On the Monarchs' first punt, Chris fielded it for a fair catch, and even then, when the ball got to him, two Monarchs were already hounding him, as close to him as they could be without infringing on his fair catch.
He caught the ball cleanly against his chest and glared at the two circling Monarchs. They laughed at him before jogging off the field.
Chris grumbled, watching them go as he flipped the ball to the nearest official. The bastards weren't giving him any room to breathe, but he could be patient. He'd wait for his chance, pick his moment, and rip them apart.
The Dons' offence marched onto the field, meeting Chris. Each of them held an expression full of determination, similar to Chris's. They hoped the third time would be the charm they needed to crack open the Monarchs' defence.
A second TE came out with them this time. If speed was the problem, Coach Norman believed power was the solution, and Chris and Cameron would be the tools.
Whilst the two TEs—Benny leading the way—could hold off the edges, that freed up the O-Line to dominate the middle of the ground and lead the way for Chris.
The first run was a success, their best of the day as Chris carved ahead for 6 yards. He wanted more, but the Monarchs had reacted quickly and swarmed with great numbers. They were like piranhas to meat.
The next run, also tearing through the middle, earned the Dons just enough yards to secure the first down. Cameron subbed in for Chris then, and Chris came to the bench huffing, not from exhaustion but frustration. The success was too minimal.
And it was diminishing. Cameron's run only gained 3 yards, even as he bulldozed a Monarch. The sheer numbers the Monarchs could throw at a problem was just too great. A power advantage meant jack shit when you were outnumbered, and the Monarchs always made sure you were outnumbered.
A little rub play into a quick screen on the next play got Cole open for a second, but that second was gone by the time he caught the ball. At least he caught it, but it was only good for another 3 yards.
The Dons were close, but they needed more. Cameron remained on the field; Chris had to watch from the sidelines as the drive hung in the balance.
Cameron ploughed ahead on another dive up the middle. The O-Line cleared him a path, but two Monarchs were there to meet him as soon as he exited the gap. They clamped around him and drove him back, holding him a yard short of the first down.
Chris bounced to his feet and approached the coaches. 'Put me in there. I'll get that yard,' he promised.
Coach Norman looked at him but said nothing. It was Coach Long's call as the Head Coach. Whilst they only needed a yard, the Dons were hardly past their own 30, and it was still the first quarter. These were the conditions that lead Coach Long to shaking his head.
'We can't take that risk,' he said. He turned to Chris and put a hand on his shoulder. 'We'll get them next time.'
Chris's shoulders sank with disappointment. He nodded as the offence came off, and the special teams unit replaced them.
Another kick soared out of bounds, and then it was time for the Dons' defence, and the Monarchs' offence to dance once more.
Coach Hoang pulled Ty aside before he ventured onto the field. 'Remember what I told you,' Coach Hoang said.
Ty merely nodded, his eyes already on BT. The teams lined up opposite one another, and for the first time, Ty faced BT head on.
'You given up racing me, mon? C'mon, you almost had me.' Even a deaf man could've known BT was lying based on his smile.
'I don't need to race you to beat you.'
BT laughed. 'Now THAT is bullshit. But I guess there ain't much point racing if you got that Two-Face bug buzzing about.'
'I don't need him to beat you, either.'
BT was still laughing. 'This joker just can't stop lying, mon.'
The ball was snapped. BT rushed forward … and ran straight into Ty's spear. Ty's arm reverberated with the shock of the impact, and BT crumpled, coughing and gagging loudly as he clutched his chest.
Ty scoffed. 'Fucking hell. I wasn't expecting THAT much of a disappointment.'
BT was still choking on his own saliva, unable to formulate a comeback. It was even hard to glare up at Ty with the tears stinging his eyes.
Brett looked away from BT, grimacing. He had plenty of time to find a new target, but Deshaun had backed well off from his man, giving them all the respect they needed. That option was smothered. Another Receiver flashed across the middle and Brett tried to slam the ball into the gap.
JJ sprung across, slapping the ball down. The Dons quickly got around him, slapping his back and shoulders.
Coach Kirby sent a replacement out for BT, who was still coughing and struggling to catch his breath. BT resisted for a moment before glancing at Coach Kirby, one look at the coach's face and he was coming off, though as he did so, he voiced his complaints in between pants and coughs.
'Ref! … What the fuck … was that bullshit, mon? … That's gotta … be a foul!'
Coach Kirby stomped onto the edge of the field to meet BT early and drag him to the bench. 'Shut your damn mouth, Nate! You got your ass kicked. Stop complaining to someone who can't do anything to help you.'
BT thudded onto the bench, anger filling his lungs instead of oxygen. 'What?! You saw what he did! How's that not a foul?'
'Because he did nothing illegal. Unless they're fucking with your helmet or grabbing you, a defender can do almost whatever they want that close to the line of scrimmage. You're the idiot who ran straight into his press, after we've been working on this ALL year.'
BT winced, grabbing his chest again.
Coach Kirby sighed. 'Fight back. As long as he's within a yard of scrimmage, you can do what you want to him too. So don't let him beat you around like that.'
BT was still rubbing his chest, his eyes back on the field, watching Ty as the next play began. Ty easily covered the boy that came out to replace BT. It was like racing a snail after dealing with the Bullet Train.
Again, Brett had to look away. But this time Deshaun had been slow on his turn, a double-move faking a curl had got him to bite, and the Receiver was in the clear. Brett adjusted for the slower Receiver and lobbed the ball over.
Before the ball reached the Receiver's hands, Zayden leapt across and punched it out of the air, sending it into the stands. Without BT on the field, there was nothing to worry about on Ty's side, and he was free to cover for Deshaun.
The Monarchs were quickly back to third down, facing another three and out, and the game was approaching a defensive stalemate.
'Get me back in, Coach. I'll torch this idiot,' BT said, rising from the bench. Coach Kirby stopped him with a hand on his chest. BT had to hold himself still from wincing. Where Ty had struck him was still tender.
'Hold your breath,' Coach Kirby said.
'What?' BT said, almost laughing. He swallowed that laughter when he saw how serious Coach Kirby was.
'Just do it. As long as you can.'
Frowning, BT inhaled as much air as he could and closed his mouth, looking like a puffer fish. He couldn't even hold it for ten seconds before he needed to gulp down more oxygen.
Coach Kirby shook his head. He looked at the clock, the quarter was almost up; they could drain it all in one play if they wanted. 'Sit down. You're not getting back in 'til the second quarter IF the doctor lets you back in at all.'
BT wanted to protest, but knew better than to do so against Coach Kirby. Biting his tongue, he sat back down.
The last play of the first quarter was an RB Toss to the outside away from Donte. But that meant JaMychal was heading straight for Ty.
Ty easily shed the replacement Receiver's block and rushed forward. Months of pent-up frustration, which he never had a chance to unleash upon Denzel, was taken out on JaMychal.
Ty followed his speedy shifts and latched onto him. He hooked JaMychal's hips and lifted him off the ground. He slammed him back down like a spinebuster you'd see in WWE. The ball bounced loose, but only after the impact.
The play was whistled dead. The clock ticked down, and as the quarter ended, Ty stood tall over one fallen Monarch, staring at the one his spear had sent to the bench.
BT stared back and looked beyond Ty to the scoreboard. Even though it read 7–0 for the Monarchs, it didn't feel like they were in control. Their defence was their saving grace, but if they failed … Nate needed to get the Bullet Train back at full speed.
The break was short, but both sides made the best of it. Coach Long pulled JJ aside and said: 'We're going to rely on you offensively in this next drive. You'll have to crack open the defence for us.'
JJ smiled. A loyal solider accepted the extra burden without complaint. 'You can count on me, Coach,' he said.
Coach Hoang was with Ty. 'See how much better it is when you press him instead of trying to bloat your ego?'
Ty rolled his eyes.
'Hey. I'm serious, Samuels. Not only did it help in your matchup, but you freed up Richardson and allowed him to help where he's actually needed. Still, don't expect it to be that easy in the next quarter. You know better than anyone how the taste of defeat fires someone up.'
Ty stared across the field, watching the Monarchs scurry along their sideline.
Coach Kirby sat with BT. The doctor had cleared BT; there was no broken rib, no punctured lung.
'Listen to me, Nate, and you listen properly,' Coach Kirby said. 'You need to beat this guy. He might've changed his tactics, but that hasn't changed the goal, it hasn't changed the challenge. This is still a battle of speed between you and him. Now the race is between you and his hands. But I'll be damned if you say this shit all day every day only for it to be proven false—NOBODY is faster than the Bullet Train, ain't that right?'
'You fucking right, Coach. Ain't nobody faster than me, mon.'
Coach Kirby stood. 'You don't need to convince me. You need to convince them!' Coach Kirby swept his arm around the field, gesturing to all the stands, but BT saw him encompass the world in that gesture.
The second quarter soon began, and the first play was the Monarchs' punt. Again, Chris caught a fair catch with Monarchs circling him, waiting for any slip up.
His scowl turned to a smile when JJ came onto the field. He was glad to have the back-up in the backfield, though Benny was back to being the solo TE.
Chris got the ball on first down, and following JJ's lead, took it from the Dons' 22, out to the Dons' 33.
How to make use of your power advantage when the enemy had superior numbers. That was the conundrum Coach Long and Norman had been tasked with. Their solution wasn't elegant, but it looked to be effective—use a man who had the strength of three. Luckily, JJ was exactly that man.
The Dons kept the ball in Chris's hand after the dominant 11-yard run and followed it up with one for 8 yards as JJ forced the swarm back and made space for Chris. He was always there to pick Chris back up after the play was over.
Chris wished JJ could've played every offensive snap.
But the Dons didn't want this tactic to get too predictable, too one dimensional. So they switched it up a touch, entrusting the ball to JJ personally. He lowered his head on a FB Dive and charged ahead, bulling his way into a 5-yard gain and a first down.
If the DBs tried to cheat over to get even MORE numbers in favour of the Monarchs, Jay reacted quickly and flipped the ball over to the open man.
Still, the chief weapon carving the Monarchs up was Chris. JJ showed him the path, and he surged through it. Each run brought them closer to the end-zone until finally JJ cleared the way into the promised land and Chris ran in untouched for the Dons' opening score.
The Dons' fans finally had something to cheer for, they welcomed their offence back to the sideline like they were heroes.
The extra point was good, and soon the game was tied at 7–7.
Then it was time for the kickoff. BT awaited it, pacing back and forth in the end-zone. He wouldn't be derailed here, of all places; he had a date with Sierra Canyon.
The Dons sent the ball high, but it fell within the end-zone, inches away from going out of bounds, but BT caught it and remained in bounds. He carefully turned, taking a wide run as he wheeled around and pointed himself toward the opposite end-zone. He took off.
Head down, he blazed past outstretched hands, flying past confused Dons who thought they had the perfect angle to shove him out, only for him to burst by before they could reach him. He didn't even swerve or feint, beating them with pure speed alone.
The kicker, the last line of defence, dove at BT. Even then he only got a hand to BT's side, but with how fast BT was going, it was enough to knock him off balance and send him crashing out of bounds at the Monarchs' 47.
BT picked himself up, teeth gritted. He wasn't fast enough; he should've blown them ALL away. His ire turned to Ty, the man who came to challenge him, the man who dared stand in front of the Bullet Train. He had to run this idiot over and send a message to the world.
Coach Kirby had even given Brett some specific orders this drive—BT was his ONLY target. If BT wasn't open, he was to throw the ball away, no matter what, and if Brett couldn't follow those orders, Coach Kirby was sure his backup would.
His hand forced, Brett looked only BT's way. He hoped the Bullet Train was running smoothly again after that return.
Ty's spear jammed the Bullet Train's wheels before it could even leave the station. It wasn't as debilitating this time. BT kept his feet, but Ty was stuck to him, and there was no breaking away after his start was stunted, no matter how much time Brett had in the pocket.
Brett threw the ball away.
The second play, BT lined up again. He leaned lower before the snap. He shot sideways at the snap to go around Ty, but the spear found him again, knocking him off balance as he skittered sideways. Ty was on him before he could recover.
Brett threw the ball away again. The Monarchs were back to third down. It looked like the Bullet Train had stalled.
BT huffed like a steam engine as he stood before Ty for round three. Ty's lips quirked up. 'Not talking shit now, are you, Bullet Train?'
'Why talk when you ain't gonna hear what I say 'cause I'm too far ahead of you?'
Ty laughed. 'You've run out of tracks. You reached the end of the line, Bullet Train. And his name is Tyrese Samuels.'
BT levelled a deadly look at Ty. Steam was almost coming out of his ears. He lowered his gaze, dropping his head, putting Ty—everything—out of mind. He was in the starting blocks, on the track, waiting for the gun. That's all he focused on.
The gun fired from Brett's mouth. BT shot past Ty's outside shoulder, angling low. The spear whistled past his ear. His lips peeled back in a grin as he straightened and raced up the sideline.
Ty whirled, eyes wide as he chased after the runaway train. Brett breathed a sigh of relief, watching BT pull away. Zayden scrambled over, but from his positioning favouring Deshaun's side, he'd never make it in time.
Brett lobbed the ball into the air. It'd fall just short of the end-zone, but he knew BT would run onto it and run through the end-zone without missing a step.
BT reached his full stride. Everything glided by at top speed. He was pushing full throttle, but it all felt so easy, like life was meant to be lived this way. He looked back, spotting the ball. But there was still Ty.
Ty was such an annoying gnat … more like a piece of shit stuck to the bottom of his shoe, the way he stuck around. A normal CB would've been left in the dust, but Ty … was gaining?
BT almost dropped the pass. He hugged the ball tight under one arm and shook his head. He'd been focusing on the ball. Everything was blurry in his peripheral. It just looked like Ty was closer than he was. He couldn't have been catching up.
He'd caught the ball at the Dons' 10, then turned his head forward, his thoughts rushing by. The end-zone was in sight, his second touchdown was just a couple of strides away. Less than a second.
The ground rushed up to meet him in the blink of an eye. His second step had never touched the ground, something had clipped his foot on the follow through so he ended up with a face full of grass at the 3-yard line instead of a touchdown.
He rolled over, sitting up just as Ty pushed himself up onto his knees. Green stained the front of Ty's jersey. Grass and dirt were stuck in his face-mask.
"He'd clipped me? HOW?!"
The defensive stalemate the game had been caught in at the end of the first quarter had been blown wide open to start the second, but as Ty and Nate sat there, staring at each other, neither boy was happy.