Northgate
Basement of a Nondescript Building in a Forgotten Part of Town
Spring 217
Roux almost didn’t go when invited for a drink that evening. The boorish laborers he now spent most days around were shit to work with. Why would they be any better to drink with? But he had to try. He had to keep existing. And hey, ending the night with the lot of them beating the hell out each other wasn’t the worst thing in the world. In his drunken state, it even felt cathartic. As it turns out, the others loved fighting, and they told Roux about this place.
This dark, cramped basement in which Roux now stands is full of chaotic energy. The hoots and yells of the raucous crowd reverberates off of the low ceiling, which shakes, threatening to crumble and crush all those in attendance. Roux doesn’t care though. He’s several whiskeys deep and staring daggers into the large, hairy brute currently pummeling a scrawny kid who looks like he already has one broken arm, soon to be two. It’s not a fight. It’s a beat down.
The anger in Roux grows and before he knows it, he’s stepping into the pit mid-fight.
“He’s had enough!” Roux yells, barely audible over the din, but the crowd quickly quiets enough to hear the brute’s response, “Then you’ll get the rest!” before exploding back into hoot and cheers.
The blows come swift and brutally to Roux’s stomach, but he spins off of the third strike, elbowing the brute in the back of the head. Then two to the kidneys. The brute backhands wildly, catching Roux in the side of the head. Things go blurry for a moment, but then again, they already were blurry. Fists and blood fly. Roux staggers. The brute misses. And Roux finishes him with a blow to the temple.
Roux stands heaving in the middle of the ring, as the shocked crowd murmurs.
“You little shit.” A gravelly voice raises from a muscle-bound man with a crooked nose now stepping into the pit. “Think you can just waltz in here.”
Roux straightens up and spits blood. “Shut up and fight.”
The last brute was a cake-walk compared to this one. His fists hit like bricks, but Roux is ever so slightly faster. And in the end, Roux, sweaty and bloodied, stands over this second defeated foe. The imp of a man coordinating the matches tries to usher Roux out.
“Well done newcomer… This way.” Gesturing outside the ring.
“No. More.” Roux scans the faces and sees another brute who fought and pummeled a young kid earlier. He points. “You.”
This fight is less graceful than the last two, but Roux has taken worse beatings. Plus, the whiskey helps dull the pain. Roux endures, and finally, he kneels over his third defeated foe, arm hanging limply at his side. Right eye swollen shut.
The crowd is quiet. Blood drips from Roux’s face as he kneels in the center of the ring. Head down. He slowly brings his good arm up and brushes the blood-soaked hair out of his face. Locking eyes with another brute, Roux stands slowly and points, “You.”
The brute steps in, and Roux rushes him with a growl and a renewed energy that no one expected. He rains blows upon the man, but Roux is far too weak at this point for them to have any effect. The brute just stands there scowling and takes it.
Roux is relentless and ineffective. “Hit me. Hit me! You son of a bitch! She left because of you! He’s dead because of you!! They’re all gone because of you!!!”
And with a single blow, Roux goes down.
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