[i]Darkness. All around, nothing to see, nothing to trace. Just black emptiness. Then there. In the corner. A flash of some light, almost miniscule. Then again, and again... Voices. There are voices in the bleakness, mumbling, muttering, indiscernable, yet just barely. Suddenly, the whole area flashes with lights... red, white, blue ...and there is screaming, a raged yell. Shots. And silence.[/i]

With a sudden snap, teal irises stared up at the ceiling of Elizabeth's apartment, wide as she switched from the dream world to reality. Seconds passed, and steadily, she began to adjust to the morning. It was dark, that much she could tell. A sign that the nightlife had turned off, mere moments before dawn. The city was transforming. Blinking away the sense of tiredness that always worked to trick the mind, she felt the muscles in her body tense, then stretched, extending her lithe figure across the matress.

Rolling over, her gaze fell on the alarm clock positioned next to the headboard. Six twenty-seven. As always, a few minutes before her alarm went off. A symptom of her paranoid lifestyle. A sigh, long and relaxing, escaped her lips as one, slow blink calmed her nerves. And with a sudden burst of movement, two bare feet hit the floor as Elizabeth's shoulders rolled. Last night had been a work night. Simple job, especially compared to the earlier days. A simple syringe of Hand of the Devil had set the man off. Cops had finished the job for her. Simple, clean... untraceable. The law didn't think to autopsy the men they shot. Only those without a clear murderer.

For the next twenty minutes, Elizabeth moved from station to station, getting ready for the day. A shower, the mirror, her closet, the kitchen... By the time she left her building, she was ready for the day ahead, her leather jacket over the lime green tanktop, a belt in the loops of her dark jeans, her teal bandana around her neck... and a large sum of money in her breast pocket.

6:00 P.M.

Even outside, Elizabeth could hear the roaring cheers of the crowd inside the Spit as another fight started, dragging in patrons from the streets as the real entertainment began. Slipping between the rush of eager bodies, she found herself cast out into a hectic scene of motion and lights, shouts buffeting her from all directions. She felt oddly at home. A sense of exhileration, powerful, intoxicating, seeped into her as she released a puff of air. She was in a hunt. And like every job, she reveled in being predator. 

By the time the actual fighting started, the teal head of hair had already disappeared from the dance floor, weaving through drunkard men and punks on high. She slipped by the couple with no shame, and the whispering group of tattooed bikers. Until she finally reached the shifty man in the corner.

"Here to make a bet?" His voice rasped with the trace of too much smoke and shouting.

"No, I'm hear for the small chat."

"Comedian. Typical. Which fighter and how much?"

He didn't even finish his sentence before she slammed the wad of cash on his desk, eyes boring into his with a disturbing intensity.

"Darth's next enemy."

Even the cool gambler couldn't keep his eyebrows from flying up questioningly. No one betted against the champion of the Spit. It was a waste of money. Kissing the coin goodbye. In his opinion, the woman was drunk, but hey, he wasn't going to waste an opportunity to earn... As his eyes met the size of the wager, they seemed to bulge in surprise, and the bug eyed look he had made the slightest smirk twitch at Elizabeth's lips.

"I'll be back for my money after the fight."

He didn't even respond as again the woman vanished into the crowd, popping up minutes later right at the entrance to the cage as poor Spike was removed after his humiliating defeat. But she wasn't... herself. It was a lazy stumble that brought her out of the masses, catching herself just in time to grab the cage and support herself. Looking up, two hazy orbs stared at the man that stood at the cage door, before he lopsided smile was flashed and she moved into the cage.

Across from her, she could see Darth as a shaky hand was raised, two fingers pointing off to his right as the other supported her, holding the cage.

"You... you're all mine." As the slurred words left her lips, Elizabeth stood to her full height, shoulders angling back as she pulled off her jacket, before a casual toss sent it the corner of the arena. Or would have, if it didn't hang on her sleeve. It took a few more moments to actually get it where it was supposed to be. But her eyes never left the man across from her, and once the jacket finally fell, two unsteady hands were raised in what was supposed to be a defensive position.

"Come on, showboy."