Chapter 51: VIRAL VIOLENCE
POV: Ivyn Mikaelson
[June 16, 2018 — LaRusso Residence Backyard — 10:00 AM]
Sam's phone screen showed me getting punched in the face from three different angles. Someone had added slow-motion effects and dramatic music.
"Fifty thousand views in eight hours." Her voice was carefully neutral. "Comments range from 'BEAST MODE' to 'Future UFC' to 'Who is this psycho and why isn't he dead?'"
I watched myself fight three people simultaneously. The video quality was surprisingly good—someone had brought actual equipment instead of just phones.
"I look cooler in my memory."
"You look TERRIFYING." Sam pulled the phone back. "That's not a compliment. That's—you took on three people at once. One of them was twice your size."
"And I won."
"Barely! You can barely stand today!"
She wasn't wrong. My ribs had turned purple overnight. My face had fresh swelling over the old bruises. Every breath hurt.
"That's the nicest thing you've said!"
"What?"
"You said I look terrifying. That's—" I grinned through the pain. "That's actually really sweet."
She threw her phone at me. I caught it, which made my shoulder scream.
"I can't date someone who might die for YouTube views."
"I didn't ask anyone to post that video."
"Does it matter? It's out there. People know your face. They know your name. What happens when someone bigger and meaner decides they want to make a name by destroying the 'Prophet'?"
Valid point. I'd been so focused on building reputation that I hadn't considered the targeting it would invite.
"What if I only fight two people maximum?"
"That's not the compromise you think it is."
"One person? Very carefully selected?"
"Ivyn."
"Fine. What do you want?"
Sam sat down on the pool lounge chair, pulling her knees to her chest. The morning light caught her hair, turning it golden. She looked exhausted—probably hadn't slept much either.
"I want scheduled fights only. Not these surprise handicap disasters. I want to know when you're fighting and who."
"Okay."
"I want full safety gear whenever it's allowed."
"The underground doesn't really do safety gear."
"Then proper wrapping and mouthguard at minimum."
"I can do that."
"And I get veto power. If I think a fight is too dangerous, you don't take it."
"That's—" I stopped. Actually thought about it. "That's a big ask."
"I know."
"You're asking me to give you control over part of my life."
"I'm asking you to give me input on whether my boyfriend lives or dies."
[RELATIONSHIP NEGOTIATION: Critical Point]
[Options: Accept constraints / Reject constraints / Counter-offer]
"I have a counter-offer."
Sam's eyes narrowed. "I'm listening."
"Veto power, but you have to see the fights first. Come to the venue. Watch me work. Understand what I'm actually doing before you decide what's too dangerous."
"You want me to watch you get beaten up?"
"I want you to watch me win. But yes, there'll be damage along the way."
She was quiet for a long moment. The pool filter hummed in the background. Somewhere in the house, Anthony was probably playing video games or plotting world domination.
"My dad will kill me."
"Your dad doesn't have to know."
"That's becoming a theme."
"I prefer to call it strategic information management."
Sam laughed despite herself. The tension broke slightly.
"Fine. One fight. I watch, I assess, and then we renegotiate."
"Deal."
We shook on it, which felt both silly and important.
[RELATIONSHIP: Compromise Achieved]
[Sam's Underground Visit: Scheduled]
[Trust: +3]
The sliding glass door opened. Daniel and Amanda returning from whatever Saturday errands occupied people with functioning adult lives.
"Why is our daughter yelling about fight clubs?" Daniel's voice carried across the yard.
Sam and I exchanged panicked looks.
"Movie discussion!" Sam called back. "The Brad Pitt one! Very intense!"
Daniel appeared at the door, arms full of grocery bags. His eyes moved from Sam to me to my visible bruises.
"Movie discussion."
"Very philosophical themes about masculinity and consumerism."
"Right."
He disappeared back into the house. Amanda followed, pausing just long enough to whisper in my direction: "Nice fight video. Delete it."
"Everyone knows. Everyone's pretending otherwise. Suburban dysfunction at its finest."
[LARUSSO FAMILY AWARENESS: Complete]
[Official Position: Plausible Deniability]
The tension lingered until I spotted the pool noodles.
"En garde."
Sam's confusion lasted half a second. "What?"
I grabbed a foam sword from the pool equipment and brandished it dramatically. "Defend yourself, LaRusso!"
"You're insane."
"We've established this."
I lunged. She dodged, grabbed her own noodle, and suddenly we were eight years old and nothing mattered except foam warfare.
The fight spilled into the pool. Both of us fully clothed, splashing and laughing and hitting each other with increasingly ridiculous techniques. My ribs screamed with every impact. I didn't care.
"Crane kick!" Sam attempted the famous technique and toppled backward into the water.
"Technical foul! Improper balance!"
"Says the guy who almost drowned doing a spinning strike!"
Anthony watched from the window, taking notes. That kid was definitely plotting something.
When we finally climbed out, dripping and exhausted, the anger was gone. Washed away with the chlorine.
"I still think you're an idiot," Sam said.
"But you love me anyway."
"Against my better judgment."
I kissed her. She tasted like pool water and sunscreen and forgiveness.
My phone buzzed. Unknown number.
Unknown: "Saw your video. We should talk. - Terry Silver"
The blood in my veins turned to ice.
"Too early. He shouldn't know about me yet. The timeline—"
"Ivyn? You okay?"
Sam's voice came from far away. I forced my expression neutral.
"Fine. Just spam."
But my hands were shaking as I deleted the message.
To supporting Me in Pateron .
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