The metallic tang of the cage hung heavy in the air. The Rogue Dome B was a pressure cooker, focusing all its heat on the two broken figures at its center.
Marcus stood rigid, his jaw still aching from Troy's punch, trying to slow his breathing. He had arrived expecting the field to be empty, ready to face disqualification. But Troy was there, standing at the cage entrance, shoulders broad and immovable, staring out at the three figures of Team Vipers.
As Marcus approached, Troy didn't turn or soften. His voice was a flat, hostile drone.
"No need to get close to me. Just play the match." Troy finally glanced over, his eyes cold and unforgiving. "Pass the ball to me, I'll show you how it's done."
It was less an offer of peace and more a hostile ultimatum. They were an alliance built on mutual desperation, Marcus needed Troy's bulk to survive the 2v3; Troy needed Marcus's potential skill to climb. There was no apology, no forgiveness, only the need to survive the next fifteen minutes.
The whistle shrieked, and the match began.
The 2v3 disadvantage was immediate and overwhelming. Team Vipers was a blur of seamless coordination. Their leader, a wiry, deceptively fast player named Vik, was the eye of their storm. Vik wasn't flashy; he was a machine of movement, constantly linking with his teammates. Every pass was crisp, every run timed perfectly. They moved the ball around the vast space, forcing Marcus and Troy to cover impossible ground.
Team Strays, meanwhile, was a study in isolation. Marcus and Troy kept their distance, ignoring each other's calls, each trying to win the 2v3 on their own.
It took only three minutes for their isolation to be punished.
Marcus, desperate for space, tried a solo break but lost possession near midfield. The ball instantly found its way to Vik, who darted toward Marcus. Marcus braced, ready to counter. Vik faked a pass to the right, then executed a swift, fluid move, a stepover that Marcus already knew in the isolation chamber. It was beautiful, clean, and devastatingly effective. Marcus opened his legs, and Vik was gone, leaving him paralyzed by the perfection of the copied move.
Vik was through on goal, the keeper frozen, the net wide open. But Vik didn't shoot. In a final, chilling display of ego-less team play, he made a short, horizontal pass to his trailing teammate, who tapped it into the empty net.
TEAM VIPERS 1-0
The crowd roared, celebrating the tactical masterclass. Marcus approached Troy, his voice tight with pleading. "Listen, we really need to work together. Otherwise, we're not getting anywhere in this match."
Troy ignored him, snatching the ball, his face set in stone. He started the game with a defiant, powerful shot against the cage to clear a defender. He wasn't a finesse player; he was a physical beast. He tried to muscle past the next Viper, but his lack of dribbling skills was exposed immediately. The Viper calmly stole the ball.
The Vipers pressed their advantage, their passing a dizzying web that bypassed the two Strays players completely. Marcus managed a desperate sprint back and made a crucial, clean tackle, winning the ball at his feet. A flicker of hope.
He looked up to see space, but before he could even decide on a move, two Vipers converged on him, Vik and his teammate, executing a perfect, synchronized double tackle. The crunch of contact was sickening. Marcus went down hard, the ball rolling free.
It was a display of defensive mastery Marcus had never seen. The synchronization was unmatched.
Vik collected the ball, lifted his head, and delivered a sublime, curling cross toward his teammate waiting in front of the goal. The Viper rose above the cage and buried the header.
TEAM VIPERS 2-0
Silence descended on the Strays side of the pitch. Just one more goal, and Team Strays was disqualified, forcing Marcus to start all over again, a fate worse than the UFL's punishment. Marcus lay on the ground, as everything seemed to fall apart
Marcus started the game, his mind a volatile mix of shame and desperate clarity. He ignored Troy's frantic shout for the ball and dribbled toward the first Viper defender. He used a basic feint to get past him, then leveraged the metal wall of the cage to bounce the ball past the second, momentarily isolating himself.
Now, only Vik, the defensive beast, stood between him and the goal.
Marcus could feel the Glitch beginning to hum, demanding to be used. This was the moment for the triple step-over/nutmeg chain. But as he committed to the dribble, he sensed someone approaching him, running at full speed. It was Troy, bearing down on him from behind.
Just as Marcus began his move on Vik, Troy, without a word, slid in and tackled the ball cleanly from Marcus's own feet. The impact sent Marcus sprawling. Vik, witnessing the incredible act of internal sabotage, froze, momentarily confused by the sheer audacity of the betrayal.
Troy seized the opportunity. He found the open goal and drove the ball into the net.
TEAM STRAYS 2-1.
Troy slammed the ball into the net with a roar of frustrated victory.
Marcus was immediately beside himself with fury at the unexpected interference. "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT, Troy? I had him! I was about to score!"
Troy stared back, his expression cold but focused. "Do you think you would have been able to get past that beast? He double-tackled you last time. You get all the fancy moves, but I get the goals. Just play."
The goal, though scored by Troy, was born out of their non-cooperation. Troy's opportunistic selfishness, combined with Marcus's necessary self-suppression, had salvaged their survival.
The game restarted, Troy taking the ball.
As Troy tried to dribble past Vik, Vik clears the ball and ball upon hitting the cage gets to Marcus
Marcus, still vibrating with frustrated energy, felt the powerful flicker return. The perfect triple step-over blueprint surged into his mind, demanding to be deployed. The stakes were maxed out. If he used it now, he could win the game.
He approached the defender, the urge to show off, to prove he wasn't a liability, almost overwhelming.
But then, he remembered Davor's voice: "You won't always get extreme conditions…"
Marcus suppressed the surge. It took every ounce of his new mental discipline, fighting the perfect muscle memory that wanted to take over. He forced his mind to calculate the geometry of the pitch, ignoring the Glitch's siren call.
He used a basic dribble to get past the first defender. The second and third defenders closed in, including Vik. The pressure was immense. The Glitch flared, but Marcus smothered it, refusing to rely on his cheat.
Instead, with a sudden burst of selfless clarity, he made a high-risk, desperate chip pass directly over the heads of the two converging defenders, sending the ball into the zone where Troy was sprinting.
It was an impossible pass, a moment of pure, earned cooperation. Troy caught the ball, controlled it in stride, a flicker of unexpected grace from the physical beast, and slammed the easy goal home.
TEAM STRAYS 2-2.
The cage erupted. The noise swallowed the dome. Team Strays, the team of two, the team of rivals, the team of broken players, had clawed its way back from the brink of disqualification.
Two minutes remained on the clock. Both teams needed one goal. For Team Strays, the next goal meant survival, a step toward redemption, and the retention of their minimum roster. The air cracked with tension, the fate of Marcus's UFL career hanging in the balance.
What would happen next?