Chain Gang All Stars
: Part 1: Chapter 9

Emily stared into an 8K display lodged in the back of their new Ufridge to watch a show she hated publicly but now watched religiously. With the money her grandma had left her she’d completely synced their apartment appliances, so there was hardly a single device that wasn’t fully U’d. She looked past too-old grapes and saw Rico Muerte squatting like an absurd golfer, wearing a bandana on his head and camouflage cargo pants that tapered at his ankles. He pointed to the upside-down cross tattoo just below his left eye as he crouched. Muerte didn’t have a true primary weapon, let alone a secondary weapon, since he was still just a Rook—or was Muerte a Survivor? Emily wasn’t sure. Muerte was still fresh meat, though. So it was fitting to be watching him there in the fridge. Eww, Emily thought, one of Wil’s jokes, leaking into her mind.

Of all the U-nification, the fridge had been the most ridiculous part. Wil loved it all, had spurred her to use some of her inheritance that way. And though she had trouble watching Chain-Gang All-Stars BattleGrounds, its sister show, LinkLyfe, was a study in humanity that she’d decided any intellectual, socially aware person at least had to peruse. It was part of the cultural conversation; even if she was ambivalent about its ethics, she couldn’t pretend it wasn’t an interesting part of the world and, because of Wil, her life. She watched both programs, but LinkLyfe was the far more interesting bit for Emily. Everything mattered on LinkLyfe.

Each new March started with the Lineup. It was a reminder of who was alive and who wasn’t. It was epic. You could tell how the Links felt, having just watched their Chain-mates’ triumph or death. You could see who it was they hoped to project into the hearts and minds of America and you could see their potential. Like Rico Muerte, the new kid on this powerhouse Chain, who had something of a sense of humor about him. He wasn’t shying away from the enormity of his Chain-mates. He said, I’m here, look at me, I’m not scared, with every move.

Wil had explained over and over the nuance of the opening Lineup. He’d gone back into the archives and he’d teared up showing her an A-Hamm Lineup from four months prior, one following Madam Lulu Watts’s[*1] fall. Each member of A-Hamm had mimed her signature pinky-out drinking from an invisible teacup as the cameras panned through the group. Staxxx still sometimes held up a pinky in memory of her dead sister-in-arms, Emily had noticed.

Now the screen displayed Ice Ice the Elephant, whose solid build and eye for smart armor distribution had kept him alive for the last four bouts. He wore simple construction boots and a gray pair of sweatpants on the road. He also had on a T-shirt and a light jacket that read Mike’s Autobody in letters so small they probably wouldn’t be around too much longer. Ice was growing more and more popular and Mike’s Autobody would be replaced by some larger company soon. The spiked ball of his ball and chain was tucked inside a pouch, the chain wrapped around his thick waist like a belt. When the cameras rose to Ice’s face, he snarled a playful snarl.

Next the camera scanned the blue cowboy boots that had become Gunny Puddles’s signature, the golden MF of McFoods near his heels. He had no visible weapons, but he was known for having four secondary-tier weapons, his throwing knives, and no primary weapon. A unique load out that thus far had proven effective. His thinning hair looked greasy, slid back on his head. As his pale face came into focus he spat on the ground.

But Emily’s back was already hurting.

She straightened up with a ginger ale in hand after popping some sweet grapes in her mouth and closing the fridge door. “Worth it,” she said aloud to herself, and walked the short journey to her couch, where she waved the main display on.

A Teleflex Infinity Viewcaster totally ready for full 3D Viewcasting with the awareness upgrades to register all gestures. How many times had she asked guests if they wanted to see the view, just so she could say, “U engage,” while bringing her fingers together and pulling them apart as if opening curtains. It was magic.

“LinkLyfe,” Emily said, and the wall opposite the couch became the show. They were still doing Lineups. The camera was on Staxxx, her hiking boots planted into the ground. Then on to the sweatpants that Staxxx had ripped at the thighs, three cuts on each thigh. The WholeMarket™ logo was stamped on the chest of her sweatshirt.

When Staxxx wasn’t in the BattleGround she wore a roll of bolt leather around her left arm, and you could see that portion climb up toward her palm.

“U engage and Immerse,” Emily said, and she was basically out there with them. She could see the open field, grass rendered beneath her feet and superimposed against the hardwood floor. She could admire the Xs on Staxxx’s abs and neck anew, and what a prize they were to watch. Staxxx’s hoodie was cut so you could see her abs and the mosaic of Xs on her brown skin. Her hair fell behind her to midback.

The view was also perfect. When the cameras moved up to Staxxx’s face, she was playful as usual: She held her right forearm over her eyes so that the two Xs inked across her ulna were covering them. She stuck her tongue out and dropped her head to the side, a knocked-out cartoon. With her other arm she held an invisible noose over her head. Emily watched, a little surprised Staxxx hadn’t done something in memory of Sunset Harkless. She felt a pang. Sunset had been a good guy on the Chain for sure. She’d seen clips of his choosing to joke where others might have killed, and she’d been surprised by how the news of his death, a man she’d only known in archived clips, had brought a cloud over her that still had not passed.

Shit, she thought.

Staxxx held her pose until it was Thurwar on the screen. Thurwar and her perfect body were mostly hidden underneath loose-fitting black pants tucked into high socks. Both her arms were wrapped in bolt leather covered with the sleeves of a thick crewneck bearing the LifeDepot™ logo. Thurwar stared at nothing, gave nothing, stoic as she had been for the last several months. Then, at the last second, she shaded her eyes with her hand, Sunset’s classic pose. Emily felt her own eyes growing hot.

March initiating in twenty-five seconds.

“Okay,” Emily said as she wiped her tears and settled into the pleasure of another world’s adventure.

—

March, the Anchor said. It began to pull.

The Anchor only had a few commands, all of them absolute: Line Up, March, Melee, Resume March, Halt, Rest, BlackOut. It would drag you before you could ever drag it, and its magnetic pull against your body was the surest thing in any Link’s life. It rose farther into the air until it was fifteen feet above A-Hamm’s heads and casually began to float north.

The Links were used to this, and so they stepped, stretched their arms, and tried not to wonder what would come next. They followed the Anchor and spread themselves out in a circle spaced evenly around the machine.

“Somebody important must like you, I guess,” Gunny Puddles said, looking ahead at Thurwar. Gunny Puddles, who was southeast on their human compass, hated the bitch, too good to be called anything but her real name. But without question she was their leader now. A Black bitch, his alpha—imagine that. He walked, curious to see how she’d take his calling out the affirmative action masquerading as a BattleGround match she’d just been blessed with. Gunny spat on the ground and stepped through the grass.

Thurwar, their north, said, “Uh-huh.” She was trying not to get angry at the way everyone was avoiding talking about Sunset. As she took steps the muscle memory of walking by the pull of the Anchor brought her attention to the now. How would she lead in her last few weeks? How would she deal with Gunny Puddles, a rapist/murderer, who’d wanted her dead for the better part of the last two years? How was she going to do that without Sun there to make everything seem easier than it was? And now that she’d learned what she’d learned from the girl in Vroom Vroom, did she care about any of it?

Staxxx was their south pole, had been for some time. She walked a little faster than everyone else because she was directly behind the Anchor; if she didn’t keep constantly in step she’d end up getting dragged along. Sometimes she’d stop walking and watch as her arms were pulled forward, and then she’d run, catching up to the pull so her arms dropped again, then pause as her wrists floated up in obedience to the Anchor once more. Today she did none of that. Today she smiled and watched closely. Everybody on the Chain knew that Staxxx’s position at six o’clock was a promise: If anyone attacked Thurwar—if anyone had attacked Sunset Harkless—who was relatively vulnerable walking with so many people behind her, Staxxx would be on them immediately. Staxxx took pride in being an enforcer. She hadn’t enjoyed splitting Whittaker “Cha-Ching” Ames in half, but when he’d tried to stab Thurwar a few months ago on the March, he’d ended up in pieces. She hated what she was, but she loved what she could do.

Walter Bad Water walked to Staxxx’s left, just in front of her. He watched quietly as he always did, in awe of his own survival, of the innocence that he still held in his heart like a dying thing cradled to the grave. He’d done nothing, and here he was, punished. He had a hunting knife that had been gifted to him by Gunny Puddles. He’d accepted it before he knew that taking a gift from Gunny would put him on the outs with Sunset, Thurwar, even Staxxx. Again, his innocence meant nothing.

“It’s a smooth-looking night out here. Hopefully the mosquitoes don’t fuck us to death,” Ice Ice the Elephant said. He would make it through today and try to make it through all the days to come. Just before this he’d killed a man. He’d killed a man and now he was talking about mosquitoes. But that’s how it went out here. One day at a time. That’s what he’d told himself before and after every March. His metal chain rattled around his waist, a sound that always brought him comfort.

“I hear that,” Sai Eye Aye said, echoing their friend. Just in front of them, off to the right, was Thurwar, LT, thee Grand Colossal. Sai still felt a lingering rush of pleasure, a euphoria that had set in as soon as they’d finished their own bout, quickly and easily, and continued through to when Thurwar’s Question Match opponent had been revealed and the boy had appeared—an easy target. They’d watched from the changing station. Still cleaning blood off their own body. They felt sick for feeling that delight. But the kid had no chance anyway, and all they’d wanted as they watched was for their leader to survive her last two weeks. LT was LT after all. It was true too that thinking about LT made it easier not to think of Rolade Qurriculum, the warrior they’d killed on the grounds. They would think about him, process that death, but for now they would focus on LT and making sure the same thing that happened to Sun didn’t happen to her.

“Deadass, those mosquitoes a few nights back were wild,” Rico said, just to say something. “Fucking winged vampires.” He laughed. No one else did. He was walking behind Gunny Puddles, near Staxxx, and was grateful for that because being near her made him feel safe. No one on the Chain had challenged him and he was grateful for that too. Being in the wrong place got people murked; he’d seen it himself. As his boots crunched over the dry grass he felt the usual terror washing over him. Lord, you know my heart in all things, he prayed. I know I been prone to fuck shit and I’m not saying I didn’t do things to deserve punishment, but you know my heart, Lord, and I pray you give me a shred of your grace through this trial before me.

Randy Mac was a Reaper, and he walked with his trident, Holy Holy, in hand, using it as a walking stick. He kept quiet, was lost in thought considering the fact that now, after Staxxx and Thurwar, he was the highest-ranked Link on the Chain. As they walked, the ground seemed to grow softer. He didn’t like the idea of that responsibility and grimaced as he pressed the rod to the mudground. This was the post-Sunset era.

The Chain walked 4.4 miles. They walked until dark was true across the sky. And except for Gunny’s comment, they did not discuss the BattleGround. They moved easily. Their bodies had trained for much worse than this; Thurwar had made sure of that.

Randy Mac spoke. “Y’all know these parts? We’re not far from Vroom Vroom, but I don’t know anything more than that.”

“I’m from Old Taperville. It’s not so far,” Staxxx said, brightening for a moment. The Chain listened.

“They make people like you in that piece of shit?” Randy Mac said, not looking back, trusting his words would replace their mark even as he spoke with the softness that he reserved only for Staxxx.

“They don’t make people like me anywhere ’round here. I meant that’s where I landed,” Staxxx said.

“You an alien now?” Mac asked.

“I’m from the other side of Uranus,” Staxxx said.

“I think that changes how I feel about you some.”

“I knew you were a racist,” Staxxx said, laughing.

“My brother-in-law is an alien. I have a bunch of alien friends. I can’t be racist,” Randy Mac continued. The Chain laughed. Randy had a kind of lazy charm that entertained Staxxx. He was strong enough, handsome, and aside from some scratches at his neck and of course his missing finger pieces, his light brown skin carried few blemishes from battle or otherwise. Worse than that, he wasn’t a dumbass—not mostly. Randy Mac was the kind of guy who let you know how many books he’d read. And, Thurwar begrudgingly admitted, he was instrumental in the project of keeping Staxxx happy enough to function and March with the Chain.

Finally they arrived at a large fire in the middle of a Camp that had been set up by assistant producers before their arrival. Beside the fire was GoFlame™ firewood stacked and ready to burn. The Anchor found a spot high above the flame and spoke: Camp Phase initiation. March resumes in eleven hours.

Their wrists softened to green. During Camp, green allowed them three hundred yards in any direction, although most would stay right there, near the fire. There were five stumps around the flame; they looked real in the low light but were actually BackYardPro™ seats made of treated plastic. Scattered beside them were several boxes of various sizes and colors.

This was how it had been since season 17. Eventually audiences had gotten tired of seeing the weary Links struggling to survive in the wilderness, and so the Camp had been developed, a curated location that mimicked camping but was actually vetted and commercially staged every night for each of the Chain-Gangs on the Circuit. The sites had been cleared by crews and inspected for particularly dangerous wildlife, hazardous plants, or anything that could compromise the safety of the Links. People wanted to see people killed by other people, not snake bites. There were tents and cots that Links could buy with their Blood Points, with different sets available for each of the different ranks. The food was professionally sourced and catered.

The last touch of real was the glowing fire at the center of each Camp, although there were also a few lanterns and some heat lamps available when temperatures dipped. Fire meant home. Fire meant something closer to freedom. They were not meant to use the fire for anything other than its light, which was supplemented by torches scattered about the Camp in a way that seemed random but was actually meticulously designed to provide a good balance of light and darkness everywhere within the free range of the area.

There was an assortment of backpacks and rucksacks waiting for them, leaning against “stumps” that were situated around a well-manicured bonfire. As usual, the first part of the March was the journey to the things that the Links carried with them, besides their weapons. Their worldly possessions stuffed into branded bags. Thurwar was first to step up and pull a black rucksack. Golden hammer emblems were pressed into each of the thick shoulder straps. She took it and disappeared into the largest tent—the Queen’s Tent, the only one of its kind on the Circuit. Now that Thurwar was the pound-for-pound top champion across all Circuits, the Queen’s Tent was hers.

Staxxx grabbed her own green-and-gold rucksack and pulled it to her body. “No place like home,” she said as she took a seat on one of the logs.

The other Links grabbed their packs. In less stable Chains, this was a time as dangerous as any. Links lost hands for touching someone else’s pack. Staxxx, LoveGuile resting against her body, watched over the process now. There was a sense of forced calm among the group today. Staxxx took a breath and looked into the fire.

“Suck my dick, America.” Randy Mac sighed as he pulled his denim pack off the ground. His catchphrase, spoken without a smile.

There were eight Links on the Chain and six tents. Rico and Bad Water hadn’t earned that luxury yet, so they had sleeping bags and the great cover of sky, unless someone on the Chain opened their space in offering. The Queen’s Tent had, most recently, belonged to Sunset, though its name would forever refer to the great Melancholia Bishop, who had made dominance a lifestyle. It was large enough to stand in and came with additional rations—pita chips and hummus and some sparkling waters as well as pads, tampons, cocoa butter, and toilet paper on a small table—and was solidly fastened to the ground it stood on. The other tents were more traditional camping units, although Staxxx and Randy Mac and Gunny had spaces that were large enough to stand in easily too, with more than one section. In all the tents, what mattered most was the cot. Hers, created by SleepRoyal™, was the most comfortable place one could sleep in the wild.

Thurwar plopped onto the soft. She’d actually been sleeping in the SleepRoyal™ since she’d been a Harsh Reaper, thanks to her unprecedented success. In the world of Chain-Gang, Loretta Thurwar had been rich from day one.

And in turn, images of Thurwar in the bed had made SleepRoyal™ one of the most profitable mattress companies in the world.

An HMC floated her way. She dropped her rucksack to the floor by her feet. She pulled an AquaHGente™ water bottle out of it and gulped. There was also a warm set of clothes in there, including underwear (a new set always ready for her) and a poncho, as well as a notebook and two pens and her secondary weapon, an army knife called Jack. This moment of being reacquainted with possessions was both intimate and violent. Thurwar massaged her sore knee. She pressed into it, felt the good hurt.

Staxxx walked into the tent. “I know what’s wrong with you,” Staxxx said. She threw her own rucksack to the ground, dropped her scythe to the floor by the cot.

Thurwar put Hass Omaha down beside her rucksack. “What? Nothing’s wrong.” She regretted it immediately. Something was always wrong. Thurwar, in her heart, was a pessimist. But since Vroom Vroom and what she’d learned, years of pessimism seemed validated.

Staxxx kicked off her boots, curled herself onto the cot.

“It’s okay,” Staxxx said, and suddenly she was weeping. She pulled herself into Thurwar. This was exactly how they’d been after Staxxx’s matches for months now. Staxxx would ritualistically take the time after she’d killed on the grounds and release into Thurwar.

“Crybaby,” Thurwar said, rubbing the most prominent notch on Staxxx’s neck.

“Fuck you,” Staxxx said, sucking snot back into her nose, only to have it slide back down onto her upper lip as she heaved. Staxxx squirmed out of her sweatshirt, leaving on her beater. Then she began unraveling the bolt leather from her arm. Thurwar pulled her close, kissed her neck. The X on Staxxx’s neck, “the target,” was the first she’d gotten. It had become the ultimate symbol of this fighter whom the people had come to love.

Thurwar wrapped her arm around Staxxx’s waist and held her as she cried. She kissed her snotty nose and felt Staxxx’s abs as they expanded and contracted through her heavy breathing.

“I know you don’t like it either. But today has to be the day,” Staxxx said.

Thurwar stiffened for a moment before a look of understanding settled on her face.

“We’ll do it soon. I have to figure out this Sun stuff first. Get my mind right. Don’t worry. I know it’s hard with me only having so little time left.” Thurwar thought about the card and the information it had given her and how close she was to Freed. She almost joined Staxxx in weeping.

“Today,” Staxxx said again. Thurwar felt a resistance to being told what to do. So few could for so long, but Staxxx continued. “There’s something I have to tell you. But you have to do it first.”

Her crying slowed as if to allow for the depth of her conviction to be unmissable.

“You do it then,” Thurwar said.

“It has to be you. Just like he would have done,” Staxxx said.

A flash of resentment came and went. Thurwar looked up with scorn at the HMC floating above them. She stared into the eyes of the country. Thurwar was the Grand Colossal, and so when things had to be done it fell to her.

“We can wait until our next double match. I don’t want to—”

“Then I’m going to Randy’s tonight,” Staxxx said. “And if I go there tonight, I don’t know if I’ll come back. Like you said, you only have a few weeks. Maybe I start the process of letting go now?”

Thurwar paused in consideration. She wanted to say that no matter where Staxxx slept, she was hers, but she waited and let the words sit only in her mind. In many ways jealousy had shaped her life. It was part of why she’d been in prison and now it was yet another thing that the country loved her for. Her relationship with Staxxx, how it was opened up enough for Staxxx to periodically sleep with Randy Mac, and how she controlled her jealousy enough to let that happen peacefully.

“You think I care about that?” Thurwar said. She tried to sound bored, though she was anything but. The two HMCs rotated around them.

“Copy,” Staxxx said. She pulled LoveGuile up from the ground and in her other hand grabbed her own rucksack. She stood, and immediately Thurwar stood as well.

“Please,” Thurwar said. She moved quickly enough that her knee protested, but she ignored the pain. She stood in front of the tent opening, Hass Omaha in her own hand. It seemed she’d grabbed the hammer without even realizing. A great shame swelled in Thurwar’s heart.

“Today,” Staxxx said. “Sun’s gone. It’s you and me.”

“This Chain is already fine. Why should we do anything that might take us—take me—off my game?” Thurwar asked. But how could they be “fine” if Sun had just been taken?

“It won’t. I promise you,” Staxxx said. Staxxx was putting her boots back on. “We can do it now. It will make you feel better after today. The kid.”

“I feel fine about that,” Thurwar said, and her voice stank of truth.

“Sure you do,” Staxxx said. “Even more reason to do this right now.” Staxxx wiped her eyes a final time and stepped out into the evening. It still smelled of an earlier drizzle, which had wet the earth and the dry, dying grass.

“Yo,” Thurwar heard Staxxx say. She could hear the Chain. “Gather up, everyone. Big announcement for y’all.” The HMCs whizzed past Thurwar, out of the tent, to replace Staxxx.

Thurwar followed. She was hungry and saw a large black box with a hot portion of her dinner inside. Most of A-Hamm was eating already.

She cleared her throat. It was the feeblest sound she’d made in a long while. She stepped toward the fire, her shadow giant behind her. The Links were there, more or less paying attention. Thurwar looked at Staxxx, who smiled a knowing smile. Then Thurwar began.

“I’m going to say this now because I’ve been waiting for someone to come forward.” Staxxx was smiling less now. “Sunset Harkless was killed last week and I want to know what happened. I want to know who and why and I want to know tonight. I want to know what happened to my friend. And when you hear what I’m about to say next, you’ll see that you don’t have to be scared to own up.” She looked each of her Links in the eyes for a moment as she spoke, lingering, then moving on, lingering, then moving on. She tried to mask her truth: Whoever had done it was right to be afraid. “You can come tell me later. But I want to know tonight.”

She spoke with her chest, addressing the group the way she did when they did battle drills or ran with their weapons on the days before the BattleGround. She was used to speaking to the whole. Gunny stared at her coldly. Bad Water looked to the ground. Mac and Sai watched her in earnest. She continued. “We’ve lost somebody important to A-Hamm. And to honor Sun, this is what we’re saying. Going forward, we officially will not be harming one another on this Chain. That is our new policy. Just as real as any other part of the games. We do no harm to our fellow Links on our Angola-Hammond. That’s done now. We don’t do that to each other.”

The Links looked confused, mildly amused even.

Thurwar cleared her throat again. She summoned her voice from her gut. “What I’m saying is, from now on, unless you’re in a BattleGround match, there isn’t gonna be violence among us. Sun preached that shit. Now we’ll live it.”

They responded with even less interest. As if she’d told an only okay joke a second time. Thurwar gripped Hass Omaha, moved him from her left hand to her right. She knew that, on some level, what she was saying didn’t make sense. Her power, her ability to kill, was why she was who she was. Death, and the potential for it, was Thurwar’s superpower.

“You know, when me and Sun came in, it was open season on everybody all the time. And that was kind of the point. Somebody like Rico would have been gone already just for being new.” She looked at Rico and saw terror seize him before he could try to hide it. “It was the point because all this was a way out.

“I’m not telling y’all anything new. You know this. Most don’t expect to see High Freed. But still, most of y’all know that we’re something different than the rest of the Chains. Here there’s real chances. If not for what happened last week, two of this Chain might have seen High Freed within two weeks of each other. That’s never happened before. But it almost did because we’d grown together. That was only possible because me and Sun weren’t always worried about a knife coming down when we were on the Circuit. I have an M like many of you.” The Chain seemed to grow more attentive as she used herself as an example. She did not talk of her own past. Not to all of them, not like this. “I was with a woman. She was”—Thurwar already regretted this path she’d taken, grimaced as the cameras circled around her—“she was special and I treated her like I owned her. When she wanted to leave—I—I’m saying, I know what it feels like to crush the windpipe of someone you love. And for that I hate myself. When I first met Sun, all I wanted was an exit. He helped me and I helped him and we helped others and now we’re all here talking. Sun was how he was on the Chain because he thought people could change. He talked about it all the damn time.”

At this Randy said, “That’s for sure.” Thurwar was grateful.

“And what he was trying to get at was this. Making the Chain a family. So, from now on, in honor of Sunset, no killing. Don’t even beat on anybody, unless it’s to save your own life. Not during March, not during Camp, not during chow, not when anybody is asleep. Keep that stuff in the arena. Here, we’re family, all right? Angola-Hammond is family. Not just for Sun, but for us. We’ve played the game like they want for a long time and now we’re gonna change it up.”

Thurwar watched and noted faint smiles and confusion on the faces around her. She took a step forward toward the light of the fire, felt its heat. Was what she was asking symbolic? No, she would enforce it. This would be true. And yes, she hadn’t been healed of her own guilt. Yes, if not for Staxxx she would almost certainly no longer be alive. But she was Loretta Thurwar and this was her Chain, and whether it worked or not, they would try to be something someone could be proud of.

“I’m not asking for a big change. We’re already mostly solid. What I want now is everyone here to accept those terms. That if you are on this Chain, you vow to view your fellow Links as family and do no harm.”

Ice Ice the Elephant said, “And if I’m trying not to smash somebody and then they stab me up, then what?” He looked at Thurwar in earnest. He was loyal to her and would do what she wanted. Within reason. She’d offered him the protection and weapons that had saved him thus far. “I’m just saying, it’s not saints out here.”

“First off, you could be a saint or whatever if you wanted to be,” Thurwar said. “What’s on your back, double MS? Plus one M.” Ice Ice the Elephant nodded and then looked down at his boots. “That’s not so bad, so you had some issues with drink, a manslaughter, and maybe you offed a guy along the way.”

“One was my mother,” Ice Ice the Elephant said.[*2]

“That’s a lot, and I’m sorry that happened,” Thurwar said. “But I know you and you could be a saint.” She tried to keep her momentum.

“And you”—all of the Links who made up the Chain were more attentive as she pointed to Rico Muerte—“you’re a one-A, one-M, right? So one fire killed one person. You could be the next saint too, if you want. And you too, Sai.” Sai Eye Aye stiffened but nodded.

“It was a church I burned, but I feel you,” Rico Muerte said through a weak smile.

“Christ,” Staxxx said, “still loves you, I’m sure.” She got to her feet, dragging LoveGuile along her side. “The point is we’re not gonna do bad stuff to each other anymore. Sunset’s Rule.”

“That’s not what this game is,” Gunny Puddles said.

“That’s what it is now,” Staxxx replied without looking his way.

“Yeah. Exactly,” Thurwar said. She dropped Hass Omaha onto the earth. “We’re gonna try for better. These marks don’t mean we aren’t people. These chains don’t mean we have to do it like they want.”

“Fuck that,” Gunny Puddles said. He had his box meal in his hands and two knives on his lap. He was sitting on a stump. “I didn’t come here to be no snowflake. Sunset was on that goody shit and he died facedown, and nobody will even admit to cutting the sonofabitch’s throat. I know why I came here. And it wasn’t to be friends with nobody. I’m here to eat until they let me go.”

“You can still do all that,” Thurwar said. “You’re still gonna fight, you’re still gonna get the serious Blood Points from your head-to-heads. But what there’s not gonna be is any cheap stuff out here on the road. Chain-Gang is family from now on.”

Puddles was a vet. Two years on the Circuit. Luck and a real knack for throwing sharp things had gotten him a pretty big following. “I know who I am,” Gunny Puddles said.[*3]

He was a man whose life had been taken from him after his vicious contempt of women had exploded out of him in terrifying ways. And Thurwar, a woman, was at the top of the underworld he inhabited. Gunny looked hard into the fire.

“It’s convenient timing,” he finally said. “The magic woman, neck-deep in bodies of her own, decides that we should all let our guard down and be lovey-dovey, just before she goes out to see the world without us.”

This was it. The expected power struggle. And already Walter Bad Water had stepped back, as had Rico Muerte.

“I’m a lot closer to Freed than you and I’m trying to tell you all this is the best way to do it. It’s better quality of life and better strat.”

“So that’s that all right. We’re going to be one big family. The only people we know we ain’t going to have to face out here are us. No raping, no killing, no stealing, no nothing,” Staxxx said.

Thurwar felt heat in her chest. She waited a moment and her eyes settled on Puddles and she spoke slowly: “No raping, no killing, no nothing.”

“I heard you, but fuck that,” Puddles said through a mouthful of gravy-rice. “You know, that fucker you’re claiming was a prophet of good killed and raped and that’s the reason he was here in the first place. No matter what kind of nice-guy act he put on, it don’t change that. Everybody here deserves to be here.” Thurwar wondered if she agreed. She knew that regarding herself, the Circuit, the constant threat of death, the pain and suffering, even this was better than she deserved.

“It’s done,” she said. The horror you made was yours forever.

“I don’t give a fuck what kinda—”

Staxxx whipped LoveGuile forward like a scorpion’s tail. It moved with lethal speed toward Gunny Puddles, but somehow she was able to—midswing—rotate the blade so the blunt side was moving toward the man, then slowed its force so LoveGuile’s back gave Puddles’s neck a hard kiss. There was nothing Staxxx couldn’t do with her scythe and every movement she made was intentional, precise. With LoveGuile, she made no mistakes. All the HMCs swirled around the action. A cough of gravy-rice fell out of his mouth. The Links watched.

“Gotcha,” Staxxx said. “You were scared for a second. And wouldn’t that have been a sad, pointless end to your life?”

Gunny didn’t move. He looked at Staxxx, fire in his eyes. “You try and do it if you want. I deserve it just like you do, and Sun did. You all know that man was a murdering rapist fucker and deserved to die how he did. Just like every one of us here deserve the ground that’s coming to take us.”

“Damn, Puddles, shut the fuck up,” Mac said.

“End him if he wants. The rest of us can be cool, do the family thing,” Sai Eye Aye said.

“Starting now,” Staxxx said, pulling the blade back, leaving Gunny Puddles alive and whole. Staxxx touched his shoulder, then walked to Thurwar. She pinched Thurwar’s side with her thumb and the knuckle of her forefinger. “Aren’t you glad we have this new rule?”

Gunny Puddles brought his hand to the gentle bruise at his neck. He got up and headed toward his tent. “Like I said.” Gunny turned. “It’s pretty fucking convenient timing. One of the motherfuckers trying to kumbaya here killed the very man you all are praying to not even a week ago.”

“About that,” Staxxx began. Staxxx had stepped forward, spotlighting herself with the fire.

“I have something to say,” Staxxx said. And she seemed not to know where to look as she spoke. “I killed Sunset Harkless.”

.    .    .

Emily stood up in her apartment and said, “Oh shit.”

*1 Low Freed. Reaper. They called her the Class Act Killer. Her family called her Lucy.

*2 Lany Vines, now known as Ice Ice the Elephant, was in a car. Drunk at the wheel. His mother, an alcoholic herself, asked him to speed faster. There was so much to see in the world and what were they doing, stuck in Wisconsin, seeing exactly nothing. They’d see it all now. But they’d need liquor for the sudden road trip. “Oh” was the last thing Opal Vines said. That he could hear anyway. He had no idea what the eighteen-year-old in the other car said as the headlights bloomed a last light across his face.

Then, once he was inside, he’d killed a man because the man wanted to kill him.

*3 And even if we weren’t the worst thing we’d ever done, well shit. Gunny Puddles had seen their eyes, their fear, and taken something from their bodies. He knew who and what he was and, well shit, if he got a chance to see the country before he died then that was something. Winning in the BattleGround gave him that same feeling. They called him a monster. He did not deny it.