03-12-2023, 03:22 AM
“Are you ready?”
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Outside his predetermined fights in the states, Alistair occasionally participated in bare-knuckle matches. Typically, these would be in places like the barns of southern Louisiana or dark warehouses in New York filled with former Wall Street traders still looking for an endorphin hit, gambling on matches, filling a void lost missing since Wall Street collapsed.
He was more than prepared for this fight—his first fight in Moscow.
Jade stood next to the illuminated ring, hand on her hip. She was all business, and her eyes pierced through him as he walked towards her.
“Fight starts in three minutes. When they call you, go to that corner, and wait for the ref to start the fight. You’ve done bare-knuckle boxing before, which is why you are here, so you know the rules.”
Alistair said no words, only nodded. He knew what to do and didn’t smile, smirk, or show emotion except for an icy gaze.
Bare-knuckle boxing is about speed, power, and the violent art of transferring all your energy, innermost demons, checkered past, wrongs, grudges, and hate into a punch. A punch that does damage to someone on not only a physical level but destroys their soul. Punches that hit so hard it can make their reborn ancestors bleed out their ass.
Alistair sets his eyes on his opponent for the first time, a 6 ft 2 inch slim and ripped meaty man. His hands were wrapped, short black fight shorts and no shirt. He stared at Alistair from across the blue light of the ring, bouncing from side to side. His pecs flexed with each bounce, building tension in his muscles as he waited to fight.
“Are you ready?” The ref looked at Alistair and then at his opponent, and they both nodded yes. With a drop of the ref’s hand, the bout began.
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Outside his predetermined fights in the states, Alistair occasionally participated in bare-knuckle matches. Typically, these would be in places like the barns of southern Louisiana or dark warehouses in New York filled with former Wall Street traders still looking for an endorphin hit, gambling on matches, filling a void lost missing since Wall Street collapsed.
He was more than prepared for this fight—his first fight in Moscow.
Jade stood next to the illuminated ring, hand on her hip. She was all business, and her eyes pierced through him as he walked towards her.
“Fight starts in three minutes. When they call you, go to that corner, and wait for the ref to start the fight. You’ve done bare-knuckle boxing before, which is why you are here, so you know the rules.”
Alistair said no words, only nodded. He knew what to do and didn’t smile, smirk, or show emotion except for an icy gaze.
Bare-knuckle boxing is about speed, power, and the violent art of transferring all your energy, innermost demons, checkered past, wrongs, grudges, and hate into a punch. A punch that does damage to someone on not only a physical level but destroys their soul. Punches that hit so hard it can make their reborn ancestors bleed out their ass.
Alistair sets his eyes on his opponent for the first time, a 6 ft 2 inch slim and ripped meaty man. His hands were wrapped, short black fight shorts and no shirt. He stared at Alistair from across the blue light of the ring, bouncing from side to side. His pecs flexed with each bounce, building tension in his muscles as he waited to fight.
“Are you ready?” The ref looked at Alistair and then at his opponent, and they both nodded yes. With a drop of the ref’s hand, the bout began.