ALL NOVEL CHAPTER 28: The Trap
Alyx was laser-focused on the final touches of his latest project, a compilation video he’d titled *“You Can’t Believe What They Do For Their Training.”* It was a blend of footage showcasing everything from the Portal Crushers' regular workouts to their bizarre training scenarios with mannequins and chaotic portal challenges. He spliced clips of fighters tackling mannequins, navigating portal scenarios, and chasing racquetballs with wild intensity, chuckling at the absurdity of it all. This video was sure to be a hit, and Alyx knew it. But more than that, he knew it was a crucial piece in a larger strategy to keep the team popular and grow the gym in the face of growing competition.
Across the gym, Atlas approached John, who was in the middle of a bench press. “Hey,” Atlas called, getting John’s attention as he finished his set. “You ready for the next test?”
John sat up, wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel. “Yep, what’s up?”
Atlas leaned against the bench, his expression serious. “We’ve weeded out the people who aren’t trustworthy or reliable. Now, we need to weed out those who might betray us for money and personal gains.”
John frowned slightly, understanding the gravity of the situation. “This sounds like it’s going to be tricky.”
Atlas nodded. “It’s going to require a bit of setup. I’ve done some research on our biggest competitors, Sword and Iron. They’ve been trying to buy this gym, which means they’re likely watching us closely—especially with how our social media numbers are skyrocketing. We’re already over ten thousand views on the last video, and this new one Alyx is putting together could easily hit one hundred thousand.”
John looked impressed. “SFB must be taking notice too. But how does this tie into betrayal for money and profit?”
Atlas glanced around, ensuring no one was within earshot. “Sword and Iron are getting desperate. They’re not just trying to buy the gym—they’re trying to poach our best fighters. And we can’t afford to lose anyone, not now, with everything we’ve built.”
John nodded. “So we need to find out who’s vulnerable to their offers.”
“Exactly,” Atlas said, pulling out his phone and showing John a picture of a white dude with tight curls. “This is Barry. He works for Sword and Iron as a manager/recruiter. And you know what he loves more than making money?”
John raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Feet,” Atlas said, grinning.
John blinked in surprise. “Feet?”
“Yep,” Atlas confirmed. “More specifically, he’s into delicate, pedicured toes on girls who wear high heels. It’s his thing.”
“Hmmm, interesting.”
“What do you call somebody who likes feet, anyways? I know you go to a manicure shop for getting your fingers done, so I guess fingers mean "mani," and feet must mean "pedi" for pedicure. So, somebody who likes feet is called a "pedi-phile"? No, that's definitely not right, “ Atlas said.
“Maybe it’s called a feetophile?” said John with a smile.
Atlas smirked. “Hey, we all have fetishes and things we like.”
“Yup, no problem with what anyone likes,” John replied.
“Just gotta use it for this trap.”
“We’re going to use his foot fetish to our advantage. Sword and Iron have probably been sniffing around to poach some of our fighters. If we can lure Barry in, we’ll expose any potential traitors among our ranks.”
John was starting to understand the plan. “So, how do we set him up?”
Atlas pulled up a map on his iPad, zooming in on the area around Sword and Iron’s headquarters. “You see these pedicure shops? Barry’s a regular at a few of them. You’re going to head down there, and you’re bringing some of our fighters with you. They deserve a break after all the training, and this’ll be the perfect cover.”
John looked skeptical. “A pedicure with the fighters? That’s definitely unconventional.”
“Don’t worry explain it as a reward for all the social media they’re doing,” Atlas said with a grin. “We’ll scope out where Barry likes to go, and with any luck, we’ll catch him in the act.”
Atlas and John headed to the area where the manicure shops were and pulled out a picture of Barry to show the nail techs.
“Have you seen this guy before?”
Some of the women at the shops shook their heads. They went from shop to shop until eventually one of them said, “Oh yes, that Mr. Barry,” she said in her Vietnamese accent.
“Oh, do you know when he comes here?”
The woman looked like she wasn’t going to tell them. Atlas slid her $20.
“Oh yes, I remember. He likes to come every Monday and Tuesday.”
John and Atlas smiled.
As they finalized the plan, Atlas felt a surge of anticipation. This was risky, but if it worked, it would expose any people with faltering loyalty in their ranks. The trap was set, and now all they had to do was wait for Barry to take the bait.
***
Tuesday had rolled around, and John was feeling the pressure. Monday had been a bust—no sign of Barry, just a few half-hearted massages that left him more frustrated than relaxed.
Today the fighters, however, seemed to be enjoying themselves, especially Brent, who marveled at the state of his newly cleaned nails. “You have no idea how bad my nails were,” Brent said, genuinely pleased with the unexpected pampering.
But John was running out of fighters., that he could take to the manicure shops. Most of the people from the recruit team were already gone, leaving only a few stragglers. John was starting to lose hope. He watched as Mel settled in for his own manicure and pedicure. Just as John was about to write off the day as another failure, Barry strolled in.
Barry’s eyes scanned the room, taking in the sight of a couple of girls getting their pedicures done. His gaze lingered a little too long on their feet before he casually made his way to the front desk and signed in for a quick manicure. The moment he sat down, John saw his opportunity.
As the nail technicians went to work on Mel, John leaned over and struck up a conversation with Igor, a burly Russian fighter. “Hey, Igor,” John said, keeping his voice low. “What do you think about the contracts we’ve been offered at the gym?”
Igor shrugged, his thick accent rolling out in a low rumble. “Well, in Russia, it’s good money. $500 for reserve? That’s okay. Me as a main team member? $700? Good.”
Mel, whose focus had been entirely on his nails, suddenly chimed in. “$700 is garbage. That’s less than what my wife makes, and she’s a dance teacher at an elementary school. And she doesn’t have to work out seven days a week, eating chicken breasts and getting hit in the face with swords.”
John nodded, feigning agreement. “That’s true, but what are we going to do, right? It’s not like we can get a better offer.”
That’s when Barry, who had been trying—and failing—to keep his attention on the girls, couldn’t resist interjecting. He leaned back in his chair, pretending to stretch, but his eyes gleamed with the excitement of what he was about to say. “Hey, guys,” Barry said, his voice carrying just enough to ensure it reached Igor and Mel. “I don’t know if you know, but Sword and Iron over there, they offer a pretty good deal. A friend of mine got a contract for the main team tryout, and just making it onto the main team paid $2,000 a month.”
John’s heart raced with anticipation. This was it—the moment Atlas had predicted. Now, all he needed was for one of their fighters to take the bait, and they'd have their traitors.
But instead of an immediate response, there was a moment of silence. Mel looked up from his manicure, then exchanged a glance with Igor. John held his breath. Finally, Mel spoke up, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. “$2,000 a month, huh? And all I have to do is let some guy with a foot fetish stare at my toes? Where do I sign up?”
Barry, sensing the tension, tried to backtrack. “I was just saying, you know, in case you’re interested. No pressure.”
John saw his opening and leaned in. “Hey, it’s a free market friend. Thanks for the info.”
Mel grinned, showing off his freshly polished nails. “I might not have gotten $2,000, but at least my nails look fabulous.”
But in his head, he was thinking about that money.
It was sure better than $700.
Igor’s eyes widened, and he straightened up in his chair. “$2,000? That’s three times the money I’m making. This is bullshit. I’m going to go have a look.” There’s no way his inner greedy hamster would stand for this.
*What the fuck!? Tu Cho Gonish*
John watched as Barry leaned back, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. The conversation had gone exactly as Atlas had predicted. Barry thought he was the one in control, seeding discord among the fighters. But little did he know, he had walked right into their trap.
*Silly Feet-ophile. We have you now*