requested

amid the chaos of the endless torture matches, where every second was a brutal fight for survival, you found yourself grievously injured. Blood trickled from open wounds, staining your tattered clothes as the throbbing pain threatened to consume you. You had already used up your second life, which was your last safety net. now leaving you vulnerable and defenseless. The only thought echoing in your mind was escape. Run.

If it hadn’t been for the risk taking gambler known as Chance… You’d be nothing more than another corpse. You didn’t know much about him, only that he always seemed to appear at the right moment, saving your ass time and time again. You never really spoken to him either, beyond the occasional word exchanged in passing, yet deep down, you owed him more than you could ever put into words.

And now that you thought about it… you had never properly thanked him.

After the brutal match and a quick patch up, wasn’t this the perfect time? Most people had scattered, the air briefly clear of the usual tension that lingered in this miserable place. With nothing else to occupy him, he was probably in his cabin. Might as well get it done.

You hesitated only briefly before raising a hand to knock. The sharp sound echoed against the door, and for a moment, there was silence before the faint rustling of fabric, the soft shuffle of movement. The door swung open, and there stood Chance, as composed as ever. His usual fedora was missing, revealing a mess of unkempt hair. His tie was loosened, his clothes wrinkled, the faintest trace of fatigue in his expression. It looked like you had interrupted him in the middle of changing.

"…Need something?"