Chain Gang All Stars

Thurwar washed the tear gas off her skin in her room at the Regional. She showered and then let her muscles relax in the heat of a short soak in the tub. Then she changed into her pajamas, silk and branded with hammers, and turned to the Compstreaming console to watch old fights and prep, as was her ritual.

First she watched the men she and Staxxx would face together in two days, their old matches, spent time studying them as she had been since the battle had been announced. She’d never seen anything like them. She needed a more concrete strategy, she knew, and turned to her old match with Unicorn Racine as she considered. She watched as she murdered Unicorn Racine, how she’d sucked in the fervor the crowds gave her after. She sat in her master suite and remembered what it had been like to be the person she was watching on the archived streamcast. She hardly limped then, the glory an incredible anesthetic.

She was watching a memory of a person who had been her. A person who was her. A person whom she had shed because they no longer suited her. A person who had gotten her to the place where she was now and whom she often hated.

“I love you,” Thurwar said to the memory. Then she turned the stream off. The words had felt flat coming from her mouth. The resentment for herself was there as ever.

“See yourself and who you were and think about how you view that person. You have to be kind to yourself and…” That was from the doctor she’d befriended back when she was inside. She’d been blessed to have a woman like that as a cellmate. Patty, with all her softness, was tough enough that she hadn’t been broken down by the other prisoners, and many of them respected her. She taught classes on basic science and offered tutoring sessions that Thurwar would sit in on even though she had no desire to learn science. It intrigued her, though, to see just how much a single woman could know about the world, the body, about what made them go. Years before, Doc Patty had burned down her own lab, the story was. Inside, Patty had been gentle, someone many of the other women had looked to for guidance. Thurwar had not explicitly sought out Patty in that way, but their friendship had changed when the doctor spoke to Thurwar one evening in their cell as Thurwar cried on the bunk above.

“Thank you, Loretta,” Doc Patty said.

Thurwar said nothing.

“You’ve been very kind to me, and I know how you’ve been making sure I’m kept well. Thank you. You’re a good one, Loretta.”

“I’m not,” Thurwar said. She quieted her tears.

Thurwar held her breath, hoping for anything to hear besides the chaotic, messy, constant noise of the prison.

“Sure you are,” Doc said in a voice that promised the Caribbean. “And if you can, you should look back to those people you have been, those people got you crying over yaself each night, and remember they some ones that need love too. Ya understand me?”

Thurwar did not understand then. She felt so alone, so completely removed from any kind of good.

“Ya un—”

“She’s a killer,” Thurwar said. “That me, she killed my favorite person. I don’t love her, and I shouldn’t.”

“And I’m telling you, you have to, my friend. Loretta. And that li’l baby girl that came before the person you crying over so much. Love her too. Love all the way through it. I learned that’s the only way.”

“And here we are.”

“Yes we are. And you spending your time going back to hate your own self. It’s a fool’s errand. I know.”

“Right.”

“Look down at this.”

Thurwar looked but she couldn’t see anything, except for the doctor’s leg stretched out over her bedside.

“Ya looking?”

“Yeah,” Thurwar said.

“This my cutting leg.” And Thurwar could see. She had noticed before in glances but not thought much of it. A mosaic of scars and cuts decorated her leg so completely, it was an entirely different color from the woman’s kneecap and the sliver of thigh Thurwar could see. In that gray, cold cell Thurwar took in the proof of the doctor’s pain.

“Whatcha think I did this for?”

Thurwar said nothing.

“I was hating myself for things that I couldn’t control. I was hating myself for not being better. Hating myself for—”

“We’re not the same. I did have control. I had choices,” Thurwar said.

“And so what?” Doc said. “I learned a long time ago. On this one thing you don’t negotiate. You love through all the people you’ve been and hope you have a chance at being better.” The doctor pulled her leg back onto her bunk. “What I’m telling you is you can curse yourself to the moon and back and what will it have you feeling like? But try to look at yourself and say ‘I love you’ and see what happens.”

“It would be a lie.”

“Ya done worse than that before.”

—

Later, when the doctor had heard that Thurwar was to be Influenced, she’d cried herself. And she’d been so vigilant once Thurwar had returned to the cell. She’d asked Thurwar to move her eyes, to stretch this way and that. To smile, to frown. “What are you feeling right now, Loretta?” the doctor asked.

“I’m—” Thurwar began, but she was lost in herself. What she’d thought was pain was just a cheap imitation. In that six-by-six cell they called the Hole, she’d discovered the real thing, and it was still hot inside her. A terror she had to escape.

“They told me they’d do it again,” Thurwar said.

“Loretta, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” the doctor cried, even as she continued to examine her patient. She told Thurwar to let her know if she felt any cognitive changes. If her mood shifted. And it did. She felt a new hopelessness, a desire to end.

“I’m leaving,” Thurwar told the doctor the next morning. And the doctor did not fight her, though Thurwar heard her muffled weeping through that night and the next.

—

The hotel was called the Regional and it was closer to the city they’d actually be fighting in than it was to Old Taperville. The first nights in Hub Cities were nights of leisure and relaxation. The Links stayed in a heavily guarded wing. Thurwar and Staxxx, because of their position, were generally allowed to spend their nights together, and their rooms were always adjacent, Thurwar in a corner room and Staxxx in the very next available.

When they’d pulled up into the Regional their cuffs were disengaged to green, and the Links were led individually to their rooms. Thurwar had taken in hers, the king-size bed, a bottle of champagne on ice with a nice note from the manager.

After watching her old match, she’d decided to log into her messages folder at the Holo Computing terminal. She’d been actively neglecting them for several months.

Dear LT,

I just want to say that every day you’re what keeps me going. I think about you when I have to deal with bitches at work, when I’m pounding at the gym, literally all the time you inspire me. I can’t wait for the day you’re High Freed. It should be a holiday. I wish I could spend time with you and Staxxx. Looking forward to your next everything. This is how I get when I watch you do anything.

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Love,

W

Hey Ms. Thurwar,

I saw your last fight and am glad it was an easy one. Some people were angry but I was not at all. You are my absolute favorite Link ever, after Melancholia Bishop. I am probably one of your biggest fans. I argue in school about you and I don’t lose the arguments because if you and Raven Ways and Hurricane Staxxx and Plyrolla Happs and Quest Quest the Source and even UJC and Singer all had a fight, I think you would win. That’s how good I think you are. Thanks for reading. (Even though I know you don’t read most of the letters because people send weird stuff.)

You are dope,

Randy L

Dear Thurwar,

I’m sure you get this a lot, but you’re a legend. Truly your existence has brightened this earth. Sending my support, love, and energy to you. And I know it’s not your thing, but I figured maybe you’d like me to send you this as well. Hehe;)

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Yours,

A. Grower

Dear Loretta,

My favorite fight of yours of all time was the Unicorn fight. I think that’s where you turned the corner. Were you scared? I bet you were. And that’s what’s cool about everything you do. Even though it’s scary you make it work. You push through. I miss that Thurwar. The Rah-Rah Blood Mother. You’re getting a little boring now. You’re fun when you fight but that’s it. You only have a couple more kills before High Freed. Don’t you want to make them special?

From,

Concerned Fan

Miss Loretta Thurwar,

The heart of wickedness is shrewd and cunning. I implore you to take a step toward righteousness and forsake your sinner’s heart that you might be made anew. It is one thing to have taken life. Life that was crafted perfectly by GOD himself, but to continue to live as a whore and jezebel?! It is an affront to GOD himself. GOD himself weeps watching you use your considerable celebrity to advance the agenda of the homosexuals of the world who mean to spend their tyranny on us all. You seem a reasonable enough woman, despite your insidious past, and I, as a fan of athletic competition, have seen that you are an athlete of some caliber. And perhaps GOD himself has blessed you with the power to rid the world of the very same evil that resides in your own heart. You have chosen to be Sodom when you might have been Samson! GOD himself will throw you to an eternal fire. You might have found grace and yet you choose this! You work so hard on your body, I have seen. You are shaped and strong, but your heart is weak. Your thighs are cut and ready. But your mind is easily persuaded. You choose women. I fear for your eternal soul. I watch and pray that you might find a nice man on the Circuit to lie with instead of the lunatic Hamara. Seek the light, be a vessel for GOD, and GOD himself will set you free.

SEEK SALVATION,

—Righteous Virtue

LT,

I wanna fuck the fight out of you. I think you’d like it. Let me know?

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—PJ

Dear Loretta,

I hope this finds you well. I feel sick imagining what’s in the other letters coming in with this batch, but I just wanted to send love and light. This is my second message to you. Good things come in threes. You knew my father. You are supported. You are loved.

From,

A friend.

LT,

You’re a fucking bitch. Nigger bitch slut. I bet you want this. You’re welcome.

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BigD Bandit

Dear Blood Mama,

Hey there. Hope you’re doing well still. Fucking crazy week it’s been for both of us! The UnMelee? What the fuck? I told my wife, “Thurwar’s thinking, ‘What the fuck?’ right now.” I’m sure you were. Cause at the end of the day you’re a fighter. I want you to make High Freed. I’ve already picked out an outfit to wear the day you do it. I just feel like I want them to respect you enough to understand you are Thurwar, not Sunset (RIP to him, I know that was your boy) or Nova (fuck that guy). You are the real deal. At this rate the Melanchoniacs will never stop with it. Fucking pricks. I watched Bishop. She was great, but you are better.

Anyways. Keep on with it.

Since the last letter, I imagine you’ve actually read a lot more of these than you let on. The wife, as I said, has been watching with me. She fucking loves it. And that’s a blessing. Thank you. I want her to open up to me, you know? I want her to try things. I like that, with all due respect, we get to watch you and Staxxx cause I think it’s opening her up to the idea of what else we might do to spice things up. I think you might be the key. Just wanted to say thanks. And since I have an old stream on anyways you can see how thankful I am. HAHA:)

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Best,

iLL Willy Wil

Thurwar,

Murderers deserve to die. YOU deserve to die.

—Kep

Yo,

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How’s this

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You Like?,

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—

Thurwar had finished with the messages. She tried not to think about their contents, let them roll off her like water. She also knew that her engagement with the messages was monitored and recorded, so even though she’d seen a message that was almost definitely from Sunset’s daughter, she logged out of the fan mail and clicked through to the pages dedicated to weapons and armor upgrades. She tried to receive the love Marissa had sent, tried not to wonder what she might have been alluding to. Instead she focused on the coming matches. She used a hefty portion of BP to acquire a katana that would be delivered to Rico Muerte by the morning. She needed him to have it as they did their final day of fight planning before any individual work and prep. She also upgraded Rico’s meal plan to a basic level that would keep him from complaining about peanut butter and jelly.

She looked through her weapons and gear, and when she was satisfied with all the Links in her Chain, she stepped from the computer terminal and sat at the end of her bed. There was a knock at the door.

“Rico Muerte here to see you,” one of the guards said from beyond the door.

“What is it?” Thurwar yelled back.

“I just wanted to say, um, thank you. I confirmed the shit you sent and I want you to know that it means a lot to me and I got you forever.” The sound of Rico’s voice made Thurwar get up from where she was sitting.

She opened the door.

Rico was staring at the floor. His shoulders heaved up and down.

“It’s called Sansupurittā,” Thurwar said. “It belonged to a strong Link. It’s a good weapon. Make it yours.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rico said. “Imma make you proud.” Then he lifted his head and looked at her, letting the tears fall. “On God I will,” he said. And Thurwar nodded before she closed the door.

Ten minutes later, there was another knock. Staxxx.

Thurwar stood up quickly. Her knee protested with a spasm of pain.

“I need some time by myself right now,” Thurwar called.

“Really?” Staxxx said.

Thurwar was quiet.

“Just kidding,” Thurwar said. She opened the door.

“Bitch,” Staxxx said, and then she joined Thurwar on the bed.