Scorpion had no business lying where he was.
The slab of concrete jutted out over the lower level of the underground base like a broken ledge, with nothing beneath it but open space, metal bars, and the unforgiving drop to the fighting ring below. Any normal person would have avoided it entirely, or at the very least sat upright with some caution, but Scorpion lay flat on his back as though it were a king's bed, one leg loosely bent, the other stretched out, his balance careless in a way that suggested he trusted his body more than gravity.
The place was loud.
Men shouted over one another in the distance, laughter mixed with the dull thuds of fists against flesh, chains clanged somewhere out of sight, and the entire structure carried that restless, violent energy that never really went away. Yet none of it reached him, not in any meaningful way, because his attention was elsewhere.
On his phone.
