Mo struggled to his knees and failed to keep his hands over the deepest points where Ashley had slashed him. He was losing a lot of blood. He watched it run down the sloped floor toward the yawning hole.
The grate remained open.
The camera feed mounted over the grate exposed the gaping maw of the recycling pit. The grate could not be seen, the hinge swinging it all the way under the opening.
The announcer gestured for the emergency crew to see to Mo, who hardly noticed as they went to work on him. He appeared dazed, captivated by the rivulets of blood on their way toward the grate.
The crimson liquid found no obstacles as it ran toward the pit's hungry mouth. It poured out into the Southern California sky, several thousand feet above sea level.
Before the blood fell fifty feet it vanished.
It didn't seem to fall, as much as glide away into the evening sky.
Ashley hung upside down from the grate, hooked by one leg, her arms swinging free.
The grate was designed to actually drop a foot before the hinge caught; the violent impact had ripped it from Ashley’s grip. Her hands had been jerked from the oiled metal when grate opened.
The foot that missed the crossbar had wrapped and hooked around the bars. The bar-wrapped leg saved her life. Hanging there, she watched the crimson liquid glide away beneath her.
Ash discovered she was strangely calm, relaxed, enjoying her inverted siesta outside the chaos that had become her new life.
Ashley heard the mechanic of the grate resetting itself and prepared to close. It twitched upward and Ashley did an easy sit up, grabbing hold with both hands.
The motor engaged and slowly brought the grate back into view. On the overhead cam, the lights of the auditorium illuminated Ashley, crouched on the metal bars.
The spectators noticed and immediately began yelling and screaming.
As the grate brought her level and closed, Ash rolled off, safe now, on the metal floor of the pit.
The grate snapped shut and locked.
Ashley stood.
The audience erupted into frenzied cheers and laughter.
Mo sat on the wheeled stretcher, battered and stunned.
Ash saw her scalpel lying near her feet.
She picked it up.
She walked around the pit toward Mo, the scalpel gripped with a purpose.
The EMTs backed away.
"Hey! Bitch!" Kid Lethal stood on the apron.
The crowd fell silent.
He was holding a Japanese short-sword.
Ash faced him as he stepped out and slid down into the shallow pit.
"You couldn't find a real sword?" she asked.
"For that I'd need a real challenge," Lethal answered.
"Yeah, well." Ashley held up the scalpel.
Lethal attacked.
He was much faster, more accurate and far more dangerous than Mo.
They danced around the pit floor, trading strikes and parries with mechanical precision.
Ash saw no weakness.
It took all her attention to survive.
She almost gave up hope, fearing he might score a debilitating hit.
She knew it could happen at any moment.
Then, suddenly, it was there.
She saw a soft spot. She moved into the opening and caught Lethal at the wrist with her blade.
He jerked back as if burned.
Ash stood straighter. She leisurely stretched and rolled her neck.
The crowd got quiet.
One of the cameras spotted the tiny stream of blood that ran from Lethal's wrist, zooming in and magnifying the wound, multiplying it on all the hanging screens.
Ashley reversed her grip on the scalpel, holding it upside down, the blade protruding from the base of her hand.
Lethal launched toward her, his feet seemed to float above the ground. He slashed at her.
She was ready and countered, opening a long red stripe down his ribs.
Lethal looked at the wound, stumbled backward in shock and took a moment to regain his composure. He too inverted his grip, spinning the kodachi in his hand.
Ash let her guard down and backed away.
Lethal charged her.
She ducked his blade as her scalpel found his throat.
A few steps past her he stopped.
He raised his hand to his neck and touched.
His fingers came away clean.
He held his clean hand out before his face, confused.
Then his life's blood burst from his neck in a successive rhythmic spray, each weaker than the last.
The whole of his hand was now painted bright red.
Lethal fell to the ground, his eyes open but unseeing.
Ash stood near the center of the pit, covered in blood and bruises.
The auditorium had relatively silent since Lethal had shouted at her.
No one spoke now either.
Ashley turned and climbed the steep sides of the pit. Walking at an angle, her shoes barely held the painted and blood-slick sides.
When she reached the top, the auditorium exploded with thunderous applause.
Ash took a couple deep breaths.
Geoff was there, smiling with all the other kids, her new friends.
The EMTs gestured for her to raise her arms in the air, so they could inspect her wounds.
She did; the official gesture of victory.
The kids shouted, screamed and cheered louder.
The medical techs looked her over. They dabbed her cuts with antibiotics. They cut away her mirrored gloves, then cleaned and bandaged her hands. They checked her face; dabbing on blue goo here and there. They checked her pupils, her heart rate, and the inside of her mouth. Finished, they backed away, clearing her.
Sky, Kaz, Hambone and Tanaka stood with Geoff. He ran forward and hugged her. She hugged him back.
Sky stepped forward and offered her shoulder for support. Ash undoubtedly would have fallen if Sky hadn't caught her. Ash didn't smile, but no one else seemed to notice.
Ash held on to Sky; letting her lead them from the madhouse.
Dante sat in a center box seat.
Hunched forward, elbows on knees, fists at his mouth. His nose was red and swollen beneath the butterfly bandage.