11-03-2023, 12:38 AM
(This post was last modified: 11-03-2023, 01:01 AM by Alistair Bishop.)
There had been no ropes; only an elevated concrete square ring had stood one foot off the ground. It had been stained with red that the surface wore with sadistic pride.
Bloodlust crowds had pressed close around each side of the ring. Collectively, a trance had controlled a mass of people after a night of partying and gambling. Each person had some skin in the game. Everyone had a stake, whether a little or a large amount of money. But with every bet, the Russian Mafia had gotten their cut. With every bet, the Russian Mafia had won even when the house lost.
For every dollar spent, a portion had gone into the pockets of the Mafia. Every ounce of liquor, plate of food, and paid-for services by the ladies intertwined in the crowd had only cemented the fact that the Mafia would win. Every solicited act had taken with it a secret, and more information had been collected to be used to benefit the family. These ladies had been agents of pleasure and espionage. Dark areas of the building had been filled with wandering hands and whispers. The Mafia had won because of the ecosystem the club had built around it. Mr. P's wealth had been made by taking advantage of the human depravity that needed its unquenchable hit. These clubs had become vital to their continued power and dominance.
The deafening noise of the crowd had come to complete silence to the ears of Alistair. Alistair had stood suspended in time, exposed in the middle of the ring. He had been in a battle. This fight had been like no other fight he had been in before. The opponent would not take damage as if he had been a machine possessed by something. Alistair had stood suspended, knowing what was about to happen. He had missed a right hook to his opponent's face, leaving his right cheek fully exposed to his opponent. Though only a second had passed, that had been more than enough time for his opponent to unwind his body; first, his right leg, knees, hips, unwinding his torso as a trailing left hook had plowed through Alistair's face. The impact had sent Alistair's head cocked back as his eyes had rolled back into his head. Blood and spit had flown out of his mouth. In a moment, Alistair had been looking at the ceiling, and his night had been done.
Bloodlust crowds had pressed close around each side of the ring. Collectively, a trance had controlled a mass of people after a night of partying and gambling. Each person had some skin in the game. Everyone had a stake, whether a little or a large amount of money. But with every bet, the Russian Mafia had gotten their cut. With every bet, the Russian Mafia had won even when the house lost.
For every dollar spent, a portion had gone into the pockets of the Mafia. Every ounce of liquor, plate of food, and paid-for services by the ladies intertwined in the crowd had only cemented the fact that the Mafia would win. Every solicited act had taken with it a secret, and more information had been collected to be used to benefit the family. These ladies had been agents of pleasure and espionage. Dark areas of the building had been filled with wandering hands and whispers. The Mafia had won because of the ecosystem the club had built around it. Mr. P's wealth had been made by taking advantage of the human depravity that needed its unquenchable hit. These clubs had become vital to their continued power and dominance.
The deafening noise of the crowd had come to complete silence to the ears of Alistair. Alistair had stood suspended in time, exposed in the middle of the ring. He had been in a battle. This fight had been like no other fight he had been in before. The opponent would not take damage as if he had been a machine possessed by something. Alistair had stood suspended, knowing what was about to happen. He had missed a right hook to his opponent's face, leaving his right cheek fully exposed to his opponent. Though only a second had passed, that had been more than enough time for his opponent to unwind his body; first, his right leg, knees, hips, unwinding his torso as a trailing left hook had plowed through Alistair's face. The impact had sent Alistair's head cocked back as his eyes had rolled back into his head. Blood and spit had flown out of his mouth. In a moment, Alistair had been looking at the ceiling, and his night had been done.