Lady Brown

2XX years after Aestura plunged the world into desert including the death of Cassian and Haruto.

Solaris is split into seven sectors — A through G. The higher you go, the shinier the floors get. Sector A’s where the rich sip wine and watch their precious bike races, cheering for riders they’ve never met like they’re old friends. Sector G? Well… we make our own fun.

And down here, “fun” means blood.

The cage rattles as a fist connects with someone’s jaw — a sharp CRACK swallowed by the roar of the crowd. Two men are inside, sweating, bleeding, trading blows like it’s the only thing keeping them alive. No medics, no rules. Just bare knuckles, iron grit, and the promise of cash if you’re the last one standing.

The bell clangs. A heavy right hook drops one of them flat on his back. The crowd surges forward, pressing against the chain-link and barbed wire.

“Twenty Vells on that guy!” someone yells, half-cheering, half-crying.

I can tell by the sound — the winner’s got friends in the audience. Friends who probably just made rent. Friends who’ll probably lose it all in the next fight.

I watch from the back, hood pulled low, the smell of rust and sweat thick in the air. My fingers drift across the wire of the cage.

Down here, nobody cares who you are. The men fight for money. The women?

Pfft— what women? That’s the usual reaction you’d get if you asked. Women don’t leave their houses; it’s always been like that.

Unless you hide your face well enough.

“COME PLACE YOUR BETS FOR THE SECOND MATCH!” the announcer bellows. “KARTER THE CRUSHER VERSUS BIG TONE! FIRST COME, FIRST SERVE!”

The crowd pushes toward the betting table like dogs fighting over scraps.

“This’ll be the easiest cash-out of my life!” one man shouts.

“I’ve won twice in a row! I got this!” another brags, already smelling the money.

I smirk under the hood. Funny how everyone thinks they’re the one taking it home.

The betting table’s a mess, one guy running it, barely holding the chaos together. People wave their Vells in his face like he’s drowning and they’re offering him bricks.

“Please, one at a time!” he snaps.

I push my way through, ignoring the curses and shoves, and stop across from him.

“Here to place a bet?” he asks, eyeing me like I’m trouble.

I stay quiet.

His eyes narrow, then widen. That slow, knowing grin spreads across his face. “You’re not here to bet, are ya?”

I give him the smallest smile, congratulating him for catching on.

“Organizer’s down the alley, up the stairs, second floor.” He jerks his thumb toward a narrow gap between two rusted walls.

I nod once and turn away. The crowd swallows me whole, and the smell of sweat and rust fades into the heavier, quieter air of the alley.

The stairs groaned under my boots. At the top, a door hung half-open, letting in the muffled roar of the crowd below. I pushed it open.

It was an office, not fancy, just functional. A desk piled with papers. A dusty lamp. A wide window overlooks the cage arena. Behind it, a man flipped through a stack of forms, not even glancing up at first.

When he finally looked up, his eyes narrowed. “And who might you be?”

I stepped closer, pulled out the chair in front of him, and sat down.

“I'm Rilke, I’m here to fight,” I said, low and steady.

He set the papers down. “Alright, well, the entry fee is forty Vells—” His voice trailed off as I pushed back my hood. My hair spilled over my shoulders.

His mouth stayed open for a beat too long, he realized I’m a woman.

Before he could say anything, I dropped a small pouch on the desk. “There’s your forty.”

He glanced down, picked it up, and thumbed through the coins. The metal clinked softly as he counted. His eyebrows lifted, surprised, but he set the pouch back down with a sigh.

He stood and walked to the window, hands folding behind his back. From below, the cage rattled as the next fight began. The crowd’s cheers bled through the glass, sharp and jagged. He tapped his foot once, then spoke without looking at me.

“Ten years ago, I was out with a childhood friend. We always played in this neighborhood. I was bullied a lot, but she never cared. Best friend I ever had.” He rested a hand against the glass, watching the fight. “One day, those same bullies jumped me. She stepped in to defend me. Sprained her finger in the process.”

A fist slammed into a jaw below — the crowd screamed. His gaze didn’t move from the fight. “That’s when I realized… women aren’t delicate, but they’re beautiful and refined in a way you can’t put into words. And no woman should have to jeopardize herself for something as foolish as entertainment.”

He finally turned his head toward me. “You understand why I can’t let you fight, right?”

I stayed silent. “Not everyone has the choice,” I said finally.

“It’s not personal,” he replied, facing me fully now. “It’s an unspoken promise I made to my wife — one I’ve kept even after she passed.”

“I’m not like other girls, sir. I can fight. I’m willing to—”

“I’m sorry, madam.” He cut me off cleanly. “That’s not how I run my business. Exceptions make cracks. Cracks bring the whole thing down. And if I’m being honest…” He leaned forward just slightly, eyes narrowing. “The day a woman wins in that cage is the day men stop showing up to fight. And I’m not running a charity.”

I didn’t answer. I reached forward, took the pouch back, and kept my head low. I’d known this would happen, but it still burned.

I stood and walked to the door.

“Hey,” he called after me. I turned my head.

“If you want, you can watch from up here. Much safer for you.”

I stared at him.

“Have a nice day.”

I shut the door behind me.

In this world, women are objects. And there are only two kinds — the kind worth too much, and the kind worth nothing. Those who try to become more than that only become more familiar with the cage they’re trapped in, fighting a battle against a way of life that has rotted itself into the world for hundreds of years.

The door clicked shut behind me. The hallway was quieter than the office, but not by much, the crowd’s roar still pulsed through the walls.

I didn’t make it three steps before I heard a voice behind me.

“Oh… what’s a lady doing out here?”

I turned my head slightly. Four of them, leaning against the wall like they’d been waiting for trouble to wander by.

The tallest grinned, peeling himself off the wall. “That’s not the kind of door most women walk out of.”

I kept walking.

Footsteps followed.

He picked up the pace until he was beside me. “Tell you what… why don’t you come with us? Peacefully. That way we won’t have to mess up that pretty face of yours.”

I turned down the next corner, hoping they’d get bored. They didn’t. The other three split off ahead, and the next thing I knew, they were blocking the path.

One spread his arms like he was about to give me a hug. “C’mon sweetheart, don’t make this difficult.”

One other thing about the G Sector: there are no rules. Nobody to protect you. Nobody to hold you accountable. People do what they want, when they want — and they don’t care what it costs you.

They started closing in, their hands still stretched out in that mock embrace.

Down here, I learned you do things yourself.

I shifted my stance, knees bent, lead shoulder tucked in, chin down, hands loose but ready. My weight rolled from heel to toe in a steady rhythm.

The closest one lunged.

I stepped into him and drove my fist straight into his nose, felt the cartilage crunch under my knuckles, warm spray hitting my skin. His eyes went glassy, mouth hanging open just in time for me to twist my hips and whip a hook into his jaw. His head snapped sideways, and before his body knew it was falling, my heel came around in a full arc and smacked the side of his skull. He stumbled into the wall, teeth clacking as he hit.

The other three just stared for a second. Then they scoffed, taken aback.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

The short one came in swinging, fast but sloppy. I tilted my head just enough for his fist to cut air, then drilled two shots into his ribs, sharp enough to make him grunt, before shoving his forehead back so hard he toppled into his friend.

“Stay still, you—!” the friend barked, trying to grab me. I caught his wrist, twisted until I felt the tendons strain, then yanked him forward and bounced his face off the wall.

The last guy was grinning like he thought this was for funzies. “Not bad. You’re quick. But can you—”

I darted in before he could finish, faking a right and dropping low. My leg swept his out from under him, and he hit the ground flat on his back. I leaned over just enough for him to see my smile.

“—fight?” I finished for him. “See for yourself….”

I dusted myself off, I didn’t want to get blood on my last cloak, and continued walking home.

These damn boys getting raised without mothers. I sighed, destined for disaster and disappointment I tell ya, don’t know how to treat a lady even remotely decent.

“THAT’S IT.” A voice from behind me smashed through my thoughts.

I turned.

It was the one I’d kicked. His face was red, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead. He was breathing like a bull, and now there was a knife in his hand.

I sighed. “You’re seriously gonna do that now? I finished you fair and square. Have some pride.”

He wasn’t hearing a word. “You LITTLE—” he spat, actually lunging at me which caught be by surprise.

“Oh, shit—” My arms shot up over my face. I didn’t even have time to think about dodging.

Then—

The world seemed to slow.

A shadow cut in between us. The knife sank in with a sick, wet sound. The man in front of me jerked once, shoulders tightening, breath catching in his throat. His hands hovered like they didn’t know whether to fight or clutch at the blade.

The guy who’d attacked me froze, his own knife buried in someone else’s chest. For a second, all he could do was stare at it, knuckles white on the hilt.

“Ah… fuck,” the stabbed man groaned, knees buckling. He coughed hard, dark spots blooming on his shirt.

The knife wielder stumbled back, eyes wide. “Did I—did I just—?” He didn’t finish. Instead, he spun on his heel and bolted. “WE GOTTA GO!” he shouted to his friends. They scrambled after him, disappearing down the street.

I was left standing there, the sound of my own pulse in my ears.

A man had just… taken that hit for me.