Warrior : Teen Wolf

1

I rev my bike engine as I come to a stop at my local gym. Living in California, I'll admit there's probably nicer places to work out, but what most don't know about this place, is that after hours, people get to fight against the best of the best from our area. Mostly ranging from 200 plus pound meatheads, and the occasional smaller guy that has actual skill, they fight to compete for something relatively simple; cash. Some even fight to get the "Championship Title" even though legally speaking, it means nothing, but I suppose it is a bragging right that some men need in their life to feel "bigger".

I pull up to the back and grab my duffle bag from my seat compartment. I keep almost everything in here, from clothes, to my cash, seeing as my apartment isn't the safest place to keep valuables. Knocking on the door, the bouncer takes one look at me and let's me through. Let's just say that I've been visiting here at least once a week for many years now. I've been in and out of foster care for almost all of my life, and at age fourteen I had finally had enough and ran off. Now with fighting as my only income, along with the occasional pick pocket, I'm able to get the simple things, such as food and a crappy "apartment" or what I'd like to call more of a shack. After saving for many years I was finally able to buy a form of transport, my white Kawasaki Ninja 250, a.k.a my prized possession, and the only thing in my name that is actually worth something.

Walking through the large crowds of people, it's like you can smell the testosterone in the air, well, along with the overwhelming smell of sweat that accompanies this gym. I go to sign my name up for the next fight, along with paying an entrance fee, and I wait for the current brawl to be over.

As I wait, I take off my sweats to reveal my shorts and sports bra, both in the color of a midnight blue for tonight, and start wrapping my hands and feet. Whilst doing up my wraps, I roll my shoulders back a few times to try and relieve the tension from having a few fights the night before.

Finally the bell rings, signaling the end of the fight, and the beginning of mine. I squeeze through the large crowd of people, occasionally getting scoffed at for being a 5'4" girl entering an underground fight, but I don't let it effect me. I keep my head up, shoulders back, as I walk into the man-made ring, and wait to see my opponent. Luckily for me, it's the more common, large, "I'm going to crush you easily" type. A lot of the time, it's easier for me to have a larger opponent, mostly because I rely on speed and accuracy, while they rely solely on being stronger than the other. It makes for an entertaining fight, especially when I can dodge most of their hits. All I have to do then is wait for him to tire out, and throw my signature... A huge kick to the face, to knock them out.

I glance up as the bell rings, and get in my stance, while I wait for him to make the first move.

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Well, other than my busted lip, and a bruise the size of the mans calf I was fighting, I'd say the fight went well, seeing as there's a 200 pound man laying unconscious in a heap on the floor. I wipe my lip as I step out of the "ring" and go to collect my money. After putting my winnings in my duffle, which admittedly is a good amount of money since most people bet against me, I start to make my way out.

As I'm a few feet in front of the back door, it suddenly gets kicked open, and swarmed with police officers. My first instinct, is to run, mostly because if I get caught I'm going back to a group home, but also because I really don't need anything else on my record. Still clad in my foot and hand wraps, my feet slap on the concrete ground as I run the other direction, along with the huge crowd. Turns out, we're all surrounded, great! My last chance is to try and fight my way out to the safety of my beloved bike.

I sprint the other direction, where there are less cops and people, and start to take multiple down. Since most officers were only trained to shoot a gun and use pepper spray, I'm fairly certain that I'll get out, as long as they don't use fatal force. After downing four or five officers, I lost count, I feel a sharp pain in my back that immediately takes me down. They fucking tased me! I lay on the floor, somewhat convulsing, as the cops round everyone up in handcuffs. I finally get released from the taser gun, yet still find it hard to get up as I am having trouble catching my breath. Just as I'm about to get up and make a run for it, I feel the cold metal of handcuffs going around my wrists, and behind my back. This, was not my day.

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Word Count: 899
A/N: So I am the farthest thing from a good writer, but I've been reading a lot of teen wolf fanfics, and used to read a lot of street fighter stories. Low and behold, I wanted to combine them! Keep in mind the story is starting in season 3a, with the alpha pack in beacon hills. I'm eventually going to go more into my OC's backstory, but for now, just know that she totally kicks ass!