You talkin' to me? Well, I'm the only one here.

Neon signs reflected from the streets, bouncing off of the unusually wet concrete in the summer night. There’s a constant thrumming in the ground, something vibrating beneath his feet no matter where he went. It isn’t something he’s currently trying to understand, if there is anything at all in its place. Shoulders raised, slightly hunched, he hurries as he walks. The city is never without noise, an argument, too many conversations, even in the dead of night, too many cars. It over-stimulates him. Yet, still, he finds himself roaming the streets by foot, passing by beautiful women who know better than now to proposition him and men covered in metal spikes protruding from their skin, barking at him. Lizard scales on anyone who stares, his shoes padding against the stream of water bleeding out from under the buildings.

It’s a busy life of freedom. He rushes past it all to enter the back of a parked taxi. There, is a moment of silence. He rubs his hands over his sweaty face and takes a deep, shaking breath. He looks different than what we are used to. Despite the darkness surrounding and deepening his eyes, he looks healthier. The starved thinness of imprisonment has been replaced by a wider frame, a bit more color to his skin. He looks alive and exhausted. In escaping Red Cliff and ripping his freedom from the dead grasp of the town and Jack, he had been rewarded.

Miles Lucky remembers everything, yet it changes nothing.

“It’s been a month,” he says from the backseat, letting his hands fall. It’s a shared thought that doesn’t lead anywhere right away as the taxicab waits patiently, feeding into that thrum he can’t shake from himself. Miles looks out the window of the cab, taking a moment to watch the disgusting city squelch and turn, socialize and ooze. It unmistakenly has a heartbeat, the blood of it all tainted.

“This city is filled with the worst the world has to offer,” he observes casually, shifting in his seat in an attempt to find comfort. “It’s filled with garbage, junkies, whores, freaks, the craziest people you’ll ever see. I saw a woman trying to rip her head off the other day, screaming she was hungry.”

He chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment too long before turning his attention to the front seat, “But the whole time I was thinking that I was too. The strangest limbs carrying themselves around, bones over their shoulders. City is filled with weirdos, just like me. Maybe that’s part of the reason why I’m sticking around, maybe having pigeons is another reason. My mentor being here is one. I, uh.”

The sentence cuts off with a grind of his teeth, shaking his head with a miserable chuckle. Everything he has yet to say to a single person is bubbling within his and it sprouts with watering eyes that don’t quite fall. He chews at his cheek once again, harshly, before taking in a sharp breath. “I did it. I should have the whole world in my hands. I made it out, I got the freedom that I wanted. But freedom is just knowing that you have nothing and nowhere to go. Freedom is remembering that, hey, Miles, this career, this name that you’ve been building for yourself, it’s all you fucking got.”

The tears had started to pour somewhere in the middle. The driver says nothing and Miles, as irrationally as he always seems to, gets a hold of himself as he lets his own words sink into his dirty skin.

“This is all I’ve got.” He repeats to himself. He pauses for a moment, letting his lie hang in the air in silence. Miles corrects himself. He acknowledges it. “It’s all I want. It’s all I need. I need the feeling I get whenever someone is standing across from me. I need to claw, I need to fight and I’m fucking good at it. If I bleed, I just need to make them bleed more and something fills in me. I lose my mind, I really do, standing in a coffee shop waiting. Standing at a platform waiting. Standing at a bus stop waiting. Laying in bed, just waiting, waiting, waiting. When I’m in there, when I’m in that ring, when people are staring at me from the stands, looking at me like I’m a monster, I don’t have to wait for anyone. Pulling to rip what I want, I just move. I just do it. I just eat it right up.”

His hand grips the back of the driver seat, his words becoming more erratic as he speaks madly. Miles is easy to fall apart, Miles is especially easy to do so in the back of a taxi cab. “What does that make me, huh? I took out a guy’s eye and swallowed it as soon as I could. I have a tooth in my palm. I chew on a finger bone like a grass piece. What does that make me, what do you think? You don’t have to answer me, you don’t have to say anything, I get it, but what do you think that makes me?”

Miles grips the seat harder as he softly whispers. “What does that make me?”

A sure expression crosses Miles’ face. “It’s made me a champion.”

He leans even closer to the driver as he speaks. “I’ve built a home out of hollowed sockets and empty gums. I climbed and bit off whatever I wanted, took my seat on gold. I made the feeling mine. I went out there after falling once and made sure I was the last one standing every time. This title is mine, this title was made to be mine. Every match is a battle, every match someone is giving you all they got, giving you a piece of themselves for you to take home. It’s all you need, imagine it. Just imagine, this is all you need, everything you worked for, everything you did to make a name.”

Miles stops for a second, scowls. “You know your place. You’ve earned your place. And someone tries to take it, because they need one of their own. Because they’re searching for something greater than themselves. You can’t relate, Miles. You know you’re the greatest thing you’ve got. And someone tries to take that, take a part of you, what do you do? Do you know? Of course, you don’t know, but someone tries to take what you’ve got, then you send her back to her group of piss bitches in pieces for even attempting.”

He practically roars that last part, seething at the possibility of anyone trying to take his title away from him. It’s a different sort of aggression that seems new in the face of his title defenses. However, as he had stated, he realizes this is all he’s got. It’s a dangerous thing. “Morgan Payne. Do you think you can sit in what I’ve made? Do you think you can finish what I started? I’m painting this title into something ferocious. The walls are made of something you can’t get a hold of. This belt and me have the same appetite, and I’m not done.”

Then, Miles begins to climb into the front seat. There was never a driver in the taxi at all. Miles takes the wheel. He looks to the backseat, his tired eyes staring directly into our own. “I almost feel bad. You caught me at a bad time. I know who I am now, I have something to preserve. You’re not on my level of being. You want something to hang onto, you want a purpose. I can give that to you, but not at my expense. Your part in all of this is just another person to collect from, just another shade of red to put on my title. They sent you into the house for the slaughter. This isn’t an opportunity for you, it’s a frenzy for me.”

He begins to drive, taking us through the broken city. The scenes change outside of the window, shifting and melting together as a steady stream of dirty water begins to flow over the taxi. It doesn’t deter him as he continues to drive, talking as we have no closer idea of where we are.

“I’m sorry if that’s disappointing to hear. I’m sorry that you probably thought that this match was a pat on the back in regards to your skill. Hey, Morgan, good job. You beat Danny, it filled you up with something for a second, slithering inside of him and sucking him dry. It must be a big deal to finally realize that you only feel something stir up inside of you when you take from someone else. You have a fire under you from that win, you feel great. Kid has sliced his own face up, was groveling in the ground alone when you found him and strangled him, but the next one won’t be so easy.”

“Here’s Miles Lucky. He’s not a face, he’s what happens to a face.”

The car suddenly stops, and so does the water. Gone without a trace like it never happened. Miles is quiet for a couple of moments, the taxi still running. He parked in front of an old warehouse.

“You really got fucked here, Morgan. They could’ve given you anyone, and they sent you to me. Of all the places you’ve been, of all the places you could’ve been sent, they sent you to me. I guess maybe we were always supposed to meet here. I guess I was always supposed to tear you apart right when you’re reaching out for something meaningful. Sorry. It’s been a month, and I finally figured myself out. Freedom isn’t going everywhere or anywhere, it’s being able to choose where you want to be and where you want to build your den. Sorry you stumbled into mine.”

Miles frowns. “I’m going to eat you alive. Happy Pigeon Day.”

He turns off the taxi, reaching into the passenger side to grab the War Horse title, which had been there all along. He rubs at his face once more, it had been a long night. Still, he has work to do. He makes his way to leave the car before something catches his attention in the rearview, his eyes widening before there is a harsh pan and cut.