The sirens didn't arrive for a while, but the officers quickly attached handcuffs to Maya.
Immediately after being forcefully taken by the officers, Maya instinctively moved to fight back and then realized it was futile too late. She tried to twist away and kick and scream, but when she turned back and saw Vince slumped against the cold concrete, holding his chest with one hand and the other hanging by his side, swelling and bruising, she stopped moving.
At that moment, all of the adrenaline left Maya.
"Don't" Vince said through busted lips; though the voice was hoarse, there was a strange sense of calmness. "It's alright."
And though Maya could sense that it was not alright, she ceased all movement.
The officers did not take any care or gentleness when forcing Vince to his feet, causing him great pain as they fitted the handcuffs around his wrists. Immediately after the handcuffs were fastened, Vince's knuckles screamed in agony because of the jostling. He bit his lip until it bled, refusing to give any indication of pain.
"No medical assistance?" Maya yelled, "He is bleeding!"
One of the officers scoffed at Maya, "He can wait."
They both were forced into the back of the patrol vehicle like rats in a maze.
The fluorescent lights in the police station flickered with a brutal glare that felt harsher than the blows she had taken. Maya paced the holding area like a trapped animal, the cuffs that had been on her wrists still hurting and a boiling rage underneath her skin bubbling up.
Vince had his back against the peeling paint on the wall, stretched out with his legs in front of him. His right hand was wrapped up badly in cloth—the wrapping done more as a restraint than to actually do any good.
The police chief came in without showing any urgency.
Ethan Nakamura was tall and lean, with a very clean, pressed uniform, and his eyes looked both sharp and tired, suggesting many years of selective enforcement. He didn't focus on Vince first; he went directly to Maya.
"I've had enough," he said flatly when Maya opened her mouth to speak. "You've made too much trouble for yourself tonight."
There was a flash of rage on Maya's face. "We were attacked."
Nakamura's lip curled slightly in a sneer. "Were you?"
He turned away, and as he did, Maya caught a word muttered under his breath, but it was loud enough to hear.
"IRW scum."
Maya's hands were clenched into fists.
When she looked at Vince again he was smiling.
The beating does not scare her as much as the fear of what has now entered his mind. Something changed in him. Not only was this violence. This was calculated and organized rage towards territory and power and complete domination.
This is the way they are playing the game, Vince thought as he felt the pain coursing through his body; I would learn their rules, and I will break the rules of the game.
An hour later they were processed out by the police station.
They could hear the rage and anger in the voice of Gavin Lindman who echoed through the station before the two of them even got to see him.
The officers would looking everywhere but at them as they signed away the last few pieces of paper and unlocked the door for them to exit the building. There were several officers standing nearby who watched with many different emotions: resentment, curiosity and confusion over the situation.
There were no apologies, however.
They did not stop at any point to visit anyone from the police, they went directly to the hospital.
Vince had no memory of the drive to the hospital, only buildings flying past his car window while the lights of the city blurred into long unrecognizable streaks of light and he could hardly feel his own body anymore, it was like it belonged to an entirely different person.
At the ER, the doctors worked feverishly. They took x-rays, stuck needles into him, and pressed their cold hands on his body. They spoke to him, but in quiet voices.
Finally, the doctor spoke, "Right hand has a fracture, many contusions, and severe bruising, but no internal injury." Upon hearing this, Maya let out the breath that she had been unknowingly holding all this time.
Gavin stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed so tightly his knuckles were white. "What the hell happened?" he demanded, voice low but shaking.
Maya looked away for a moment, then sighed. "We crossed into NPJW territory."
Gavin blinked. "Into what?"
She rubbed her face tiredly. "It's not… normal city logic."
She explained.
How the city was divided—not officially, not on maps—but in understanding. Promotions had influence, neighborhoods where their posters hung, their gyms operated, their fans gathered. Invisible borders, enforced not by law, but by loyalty.
"One wrestler doesn't just walk into another promotion's area," she said quietly. "Especially without notice. And IRW…" She hesitated. "IRW sits between ACW and NPJW. Both hate us."
Gavin stared at her like she'd started speaking another language.
"ACW doesn't like us because we're in their backyard," she continued. "NPJW hates us because they think we're ACW's offshoot. Their fans are… extreme. Even ACW ultras don't do this."
Gavin ran a hand through his hair. "This is insane."
Before anyone could answer, the door swung open.
Men poured in.
Big men. Rough men.
Some carried clubs. One had something metallic tucked into his jacket. Another's knuckles were wrapped in tape. The room shifted instantly, tension spiking.
Maya's heart jumped—until she saw Lance Dawson at the front.
He looked… older. Not physically, but in the eyes. The weight of the city sat heavy on his shoulders tonight.
Victor Cross was beside him, jaw clenched, fists already balled.
Lance scanned the room, then spotted Maya. His shoulders dropped visibly.
"Thank God," he said quietly. Then he looked at Vince. "How is he?"
"Bruised," Maya answered. "Fractured right fist."
The reaction was immediate.
The tattooed man at the back—middle-aged, thick neck, scars crawling up his arms—swore loudly. "They shouldn't have done that."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group.
"It means war," someone said.
The nurse snapped. "Quiet! This is a hospital!"
Apologies followed quickly, awkward and half-hearted.
Victor stepped closer to Maya. "Did you recognize him?"
She shook her head. "Tall. Bulky. Tank top. Said 'Extreme Rules.'"
Victor's face darkened instantly. "Zen."
Maya frowned. "You know him?"
"Everyone does," Victor muttered. "He's always in these brawls. NPJW's favorite attack dog."
He cracked his knuckles unconsciously. "I'll show him his place."
Lance shot him a look. "Enough."
Victor backed off, barely.
Lance exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. "Whether you realized it or not," he said to Maya, "you crossed a line."
"I didn't know," she said softly.
"I know," Lance replied. "But that doesn't change the outcome."
He looked around the room, at Vince lying in the bed, arm splinted, face bruised.
"The war's started," he said quietly.
Gavin swallowed hard.