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“I’ll hate the man you choose,” Trevor said. “But I’ll be happy you’re not alone. I’ll try to be, anyway.”
“You’re a good man,” I said.
“I have my moments. Too bad I didn’t have more of them earlier. Maybe we should have more. But this, this moment with you. I’m glad to be here, despite everything.”
“Me too,” I said, squeezing his hand.
“Now, let’s go rescue Amber and her fiance so we can have a wedding.”
“Is that what you’re looking forward to?”
“You’ve got to admit it would be nice. We used to steal cake at weddings we weren’t invited to, didn’t we?”
“We were never invited to any weddings,” I said.
“Troublemaker,” he smirked.
I raised my head and gasped when I realized how big Trevor had grown. His head looked too small for his body, and I jerked away as even that seemed to swell like a balloon, turning red and distorting his features. The gold and blue paint was partially smudged or marred by drops of sweat, and his skin glistened in the light. He flailed his arms, stretching out like a cat, rolling his neck as if he had to get used to his body again.
The couch had begun to sink beneath him, dangerously close to the floor. When he stood, his arms seemed to hang low and limp. He tripped over the table and nearly fell before righting himself. The men scattered out of the way, but I grabbed his arm to steady him. He towered over me. He seemed confused for a moment, looking down at me like I’d startled him.
“Ok big guy?” I asked.
He raised a hand and flexed his jaw to each side. Gemma approached cautiously. Trevor held up his fingers, then lifted up the couch with one hand, grinning at me.
“Not gonna lie,” he drawled. “That hurt. But this is pretty cool.”
A few of the men chuckled and I heard sighs of relief. Then someone started cheering. They crowded around him, slapping his broad arms and chest playfully. One started howling and Trevor joined in, with a hearty chuckle. It was weird seeing him like this, so carefree and relaxed. Maybe the smaller brain size suited him.
We moved as a group down an alley with broken concrete and twisted roots, then descended through an underground parking lot and into a ruined shopping center. It was a little bit like havoc, but closer to the surface instead of buried under ruins. One half was completely destroyed, with a tumble of rubble and a few rusted cars pinned between thick slabs of concrete, overgrown with shrubs and moss. But the other half was still covered by a glass roof like a greenhouse, and two floors connected with massive pillars. The bottom floor was an open plaza, with trees growing tall towards the ceiling. Rusted escalators led to the second floor, that wrapped around the edge, offering a view for spectators.
It seemed like the concert had entered and people were already streaming into the building from various other entrances. They froze when they saw Trevor, pointing and staring. I looked up at him, feeling protective. He looked like the brutes I’d killed in Denvato, but only half as twisted and deformed. He still mostly looked like himself, but with a wide frame and bulging muscles just unnatural enough to be frightening at first glance. Mutid. Deformed. Monstrous.
He scanned the crowds with worried eyes, until he found Augustine and Tate watching from up above, in a raised alcove in the center of the second floor. Luke’s eyes went wide when he saw Trevor, and Camina looked shaken, but Trevor gave them a small wave and they waved back. Augustine nodded, and Gemma shoved Trevor forward.
“Move around a bit, get used to your body. Show off a little, but be careful, you’re a lot stronger than you’re used it. Don’t bring the building down and kill everybody.”
“Um, sure…” Trevor’s eyes filled with worry. I scowled at Gemma and she smirked back. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about.
“Tate won’t kill you,” I said. “I’m pretty sure. She just wants to beat you up and look good.”
“You don’t think I can win?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter if you win. What matters is you don’t get too hurt. This isn’t a real battle, remember? It’s training. See how long you can stay in control, stay yourself.”
He nodded, then walked forward into the center of the space. It was darker than most of the strip, but lit well enough with hanging bulbs. He paused in the middle, looking around at the audience, who looked back in hushed silence. Then he raised his fists, and starting jabbing at the air a bit, warming up. The crowd responded with cheers and applause, which put Trevor at ease. He started moving around more, jogging the perimeter, dodging and ducking an invisible challenger. He almost tripped over a length of metal pipe, careening to the side as he lost his balance. But he figured out the weight and found his feet again before he took a tumble. The audience laughed and cheered again, so he started clowning around even more, with exaggerated pantomimes. He picked up the metal pipe and bent it nearly in half. Then he looked around for anything bulky enough to lift. He found a large potted urn filled with dirt, and lifted it carefully to his shoulder before putting it down again. Then he made poses to show off his muscles.
The crowd went wild, and he grinned and waved, thinking it was all for him. But then he turned and found the small figure behind him dressed in white.
“Enough playing around?” I heard Tate say as she challenged him. The lights dimmed around the edges and spotlights illuminated the central area between them. In the sudden stillness that followed, I felt like I was holding my breath with a thousand others, eagerly awaiting the spectacle Augustine had promised. I was sure they’d seen fights in here before, but not like this.
The fight was supposed to be till first blood, but how much would Tate make Trevor bleed before she was finished with him? My heart pounded with worry as Tate taunted him forward. Trevor glanced back at me once and I nodded, hating myself. He was doing this for me. I didn’t love the bloodsport, but Augustine’s motivations had been sound enough. He was less likely to get hurt here than a real battle in the citadel. I hoped.
Trevor swung first, punching the air as Tate vanished to the side. He rolled his shoulders and attacked again, but Tate moved easily away from his flailing fists. His form was sloppy, either from his unwieldy bulk or, I wondered, whether he really knew how to fight at all. Apart from a handful of tavern brawls and childhood fistfights, Trevor was probably used to winning because of his strength, but had no idea how to handle a smaller force that was crafty. And nobody could fight an elite. I only hoped it would be over quickly.
Trevor eventually stopped chasing Tate around, and I felt the moment things shifted, as Tate went on offense. She stepped easily between his arms, and pummeled his side, before finishing with a powerful punch to his stomach. He groaned and stepped backward, but righted himself quickly, holding his ribs and fighting for breath. But when he realized he wasn’t injured, he cracked his neck, then smiled back at me over his shoulder.
For the next five minutes, Tate landed hundreds of blows. The strongest punches and kicks would leave ugly purple bruises, but they faded quickly and Trevor seemed to be gaining confidence. His new skin was tough and while Tate was fast and ferocious, he absorbed most of the blows easily.
