Chain Gang All Stars

“Y’all had a rough night. I’m not setting y’all to blue. Don’t tell anyone, okay?” Jerry said. This was his kindness.

“Suck my dick, America,” Sai Eye Aye said, and broke the silence that had shaped the space of the van for so long. Randy Mac’s absence was a splinter in their hearts, but it was also a clear and present pain for them to dive into with their whole bodies, to avoid the terrifying future that season 33 had brought their leaders. Thurwar sat in her usual corner and Staxxx, instead of sitting beside Thurwar, sat across from her, in the space Randy Mac would have occupied had he not lost his life.

“Suck my dick, America,” Ice Ice the Elephant, Rico Muerte, and Staxxx said in return.

Thurwar, lonely already. Without the weight of Staxxx on her shoulder, she felt lost. She let the absence be. She tried to ignore her knee and the way it screamed. Whatever had been wrong for so long was worse.

“That’s the spirit,” Jerry said.

And the Links were unified in their hatred of him but said nothing.

Gunny Puddles said, “There’s plenty other countries out there.”

And the rest of the Links, even Bad Water, looked at him with disdain.

Rico leaned over from his bench to Gunny’s right and said, “SUCK MY DICK, AMERICA,” as loudly as he could in Gunny’s face.

Gunny smiled and leaned back.

Why couldn’t she just kill him there? Thurwar thought. Why, if none of it mattered anyway, couldn’t she ensure the peace and safety of the group just a little bit by removing Gunny Puddles?

“You can say that all you want, but don’t make a change of nothi—”

“Anyways my guy did good. He did what he could,” Rico said.

“What they say the count was, almost five minutes?” Ice Ice said. “That’s a legendary match if ever there was one.”

“Still ended the same,” Gunny said.

Thurwar remembered that Randy had come from a rural facility, where he’d worked as a goat farmer. He was one of the few who discovered something he truly loved in prison. If only he’d had the chance before. Who might he have been? Thurwar tried to look at anything, anyone but Staxxx. Did this mean they were already opponents?

Yes. The fight began the second it was assigned. The second you knew it was coming, you were preparing. In her mind Thurwar tried to dissect Staxxx the way she dissected all her opponents: cataloging her tendencies, predicting her first strikes, imagining her death. Staxxx had started off a counterstriker, known for turning an opponent’s aggression into their death. But in the Hurricane Era, Staxxx had come to be more of a lead. She hit first and she hit last.

Sai said, “I’ll beat your ass right here if you want it.”

“You’ll what?” Gunny said, still smiling.

Thurwar realized as they rolled on that it wasn’t as difficult as she would have hoped: Staxxx liked to end matches quickly, as did all great Links, but she almost always opened with a horizontal spin slash that could—if she missed—be leveraged for momentum for a second or third attack.

She tended to be flashy, but without sacrificing much precision. LoveGuile was much longer than Hass Omaha. These were all thoughts, Thurwar realized, she’d had before. She told herself it was because they’d fought together so many times and she’d needed to understand her as a fighter and partner. But also, to be a Colossal, to be the Grand Colossal, one had to have imagined winning in the BattleGround against any and every Link. Out of force of habit, every time Thurwar watched Staxxx, she’d give her feedback on her performance. Most of it stemming from the idea that if Thurwar had been on the grounds against her, hypothetically, she’d have won because of Staxxx’s tendency to do whatever it was Thurwar had noticed while watching her fight. But to strategize was one thing; to know it was coming was another.

“I will beat the brakes off your ass right now,” Sai said.

“And I’ll be there for seconds,” Rico added.

Thurwar looked at Staxxx, then Rico, Sai, Ice Ice, Bad Water, and Gunny. In them she saw herself reflected. She had imagined Staxxx dead. In fact it was something she imagined every day. She’d trained herself for the feeling. And the thought of Staxxx dead, her body cold, unmoving, caused an electric adrenaline that started in Thurwar’s chest and spread through each and every one of her muscles, turning into a warm hatred of everything around her. That hatred was a powerful motivation. A desire. Staxxx gone from this earth, the idea of it, had carried her to Grand Colossal. A hatred of the cruelty of a world that had allowed Staxxx to be in a system like CAPE in the first place—that had carried her as well. But Thurwar didn’t know what would happen now that Staxxx was to be the object of her violence. It seemed impossible to use Staxxx’s death to motivate her to kill Staxxx, but there the feeling was.

She was tired. So tired. Thurwar stretched her knee out in front of her in the van and rubbed it the way she did when no one was watching. She rubbed her knee and felt the relief she so often denied herself. She rubbed her knee and Angola-Hammond watched.

“No, you won’t,” Thurwar said, kneading around her meniscus.

“Randy isn’t eve—” Rico started. His voice shook. Rico’s own match, his own murder, still fresh on his voice and in his eyes. He was still young, hadn’t learned yet to hide the hurt, the blowback of killing.

“I’m already not having a great night,” Staxxx said. “You aren’t going to do anything to anybody.”

“Randy would.”

“I said shut it!” Staxxx screamed.

Thurwar looked at Staxxx and Staxxx glared back hard. Thurwar felt the greatest pain of her life. A not knowing if Staxxx still felt how she had, if Staxxx might have killed the part of her that loved Thurwar in order to survive.

“That’s right,” Gunny Puddles said, laughing so hard spittle escaped from his throat. “Chain-Gang is family.”

“Exactly,” Staxxx said, smiling too.

Sai deflated into their seat.

“Suck my dick, America,” Rico said.

“That’s the spirit,” Jerry the driver said again.

And they continued down whichever road they were on, to wherever it was they’d begin this Circuit March.