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“Where did that little rat sneak away to?” Boksa was looking everywhere for Lirzod, his veins tumefied, and skin reddened from rage. His eyes, cheeks, and lips bloated and blackened with every passing second, owing to distress. Not far away from him, Divas and Fimbry were also doing the same thing, except that their targets also included Burton and Sariyu, and they didn’t strike to the eyes as woebegone as Boksa. “I was sure they took off in this direction,” Divas scanned around, feeling the presence of things to some distance all around him, despite a lot of fog fattening his surroundings, but he still couldn’t find much that would help him reach the three youngsters.

Breaths turned almost as silvery as the fog began to bit by bit freeze everything it made contact with, including the water surface of the ice dumpster; the wind and water together chilled people's bodies, not leaving any spots warm—not even the hairy ones. Colder than the cold before dawn, the scenery for those who could see it and feel it was both beautiful and blood-curdling. Lost in the fog, most men suffered a similar fate—thrashed to the hilt, for Hardy Brothers took them out like snakes do frogs in a murky pond. Those who sensed the movements of Hardy Brothers in advance either tried to make a break for it or played possum, but none showed the will to fight back, or so it seemed. Somewhere in the ice dumpster, hidden from the eyes of the audience by fog, two people were having a go at it, and the fog's density around those two was quite low as compared to their surroundings to the point it could be called mist.

As most of the contestants tussled near the center of the ice dumpster, the sudden reckless move of Brown Hill threw them into disorder, also hindering Burton and Sariyu’s plan of facing the four brothers together with other contestants. As if that wasn’t enough, the moisture of the air above the ice dumpster boosted in a matter of seconds as sheets of fog took shape in midair followed by jets of mist that spurted out of the water and hastily covered all the ice dumpster before spreading to the audience stands, seemingly swallowing everyone in sight. The mist's momentum alone played with people's hair, twisting and turning their strands in weird manners.  The lighting of the area all around the ice dumpster paled apace, despoiling all the clime. Men turned mad with the whelming thrill and tumult. Most hearts missed a beat or two. All the contestants, who were visible just a few seconds ago, now got secreted from the audience’s eyes, especially the ones present near the cen...

She had the combined grace of a dancer and the smile of a performer enjoying the heat of the moment as she frolicked past the cohorts of frogs and their choruses—other contestants and their calls—with fleet feet. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that a few minds felt motivated to train upon feasting their eyes on her artistic maneuvers. “Like flies collecting near honey, everyone is attracted to her, although love is felling all who approach her, or should I say 'her loving feet?'” the referee spoke through the mic, referring to Sariyu. “Ahem, is anyone who can hold off her kicks going to stand in her way before she reaches the end of the ice dumpster?” “Hehehe, he must be talking about us,” like wolves prowling through the snow hail in search of prey, the brown-haired man and the gray-haired man crept through the packs of scuffling men and hounded the only girl in attendance for the test.

Almost all the audience—their eyes locked upon Boksa—goggled with the watchfulness of immense proportions, further rooting themselves to their seats. If the danger had a face, it would have resembled Boksa's current countenance, for his face swam in the sea of rage and thoroughly soaked itself. The towering temper that over-exuded out of every single pore on his skin whispered a warning to the ones in the vicinity. “This Number 28... what has he done?” one man among the audience clutched the arm of the one next to him as goosebumps trailed over his spine. "He's gonna get killed for sure now."

Two comparatively shorter men unleashed a blizzard of punches into the chest of a hulking man—eight-foot-tall and strong-bodied—who wore nothing but underpants branded with a wolf symbol. Nevertheless, he grabbed their fists and pulled them closer before his hands tightly gripped the back of their necks and pressed down their faces into the water with might and main, thereby drowning them simultaneously, and he didn’t stop until the frequency of bubbles rising to the surface lessened. “Who do you think I am? ‘Brown Hill’ Boksa!” soon after he let go of the two men, he tightened his muscles and precariously growled at the rest of men who were about to encircle him, making them scatter away as wild dogs do from a wolf’s growl. “That’s right. Run like the rats that you are, you spineless sissies.”

"You are pushing your luck too far, kiddo!" all the four brothers except for Aziz roared aloud. “Your tale ends tonight!” their feet lifted as one to step ahead. In that instant, the referee struck the bronze plate with a bronze rod, signaling the start of the deck test, which worked up the crowd into whistling, whacking the drums, and acclaiming in many other ways. “We, Hardy Brothers, hate flies that buzz by our ears!” the hands of the four brothers formed into fists and swung down at Lirzod concurrently.

At close quarters to the ice dumpster. Most men, who recently contested, had wounds all over their bodies. Some of them applied turmeric powder on their fresh and nude lacerations while some others put chili powder into service as brazier-red blood squirted from their wounds. A very few, however, employed alternate ways to gain resistance toward pain, and at the same time, keep their anger and hunger alive for the much-lauded win. If lunacy and masculinity had children, then this was how they might have probably looked.

Like all new contestants, Lirzod had finished removing his footwear at the allocated location nearby the ice dumpster. Sariyu, however, shut her nose so hard that blood amassed in that location. The drifting smell of shoes and socks shook her whole being. The word “unpleasant” wasn’t enough to describe the stink that winds wafted onto her. While her nose was sealed, the biting odor in the air still slipped through the tiniest gaps and left a godawful taste in her throat. She didn’t smell something so rueful in so long a time that it almost made her faint. Though Lirzod and Burton were calling her, she couldn’t open her mouth as the last thing she would want was succumbing to her senses at such a spot. More and more men arrived at the location to keep their boots, thereby intensifying her ailment. All she had to do was remove her footwear and leave the place like the rest, but she couldn’t find the strength to do so. It took her all to keep her nose shut.

The main attraction of the eleventh deck’s test hall was verily the ice dumpster; however, numerous minor events were also always taking place at several spots.   Some events showcased people testing the coarseness of their skin while some others promoted people to harden their tootsies by moving atop a mat embedded with small and spiky substances or to alleviate oneself in the art of contending and tangling with tumult. All the minor events helped entries tackle the main test under a brilliant light, enticing them into trying them all out despite the exorbitant prices put by the event holders. Some of these events might be a bit painful to watch for those with faint hearts, but even they could find subtly-funny moments thanks to entries frequently mishitting each other in foolhardy ways.