Nothing happened.

Despite Ian's taunt, the imp didn't move. He was afraid of that.

He was almost one hundred percent sure that if he reached down for that knife, the thing would charge. So long as he could grip it fast enough, he'd have a prayer. Imps had thick skin, he'd heard, but a knife was a knife. Hell, he wasn't opposed to taking the eyeballs first if he had to. But he couldn't do that if he had to make the first move. He had to get that damn thing to attack.

Only, he didn't know how.

His pulse raced, but he wore a peaceful smile as he thought of Rinn. "You're alive, at least. You're back. If I die here, you'll be okay."

As soon as he said it, his gut ached. Rinn. He'd waited five years to confess to her how he felt, and now he was going to die without ever having the chance. And for what? Because he couldn't keep it in his pants for some Rinn lookalike three years ago and now the medic?

Damn idiot.

The soft voice came in a rumble, slow and carefully paced. "I bet you're good at mathss. Ttthiinking on your oddzz."

A hiss left the S's to linger. Ian blinked in surprise when he saw it was the imp that had spoken.

"You tthink. You arre a tthinker." It—no, he—smirked. Allowing his finger to fall from his thin lips, the imp sat up once more. "I wonder what you ttthink now."

Speaking was a challenge for the imp, probably due to its sharp fangs.

"You talk?" Ian asked. The horror stories never mentioned that imps were anything more than green-skinned, bloodthirsty, man-eating beasts.

Deloris was focused on his own right hand at first, but the observation caused him to jerk his head up; his eyes met Ian's, though they were some distance away. The thing bristled. It wasn't that he was agitated; Ian'd struck a nerve.

The once carefully paced tone of voice quickened.

"I ccan ssnap your head offf in ssecondss, but my ability to tttalk iss of more conccern to you?"

It was. The imp was small—no more than five-foot-two—but he was solid muscle. For the first time, Ian allowed himself to focus on the blue overalls Deloris wore. They looked like denim. He'd noticed the clothing earlier but figured it had been his condition making him hallucinate. The thing had green skin, red hair, and overalls—it was just such a strange combo. Now Ian had discovered that it spoke, too—and it had an attitude problem to boot.

All his hopes for having one last chance at a fight faded. When the imp eased forward to brace himself on his long arms, Ian went numb. Those arms weren't that long a moment ago. So imps really can extend a body part temporarily. He wondered for a moment if the thing would swallow him whole like the stories said. Although it seemed laughable that a creature that size could consume a full-grown man, when he looked at Deloris, he decided to believe those stories just for today; his last day alive.

With sick fascination, he pondered whether the imp's jaw dislocated or if it was more of a reptilian thing in which his body would expand around his meal.

While he studied Deloris, the imp studied him in return. The crowd started to boo, but neither Ian nor the creature concerned themselves with the noise. Ian wondered if the imp was waiting for him to move or answer.

From the bleachers, Patricia called out, her voice considerably edgier with anger, "What the hell are you waiting for? Move, you idiot!"

Ian glanced down at the dagger. He thought of the ones still inside the bag in his grip, and then he looked at Deloris. His remaining energy fled his body.

"I can't." Ian shook his head as he thought of the receptors. "I can't. I can't kill anyone. I fucking can't. I can't!"

Despite the risk of inadvertently prompting the imp to attack, he found himself rubbing the backs of his hands, his body caught in a wave of panic. "I can't kill people! I fucking can't." He shook his head, defiant. "I won't. I fucking won't do it. And nobody can make me this time. I won't."

He wasn't sure what was happening, but he heard Patricia approach. She spoke close to his ear, her hot breath filled with venom.

"Now you listen to me, you useless walking sack of filth. A verbal contract is still a contract. And you've agreed to this fight. You'll damn well take it!"

Ian blinked as the words reached him.

"You're acting like it's your fucking sister," Patricia wailed. "It's just a fucking imp!"

There was a crunching sound.

Ian meant to turn and see the woman's face, but his body moved too slowly. What he saw was a green hand so big it engulfed Patricia's head. Something else crunched, and Ian was splattered with gore.

Ian allowed his eyes to travel the length of the green hand until he saw the imp's serious expression. The creature's face demanded proper respect and attention and Ian, though well aware of the crowd of people fleeing for their lives as all hell broke loose around them, decided to give just that.

The thing stared at him and Ian frantically gathered his thoughts, trying to figure out why. What was the imp thinking? At this close proximity, he could see that Deloris's eyes were green—nearly yellow in some places. The imp didn't have such an awful face, either. Before it had attacked, it had looked a fright, but now, up close, it seemed somber and sad.

"Tthank you," he said.

Ian was speechless at first, but curiosity drove him to ignore the gory scene beside him and keep his gaze fixed on the pale green eyes.

"What did you say?"

"Tthank you." Deloris wore a curious frown. "You're nottt from here. You're nottt from the Colony, nor Topsside?"

It came out as both a question and a statement, and Ian answered with a nod. By then the spectators had all fled, leaving the three of them behind: Patricia, whose skull had been crushed, Deloris the imp, and Ian.

"Tthhatt'ss why you tthink my life hasss value?"

Again, it sounded as if it was both a statement and a question rolled into one. Ian managed to give a weak nod once more, and the imp shook his head, scolding him.

"Wwhy do thiss? Itt'ss few foolss who would go up againsst an imp. What could be sso important?"

Ian fought to mask his embarrassment. "I promised to fight. They have my woman. I had no choice. I accepted this fight. But as far gone as I am, regardless of whether I'm losing my mind from this pain, I can't kill a person. I can't." He blinked, well aware that the moisture clouding his vision was tears and not sweat. "I won't kill another human being."

Deloris's yellow eyes narrowed. "Iii'm nottt human. I'mm an imp." Ian noted that with the heavy hissing, only the word imp was said with no accent. "I ccome here for food."

Ian shivered when Patricia's mangled head, still attached to the limp body, was brought into his line of vision, hung up much like a shirt on display.

"I have my fffood now." Deloris never looked away from Ian's eyes. "Tthhank you for vallluing my life. It'ss forbidddenn to be a humann'ss p'et. I'd fooled mysself into thinking I wassn't. But ssomehow tthat's what I've become. You've given mee my ssensses back."

The green eyes explored him. Finally, the imp raised his empty hand to Ian's face. The tingling sensation from the charges grew more painful but just as quickly, it faded. All pain faded. The receptors calmed. He didn't dare risk looking. Just as quickly, he felt them start up again but he might just survive yet.

"What'd you do?" Ian blubbered.

"Weee eat eeenergy," the imp answered.

Leaning forward, his breath foul and rancid, as the imp lowered his voice. "Lissten Outssider, we imps love prey that'ss riddled with pain. And you are that. You are one who doesn't ssttand sstill and wait for the reeaper to take your head. You beckon deatthh, you tauntt it to come. That tthinking is a ssicknesss, and it hass brought you to the doorsstep of an imp. A forccce like you will desstroy thosse around you. If you werre an imp, our leeader would take your head. For today...." He gritted his teeth and it caused his voice to rumble in the back of his throat. "...Rrrun."

Six years earlier (Rinn)...

"Bloody hell, that hurts!"

"Geez, at least wait for the door to close before crying like a little girl."

"Easy for you to say, you Yank. You didn't get poked in the eye."

The door finally slid shut and Rinn helped the slender man lie down stomach first on the floor.

At first, she wasn't sure what Ian thought he was doing engaging in these stupid fights. They kept Ian relatively occupied which was a comfort because Rinn still wrestled with the guilt of having to explain that this place was no prison, and these fights weren't all that random. They were a show to entertain someone, maybe the others being held there, but they'd only last so long as it was fun to watch. Whenever Ian walked away from a loss with his head still attached, Rinn said a silent thank you each and every time. She guessed the irate Irishman's annoying personality was what kept the crowd coming back.

That was good. So long as Ian was entertaining to watch, he could walk away from any match alive. Luckily, Ian never turned down the offer of a fight, particularly the boxing matches. He'd never be forced to step into the ring, but Rinn knew, the minute her friend decided to retire from the fighting, would be the time when the owners of the complex would find another use for him, one that was a lot less favorable.

They were in an 'Entertainment Center,' and Ian was nothing if not entertaining.

Each day Rinn formulated her speech to break the news about where they were, and each day that she opened her mouth to tell Ian, words failed her. Rinn wished they were in a prison, because most prisoners had sentences that would end—they had nothing. They were just two forgotten people no one was looking for. Mere animals get locked up, pets were the only things she knew were kept for amusement.

The raw gash in Ian's back still oozed though the half-dried blood helped. Rinn swallowed hard. "Your eye? You're complaining because the dude poked you in the eye?"

"Well," Ian muttered, almost pouting, "I expected him to fight dirty, but honestly, who does that? Who pokes a guy in the eye—'specially a guy half his size, yeah? Bloody wanker." His voice trailed off into a grumble. "Like I'm some fucking cartoon character. He didn't take me seriously as a fighter, so of course that hurts."

Rinn could only focus on the cuts. "There's a first-aid kit, but it won't get refilled for another month. Sh—should I use it now?"

"No." Ian sighed. "I've got, like, two more fights this week. Got a feeling I'll be needing it more then." After a brief pause, Ian asked, "You think it's my American accent why he done it?"

"American accent?" Rinn sighed and gently lamented, "Dude, saying, 'Seriously, seriously' does not an American accent make. Besides, you might wanna cut back on the double negatives and the 'ain't's."

"'Ain't's? I ain't never used 'ain't'. What the hell are you talking 'bout?"

Rinn wasn't always sure when Ian was being serious, so she decided to err on the side of caution. "Just keep working on the accent. It's...still a bit shaky. And by shaky, I mean, borderline offensive."

"Oh." Ian relaxed, but Rinn knew the gears in the man's head were still working. Nobody could hold a grudge quite like Ian. Finally, Ian said, "But I tell ya what. I tell ya what, it's no more Mr. Nice Guy after this. That's for sure! Next guy, next knob-head who comes my way, I'm cutting 'em up, I swear."

Rinn snorted out an indignant laugh.

Ian tried to look back at her. "What? You think I'm too nice to do it?"

Eyebrows raised, Rinn shrugged. "I think you're too much of a softy to do it. No way you're going to get all hardcore suddenly and start dropping bodies. I don't see it happening." When Ian groaned, she smiled. "Told ya."

"Hadn't thought about that," Ian said as he lay back down. "It's probably the adrenaline talking. I'll just sleep it off, then." He closed his eyes, muttering, "Try not to take advantage of me while I'm impaired."

Rinn shook her head, afraid to ask. "Take advantage of you?"

"Yes," Ian sneered. "Been a year together. Figured it's a long time coming."

Rinn snorted with laughter again, and this time the Irishman chuckled. "Thought that was a pretty clever way to bring it up, myself."

"Right, well...." Rinn made her way to the corner farthest from the door. She gathered up some blankets, which she'd folded since Ian had refused to do anything 'domestic,' lest others get the wrong idea. "Well, one would hope you wouldn't have to look for a wife in a place like this. Let's keep on our toes."

"Settle," Ian said, his voice groggy from fatigue.

After putting the blankets down, Rinn looked at him. "What?"

"Settle." Ian let out a soft sigh. "It'd be settling. No way in hell I'd risk any little Ians being born in a shithole like this. And trust me when I say I'd rather die alone...." At the silence, he opened his blue eyes and focused on Rinn. "That's not an invitation, Yank."

At Rinn's derisive laugh, Ian asked, "What's that mean?"

Rinn crinkled her nose. "I just thought, if I was willing to settle or be settled for, I wouldn't take you. That bony ass would be a lousy lay, for sure. You're guarding something nobody probably even wants."

Ian nearly jumped off the floor in indignation. "You bloody Yank. You take that back."

"No way. Look at you: you're one cracker away from being on those 'It's only one dollar a day' commercials. Like, seriously, come on. I'm not into meatheads, but I'd at least want to settle with someone with a bit of muscle on them."

Ian laughed. "I can't imagine that. Look at you—you're the very definition of a nun." His tone softened. "What would you do anyway, if anyone ever caught your eye?"

Caught her eye? It was his polite way of telling her to keep on her toes and not do anything stupid. Rinn didn't speak for some time, but when she finally did, her tone was genuine. "I'm not as obsessed as you regarding that kinda stuff. But with regards to being forced into anything against my will, I'd like to think I'd put up a fight at least. And as for 'settling,' no one's ever catching my eye. You?"

"Don't know." Ian shrugged. "Figure I might just hang myself and call it a day. Let's face it. I'd like to think I'd persevere, escape this place, go back home and write a book or something, but I'm pretty much aware that I'm on borrowed time and it's only a matter of 'when' until I snap. Imagine ending up with a family here somehow." He cringed.

When Rinn didn't answer, Ian opened one eye to regard her again.

"Not that it's an invitation for going after my manly bod as I sleep. I've heard you Americans love a good accent; it's like a moth to a flame, since you know my real one. And I was quite the thing back home." Rinn's chuckle made Ian pout. "You absolute traitor."

Rinn shook her head even as Ian struggled to stand. "Man, you're disillusioned."

Within seconds, the injured man lumbered over to her, his eyes squinted. "So are you saying," Ian began, "if we was the last two people on earth, you still wouldn't want to have a go with me?"

"Hell yeah, that's what I'm saying."

"You snob." Ian shoved her shoulder. "My charm is just as good as anyone else's."

"You're bony."

They lost track of when it became a wrestle, ending with Ian pinning Rinn down, demanding, "Admit it—admit that you'd want to repopulate the earth with me."

"I'd rather try to repopulate the world with a cactus."

"Say it. Say my charm is just as good as anyone else's."

"Dream on. As far as charm go, yours is grade F for 'Fucking hell, that's one bony bastard'."

"Ahh, so you've noticed! Been checking me out, then?"

"Sure, your hip cut into the door frame when we passed it by, you anorexic nutcase."

Their romp ended when Rinn pinned Ian instead, causing the man to howl in pain.

"Shit. Sorry. Turn over; let me at least get something to clean it with." Rinn shook her head as she stood. "But man, you are such an ass. You never let up in anything."

Rinn crossed the room and crouched down before a metal box by the door.

Behind her, Ian said, "You just always have that doom-and-gloom look about you, lately. I just want you to laugh or something. Life's no fun if you don't laugh, ya know?"

Rinn grumbled. "Yeah. I know."