Chapter 14: Granny Whitney

When Rick awoke, he discovered that he was lying on a stiff bed in a dingy room. It was terribly lit, but he was glad he couldn't see more, because it seemed like the room was filthy, two cockroaches visible on the walls. Perhaps it was easier not to see how bad it was.

Slowly he gathered himself, remembering how the battle had ended. He must have been moved to this facility after the fight. It seemed his injuries had been roughly bandaged and it felt as though he'd received minimal treatment.

His arm refused to respond when he tried to move it. Beneath the bandages, it felt like his flesh had been torn apart.

Rick stared down at the injury, wondering if he had the nerve to look under the bandages. He realized grimly that he wouldn't recover from this. Fighters who were strong or rich enough could afford elaborate lucrim healing that could even regrow an arm entirely, but those cost more than everything he owned combined.

What would life be like without his left arm? He might be able to work some jobs, but would anyone want to spar with a one-armed man? Rick swallowed, blinking away tears and bitterly regretting his decision to join the Underground. Even though he'd known something like this would happen eventually, he'd let himself be drawn in by the benefits and ignored the risks...

"Oh, you're up already! What a durable young man."

He looked up and saw just about the last thing he expected: a small old woman walked into the room. She wore an old-fashioned floral print dress and a knitted shawl around her shoulders. When she gave him a kind smile, the wrinkles on her face shifted as if she smiled often. She looked like she was a grandmother who doted on a dozen grandchildren.

As she came to sit down beside him, however, he noticed other facts. Her back was very straight, and despite her age, she radiated vitality. Definitely an advanced lucrima user, though he couldn't judge her strength. She put a hand on his forehead and he felt a wave of soothing energy pass through him. Despite how depressing his situation was, for a moment he felt at peace.

"There you go! Alger only asked me to help out with the basics, but that one is just a little favor from me." She beamed and patted his cheek. "I liked you better than that lad with the lightning."

"I..." Rick's voice caught in his throat and he had to swallow before trying again. "You're the Underground's healer?"

"Not exactly, dearie, but I get involved from time to time. Social security isn't what it once was, oh my lord no. It might pay for cat food, but Granny's tastes are a bit more expensive than that."

"Thank you."

"Oh, it's my job, dearie." She smiled at him again. "Please, call me Granny Whitney. If you keep fighting in the Underground, you'll probably be seeing me again."

"I don't know that I will." Rick sat up painfully, hating how his arm hung from his shoulder. "This injury... is there any way you can heal me? I don't have much lucrim or money, but..."

The old woman shook her head sadly. "You seem like a diligent young man, but I'm afraid there's no way you can afford such a healing. As much as Granny Whitney would like to heal everyone, you have to understand that such things are expensive for me as well. It costs a great deal of lucrim to restore an arm in such bad condition."

"I see." He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to resist the bitterness.

"Might we be able to come to some sort of other arrangement? I'd hate to see a young man with real potential lose an arm like this. Perhaps you could find a way to pay for the operation bit by bit...?"

"No... I think I'm done here. I've learned my lesson."

"That's a crying shame, but it's your life, dearie." Granny Whitney rose to her feet and patted him on the cheek again. "If you change your mind, you just come talk to Granny Whitney, alright? I've finished all my work for the day, so I'll be having a restorative little tea out on the balcony."

He just nodded silently, his remaining hand going subconsciously to his arm. If someone like her said that it cost too much to restore his arm, then there was no chance that he could afford the operation at a real hospital. Rick started to pick at the bandage to see how bad it was, but at that moment the door swung open again.

"Rick!" Henry pushed into the room, saw his arm, and winced. "Shit, man, I'm sorry. If I had any idea they were going to do something this bad..."

"Do they do this often?" Rick should have felt angry, but his body was just numb. Henry shifted nervously, not meeting his eyes, but eventually he answered the question.

"Slayer rounds are so rare I'd only heard rumors of them. Usually the worst is blood matches, or the tight cage fights... shit... is that arm as bad as it looks?"

"Yeah. I guess this is it for me."

"No way, man. You can't give up on the fights now or you'll never get that arm healed." Henry bent down beside him, lowering his voice. "Your best bet is to get a patron who will pay for the healing. You might not be the hero of the match, but you did a good job. There's a chance someone important saw the match and might be willing to invest in you."

After a flicker of hope, Rick shook his head. "If I did, they'd own me, wouldn't they? Something like they'd take all my future earnings until I paid back the debt?"

Henry shifted uncomfortably. "Well, yeah. But it isn't all bad. If you're somebody's chosen fighter, they'd help you with all kinds of things because they'd want you to keep winning. The top fighters are showered with all kinds of-"

"No. They'd be able to tell me when and how to fight and I'd just get further caught up in all this." As he said the words, Rick realized that he was content with that decision. He couldn't lose sight of the point of it all, which was to earn a living for himself and Melissa. Getting ensnared deeper in this system would just be digging a deeper hole.

"Fuck man... I don't know what else to tell you. Think about it, alright?"

"Yeah, I should take some time to think." Rick slowly got to his feet and brushed past Henry into the hallway.

As he walked, his body felt surprisingly okay, but that was nothing compared to the weight of his arm hanging from his shoulder. He tried to ignore it and instead observed the building, looking for the easiest way out.

They seemed to be in another partially abandoned building in the seediest part of town. Presumably injured fighters were taken here for treatment, though he wondered if they were taken by secret tunnel or something. The hallway was mostly doors into other dirty rooms with injured fighters. When Rick passed a large window, he was surprised to find they were pretty high up: 20^th floor or more. There weren't that many buildings that tall in Branton.

Just as he thought he was about to find the entrance, he spotted the huge man. He towered over the crowd of people around him, which included Alger and several rich-looking men. Clearly they were all fawning over him, the hero who had defeated the Slayer. But just when Rick started feeling bitter, the other combatant saw him and immediately pushed through the crowd to approach him.

"Everybody is focused on me, but you played just as big a part." The man extended a large hand. "I'm Tom."

"Rick." He shook the other man's hand, glad that he had extended the right hand, or things would have become awkward. It seemed as though Tom's injuries had been entirely healed already, though Rick tried not to feel bitter about that.

"Listen, I was here because I needed money, so there's not much I can do for you now. But I promise that I won't forget. If I do well enough, I'll find a way to get someone to take care of your arm. That's just fair."

Though part of Rick bridled at the idea of accepting such pity, he didn't have many choices. He found a smile somewhere and nodded to Tom. "That's kind of you. I don't know if I'll keep fighting with this injury, but maybe we can exchange information."

They did so quickly and Tom even gave him access to his lucrim profile. But after that, the crowd was starting to pull him back and he needed to go. Alger especially was beaming, and though he shot a smile at Rick as well, it was obvious who he was focusing on. Soon the crowd was gone, leaving him alone in the corridor.

He knew it would just make him unhappier, but Rick still pulled his phone back out to check Tom's profile. He struggled a bit with the phone, surprised to find that he sometimes used his left hand as well, but eventually pulled it up:

[Name: Tom Jackson

Ether Tier: 15th

Ether Score: 273

Lucrim Generation: 33,500

Current Lucrim: (private data)]

While he had the app open, Rick considered checking himself as well, but it didn't feel worth it. There were stories of one-armed fighters who attained great fame, but they usually already had immense strength or got incredibly lucky. Enough lucrim could make up for the loss of a limb, even without regeneration, but how would he earn that much without a functional left arm?

No, his only real hope was to trust Tom's charity. He didn't like it, but it was better than nothing. Rick put his phone away, resolving to find a way to make ends meet until he could get his arm back. Heading down the corridor, he-

He saw the Slayer walking up the stairs.

The man looked to have been healed, but he was still in terrible shape. For a moment Rick actually considered him as a fellow human being, realized that this man had his own reasons for fighting in the Underground. It looked like he'd had the money to restore his mangled hand, but not to fully heal him overall and certainly not to restore his spent lucrim.

"Hey, sorry about the match." The Slayer gave him a smile as he spoke, closing the distance between them smoothly.

Rick turned around and left. Yes, the "Slayer" might be just another person, but Rick knew very well what people could do to their fellow human beings. It was just an instinct, but the Slayer's smile struck him as false and he didn't like something in his eyes.

He'd barely gotten around a corner when he heard feet slamming into the floor. Rick started to run, but the very first time he looked over his shoulder he saw that the Slayer was already coming after him, his smile morphing into something predatory.

"Too smart to fall for it, huh?" The Slayer kept after him and Rick barely stayed ahead, clutching his injured arm so it wouldn't bounce painfully. "But that's just going to make this worse for you."

"You... can't do this..." Rick managed to get out the words between breaths, hoping that his opponent was just raging after the match. But when he caught another glimpse, he saw nothing but cold fury in the Slayer's eyes.

"Oh, we're not supposed to kill anyone. I'd never break that rule. But the kid with the claw tech already died of his wounds, and you will too..."

Given how easily the Slayer was speaking while running, it was only a matter of time before he caught up. But as Rick turned another corner, he saw his chance: a woman in a doctor's coat was pushing a man on a gurney in front of them.

Not hesitating, Rick dropped to the ground and slid underneath the gurney as the woman gave a cry of surprise. He managed to pull back to his feet after the slide and looked back, hoping that the Slayer wouldn't just attack the woman and keep coming after him.

But the Slayer was gone.

Rick stared for a long moment, his first thought the absurd idea that the Slayer had somehow gone invisible. But no, more likely he just couldn't afford any witnesses. That meant he was held off for now, but there was no chance that he was going to give up. The doctor was giving him a strange look, so he gave her an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, but I'm being chased. There's som-"

Immediately she raised her hands. "I don't get involved with your vendettas. This is just a job to me."

"But he's seriously going to kill me!"

"I don't get involved."

Gritting his teeth, Rick accepted that and desperately considered other options. "Do you know someone who calls herself Granny Whitney? She said she would be at a balcony nearby..."

"Right, Whitney." The doctor gave him a strange look, but nodded. "She does get involved, so I suppose it's worth trying. Her balcony is down that hall and to the right."

"Thanks." Rick immediately turned away and sprinted in the direction she'd indicated.

As he ran he expected to hear footsteps pounding after him at any moment, or worse, have the Slayer emerge completely silently from one of the corridors ahead. Yet no attack came and he was too tired to sprint forever. He slowed down to a jog as he spotted a sliding door that led to the outside.

It was less a balcony than a small area of the roof with a guardrail, but he knew it was the right place. Granny Whitney sat at a small metal table, a blue china tea set beside her. The delicate china looked absurdly out of place on the grimy roof.

The old woman turned to smile at him. "My, you're in a hurry. Come and sit down, dearie."

"Someone..." Rick looked backward nervously, but saw no one. "The Slayer is coming after me. He    threatened to kill me. Can you help?"

"Ah yes. The poor lad was expecting a night of beating up people weaker than him, but he ended up humiliated in front of such a crowd. No wonder he's furious." Granny Whitney stared at Rick thoughtfully. "A nice boy like you shouldn't be killed here. Of course I'll help you. But I wonder if you might not give a thought to my offer?"

"What... what do you mean?"

"I think you're a nice young lad, so I'll be generous. I'll have your arm healed for free, give you some nice medicine to help along your development, and invest 50,000 lucrim in your success. Up front, without any immediate compensation."

Rick stared at her, hoping that this couldn't possibly be what it looked like. "Are you saying... that you'll let him kill me unless I agree to your offer?"

Granny Whitney clucked her tongue sharply, then stood up, gave him a warm smile, and patted his cheek. "Dear boy, what kind of person do you think I am? But I do hope you'll consider my offer."

"You haven't said what I'd give you in return."

"Well, I hope you would take some advice from dear old Granny Whitney about how to proceed, but you wouldn't be obligated to. What I really need from you is to participate in a special event a little over five months from now. There's something at stake that's important to me, and there would be a considerable reward as well. If you gave me your share of the reward, I'd consider us square. What do you say?"

On the surface, that appeared to be essentially an interest-free loan. Considering that it would restore his arm immediately and get him away from the Slayer, it was a tempting offer. But there were too many unknown terms and he felt uncomfortable about the whole thing. No, his earlier thought that he needed to get away from the Underground had been the right one.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly, "but I can't accept. I don't think this life is for me."

"Oh dear. That'd be such a shame - a boy with your talent leaving so soon."

Before she could say anything more, Rick heard footsteps in the hall. He looked desperately to Granny Whitney, but she didn't seem to have heard them. Before he could warn her, the Slayer charged onto the balcony after them.

He ignored Rick entirely at first, instead thrusting his claws to the old woman's neck. "You stay out of this, Whitney. I just want the boy." The Slayer kept his claw by her throat and turned back to Rick, that savage grin returning. "Just let it happen. No matter what, I'm going to find and kill you. You can either die now, or you can cower in fear until the day I find you and kill you much, much slower..."

Granny Whitney was utterly still, staring at the claw by her throat, so she wouldn't be much help. Rick swallowed and decided his only option was reason, as poor a choice as that seemed. "All we did was fight for our lives."

"No, you humiliated me! You have to pay for that!"

"But why me? Tom was the one who finished you."

The Slayer grimaced. "But everyone is looking at him, and he's Alger's favorite for now. No, my only chance to get revenge on him is in the arena itself. But you... there's nothing stopping me from taking you out and reminding everyone that I am not to be trifled with."

"You don't need to - I'm going to quit. I promise, you'll never see me in the Underground again."

"Not good enough. If you thought your arm was bad, you should see what I'll do to the rest of your b-"

He cut off as Granny Whitney stepped past his knife and poked his neck with two fingers.

Feeling the pulse of lucrim too late, Rick took an involuntary step backward. The Slayer went slack and began to crumple, overcome by some sort of disabling technique too subtle for Rick to understand. But before he fell to the ground, Whitney grabbed him around the side of the neck.

Having no trouble with his weight, she dragged him to the side of the roof, then dumped him over the railing. Rick stared in horror as she looked over the edge, then clucked her tongue and shook her head.

"Oh dear, that's a messy landing. The boy should have kept his head." Granny Whitney turned back to him, unnaturally calm, and Rick realized that he was right to feel fear. "It's a shame that the two of you couldn't put aside your differences. But really, dear boy, it was a mistake for you to track him down and kill him while he was so injured. Children these days."

Rick took a step backward, but there was nowhere to run. "This... are you blackmailing me?"

"I just want what's best for you, dearie." Granny Whitney sat down in her chair, took a sip of her tea, and then gave him a warm smile. "Now, have you given another thought to my offer?"