Chapter 24 - Kane
After two trips to Rafael’s apartment—three if that meeting with his lieutenants didn’t drag him back to Shreveport—Kane still hates stepping into Midtown.
The routine is always the same.
Dodge security drones, ping Coda for cover, scan every corner.
Anyone sane would stay away. But five days without Rafael were four too many.
Inside the elevator, the numbers crawl toward Floor 35. Not Rafael’s floor—the one he asked them to meet at. Kane lets his hands rest at his sides, forcing himself not to map every exit. He’s been trying this lately. With Rafael and the crew back home.
He exhales through his nose. Would they even recognize him like this? The lieutenants have held the line so far. That has to count for something.
As the elevator climbs, Kane checks his wristlink out of habit. Natural Order’s been quiet since they torched Athena’s weapons cache. But he knows too well that peace never lasts in the Outer Districts.
When the doors slide open, he hesitates a second, until he remembers the facts. He’s not the Chrome Baron here. Only a random face, a random name. All thanks to Coda’s scrambles.
Outside the doors, a VitaCorp lobby opens up. All sharp angles and too-neat seating with a ticket kiosk glowing near the wall. Even the air feels scrubbed clean, carrying that same synthetic freshness he’s come to associate with Rafael’s apartment.
Across the room are a pair of large double doors with a corpo security panel glowing in their signature yellow. Leaning against them is Rafael, sweater and slacks soft yet immaculate, eyes on his wristlink.
When his gaze lifts, the man’s face lights up. Kane’s chest tightens.
He rushes over with a wave. “Hey! Glad my access code worked. I—”
Kane pulls him close, burying his face in Rafael’s hair. Rafael melts into his arms.
“Missed you.” The words escape before Kane can catch them. Rafael pulls away enough to look up, and in Kane’s HUD, his pulse jumps. Kane’s jaw tenses, bracing for the worst.
Color rises to Rafael’s face. “M…me too.”
The knot in Kane’s shoulders loosens. He clears his throat and glances around the lobby. “So, what are we doing here?” His tone shifts lighter. “Is Terra’s latest mad science experiment hiding behind those doors?”
Laughter spills from Rafael. “No, I wish! But hopefully, you’ll like this. I reserved the space just for us.” He takes Kane by the arm, guiding him to the double doors. His palm hovers over the security panel, and the doors slide open.
Two synthetic leather chairs sit in the center of a dimly lit room. Each is crowned with a top-of-the-line V-link headset, its smooth eye-and-ear band illuminated by a thin strip of light.
Kane blinks. “What is this place?”
“It’s a 4D V-link theater.” Rafael releases him to step aside. “I ordered a replay of last night’s gladiator game for us to watch. I know it’s not as good as seeing it live…but I figured at least we could watch it together this way.”
“You set this up for me?” A grin tugs at Kane’s lips. It’s not the fancy tech or even the gladiator replay that gets to him; it’s that Rafael remembered. That he cared enough to do something.
Rafael hums, but the sound breaks into a startled squeak when Kane’s arm wraps around his waist.
“Thank you.” Kane kisses him, soft and brief, then pulls back to meet his gaze.
The faintest spark lights Rafael’s eyes. “Glad you like it.” His smile falters. “Still, I’m not sure this makes up for missing the fight live.”
Kane sorts. “Being here with you…” He leans in closer. “…more than makes up for it.” Another flush rises to Rafael’s face. Kane steals another kiss before moving toward the setup.
The door slides shut behind them as they settle into the chairs. Kane syncs his V-link headset to his visor in case the crew needs him and glances over. Rafael’s already waiting, headset in place and fingers drumming the armrest.
“All set?” Rafael asks.
Instead of answering, Kane reaches over and laces their fingers together. Only when Rafael’s grin answers his does he say, “Show me what these fancy Midtown theaters can do.”
Rafael chuckles, swiping across the chair’s glowing control panel. “Here we go.”
A vibration rumbles through the seat. Kane stiffens, every instinct flaring. The chair goes still. Three beeps sound in his headset.
Wind whips across his face out of nowhere.
Sucking in a breath, Kane leans over, shielding Rafael. Within seconds, the rush of air fades, replaced by thunderous applause and a burst of light. He squints against the blaze. By the time he opens his eyes, the dark theater is gone.
They’re inside the Premiere Club arena, hundreds of feet up.
Towering vidscreens flicker above the stands, looping highlight reels of past matches.
Along the edge of the stadium, lights pulse around holographic ads for Terra’s latest synth shakes and V-link optics.
Typical corporate noise. Then the roar of the crowd hits, over a thousand cheering fans on all sides.
His gaze flicks to the empty combat pit below, where dancer drones weave through a pre-show routine.
“Damn.” Kane breathes. “This is something else.” Nothing like his basic V-link setup at home.
Rafael appears beside him in the simulation sans headset, as if they’ve been sitting here all along. “Worth the wait?” His voice cuts over the noise around them.
Kane opens his mouth, but the words stick. His gaze drifts across the arena. The angle of the seats, the distant stage, everyone on their feet. Everything is so familiar.
He knows this view.
This is where he sat with his uncle. His first and only live match. Over a decade ago.
An ache settles in Kane’s chest. He turns to Rafael, whose brows knit together. Kane answers before the questions come.
“My uncle would’ve loved this.” His throat tightens.
“Biggest fan I knew. Spent every free moment watching matches, arguing stats with anyone who’d listen.
” He exhales slowly. The memories push in whether he wants them or not.
“Had this championship story he’d tell over and over.
” A faint smile tugs at his mouth. “Never got tired of hearing it.”
Something bittersweet crosses Rafael’s face. “Wish he could’ve joined us.” His hand squeezes Kane’s. The only real thing in all this.
“Yeah.” Kane looks away, but his grip lingers on Rafael.
Fireworks explode overhead, sparing him from saying more.
Premiere Club’s logo flashes across the sky in brilliant colors before fading away. Another burst follows, painting the champion’s name in fire: Flamma XXIII.
His hero was Commodus XVI, forced into retirement after a devastating injury.
The seats shake again. Kane tenses. An obstacle course rises from the arena floor, a metal labyrinth of spinning blades, attack drones, and fire pits. Each element triggers a response from the 4D system. A rush of heat against his skin, the vibration of machinery, the smell of scorched metal.
When the arena doors open below, a female challenger emerges. Her flashy cyberware is nothing like Kane’s practical parts or black-market chrome. She raises her fist to the crowd as an announcer’s voice thunders through the stadium, “The first challenger has arrived!”
Applause erupts for the fighters.
“What’s her name?” Rafael asks, leaning in close.
Kane’s thumb traces over his knuckles. “She doesn’t have a name. Not until she wins her first Primus League match,” he explains.
Rafael nods, gaze fixed on the fighter. She sprints toward the first course, a race through the razor-wired walls. He winces when she barely avoids a nasty scrape on her leg. “Are they—what if they get hurt?”
“Part of the game. What they signed up for. But if she’s already made it through the Tiro and Murmillo levels, she should be ready.”
He watches Rafael’s face, trying to gauge if this is too much. Maybe his tone was too harsh. But as the challenger clears the first section, Rafael cheers, soft but sincere. The trace of worry still lingers in his eyes, but not enough to dim his excitement.
A few steps later, she loses her footing, tumbling into a pit with a burst of flames. Rafael’s hand tightens on his. VitaCorp medics rush through the doors onto the arena floor while the gauntlet machines freeze.
“Is she—”
“She’ll be okay,” Kane cuts in. “Burns, maybe some broken bones. Nothing that’ll keep her out for long.” Rafael nods. His hand stays in Kane’s as the rest of the round unfolds.
Three competitors advance to the next stage. Only then does Kane release Rafael to cheer with the crowd.
The obstacle course vanishes while the trio retrieves their weapons.
Weaponized drones descend from above, an arsenal lighting up their chassis.
The challengers react instantly, some with swift strikes, others with raw power.
Kane’s focus narrows to one woman gaining ground while the other two falter.
Her morningstar connects with the final drone in a burst of sparks.
The machine drops, smoke billowing from the frame.
Deafening cries explode from the crowd. She bows with a grin.
“Wow!” Rafael gapes. “Did she just become the next champion?”
Kane grins. “Not yet. Still has to take down Flamma.”
Lights dim in the arena. Their seats rumble, vibrating once more. A giant hologram of a man wielding a sparking axe rises from the pit, towering over the arena. Gasps echo around them.
Kane’s chest tightens, remembering Commodus’s entrance.
The hologram vanishes in a flash of light. A boom echoes, and the arena doors blast open.
“Flamma the thirteenth!” The announcer’s voice nearly drowns in the roar.
Flamma marches into the arena, an almost perfect mirror of the hologram. His theme song blares through the speakers as lights race along his sleek white augments that make Kane’s own chrome feel like scrap.