Exiting the Gasthaus, I am once agaied by the - gold paireets of the district. My eyes wander around me, noting the many prisiving me curious looks as I rest a freshly made rapier on my shoulder. I walk doweps and make my way to the other end of the district.

  sidering the size of this district, it only takes a good five minutes until I arrive at a duarded by two heavily cd guards. They immediately bee wary of the oing on my shoulder, but quickly rex ohey notice my leg band and prisoner's clothing.

  I gnce above the guards and read ‘Prison Yard- Gold Entrance’,

  “I haven't seen you around. Are you new here?” one of the two guards asks. He is a rger man with clearly defined muscles and a little bit of stubble on his face.

  “Yup. I arrived about eight ho. I heard there was a fighting arena and I wao test my skills,” I tap my shit-iron rapier lightly.

  The guard frowns. “No, you’ll get yourself killed,”.

  “Now hang on a moment, Fritz” the uard, skinnier and smaller, interrupts with a stroke of his mustache. “We’ve not had a gold-rank fight is ever. I think it would be a fuacle.”

  “Friedrich,” Fritz growls, “the Gold-Blockleiter would not be happy fold-rank to die is.”

  “Bah,” Fritz waves his hand, “The young d seems capable. He’s even brought a on. I say we let him ehe prisoners wouldn't kill a gold-rank uhey waheir insides rearranged.”

  Fritz frowantly at me.

  I sigh. With a fliy wrist, I spin the bde ay hand, up my shoulders, past my neck, and then down to my other arm wherein I grab the cloth covered hilt and take a stance; Bde poiowards the door while my other hand is behind my back fully in reach of a hidden parry dagger.

  “See,” Friedrich says excitedly. “The kid knows his way with a bde. I say we let him in.”

  The guard sighs with a shake of his head. “Fine. Go.”

  Pulling out a key from a pocket in his heavy kevr armor, he unlocks the door and opens it.

  “Try not to die,” he warns.

  I walk through the door, down a hallway, and finally ehe yard.

  _________________________________________________________________

  If you’ve ever been to a bazaar in a third world try, then you would have a very good idea of what the yard looks like. Shanty-made structures lihe streets of the yard, all made with whatever was avaible and on hand. Scrap metal walls, broken furniture, discarded and repurposed clothing and sheets line every structure.

  And just like a bazaar, there are plenty of traders trading their goods. Lining the makeshift stores are wares ranging from ons, armor, and clothing, to simple goods like toothbrushes and paint. At the ter of said stores are mostly silver and bronze ranked men, protected by armed and armored bck ranks.

  Seems like a caste system of sorts.

  “Oy, goldy. Goldy with the poker!”

  I stop walking and turn towards the yelling man. What I find is a rather short, but burly bronze rank standing behind a ter. On the ter and pretty much everywhere around the guy is an assortment of crudely made ons. They look like pieetal bent and banged into the shape of ons. Other than the hammer, everything else is probably pretty useless, if not just extremely ineffit.

  “Wanna ge that poker for a real on,” the man grins while tapping a longsword that probably weighs too much to be wielded effectively.

  I frown, but walk towards the man's stall. With a longer look, I realize that the hammer is actually crap too. Instead of the head beied onto the steel pipe, they actually just ed the head to the pipe with a shit ton of barbed wire. A good dozen hits with the mace would probably have the damn head falling off.

  “Ahhh,” he grins, ”you like the hammer? It's one of my best works. Took awhile to get all the wire, so it ain't cheap. But, I’ll give you a dist if you trade in that poker of yours. Say, eighteen passes.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “I’m guessing passes are the currency. Where would I get some?”

  The grin leaves as fast as it had arrived. “What? You don’t have any passes?”

  I shrug. “I Just arrived in Downside a couple ho.”

  The man tisks in annoyance. “If you don't have passes, the lost.”

  I roll my eyes at the man's mood and walk away. I stroll to the deepest part of the yard, he tral building that rises to the prison ceiling. It is here where the makeshift fighting pits are located, and it is also here where the cameras attached to the tral building are streaming the fights. he pits are even more stalls of hawkers selling their wares, including those who work with bets. It is also here that I find a man wearing a suit and tie created from prisoners' clothing.

  As I approach, the man looks me up and down. He pauses for a moment at the gold band on my leg, and then refocuses on me. “Are you here to fight?”

  “Yup.” I answer.

  He nods. “Good. Do you have anyone in particur, or does it not matter?”

  “The bear, uess bears. Actually, let me just fight all the animals.”

  The man snorts. “You o earn the right to fight Tibber. People don't want to just watch a ma mauled, they want a fight.”

  “Really, Tibber?” I shake my head at the name. “Fine, who's the most badass, stro fighter you've got? If I beat him, then you shouldn't have any qualms about me fighting the bear.”

  “You’re really trying to get yourself killed.” he states.

  “On the trary, I’m trying to improve my ces of survival, and that means making a dead bear as soon as possible.”

  He raises an eyebrow, and then shrugs. “Fi's your funeral.” He points a distance away, deeper into the pits. “Boriss is the reigning champion. You beat him and I’ll let you fight whoever and whatever you want.”

  “Perfect.” I state and make my way in the dire he pointed.

  In said dire, I find myself passing by ever rger and more dangerous looking fighters with ons that are marginally better suited for bat. Still shit, but of a better quality shit; more like a four than a seven. Still shit, though.

  “Oy, whie of you is Boriss?” I call out.

  Everyone goes silent. All eyes turn to me with i and curiosity.

  Then, like a tide, the people part so that I have a good look at a tall bodybuilder with a top tier beard that really enhances his strong jawlihe man puts down the book he is reading, carefully takes off his reading gsses and pces them on the book, then stands up at a t height of six and a half feet, apanied by a width that would make a linebacker jealous.

  “Da, I am Boriss.”

  I smile. “Perfect. I want to fight you.”

  Boriss stares at me curiously.

  I meet his stare with my cocky, fident grin. Unless Boriss has nearly ten thousand years of life(s) experiehen he’s got little to no ce of winning.

  “No.” Boriss finally answers.

  The hters chuckle. One eveo speak up.

  “Sorry kid, but Boriss doesn't like to waste time pummeling weaklings.”

  “No,” Boriss says again, and the chuckles halt.

  Boriss points at me, “He is strong. Very strong.” He nods to himself all the while the hters are growing fused.

  “The kid with the little poker is strong?” one of them asks?

  “Da,” Boriss nods again. “You see eyes. They are eyes like KGB officer. Strong, fident, and smart like rade Soviet Premier.”

  He taps his chest, “I am strong like Russian bear.” He flexes his muscles, “I fight bears and win.” Then he points at me again. “But bear is Suka to him. Da, If we fight, then is like me as little child fighting angry mother. I will lose, and then I ot sit. Is bad, yes?” he looks at the fused fighters for firmation.

  I stare in astonishment.

  “Um, so we ’t fight?”

  “Da, no fight. I not like to lose.”

  “What if I call you a coward?” I ask.

  “Is not work. I am trained KGB spy.” He taps his skull, “KGB officers beat pride like mother spanks rowdy children. Insults do not work.”

  What the fuck am I dealing with?

  I sigh. “Look, I'm kind of in a hurry. I’m trying to fight a bear, and I 't very well do that unless I prove my strength, whivolves fighting the stro fighter, which is you.”

  “No, I am sed now. You are first stro.”

  I roll my eyes, “Right, but Mr. Suit doesn’t share your astounding perspicacity.”

  Boriss eyes sparkle. “Da, then I speak with suit man and expin how you are like angry mother. Then you fight bear and we bee rades. Yes?”

  I open and y mouth several times, and theually nod.

  “Yes. Let's do that.”

  “Da, is good.” he pauses a little, “What is name?”

  “Mi’s Quasi Eludo.”

  He nods, “Da, Is good name, like KGB leader with strong unist mother.”

  I sigh. “e os go talk to the guy. I’ve got a bear, and probably whatever other animals to kill.”