WORLD WIDE CHAM9IONS

2

"Help!"
A woman's screams came down an alleyway just a couple of steps right from me. I froze. Oh shit, I'm a very, very unlucky person, aren't I? Probably midnight and somebody is screaming for help, and I happen to be the only person able to do anything. Should I call Kang? Ah, forget it, that bastard is probably long gone anyways.
"Help!" And there was another scream, and another from the same woman, probably. My breathing was quick, and my heart racing. My senses heightened. There was a disturbance to the silence. And I dropped the cigarette.

Take a deep breath in, and out Zack.
That's all you need to do, Zack. You can't leave somebody stranded on these streets, calling for help. And who knows, she might be a pretty one anyways. Slowly, my legs began to move. I wasn't the same, I'm not as strong as before. But. My mind clicked in. I ran towards the screams, my body being pulled as if a magnet.
"Help!" And then the sounds became muffled. She wasn't screaming anymore. I was plunged into a sea of guilty shame. I needed to do something. Who am I, if I don't do anything?

As I entered the alleyway, wary and unnerved, I saw it. And I thought I must have been hallucinating. But, was I really? Or was that just my way of dealing with the shock that strung upon me? Either way, what I saw--. The woman's eyes latched onto me, as she strained under the body of an old man pushing her hard into a wall with a kiss -- a forced one, most likely. She was terrified. And I saw that, in the reflection of her traumatized eyes. Anger rose within me, swelling till I couldn't keep it on a leash any longer. It was disgusting.

My body moved on its own. Although I wasn't in that same strong state from two years ago, I could still land a punch. A hook, straight at that man's shoulder from behind. It stung my fists, leaving them bruised. But was good enough, as my mind began to recall.

"Nasty fucker, get off her before I call the police." I snarled, as he abruptly latched away, groaning. She would move out of the way, her countenance painted in fear and panic. Her hair was all messy. The combinations, from the punches to the kick all came very suddenly. As if my mind had been revived. And suddenly, I no longer saw that man, a man, but rather, prey. I couldn't see his face, no more. Memories came flashing back, till I was moving in the same way as I did in the ring. A reawakening. I guess muscle memory does exist. It was just a punching bag, at this point. One knee kick, double cross, double jab, roundhouse -- Was I going to kill him? I didn't know.

"You should-- uhm, stop now, before you kill him, sir."
Her touch on the shoulder brought me back to the present. Beneath my feet, was a man, bloody and bruised. Had I done that? God, it felt so long since I'd been able to fucking move. And for fucks sake, did it always feel that pleasurable? My mind had clicked into a new -- or rather old mode. As I stared downward, I noticed my fists were in a state worse than before. Of course, I hadn't worn gloves or hand wraps. Slowly, I turned around, a tinge of embarrassment now that I'd come to my senses.

"Sorry-"
"Sorry."
We would both say sorry in sync. I would be massaging my neck, glancing away from her with a somewhat awkward look, and she would be looking downwards. As the moonlight glimmered over the woman, I would notice she appeared to be at least twenty or twenty-one. With a short bob cut, and a round, moon-shaped face. Her makeup was slightly smudged, and her clothes a little, scruffy. The silence was strange, and god, I didn't know what to do, or say. I'd saved her, but, how should I talk? How do you talk to a girl?
Thank heavens she spoke first because I might have just walked off and pretended nothing ever happened if she didn't.

"I-thanks, I guess." She would mumble, bowing down in an act of appreciation. Embarrassment washed over me, leaving me speechless. The words wouldn't come out, at first. No, my tongue didn't even dare to move.
"Ah -- no, it's fine." I would say, at last, waving my hands around in an awkward manner. I scratched my hair slightly, gazing downwards to the floor.
"No, really, I appreciate it.." She would add in a kind tone, tying her hands together. "I need to be heading off somewhere so, goodbye sir." Again she would bow, before turning around and walking away. I sighed, heavily relieved.

I really, cannot talk to girls for my dear life.

After some moments of thinking to myself quietly, I finally left the alleyway. Another smoke would do the trick, wouldn't it? Maybe let some stress out, and just.
I shook my head, putting my hands in my pockets and breathing, for once. The lights flickered once more. Orange to black, orange to black. A strange and repetitive cycle.
Walking at midnight was awfully calming. A seductive tranquility, that eased my senses. And although people were still active at this time, probably clubbing, it felt beautifully isolated. It made me realize the steady pattern of my breathing. Made me hear my own thoughts.
Solitude is underrated.

--------------------

With one push of that old door, I entered my small, home -- or apartment, whatever you'd like to call it. Almost abruptly, a whiff of cigarettes and coffee passed by. Ah, the perfect environment.
Scanning my hands across the wall, I turned on the light switch. It flickered, twice, before finally brightening the room.
In the center of this musty yet beautiful abode, was a simple, small wooden table. It had a petite plant that was encased in glass on top, alongside a pile of newspapers and old comic books. The walls were painted black, with shelves and retro posters decorating them. On these wooden shelves, were arrays of old medals and trophies -- even belts. Distant memories, that's all. There was a single, black leather sofa beside the table. Nearby this was another plant, but also some old wine bottles too. A decent aesthetic. Plus there was an old, and broken TV that was still hanging around, begging to be thrown out.
Groaning, I'd drag my feet to the sofa and plop down on its somewhat hard surface.
"Fuck." My mouth moved on its own, speaking my thoughts.

Ironically, Kang's ideologies and words began to come back.
'What I'm saying Cheng, is that you should really do something with your life, other than drinking and sleeping twenty-four-seven.'
Frankly, I couldn't be bothered.