SportsSlam Shorts: Flint and Kaitlyn

“Blood Runs Cold”

The bar smelled like sweat, cheap whiskey, and desperation. It was the kind of place where deals were made in whispers and settled with fists. Flint liked it here. It was where people were real—words mattered less than what you could back up with your fists.

Kaitlyn didn’t belong here.

But there she was, sitting in the back booth, arms crossed, her green cybernetics pulsing faintly under the dim neon light. Her drink sat untouched. She wasn’t here to relax.

Flint approached, rolling his shoulders. His cybernetic arm flexed, the built-in shock absorbers hissing softly as he leaned onto the table. “Didn’t think I’d see you in a place like this, sis.”

She exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Didn’t think I’d have to drag you out of one either.”

Flint smirked but said nothing. He slid into the seat across from her, arms resting lazily on the back of the booth. He could feel the eyes of other underground fighters on them, but he didn’t care. Let them look.

Kaitlyn wasted no time. “I found something.”

Flint raised an eyebrow. “About Dad?”

She nodded. “I talked to someone who was there that night. Said it wasn’t just a random hit. It was a setup.”

His fingers curled into a fist. A low hum crackled from his cybernetics—anger triggering the voltage regulators in his arm. “Who?”

Kaitlyn hesitated. “I don’t know yet. But I have a lead. If we follow—”

Flint slammed his hand onto the table, making her flinch. “I don’t need a damn lead, Kait. I need a name.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s the difference between us, Flint. You want revenge. I want justice.”

“Justice?” He scoffed, leaning forward. “Justice doesn’t exist down here. The guy who killed Dad? He’s not getting locked up. He’s not getting tried in some clean little courtroom. The only thing that matters is who gets to him first.”

Kaitlyn stared at him for a long moment, jaw tight.

“You think Dad would want that?” she finally said, voice quiet but sharp. “You think he’d want you turning into one of them?”

Flint clenched his teeth. The words hit him harder than he’d admit. But he shook it off, letting the bitterness settle in his throat. “I don’t care what Dad would’ve wanted. He’s gone. And I’m not gonna let the bastard who did it breathe another day.”

Kaitlyn sighed, rubbing her temples. She reached into her pocket and slid a small chip across the table.

Flint eyed it. “What’s this?”

“A location,” she said. “Someone who might have answers. You’re going to do what you always do, Flint. You’re gonna go in there, throw punches, break things, and burn bridges.”

She stood up, staring down at him. “I just hope you don’t burn yourself in the process.”

Then she was gone, leaving him alone in the booth with nothing but his thoughts and the weight of the past pressing down on his shoulders.

Flint sighed and picked up the chip. If this was a lead, it was his now.

One step closer.

One step closer to making the bastard pay.

And no one—not even his sister—was gonna stop him.