Liv’s eyes flutter open, a yawn escaping her throat as she stretches her arms above her head. She felt unusually good, her body limber, bounding with energy. Her back is pressed against a wall, just outside the combat room she could’ve sworn she was just in.

  Slowly, the memories of the fight return to her, the events clicking into place... She lost.

  She crosses her legs, her hands coming to her lap, her thoughts running a million miles per minute. She could’ve sworn she had that fight in the bag. Still, the loss doesn't sting as much as she thought it would. The closeness, perhaps: the feeling that she could have won if she just tried again.

  “I'm starting to think your brain has undergone serious trauma. Yet, I cannot find any lasting physical trauma.” Her boss’ voice rings through her mind, interrupting her torrent of thoughts.

  “Oi,” She shoots back, a small smirk on her face. “Reckon we had that for a bit! Ain’t by best, but ain’t my worst!”

  “You exhausted all of your healing within a very short period with overconfident strides for absolutely no reason." Her boss starts. "Then you, while already near depleted, got your arm shattered into pieces. You, furthermore, underestimated an opponent with far more combative experience than you by walking forward, completely ignoring everything else. If that isn't your 'worst', then you're a bigger fool than I believed.”

  Liv stays silent, her eyebrows furrowing. When they put it like that, it certainly didn’t sound as good as she had imagined. Still, she rolls her eyes, pushing on with a retort. “Ya don’t think that’s a bit negative? I mean, ain’t like I did real bad. Had em on their butt!”

  “You had no control over the battle until you expended all your cards.” Her boss replies, its voice impassive. “At that point, they had every advantage over you. You could hardly move, your body was a mess, and you had done more damage to yourself than they had.”

  Liv can feel that familiar bud of frustration bloom in her chest, her teeth clenching as she takes a deep breath in and out. This was all getting more and more frustrating. Why did everyone treat her like some… Idiot, some unsightly beast with no intelligence whatsoever. “I’m doin’ my best here. She’s one of them legacy members, yeah? I had em on the ropes! Ain't that still impressive?”

  “The showing itself was terrible.” Her boss retorts, a hint of annoyance creeping into its usual stoic voice. “How many times must I reiterate? You took yourself out of the battle, fool. You blocked out all my advice while charging ahead with a horrid, dangerous, reckless plan. There is a time and place for recklessness, but there is a time and place for careful planning. These aren’t mindless beasts that you can outsmart with little to no know how about fighting, these are fellow humans who have studied the art of combat for far longer than you. You cannot go forward with a reckless plan believing they will follow their base instincts.”

  “But I ain’t doin’ that!” She near shouts mentally, her face reddening. They just didn’t understand her thought process! If just one thing had gone wrong, if she was given a second more… She was sure she could have won. They were in her grasp, right within reach; yet, they had gotten her surprise. No big deal! No reason to call her all these names!

  “Oh?” They question, “Then, pray tell, what was the thought process? Enlighten me, Liv. What was the step by step after you had turned your body to a loose collection of broken bones and lacerated muscles?”

  “Well…” Liv mutters mentally, her mind racing, “I woulda beaten em’ in in a few good swings! Ya saw how I hit 'em! If they didn’t have that lil’ dragon, I’da won!”

  “So if they didn’t have a key aspect of their arsenal, you could have one?” They inquire, a vein popping from Liv’s forehead. She sweats, her hands shaking as her stomach turns into knots, frustration worming its way deep into her heart.

  “I THOUGHT I BROKE IT, OK?” She screams, slamming her hand into the floor, the fault lines of her gauntlets gaining an orange tint. She pants, sweat beading on her forehead as her fists clench with all the power her forearms will provide.

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  “Reckless. You didn't think at all." Her boss retorts. "You didn't even stop to consider she had you in a trap."

  “Why the hell do ya think I’d question that!?"

  "You always have to be aware if you're fighting something with any semblance of self. There aren't any laws to combat." Her boss chastises. "As soon as she threw out that golden ball, you should've checked for it. We're specialized, Liv. Why would they just have a golden ball if had nothing to do with her ability-."

  “How the hell was I s'posed to know yer all specialized if ya never told me ‘bout that!” She retorts, cutting her cursed weapon off. “Hell, you ain’t tell me ‘bout anythin’ without it bein’ a life or death situation! I’m pryin’ info from ya like it’s pullin’ teeth! I still dunno yer name, and I sure as SHIT dunno what you had me diggin’ toward for HALF MY LIFE!”

  Her voice devolves into a wild cough, her hands coming to clutch her chest as she heaves, her voice straining with the effort of emotion. She waits, bracing for a retort while gasping her heart out. Yet… Nothing comes. She pokes at the connection, finding it present, yet silent.

  Liv continues to heave for a bit before she calms herself, slumping back against the wall, feeling worse than she did when she woke up. The frustration is fading, but the ache in her heart, the pit in her stomach doesn’t fade. The embarrassment is hard to shake, her heart simmered from its boiling rage to... This.

  CREAK…

  Liv’s head turns slowly, her eyes landing on Kara's disheveled form. Her pink hair is frazzled, her face covered in scuffs, bruises, and welts. One of her pant legs seems to be mangled, caked in loose sand, concrete dust, and blood. She looks over to Liv through her one good, unswollen eye.

  “Oh. You’re, like, finally up.” She says idly. “Are you feeling… Not super crazy?”

  “I dunno.” Liv mutters in response, her head slumping back down, unable to find the strength to maintain eye contact. “Feelin’ fine, I guess.”

  “Oh.” Kara says softly, a pensive look crossing her face. She gears up to say something, inhaling before stopping, her good eye falling. “Guess it’s all you." She comments, her foot patting Liv on the knee, a consoling gesture. "I didn’t even land a hit on him. I was totally... Unfetch.”

  Liv peers up at Kara as she limps off, a soft sigh escaping her lips. If Kara couldn’t beat Faraji, what chance did she have? Probably none. Still, even without her regeneration, she didn’t have time to dawdle. Might as well get it out of the way now.

  She slowly stands as George exits the room, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

  “Good showings from everyone!” He cackles, his eyes locking on Liv's even before he exits. He walks over, clapping her on the shoulder. “Intense fighting! Now, I wouldn’t rush in like you do, but your fighting style is your fighting style! Gonna be an interesting bout between you and that Faraji boy!"

  “Mhm.” Liv mutters, trying to push past his grip. She finds herself unable, his iron grip keeping her completely still.

  "Aye, where do ya think you're goin?” He says, his eyebrow cocking up on his weathered face. "You got a rest to take. Mandatory after a fight like yours."

  “Nah. I’m fine.” She says, completely deadpan. “Lemme go.”

  “You aren’t doing yourself any favors by rushing in like that.” George chastises, his other hand coming to rest on her other shoulder, his eyes locking with her downtrodden orbs. “You need to take a day, regain your bearings. Trust me, you’re gonna feel a whole hell of a lot better.”

  “I said I’m fine.” She growls, trying to shrug him off with all her might. Still, she finds herself unable to escape his iron grip. She tries to work up her anger, to seethe, to have that molten hot anger burn like a furnace; yet, she can’t find a head of steam to work up. It all feeds into the pit forming in her stomach, her energy fading into fumes.

  “Don't be stubborn, kid." He comments coldly, his voice losing any semblance of warmth or sympathy. "I'm not asking you if you want to take a break, I'm telling you that you need to take a break. Being a brat with your heels dug in the sand won't net you any brownie points. Now get out of my face and get some damn rest."

  Liv shoots a glare up, her teeth clenching. Her stomach broiled with anger, her nostrils flaring like a wild bull. Once more, she tries to work up a head of steam, trying to get angry, trying desperately to conjure any rage she has left in her body.

  Nothing.

  She sighs, a defeated shrug her only response. Only then can she shrug George's hands off. Her shoulders sag, her feet dragging as she drags herself up the flights of stairs one by one. It’s exhausting, completely and utterly, but it's nothing she hasn't done before.

  She drags herself to her room, clicking the door open, walking into her room. The lights flare, a yellow glow covering her living quarters. She slumps over to the bed, flopping onto it with a groan. She was so tired, but she couldn’t find the exhaustion to sleep, leaving her to her swirling mind.

  She looks to the ceiling, then to the rest of the room, mentally cataloging the items in her brain. Her couch, her cabinets, her microwave, her side table, her bathroom door, the stuffed animal on her bed.

  She grabs the small stuffed penguin, her gauntleted fingers running over its face. It didn't help, but it did give her an idea. She needed a distraction from her day, desperately– and she did have a friend to talk to.

  With a heave of effort, Liv pulls herself up, dragging her feet to the bathroom to clean herself up. If she was going to go see them, she might as well clean herself up.