Amir's eyes widened. He'd definitely heard of the Underground Arena before.
It was a truly depraved place—where kidnapped people, dangerous beasts, and strong slaves were thrown into a massive arena to fight to the death. Only the last one standing would be granted freedom.
Rango had actually taken a job for them? If they'd captured him, things were bad—very bad.
Amir immediately contacted Little Jay and Veronica to share what he'd learned.
It wasn't confirmed yet, but that place had to be investigated.
Senil sat staring vacantly at the arena below. His squid-like face, for once, bore no flattering smile.
Maybe he was too immersed in the show to bother pretending, or maybe he no longer needed to grovel for anyone.
"Lord Senil, this is just the warm-up act. The real spectacle hasn't even begun!" said the Ishi Tib beside him, speaking through a personal translator. Their natural vocal organs weren't suited for other languages.
"Heh heh!" Senil snapped back into his usual persona. "But even this warm-up has been delightful. Now I'm truly looking forward to the main event you promised."
"Rest assured—it won't disappoint. Madam Bradley personally prepared it for you, in gratitude for supporting our portside operations."
"Heh heh heh! Just good business, Mr. Ren. No need to be so formal," Senil replied with a grin.
In a shadowy corner, several spectators watched. One muttered, "That bastard Senil got lucky. After Lunsis was arrested, all his assets fell to some no-name like him! If it were me..."
"Shut up," someone interrupted. "He's not someone we can gossip about anymore. Just enjoy the show—these grand-scale arena nights are rare."
At the main entrance, a red-haired girl walked in boldly.
"These shows ain't for little girls like you," one of the mercenary guards chuckled.
Veronica ignored him entirely and kept walking, expressionless.
"Heh, tough girl. Just don't go running out puking later."
Outside the building, Amir deployed his spider drone.
The small bot crept along the ventilation ducts, transmitting live footage to the display on Amir's wrist.
He sat in a quiet corner, eyes fixed on the feed.
The drone crawled steadily downward through the ducts, and the holographic map updated in real time.
"The holding cells must be below," Amir guessed.
He'd always been proud of this drone's infiltration ability—back in the Imperial academy, it had helped him with more than a few (mostly innocent) pranks.
In sealed buildings like this, ventilation shafts were a common weakness. Some ships and military bases had security traps inside the ducts, but this place clearly didn't.
The spider moved like it owned the place.
Veronica briefly appeared on the edge of the feed but kept moving. The bot continued downward.
The deeper it went, the darker it got. Only a few dim yellow lights remained, barely illuminating the ducts.
"There!" Amir exclaimed.
He spotted a section on the holomap filled with cell-like chambers. Inside were various beings of different sizes and shapes.
In the last cell—there he was.
Tap tap tap.
The spider gently tapped on Rango's body with one of its legs.
"Amir?" Rango gasped, stunned.
Amir exhaled in relief. Finding him was already a good sign. If he hadn't been here, things would still be in the dark.
The spider couldn't relay much else, so Amir left it in the cell and headed for the building.
At the ticket counter, Amir bought a pass and said to the receptionist, "I need to speak with your boss. It's urgent."
He intended to resolve this peacefully. With organizations as entrenched as this, brute force should never be plan A.
If he tried to sneak in and rescue Rango, and got caught halfway, the odds of getting out alive would plummet.
He was ready to negotiate—and to pay.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No, but I have business to discuss with your employer."
"I'm sorry, sir, but the boss is currently entertaining important guests. She won't be available today. Would you like me to schedule something for tomorrow?"
Amir silently pulled a credit chit from his coat, adding another tally to Rango's debt in his mind.
The receptionist grew nervous and quickly accepted the chit. "I-I can pass your message along... but no promises."
"Thank you."
The receptionist turned away, murmured something into a comm, then turned back after a short wait.
"Madam Bradley isn't here today, but Mr. Ren is indeed meeting with guests. Perhaps if you wait—"
"I'll go myself," Amir said flatly, walking past.
The receptionist hesitated but didn't stop him.
Veronica had already sent a message—she'd spotted Senil, and the man next to him was the arena boss.
Amir moved decisively, but he was still intercepted at the security checkpoint. His blaster was confiscated—no weapons allowed inside.
Only once inside could the scale of the place truly be felt.
On a typical night, only the central arena would be in use—and even that was half the size of a football field. Tonight, six additional rings surrounded the central one, forming a hexagram pattern.
Giant screens hung from the ceiling, each displaying a different arena's action.
Audience seating was stacked in three layers between the rings—steel-framed structures with transparent barriers that didn't block the view.
Tables and chairs were scattered throughout, allowing the bloodthirsty nobles and socialites to sip drinks while enjoying the carnage.
Veronica leaned on the railing, watching Senil chat animatedly in the distance.
Amir appeared at her side.
"You found Rango?" she asked.
"Yes." Amir looked down at the cold arena floor. Along its perimeter were numerous iron gates—one of them led to Rango's cell.
"I'm going to try negotiating. If it fails… be ready," he said.
Veronica might just be the only guest in this whole place who still had a weapon.
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