Beware The Water

Gauntlet

Shorter inhaled a slow, deep breath and blew out his nerves. One-on-one fights weren't anything new to him, but a gauntlet, on the other hand, was something he couldn't prepare for. The only thing he told himself was to push past whatever pain that he would endure and not be so flashy for the sake of making the fight look good. The only thing he was worried about was survival. Especially after hearing murmurs that the other fighters may be allowed to have weapons on them.

Shorter always carried both a switchblade and a handgun on him. In any fight, guns weren't allowed, but a blade... He held it in his hand firmly and placed it back down onto the edge of the sink. He was taught to fight with honor and not to disgrace himself with taking the easy way out. If someone wanted to pull a weapon out on him, then the next thing to do would be breaking their hands.

The first guy in the ring lacked any height to him. He must have been no taller than 5'6", but where he lacked in stature, he made up for it in muscle. His arms had minimal reach, so Shorter was able to get in close, but when the guy was able to land a blow, it hurt like hell. Shorter felt like he had just been hit by a bull with the way this guy would throw himself at him. He could tell his opponent didn't have much fighting experience due to his punches and kicks having little to no technique to them. That's what Shorter decided to take advantage of. Just wait for another mistake, and then...

"Fuck..." Shorter gritted his teeth after his head hit the hard white mat beneath him. He struggled to push himself up, and when he did, he was staring down into a pool of blood. There was a deep gash on his cheekbone that spewed more blood whenever he tilted his head. That bull came with a pair of brass knuckles.

The side of the crowd that bet on Shorter, which was few, gasped at the illegal use of a weapon and cursed when the "ref" allowed the fight to go on. Meanwhile, the rest of the crowd cheered and chanted for him to get hit again, betting that he wouldn't make it to round two. Shorter already felt his left eye start to swell up, but he shook the dizziness out of his head and caught the arm of his opponent, who was still wearing the brass knuckles on his fist. Shorter used his own leverage and twisted the guy's arm and heard his shoulder pop. The guy screamed at the hyperextension.

Shorter then tackled the guy to the ground after using his foot to trip him up onto his back. He grabbed the guy by the wrist and slammed it into the mat until his hand opened up and the brass knuckles flew off.

"Take them!" People in the crowd started to scream.

"Finish it!"

"Break his fucking face!"

The screaming hurt Shorter's head. He wanted it to stop. A cold chill rushed over his body as a sudden burst of energy hit him. He straddled the guy, keeping his arms pinned between his thighs, and punched him with bare knuckles until the ref issued a knockout.

A foot soldier that rolled with the Russian mob dragged the guy out of the ring while his sponsor wore a look of disgust on his face, knowing he had just lost out on thousands.

"Who's next!?" Shorter yelled out. He hoped the adrenaline would last long enough until the last two rounds were over before his body would give up on him.

The next guy that came out was young. The lack of any facial hair and braces gave Shorter the assumption that this boy was no older than sixteen. Standing off in the corner of the ring were two guys that were part of a Mexican gang. The boy trembled in shoes that were too big for his feet. This fight was an initiation for him. He didn't have to win, but he had to last against the King of Chinatown. Seeing Shorter covered in his own blood and blood from his first opponent didn't make the boy feel any better. He looked like a savage animal. He began to regret letting his older brother talk him into joining his gang in the first place.