A lot of firsts are happening today. I get to see Jessie in something that isn't ripped from a comic book.
They've stripped the sleeping man Victoria put to sleep of all his clothes, only leaving him his underwear. Thank goodness they left at least that.
Everything Jessie stole they wore with pride. The hickory and white plaid pattern adds some height to their legs. Their tucked plain white tee matches the shade of their hair, and the man's jacket effortlessly hangs off their back. I don't know if they taped it to themselves or if they nailed it there, but it's magically magnetized to them. They don't go anywhere without a cape, I guess. They seem to be enjoying the brown aviators most of all. They keep flicking the temples, revealing their hickory irises.
Victoria picks up the discarded white cape on the floor. She turns it from the white exterior to the black inside, examining it from top to bottom.
"What are you doing?"
"I've seen Whitey fight. I wanna know where he keeps all those bullets they use."
"Sorry to disappoint but you won't find anything! A hero never reveals their secrets! And can you leave that there, I'll be back to pick it up after we're done." Victoria drops the fabric into a pile with the rest of Jessie's costume and shrugs her shoulders. "Ah, A costume change!" They gush. "There's nothing better than new clothes!"
"I get why you needed to change, but Victoria, why did you strip the lady down? You didn't fight. They probably wouldn't recognize you in the first place."
"Free clothes are free clothes."
"But they're two sizes too big for you."
"I'll grow into em'. Or just sell 'em online later."
Jessie smacks their hands on our backs while shining a toothy smile. "Alright team let's keep this train moving. Put your captive asleep Victoria and let's start stepping!"
"Actually, I'm gonna keep him."
"What do you mean you're going to keep him?" I challenge. "He's not your pet."
"He is now. If I can't use you as my servant anymore, then he can be your substitute. At least for now."
"That's-" I'd object to this but letting her keep him saves me from getting swiped. "Fine."
"Let's go new guy!" The emotionless soldier trails behind us as we tread the dark path through the private section.
We go up a winding metal staircase and a jasmine wall carves two paths that curve to our left and right.
"Which way do we go?"
"Hm... Eeny meeny miny-"
There has to be a better way to... "Wait, Victoria?"
"Yeah?"
"Can't you just ask the guy you have under your control to tell us the right way to go?"
"No."
"What? You can't at least try?"
"It'd be a waste. He's not gonna sell out his boss for any amount of money I feel like giving up."
"She's right," Jessie adds. "They're a very loyal bunch."
"So we have no option but to guess?"
"Yep, and I guess, right!" They charge forward disregarding the idea that a path with less resistance is readily available for us.
The tube is almost like a donut, probably curving around the whole stadium. It's a silent walk. I don't know if it's some kind of tactical decision to stay quiet, but I implore them to keep it up. Hearing myself think is a beautiful thing.
Jessie says they've been here before and seems familiar with the building's layout. Hopefully, they know what they're doing leading us down this path.
The walk is longer than I'd thought, taking five minutes until the barren yellow walls get a new feature to them. A bright red door with a silver handle appears, accompanied by loud cheers and chatter playing behind it.
"You think she can do it?" A deep voice asks.
"She better. I bet a bag on her! If she wins I can afford that wedding ring!"
I assume they're talking about Rosa's fight. But It's been seven minutes since we last saw her. Has she been going for that long!?
"The little bastard better not win. I put two bags that Vilma's gonna put her head in the ground! Did I ever tell you the story of how I survived a fight with her?"
"We heard!" A collection of voices cry in unison. I can't tell how many people are inside, but from the chorus of people that just spoke, there's a small crowd inside.
If this is the wrong door, opening it will mean a host of problems coming for us. "Is this the right door?"
"No way to know unless we check." Jessie grabs the door handle and pulls back the black cover that partitioned us off.
The inside looks like a zoo...
The room is packed wall to wall with men and women enraptured by what's happening on the other side of the glass window. Open bottles sit on fine marble tables, TV's playing different movies hang right below the ceiling. Two people kiss on a couch in the corner, while another pair are wrestling in the opposite corner. One man is motionless on the floor, glass in hand, and a short-haired woman with a crown tattoo on her neck sits on top of him playing on her phone.
Now that I look at it, I can see the same crown-shaped tattoo or a fraction of it on almost everyone inside. It must be a sign of the VIP members.
A million things are happening inside the room, and somehow none of them are paying attention to the recently opened door. So, we have to figure out whether this is the place before they notice us.
I nudge Jessie to not draw attention to us, and they catch the hint.
Jessie peeks their head through the door, scans the room, and then pulls back. "Hm, looks like I chose wrong." Damn it, Victoria! Why couldn't you just use your Antique?
"Antoine, who are these guys? And why are you in your underwear?" The short-haired woman murmurs.
The whisper of a question somehow interrupts the buzzing of everyone's separate activities, even drawing the main crowd away from the match. Heads turn to us, and a steady stream of skepticism crosses through the room. Eyes stare at our faces, prompting eyebrows to hike in confusion, a couple of whispers between people sitting next to each other. Soon, I can visually see the realization cross everyone's minds that they have no clue who we are, and we shouldn't be here.
And once everyone looks to their comrades to verify their suspicions, shoes plant the ground, and the horde moves to confront the group that just ruined their party.
We're screwed.