This isn’t shady at all Franz thought with sarcasm as he stood in front of a warehouse. He was at the address that was returned to him when he texted that number on the fight night poster. The address had led him to a location in the warehouse district in Scandalica City. This area consisted of a few dilapidated warehouses that obviously hadn’t been maintained in several years as evidenced by the vines and weeds trying their best to reclaim the three-story brick building.

What was he getting himself into?

He would have cared more if not for the promise of one thousand simoleons if he happened to win this fight. He knew he was a good fighter, the question was—how good would his opponents be?

Would he have any opponents? Considering the very abandoned nature of the lot, he wondered if he was the only person there. He spied light from the second story and some movement—so, there were people in there after all. Franz crossed the street and walked the perimeter of the warehouse looking for a valid entrance that wasn’t chained or boarded up.

“Hey, you looking for the fight?” He heard someone ask from the shadows. Franz curled his fists on instinct. Wandering around in the shadows was not a good life choice for anyone sneaking up on him.

“Oh hey buddy, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” the owner of the voice—some guy—held up his hands to show he wasn’t dangerous “Looks like you are looking to fight—you wanna be a fighter?”

Franz nodded wordlessly.

The guy stepped out from near the outside wall of the warehouse and Franz got a better look at him. He wore a vest and tie, and had scraggly brown hair that grew into his eyes which were underneath a very prominent set of eyebrows.

“Follow me,” the guy indicated and moved forward. Franz didn’t inherently trust this guy, just hanging around an abandoned warehouse in the shadows but he hadn’t seen how to get in yet and figured it’d be okay to follow him. They stopped in front of a door that had a lock broken off. The guy pulled the chain away that was wrapped around the door handles and entered. Once inside, there was little light to see anything by.

The guy reached out, picked something up, and handed it to Franz; it was half a mask, shaped like something a surgeon would wear but made of heavier, flexible material and almost looked metallic. Franz could barely make out an intricate design on the front but he didn’t know if it meant anything.

“Put that on. It protects your face and identity.”

“Why am I protecting my identity?” Franz frowned.

“This fight isn’t exactly above water if you know what I mean. Let’s just say if the cops bust us up, you probably won’t get identified on your way out.”

Franz nodded with understanding and slipped the mask on over the bottom half of his face, securing the loops behind his ears to hold it in place. He was already putting himself at risk for injury, so legality didn't concern him if he could help his mother and save the bakery from the clutches of the Cosgrove Collective.

He followed the guy further into the warehouse and there was more light down the way. It led to an opening with a sink and old sets of lockers, probably for the workers that used to be employed there. He also saw there was a gathering of other hopeful fighters with the same type of mask obscuring their mouths.


“Are we done waiting? When do we get to fight?” A buff man asked with impatience; his voice was muffled and his brow was notched into a frown.

The same guy who had greeted Franz nonchalantly walked around them all so he was standing in front like a host of sorts, “Hold your horses. Before you go up to fight I need you to pick out a name—it’ll be your alias when you come around to fight."

"I call dibs on King Cobra!” The same buff guy insisted.

“Boomslang !” The shorter of the fighters determined with enthusiasm right after.

“Are we going with a snake theme? I like it,” the host nodded in approval and looked toward Franz and the man sitting on the bench.

“Sure, I’ll be The Anaconda,” the guy in the beanie shrugged and picked a snake.

Franz didn’t really like snakes but there was one kind he didn’t mind petting when their class went on a field trip to the zoo. It was so big and long, but it wasn’t the type known to bite and poison its prey. Strength is what made it feared in the wild.

“Python,” Franz said, though his answer was made even more muffled by his mask.

“Well, that settles that. Since Boomslang and Python were here last, they’ll go first. Then King Cobra and The Anaconda will fight. The winners of those two matches will go head to head for the finale and whoever wins will get the cash. Any questions?”

King Cobra raised his hand and said “Yeah, are there any illegal moves?”

“Can’t use items, it has to be a fight using body strength only. The masks protect your identity and your face so try not to knock each other’s teeth out despite that. Also, this goes without saying but no groin hits—I think we’re all in agreement that sucks.”

They all nodded with affirmation.

“When is a match done?” Boomslang asked.

“When a guy goes down and can’t get up for five counts the match is over. Anything else?”

“Does insurance cover this?” The Anaconda wondered.

“No.”

The host looked to Franz to see if he had any questions but Franz didn’t voice any. He was just ready to fight. He had been sizing up his opponents in the short time they had been gathered. Boomslang was small, which meant he could be quicker and most likely depended on evasive moves. The Anaconda was of average build and Franz had a hard time picturing him taking anyone out, especially if he was wearing a hat to a fight. The real contender here was King Cobra—the dude was ripped, and a lot bulkier than Franz who in contrast, was pretty lean in his midsection. Franz’s stomach was his weak point in a fight so he’d have to watch for any punches thrown in that direction.

“Okay, so the first two fighters can follow me up to the warehouse floor. Wait until you hear me whistle and then you can begin,” the host motioned them forward. There was an old lift that surprisingly still worked that they stepped onto and rode up. The doors opened and the host told Franz and Boomslang to get out while he stayed on. A moment later they saw why as there was a third floor that looked down onto the second from above.

There were people, which unnerved Franz upon initially seeing them gathered on the same floor. So, this was a fight for spectators? Of course, why had he thought any different? The room was occupied by a decent number of young adults who had no doubt seen the same posters plastered throughout the campuses of the region and had their interest piqued.

Franz and Boomslang walked to the middle of the room, the floorboards creaking with every step. It briefly made Franz wonder if the floor could hold everyone after years of disuse and gradual decay. The fighters faced each other and silence fell over the room. Boomslang must have been hyped up to fight, his brows were slanted inward in a glare—already considering Franz the enemy. Franz had no ill will toward this guy, but he needed that money and he’d gladly put a beat-down on him to obtain it.

The host shouted out an introduction of the fighters by their snake aliases and then a sharp whistle pierced the silence. Boomslang immediately charged toward Franz.


Franz reflexively brought his leg up and halted the charge by connecting the force of his knee into Boomslang’s gut. A few of the spectators cheered and some winced as Boomslang stumbled backward with the breath knocked out of him. It was Franz’s turn to attempt an attack, and in a few long strides, he was toe-to-toe with Boomslang enough to theow a punch. Like he had suspected, the guy evaded it with a quick dodge and scrambled around the back of Franz. Boomslang threw his weight into Franz’s side and pushed him off balance. Franz pivoted and made another attempt to throw a punch. Boomslang dodged that too.

Franz cursed in his mind, he needed to be faster to land a hit on this opponent. Boomslang darted to the left as Franz went right, and then in the opposite direction. Suddenly Franz saw stars as something hard came up from below and caught him in the jaw. An uppercut .


Franz staggered backward and received a second blow to the right of his face between his eye and cheekbone. It was painful.

A surge of adrenaline washed through him and he stormed forward, nearly knocking Boomslang wholly to the ground. Franz kicked the guy’s feet out from under him as he tried to regain balance and that time, the action did put Boomslang to the floor where Franz decked him in the face with a series of hits until Boomslang’s nose started bleeding. The people watching were cheering. Boomslang held his hands up to defend himself and Franz halted his assault.

“Stay down or I’ll knock you out,” Franz warned as he stood straight, towering above the smaller man; he didn’t want to have to repeat the act of rendering someone unconscious in a fight as he did all those years ago. He was just a kid then, there was no telling how much more damage he could inflict now that he was a grown man.

Boomslang peered out from behind his hands with blood gushing from his nose and running into his lips. He looked scared and apprehensively nodded.

They heard the whistle again and another shout that proclaimed that Python was the victor. Franz held out his hand for Boomslang to take to stand again but the man refused. Franz retracted his hand and walked back to the lift. He ignored the cheers and congratulations from the spectators as he boarded.

The other two fighters were waiting to enter the lift when the doors opened on the lower floor. No one said a word as they walked past each other but considering the aggression he sensed radiating off of King Cobra, Franz didn’t believe The Anaconda had a fighting chance of beating the guy.


Since he was alone, Franz unfastened the mask from his face and looked at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. He winced as he brushed his fingers against the reddening skin of his cheek and saw bruising starting to set in around his eye.

He had dinner with his family tomorrow and they’d surely ask him about where he got such a wound. Fauna would be especially nosy and annoying about it. Franz wasn’t one to lie about things either, so he could already taste that annoying dilemma on his tongue.

A wave of cheering could suddenly be heard through the thick ceiling. What was everyone so happy about? Franz wondered about that as he looked above him.


On the warehouse's main floor, King Cobra has just knocked The Anaconda out cold. The poor guy was flat on his back, unmoving. After a few moments, the shout went out, proclaiming King Cobra as the winner.

King Cobra was drinking in the positive energy of the crowd as they applauded and shouted for him. He held up his hand to his ear to milk more of that intoxicating sound.

From the lofted area above, two men observed the action. Between the two of them, they were the brains behind the event.


“Do you really think this going to work?” Nick asked, rubbing his chin with consideration. He was a bit apprehensive—seeing how King Cobra had taken less than five minutes to render his opponent unconscious. It was unsettling, especially if he won and then found out that the prize money was all counterfeit. Nick had no desire to share The Anaconda’s fate.

“It’ll be fine,” Cain assured and crossed his arms with a smile.

After Nick had found out that his tuition had been revoked, he had gotten ahold of Cain since Mr. Eyebrows was the only other person who knew about the counterfeiting machine on the Armscor property. Cain had listened to Nick’s dilemma and the idea he had to use the counterfeiting machine to supplement the amount of tuition he owed.

Cain said that wouldn’t work; if Nick paid in counterfeit money, it would be clear that the source of the counterfeiting came from Nick. The solution was to cut the counterfeit money with the real deal. They had an entire warehouse that wasn’t being used—basically a shitty venue just stable enough to hold some kind of clandestine gathering—and that’s when the idea to have an underground fighting ring came into existence.

Phase 1 of the plan was to advertise a fight night with little detail, have Cain set up an untraceable automatic number that would text any number that texted for info the address of the fight, then charge a 10 simoleon cover for people to watch the fights. To tempt people into fighting, they would offer 1,000 simoleons in counterfeit money since neither of them obviously had a legit grand of simoleons to throw around. Cain and Nick both knew from experience that once a fight broke out, it was hard to look away so the activity was sure to generate interest.

Phase 2 had still yet to take action but Cain predicted that those who had come tonight would surely talk about it to their friends. Word of mouth could be a powerful tool. To remove all paper trails of the illicit activity going forward, he would give everyone the date and time of the next fight for them to know and to spread the word about. The draw and catch was exclusivity—if anyone missed a night, they’d be out knowing when the next one was.

Phase 3 was the natural addition of betting on fights, but they didn’t want to count their chickens before they hatched. This enterprise, in addition to solving Nick’s problem, had the potential to rake in a lot of money for them. That was if they didn’t get caught first.

Nick thought it was too risky at first but Cain had faith it would be successful and had fought to convince him it would work; Nick didn’t really have any other options for quick cash besides taking out a loan but he had no credit to his name to even accomplish that.

The Anaconda jolted up suddenly, coming out of his stupor, and winced. He pulled himself upward and limped back to the lift to go back downstairs and tend to his face which was turning into one big bruise overall.

The doors opened and Franz stepped off, passing the unfortunate Anaconda and noting how badly beaten he was from King Cobra’s assault. Franz would have to certainly put up a lot of defense on King Cobra if he had any chance to win.

His mask was back in place and he frowned as he walked toward the middle of the floor where King Cobra waited.

“If you quit now, I’ll spare you the extra bruising,” King Cobra taunted him. Franz had given an ultimatum to his first opponent in the same manner but that was because he didn’t want to hurt the guy more than he had to. He could tell King Cobra didn’t care if Franz was seriously hurt; he just wanted an easier and quicker way to win the money. Franz wasn’t backing down now.

He didn’t say a word in response which caused King Cobra to match the frown and ready his fists. Franz did as well.

The host above re-introduced them to a round of cheers from the crowd and then whistled as a signal to start.


As Franz observed earlier, King Cobra was aggressive, and he immediately struck outward with one of his fists. Franz was prepared for that. He caught his opponent’s fist between his elbows and clamped them together, using the sheer power of his shoulders to take the upper hand. Franz twisted King Cobra’s arm in the opposite direction which bought him a few extra seconds to wind up and sock King Cobra in the solar plexus.

King Cobra stumbled backward and let out a shout followed by a few coughs and seemed to stretch his arm muscle that had been affected by Franz’s move.

“So you want to play rough, do you?” He asked though Franz knew it was rhetorical. King Cobra lashed out once more and Franz side-stepped the incoming blow, returning a counter-punch into the side of his torso.

Talking was useless in a fight. It was distracting and Franz always found that to be the downfall of those he had fought over the years. They all were more concerned with their ego and hurling insults than concentrating on beating him. This is why Franz considered himself a good fighter.

“I’m going to send you to your mommy in a bodybag,” King Cobra snarled and made another forward attack but Franz wasn’t like The Anaconda who could just be barreled over by sheer physical prowess. King Cobra made contact but Franz didn’t go down, he offset the weight by rolling and ended up being the one to pin his opponent down instead. The fight which had loosely been akin to boxing was now outright wrestling.

It was difficult keeping him down because he was stronger but all the tussling was not something Franz was used to in a fight and that left him with a lot of open points.

A sharp jab to his midsection rendered him breathless and he fell forward, momentarily immobile with pain searing through his ribs. He felt like he was going to vomit and rolled onto his back. King Cobra scrambled to stand again and loomed over him. If his mask hadn’t concealed the lower half of his face, Franz was sure he would have seen an evil-ass smirk spread across his opponent’s mouth at this reversal of power.

He had drowned out the crowd’s noises until now, and upon hearing the cheering and clapping he knew that they favored King Cobra. Why? People always seemed to do that—cheer on those the least deserving to come out on top, who already were on top and it was Franz who was always clamoring to get there and getting knocked down every step of the way.

Franz had to get up if he didn’t want to be counted as down. King Cobra raised his fist and it was coming down with a promise of pain, fast, right in between Franz’s eyes if he didn’t do something to stop it. Reflexes kicked in again, and though it was painful for him to move—he grabbed King Cobra’s arm, effectively stopping the blow, and pulled him forward while simultaneously bending his leg like a spring to catch King Cobra’s stomach on the underside of his sneaker—flipping the buff body wholly over his shoulder. King Cobra landed into the floorboards with a crack, and no one was sure if it was the wood giving way or a bone that had broken.


Franz pulled himself up and turned just as King Cobra stood, holding his arm with the other and glaring daggers. He stumbled forward in angry desperation, winding another punch up with his good arm. Franz grabbed his fist, parrying the sloppy attempt, and then popped King Cobra hard, square in the face with his knuckles which he had been sharpening on a punching bag for the past few weeks.

The heavyweight fell backward and revisited the floorboards, with blood starting to trickle out of his nose.

Franz watched carefully to make sure the guy was down for good and he slowly counted in his head, seeming to hold his breath as the seconds ticked by. After the final count of five, it was announced that Python was the night’s best fighter. Franz let out a breath of relief.

The crowd erupted into a ruckus for him, now that he had proven himself to be an underdog. He still felt sick from the blow to his midsection. He ignored them once more as he passed to go back downstairs. He didn’t know where else to go but knew he needed to get his reward and get the hell out of there. He was in pain and he was tired.

Once back in the room he had first entered, he found Boomslang and The Anaconda were cleaning up their blood. Yet, both still had the masks on. It was probably in everyone’s best interest that they didn’t know each other’s true faces.

“Are you okay?” Franz asked Boomslang.

“M'fine,” Boomslang mumbled and didn’t make eye contact, apparently still sore that he had lost and afraid of Franz.

“You bested King Cobra?” The Anaconda asked in muffled wonder.

Franz nodded and sat on the bench, tenderly feeling the side of himself where he’d been jabbed.

A few minutes later the host returned to the room alone and thanked them all for participating.

“Next fight is tomorrow night at 8:30. If you don’t come, this may have been your last chance.”

“What do you mean?” Boomslang asked.

“Well, the only way to find out when the next fight is, is to show up. So, if you don’t come tomorrow—you won’t get the information you need for the following fight.”

Not shady at all, Franz frowned to himself with the same sarcasm as earlier. To be fair, the host had all but admitted this entire event was not strictly legal. But Franz had dinner with his family tomorrow night, would he have to skip it just to be in the loop?

“Where’s King Cobra,” The Anaconda wondered.

“He’s going to go find some medical attention for his arm. But I told him the deal and when the fight is tomorrow and he’s rearing for a re-match,” the host turned an eye on Franz, nearly taunting him to return and fight again.

Franz stared hard and didn’t shy away, “Where’re my winnings?”

The host laughed and dug through his pockets until he found a wallet, “You didn’t think I’d forget that did you?”

He handed over a wad of bills, crisp and rolled. Franz separated them and found ten bills worth one hundred simoleons each. This was what he needed and more of it too.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he mumbled. There was no way of getting money faster to pay for his mother’s treatment, that is, unless they sold the bakery—and he was fighting to save both.

“Me too,” Boomslang promised.

Franz’s pocket started buzzing which startled him. He rolled the money back up and stuffed it in his pocket while removing his cell phone to check who was calling. It wasn’t a number he recognized.

“Hello?” He answered, though his voice was muffled through his mask.

“Is this Franz Schoulsburg?”

“Yes…”

“Hello this is Doctor Wellington from the Regional Mercy ER; I’m calling you to let you know that your mother, Yvette, was admitted about a half hour ago after she was found collapsed and unresponsive. Please come to the hospital as soon as possible–”

“Is she okay?”

“She’s stable but we found something concerning—please we need you down here now.”

Franz was already moving toward the exit, despite calls from the other guys in the room asking what his problem was. His heart had picked up pace, stung with a deep worry for his mother’s health. He emerged into the night and found it hard to breathe. His thoughts were clouded with dread and he ripped off his mask, while stuffing it in his other pocket—letting the night air fill his lungs. He broke into a jog even though his body was still in pain from the abuse it had taken during the fight. Luckily the Regional Mercy Hospital was in Scandalica City and Franz could get there faster than the bus if he just ran the eight or so blocks downtown instead of riding and having to stop every five minutes.

With his adrenaline rushing far faster than it had when he was fighting even, he started sprinting and disappeared into the darkness.

He had been too preoccupied to even notice that someone had witnessed him fleeing, had seen his whole face, and they were not the sort of person to keep that information to themselves if they could use it to their benefit.