The match against the Raptors was over long ago, but the crazy loud cheers from Nash's huge win wasn't dying soon.
Down here in the Underground where everything smelled like sweat and old beer, Breakball wasn't just a game, it was like religion, money, and the law all mixed together.
The Holy Trinity in this world of rats, and now, Nash had become its next big thing overnight.
In three days, Dahlia's computer almost short-circuited trying to keep up with all the attention. This was no longer standard professional interest; it was a hunting pack. The Upperworld syndicates and corporate houses from the Underground had caught the scent of fresh, bloody sweat-money, and they were descending into the lower sectors to claim their piece of the beast.
Inside the fancy Blacklist meeting room, the AC was blasting, but it couldn't overpower the thick stink of expensive cigars smoked by three suits from Vanguard-Athletics.
