle was all she needed to let out another annoyed growl.

“God Damn it! I hate this fake “premium” shit. It’s like someone poured water into a drink that's been in the fridge since last year.”

Almost ten minutes of her life were gone over a drink she didn’t even want. So far, the night was really putting Christie in a bad mood. But with her drink trouble resolved, she could finally focus on Styx, who had seated herself next to Christie while Abattoir did her loner-bit and hung back to watch from the sidelines. The Grave Keeper could see her masked acquaintance in her peripheral vision when she looked at Styx, but intentionally ignored her. At least for the moment.

To be honest, Styx stood out like a sore thumb. She was hard to miss by herself, but with that stupid belt around her shoulder she may as well have had a neon arrow pointing at her at all times. Christie had to bite her tongue in order to stop herself from bringing that stale subject up, Styx already knowing her opinion on the subject. Instead, the Grave Keeper tried to distract herself with the foul taste of her drinking, managing to keep the next swig down now that she was mentally prepared.

“So, I gotta ask...who found this place? I can’t imagine Abattoir being involved with a place like this, but this doesn’t strike me as your scene either. I figure you were the type that would do it in the dirt, out in the woods with a ring made of rope and barbed wire. Hell, you probably don’t even need a ring so long as the check clears!”

A smile crept onto Christie’s face, the woman’s crimson gaze peering at Styx to see if any information could be tugged from that stony expression the champion always seemed to wear.

“Not that that’s a bad thing. But then again, I didn’t think your bitch had the balls to talk, much less set this thing up. Too bad all that shit of hers dried up as soon as she walked through the door. The fuck is she doing, crying over there or something?” The Grave Keeper muttered, finally jerking her head towards the masked woman who was partially covered by the shadows.

There was no positivity in Christie’s eyes as she glared at Abattoir from afar, the same hostile feeling that occurred during their meeting in the medical room already making its way back between the three of them. There was a distrust the two shared for each other, and whether Christie would follow orders or not was still up for debate, the atmosphere between them if left as it was would certainly doom WAR to trouble later down the line. Styx seemed to have realized that from the start, which might have been why she was here now…

It was probably too good a show to miss!

“How’re the ribs and leg? The cuts you gave me are all healed, but now the scars itch all the time. That and my jaw clicks thanks to your fucking tree trunk of a knee.”[/i]