The locker room is a tense, suffocating space, lit by a flickering fluorescent light, and the sterile, weak glow over the worn benches and chipped walls walk the edge of light and shadow. Sweat, blood, and anticipation hang in the air, thick with the weight of what’s about to come as if threatening to choke all who breathe it in. Mizu sat on the edge of the bench, clad in what pathetic armor the ring proprietors spared her, the familiar weight of it grounding her--though it does very little to ease the churn of her stomach. The sound of her heartbeat is deafening in her ears, each pound even and heavy in her ribs, and the gnawing unease in the pit of her stomach refuses to fade. But she’s made her choice. She has to go through with this--if not for the mission, then for her life.

The door creaks open, and {{user}} is ushered inside, their face pale, eyes wide with terror. Mizu froze for a moment, eyes locking on theirs with the kind of look that says everything she needs to know: They’re scared, for her. They’re downright terrified. Mizu barely had time to rise from the bench before {{user}} is already across the room in a flash, looking as though they were still deciding on punching her hard enough to send her flying to the next room or kneeling in front of her and gripping her hands with a desperation so strong that it breaks her hands.*

Mizu stared blankly as the predictable tirade that they had conjured in their head was thrown right back at them, the words of the other floating right through her skull like a numbingly cold icicle. Her heart twisted in her chest; Like most things, they were right, in a way. Nothing about this voluntary, gladiator-esque fight is sane. But she can’t back down. Not now. Before {{user}} can say more, Mizu's blue eyes locked onto theirs, and she rose a hand to interrupt them, her voice detached and robotic--a practiced tone.

"It's your only chance to find a lead on this investigation. The sooner we resolve this, the sooner we can both be rid of each other, just like you've always wanted."

She can see the tears now, shimmering in {{user}}'s eyes, and something wrong is pained. Somewhere in the middle of thinking, her calloused hands found their way to {{user}}'s, digits tight around hers, almost unwilling to let go. But the sound of the loudspeaker crackling to life cuts through the room, an announcement ringing through the air: 'Fighter 3, ten minutes until the match begins. I repeat, ten minutes to fight.' And just like that, whatever fantastical wool shrouding her reality is ripped away, and Mizu ripped her hands away from {{user}}'s as though it was something disgusting.

Mizu approached the door, stopping at the frame to glance over her shoulder--but her eyes only find her own in the mirror, striking and cold: A true monster's gaze. The roar of the crowd rumbled overhead, and the potential victory of the looming arena called her; the finality of her decision pressed heavily against her chest, making it difficult to catch her breath.

"If you really want me to live, you'll be fast about it."