Inside the gym, the atmosphere had shifted into a tense, suffocating game of hide-and-seek. Aron was no longer fighting out in the open; he moved like a phantom, utilizing the rows of heavy iron and cable machines as a makeshift fortress. He wasn’t retreating out of fear, but out of necessity, fighting a war of attrition while his body screamed in protest.
Skull paced the open floor near the center, his eyes darting toward the exit. He kept a constant watch on the door Ramon had recently demolished, assuming that Aron’s loyalty would eventually force him to make a desperate break for it. He knew that for a man like Aron, the thought of his "precious chairman" facing a full exoskeleton alone would be a slow-acting poison.
"Come on!" Skull taunted, his voice echoing off the mirrors. "Time is ticking, you know that, right? You saw the monster Ramon has become. Do you really think your Chairman has the power to deal with a full-suit exoskeleton? A kid with a checkbook against a god of steel?"
Skull paused, circling a heavy punching bag. "Or maybe you just don’t care? I mean, a guy with your skills... after this job goes south, you could always just disappear and join another group, right? Why die for a sinking ship?"
In that split second of taunting, Skull heard the faint scuff of a sneaker. He spun around, but he was already a fraction of a second too late. Aron had emerged from the shadows of a squat rack, hugging the floor as he went for a vicious, low-sweeping kick aimed at Skull’s ankles.
Skull reacted with a veteran’s instinct, lifting his feet just in time to avoid the sweep. But Aron wasn’t finished. Almost before his legs had completed the arc, he planted his hands on the rubber matting and launched his entire body upward, snapping a kick directly toward Skull’s face.
Skull threw up his guard, blocking the strike, but the force sent him stumbling back. Before he could rebalance, Aron was on him. Aron threw a flurry of punches, precise, rapid-fire strikes. Skull tried to counter, but his arms were knocked away at the perfect moment. Two quick hits landed flush on Skull’s jaw, rattling his brain. As a third strike whistled forward, Skull managed to find a desperate opening, lifting his leg and driving a front kick into Aron’s stomach.
The hit didn’t land solidly, but the force was enough to shove Aron back several feet.
"I can feel it in your attacks," Skull panted, a jagged grin spreading across his face. "I guess for some reason, you really do care about your chairman, don’t you? I can tell you’re rushing. You might be a better fighter than me, hell, I’m not even confident I’m going to win this fight, but as you should know, the job will get done regardless. All I need to do is keep you busy until Ramon completes the contract."
Spurred by the mention of Ramon, Aron charged again. He launched a high-octane kick, but Skull caught the leg mid-air. With his other hand, reinforced by heavy knuckle dusters, Skull moved to punch down directly into Aron’s exposed shin, a move meant to shatter the bone.
Before the blow could land, Aron forcefully wrenched his leg back, using the momentum to flip his entire body in the air. As he inverted, the back of his heel slammed into the top of Skull’s head with incredible force. The impact was immense; Skull’s vision blurred into a kaleidoscope of grey and red as he slumped to one knee.
Aron landed on the ground and tried to spring back up to finish the job. This was his chance. But as he went to move, his breath hitched. He instinctively clamped his hands over his ribs, his face contorting in sudden, sharp agony.
’Damn it...’ Aron thought, his vision swimming. ’I really did get hit harder by that dumbbell than I thought. Something is definitely broken in there... but I have to bear through the pain. I have to get to Max.’
The moment Aron took to recover from the flare of pain was the same moment Skull needed to clear his head. The Black Hand member shook off the cobwebs and climbed back to his feet, spitting blood onto the mat.
"I see you’re injured, and even in that state, you can put up a hell of a fight!" Skull said, his voice a mix of respect and malice. "Damn it, my head is throbbing. Who would have thought that in a place like this, I’d run into another single-digit member? Even without your weapons, you’re doing a damn good job."
Aron didn’t respond. He charged in again, aiming a roundhouse kick at the side of Skull’s head. This time, however, Skull’s reaction was odd. He lifted his hand, but he didn’t seem interested in protecting himself properly.
Instead, Skull took the hit, letting Aron’s leg slam into his guarding arm and head, using the impact to trap the limb. In exchange for the damage, Skull drove his own fist, heavy and reinforced, directly into the spot on Aron’s side where the ribs were broken.
The attack was obvious enough that Aron managed to pull his torso away before the full weight of the punch landed. But in doing so, he was forced to twist his midsection in a way his body couldn’t handle. An immense shock of white-hot pain surged through his nervous system, paralyzing him for a heartbeat.
Skull saw the opening. A fist whistled toward Aron’s head, but Aron managed a desperate slip to the side. As he moved, he threw his own head forward, bashing it into Skull’s face. The headbutt sent Skull reeling back, blood now pouring from his nose.
"Hahaha... your strikes are getting weaker," Skull laughed, wiping the blood away with the back of his hand. "You must really be hurting. You know, even if you are a single-digit ranked member, if you’re fighting like this, you won’t survive. Not against us, and certainly not against them."
Skull stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "Do you even know why I joined the Gilt Rats? The answer is simple: I needed protection. The Black Hand doesn’t take well to deserters. If they found out where I was, I needed a group large enough and powerful enough to hide me. If the Black Hand finds out where you are, they will come for you. They’ll take you out, and they’ll slaughter everyone around you who tries to get in their way!"