His pride, the core foundation of his entire existence, was fractured far worse than his arm. “I want a lawyer,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “I’m going to sue the city. I’m going to sue the transit authority. That old freak used excessive force.” Carlson actually laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “Kid, we have statements from 12 passengers, including Chloe Sanders, the girl you decided to corner and terrorize. We have the bus’s internal security footage. It’s high definition. It shows you ignoring verbal commands, advancing on a municipal employee, and throwing the first punch. You aren’t suing anyone. You’re looking at assault, battery, and public endangerment.”
Three days later, the security footage from Route 42 leaked to the local press. It didn’t have audio, but the visual was damning enough. The video spread like a wildfire through Oak Creek, and quickly bled into the regional MMA forums. Trent, the arrogant prodigy who talked a big game about his lethality, was seen getting casually dismantled by an overweight, limping man in a transit uniform in exactly two moves. The fallout was catastrophic. Apex Striking and Grappling turned into a ghost town overnight. Parents pulled their teenagers from the amateur classes, refusing to let their kids be mentored by a local bully who attacked seniors.
Trent’s sponsors for his upcoming regional fights dropped him via terse emails. Even Liam and Greg, his loyal gym enforcers who had cowered in the back of the bus, stopped answering his texts. The illusion of Trent’s invincibility had been shattered, and in the fight game, once the aura of invincibility is gone, the respect vanishes with it. Desperate to salvage his life, Trent hired Bradley Jenkins, the most aggressive defense attorney in the county. Trent emptied his savings account to pay the retainer, demanding that Bradley dig up whatever dirt he could on Arthur Hayes to prove the driver was a violent sociopath who provoked the attack.
A week later, Bradley called Trent into his mahogany-lined office. The lawyer did not look happy. A thick manila folder rested on his desk. “I told you to find his history,” Trent said, sitting down awkwardly due to the heavy brace on his arm. “Tell me he has a record. Tell me he’s got PTSD and snapped. We can use that.” Bradley took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Trent, you are a complete idiot.”
“Excuse me?” Trent bristled. “I pulled his military jacket.” “Well, I pulled what wasn’t heavily redacted by the Department of Defense,” Bradley said, tapping the folder. “Arthur Hayes isn’t just a veteran. He was a Tier 1 operator. He commissioned in 1988. He served in Panama, Somalia, Afghanistan, and Iraq. During the Battle of Ramadi in 2006, his unit was pinned down in a three-story building by insurgents. Hayes personally cleared the bottom two floors in close-quarters combat to secure an extraction route for his wounded men.”
