Betty managed to get behind her third opponent and jump higher then anyone would have expected. She spun quickly and kicked him knocking the sense out of him and dropping him into the ropes. Onlookers slid him out of the ring and made room for the next challenger. The more she won, the more eager they were to beat her.
By her sixth victory, everyone wanted a turn. She had bruised their gender. She made fools of the men and the audience was furious. To add insult to injury she defeated them all so fast. Everyone wanted a shot at her now. They couldn’t wait their turn so the mob rushed the ring.
"Hey! One at a time! One at a time! Come on guys!" Anvil yelled.
There were too many of them to continue the bout. Betty remembered another valuable lesson from Isamu. "It's important to know when you're in over your head. If you can't win, retreat."
Betty had lost control of the situation, and took Isamu's advice. She vaulted over the men crowding into the ring like a girl playing leapfrog.
Anvil held their winnings above his head and yelled to Betty with a big victorious grin. "Hey! What about your cut?"
Betty yelled back. "You guys keep it!"
Anvil accepted the prize then joined in the free-for-all that had erupted in the ring. He didn’t expect to have this much fun, when he got out of bed this morning. It turned out to be a perfect day. He made some money. He had some laughs. And he got to mix it up in the ring like old times. And man-oh-man did he have a great new story to tell!
Betty wiggled her nimble fingers out of the boxing mitts. Then grabbed her coat and bag on the way out. She abandoned gym running and laughing. She had proven to herself that she could fight and win. It wasn’t that she became an expert in hand-to-hand combat. She just learned to fight unconventionally.
Isamu was right. She was ready.
The spring winds were blowing. It was time to leave Citadel City and go back to the farm for good. She snuck into the train yard early one morning and hopped on a freight headed south. She climbed to the top of the car. As it picked up speed the wind blew in her hair. She was alive. She felt accomplished and unstoppable. She learned so many things that winter. The most important one was that, things took longer than you wish them to, but if you stuck with them, you would get what you wanted. You just had to keep working, and cling to your hope.
She truly felt like a new person. She entered the city as Betty but was transformed into Pandora. She had all the tools to destroy the monsters that ruled the Citadel. When Pandora returned to the city, she could dethrone them one by one.
It was a long ride south. When she saw the old Johnson granary, she knew she was close. She hopped off the train and walked the rest of the way. Over the flat landscape, she saw her old home in the distance, but it took awhile to get there. For over two hours she walked along dirt and gravel roads. She didn't see another soul during her entire trek.
The area south of the city was undesired. People had no reason to come out here. There was nothing but abandoned farmland, as far as the eye could see. No one other than her wanted her farm.
Once she arrived, she looked for any evidence of intruders, but there was none. She immediately went to the barn, where the big black car had been entombed. She unlocked and rolled open the huge barn door, and sunlight struck the dormant vehicle for the first time in months. It remained untouched and looked brand new.
She retrieved special gloves from a box hidden in a stall. Then carefully disarmed the vehicle's self-defense system. Then she opened the door and started it. The car woke up and the engine growled. It was ready for action, and so was she.
It was time to take back the family farm once and for all.
It was very late and moon shadows stretched across Citadel City as a majority of its citizens slept. A half demolished building struggled to retain its stature in the skyline. It was constructed at 1321 Desolation Avenue in 1896, at the dawn of the new industrial age. It was named the Paragon and at the time of its construction, the headlines called it an "Architectural Marvel," and an "Engineering Feat that would stand for a 1000 years." That estimation may have been true if certain vested parties actually saw it as a respected landmark, instead of a vulnerable property.
For decades the impoverished and immigrants of all nations called the Paragon their home. It protected them from the rain, and kept them warm in winter. It was the place where newlyweds spoke of dreams and where families experienced life. Countless babies were born, and the elderly died within its walls.
In 1938, headlines about the Paragon read, "Remove the Indigent Blight," and "Making Way For Progress." The articles used words like, dilapidated, and rundown. Everything's time on Earth was limited. Things rarely chose when they would perish, especially when something benefited from their demise.