Mikey stared down the Blood Bear as it stirred against the cracked arena wall. Dust sifted off its massive shoulders as it pushed itself upright, muscles bulging like coiled cables beneath its thick hide. Its chest rose and fell with a low, guttural growl that rattled the air.
"Alright, you ugly bastard… let's do this."
He backed away slowly, step by step, until his heels nearly brushed the twisted wreckage of the cage. The bear sniffed, its wet nose twitching. The stench of sludge from the jar still clung to Mikey's hair, his jacket, his skin. The beast's glossy red eyes found him, glowing with a fixed, murderous hunger.
Mikey glanced down at his torn jacket. With frantic fingers, he shrugged it off, leaving only a thin white tee streaked with dirt and blood. His chain glinted at his chest, and he tucked the necklace into his shirt as if protecting it from what was to come. His gaze fell to the sniper in his grip. He narrowed his eyes, mind racing. The barrel… it wasn't just a barrel. It was a tool. In seconds, his hands were twisting it free from the frame. Threads groaned as the extension came loose.
Above him, Savior leaned forward. Bobo's jaw tightened, Luce's hands wrung against one another nervously, Ryosuke squinted hard, trying to anticipate what Mikey was planning, Amelia muttered under her breath, "What is he doing…?" while Tobi could only stare, his eyes wide.
The crowd, however, saw only a boy laying down his weapon. Gasps and shouts rolled through the dome.
"He's done for!" "Idiot dropped his gun!" "Is he giving up?!"
The Blood Bear roared so loud it drowned them all out. It charged, claws scraping grooves into the floor, every step a quake. Mikey held the unscrewed barrel tight in his right hand, his jacket bunched in the other. He kicked the useless rifle to the side.
"Come on… come on…" he muttered, bending his knees. His wounded leg screamed with pain, but adrenaline kept him upright, forcing the agony into the background.
Ten feet away now, the monster bore down on him like a train without brakes. The crowd shut their eyes. Savior didn't blink, caught between fear and disbelief.
And Mikey muttered a single word.
"…Now."
He threw all his weight into his good leg and rolled. At the same instant, he hurled the sludge-soaked jacket into the space where he'd just been. The bear skidded to a halt and snapped its jaws around the scent-drenched fabric, tearing into it with feral intensity. Threads and buttons scattered across the bloodstained floor.
Mikey slid to a stop beside the cage, gripping the long steel barrel like a spear. His heart hammered in his ears, but his thoughts cut sharp, clear. In one smooth motion, he scrambled up the side of the wrecked cage, using the twisted bars as footholds. He kept his movements light, careful not to draw the beast's attention away from the jacket. The Blood Bear shook its massive head violently, shredding cloth with its teeth.
Mikey bent his knees, launched himself upward, and came down hard. Both hands wrapped white-knuckled around the barrel, he plunged it deep into the beast's good ear. The monster's roar split the dome, louder than thunder. Its whole body convulsed beneath him as he landed on its back. Mikey clung to its matted fur, twisting the barrel deeper, ignoring the burn in his arms.
'I knew it!'
The thought slammed into him with certainty.
All this time he'd been wondering why. Why had the Blood Bear only focused on him? Why not tear into the stands and rip apart the crowd? The sludge was part of it—that much he knew—but the pattern had been too precise. Every time before charging, the beast sniffed. Every single time.
'It can't see…' Mikey realized. 'It's blind.'
The sludge wasn't just bait—it was a beacon. A scent marker, probably the same stuff they fed it, the smell it had been conditioned to hunt. To the bear, Mikey was food and nothing else mattered. His grin returned, strained but real, even as the beast bucked beneath him.
'That's it. You can smell me, you can hear me—but if I take one of those away…'
The steel bar had already wrecked one ear. Now the sniper barrel punched into the other. Blood sprayed hot against Mikey's arms and chest as he drove it in deeper, twisting until the beast's shrieks turned to strangled growls.
"One sense down," he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse, teeth bared as he held on through the thrashing storm of muscle and rage.
Mikey drove the barrel deeper until he felt it scrape against something soft, until the monster's body jolted and its roar cracked. He pushed until he knew the ear was useless, pushed until he had rattled its brain. The beast staggered, its massive body stumbling forward as though drunk. But before Mikey could climb free, it thrashed violently and flung him loose.
He hit the floor hard, the wind knocked clean from his lungs, his spine screaming as he rolled across the dirt. Above him the Blood Bear stumbled aimlessly, head swinging side to side, its great claws digging trenches into the ground as it tried to steady itself. Mikey blinked, chest heaving, pain crawling over every inch of his body. He forced himself to look around—and then he saw it.
The tarp.
Gritting his teeth, Mikey sprinted as best as his injured leg would allow, a broken sprint that was more like a desperate limp, each step punching fire up his calf. He knew he had seconds, maybe less, before the beast found him again. He dropped into a slide on his knees, crashing against the tarp.
His hands flew to his shirt. It was soaked in the reeking sludge, heavy and sticky. He yanked it off, tossing it aside. His bruised, wiry frame shook with exhaustion, chest rising and falling like a drum. His necklace swayed wildly as he grabbed the tarp, scrubbing hard, rubbing the stinking paste from his hair, his shoulders, his neck. It wasn't perfect, the stink still clung faintly, but the tarp and the shirt reeked far worse now. That would have to be enough. Two chances, that was all it would buy him.
"That's it… you'll go for them first," he muttered under his breath, voice shaky but determined.
The bear finally steadied itself and lifted its head. Its chest heaved as it pulled in air through its ruined nose and torn ears. Slowly it turned toward the shirt.
"Go on… take it," Mikey whispered, forcing himself to his feet, limping away to the far wall, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the bait.
The Blood Bear charged, massive claws gouging the floor as it barreled toward the shirt. The sound was like thunder, the sight enough to make the crowd gasp and lean back in their seats. It tore into the shirt, shredding fabric, but the moment the taste wasn't him, it stopped.
Mikey leaned on the wall, chest heaving, eyes darting. He thought as hard as his battered brain would let him. He had one minute, maybe less, before it locked back onto him.
'I shot it in the head. I drove steel through its ear. And it's still standing. How the fuck do I kill it? How—'
His eyes shot upward at the ceiling and he saw the lights.
Eight massive spotlights hung from chains high above the underground dome, their beams cutting down through the haze. Only four of them were on, blazing white against the gray ceiling. Each was heavy, solid, and swaying ever so slightly from the vibrations of the bear's movements.
"Got it…" he breathed, lips curling into the faintest grin.
The beast had already shredded the shirt. Now it turned toward the tarp. Mikey's time bled away second by second, but his idea was clear. It all came down to one gamble, one desperate swing at survival. If he was wrong, he was already a dead man walking.