[b]SONJA[/b]

Mike Johns, the League's primary hand-to-hand instructor, would be embarrassed to see this fight. Sonja knew just enough about fighting to know she wasn't very good at it. With no real idea of Sarin's skill level, all she could think to do was throw herself at the other woman and drag them both to the ground. It was not a Brazilian match, either. There was no technique in their grappling as the writhed on the ground, raining blows on one another and grasping for the throat and sensitive eyes. There was no science to it. Just two cats in a sack trying their level best to kill each other. The plus side, if you could call it that, was that several of the other heavy-hitters stuck around to watch. At least whenever help arrived they'd be able to recapture a couple.

Sonja felt a fist crash into her jaw and tasted blood. No, more than that, her mouth was swimming in it. She spat, only slightly accidentally into Sarin's face, saw a tooth flying among the spray. She hardly registered the pain, instead twisting her long fingers in Sarin's hair, getting a good grip.

She smashed Sarin's head against the concrete floor as hard as she could. Then she did it again. And again. And again.

-------

[b]SIXGUN[/b]

Might as well eliminate the obvious, just in case. Sixgun stepped directly over to the guards in front of Fontana's unoccupied room. "Evening, gents," he said politely. "Fletcher Ross is steppin' out to get hisself a pack of smokes. Want me to grab anything from the shop for you fellas?"

If it turned out he was free to leave at any time, he'd save himself a lot of hassle. If he was meant to stay here, then he'd know to be careful. At any rate, couldn't hurt to ask.