Fight Everyone But Me

Just Another Night In New York City (2051)

Jake kept his head down as the crowd roared behind him. His knuckles burned as though someone had stuffed them into the embers of a furnace—a pain he knew intimately—but he managed to grasp the device with minimal trouble.

With his better sense drowned out by wordless beats that had the tavern's dirt-packed walls vibrating in tune, he took a whiff of the newest e-cigarette model.

"Atta-boy, Jake! How's it taste?"

The boy in question coughed until his chest hurt, blood trailing from a busted lip. "Too sweet."

Johnny grabbed the hard-drive shaped device and huffed, "Kids these days. Too sweet, not sweet enough. You wanna try the savory nicotine, boy? I heard it tastes like chicken."

Jake shook his head. "You know I can't get used to that stuff. It's an expensive addiction."

The old man tsked and breathed in cake-flavored smoke. "Worth every penny, though. You should've seen the cigarettes I smoked as a kid. Those things were just cancer wrapped up in cheap print paper."

Jake raised an amused brow, wincing as the hit he'd taken to the side of his head made itself known. It'd bruise badly: a gothic shade of purple that would fade into a sickly ear-wax yellow within the next couple days. "These complimentary vapes kill too, Johnny, and who knows what experimental drugs the Goldens inject into them."

Johnny heaved a laugh with lungs Jake felt sorry for. "Yeah, well at least these taste better and kill me slower."

"I'll toast to that." Jake picked up his whiskey glass and took a sip.

The water was cool against his sore throat. Jake knew there'd be some finger-shaped bruising around his neck tomorrow morning.

"Hey, any idea where Carlos is? He was supposed to meet me here thirty minutes ago. It's already past midnight."

"Saw him speaking to the House manager with Natasha by his side. Probably arguing about tonight's earnings."

Jake's easy smile dropped. "Wait, when?"

"About thirty minutes ago."

"Shit."

Jake swiveled in his barstool to find his oldest brother in the crowd. The dim neon lighting changed colors quick enough to give him unhelpful vertigo and the caged boxing ring that was the tavern's centerpiece couldn't be seen behind all the writhing bodies.

Tonight's fight brought in more people than he'd ever seen in the modestly-sized tavern, so earnings must've hit a record high. Jake tongued the gash in his lip as his gaze scoured the dance floor. The air smelled of salt, sweat, spilt ale, and spirits powerful enough to burn his nostrils.

A subtle scent of citrus leaked from the vents; a known and enhanced aphrodisiac. Jake knew from experience that it'd only get stronger, more heady, until his stomach was full of liquor and his mind of lust.

It wasn't safe for Carlos to be walking around this late with money in his hands, even with Natasha by his side.

Jake stood shakily as the night's activities made their toll on his body known, but he pushed himself into the crowd nonetheless.

The House manager was notorious for cheating fighters out of their due earnings, yet Carlos always managed to swindle a good portion.

The negotiation had never taken more than five minutes.

A wave of dizziness overcame him. Had Jake not fallen into some stranger after tripping over another stranger's foot, he would have hit unforgiving cement. "What the hell's wrong with you?", the second stranger said as his colorful glass shattered. People glanced over just as Jake flicked his hoodie over his head.