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Maybe if I sneak out now, I can escape the past. Escape Shane. Get away from this place and have a nice, refreshing whiskey at the bar.
Fuck martinis. They do nothing for me at all. I need a buzz. I need to let loose—feel free.
Someone walks into the cage and their presence interrupts my thoughts. Soon the lights grow dim and the man in the cage taps his microphone. He’s middle-aged with a Caesar style haircut and a nice, crisp tux on.
“This thing on?” he jokes with smiling eyes.
A few people laugh. Kylie does. I don’t.
“How are we tonight, huh? One of the biggest MMA fights in history is happening tonight and you are here to witness it in person. How does that feel?!”
People clap and scream around the stadium. They are loud, but something tells me this isn’t as loud as they will get tonight.
“Before we go on, I’d like to formally introduce myself. I am Joe Santos, champion of the 2009 Kings Crown Mixed Martial Arts. See, I have trained with these men a lot after retiring. I have watched them in and out of the ring, working hard, staying dedicated, and focusing on the one thing they love.” He grins as he looks around the stadium. “That one thing is fighting, ladies and gentleman.”
People clap, whistle, and scream again.
“Now, I am not one to instigate,” he continues, “but we’ve been hearing a lot of noise about these two fighters tonight. One of them will take home the belt. Who will it be?” Everyone starts shouting names. Kylie screams Doomsday and I really want to cover her mouth and drag her out of the stadium.
Joe Santos flashes a cool, wicked smile, as he peers around the stadium. “Well, ladies and gentlemen. I guess we will just have to see who the winner is.” He points in the direction of something and the lights go out completely.
Strobe lights flash, spotlights dancing all over the place. “Introducing our first fighter! A man with great strength—a man with no conscience at all! A fighter that is always ready—always on top of his game! The biggest man I have ever seen in Kings Crown history! Give it up for The Slayerrrrrr!”
The crowd goes nuts. They cheer, boast, and scream, and when the spotlight finally lands on an entryway, out comes this Slayer.
Oh. My. God. He is enormous.
He’s a giant, from what I see. As he comes down the aisle, walking to a metal rock song I would never know the name of, he snatches off his hood, climbs into the cage, and then removes his gray and red robe.
He hunches forward, flexes his arms, until his fists touch, and then roars. It’s not louder than the music, but it’s close.
I blink rapidly. He is truly intimidating and for a split second I’m afraid that he’ll end up tying Drake into a pretzel.
Muscle stacked on top of muscle. A bald head with tattoos on it, one of which I can clearly see is a medieval knife. His mouthpiece has his fighter name on it. I see that on the screen they have above the cage, as the cameraman scurries backwards in front of him.
“That guy is freakishly huge,” Kylie guffaws. I look at her. She looks at me. Yeah, though I want to hate Drake, I totally fear for his life right now.
“Okay, now.” Joe Santos talks into the mic again. “Now that we’ve gotten your attention, let’s hear a little noise for our next competitor. A young, talented man that has never lost a match. A kid that will fight down to blood and bone. A man they call un-fuck-wittable! You know what that means? That means you CAN’T fuck with him! And you know why? It’s because you can’t beat him. He’s quick. He’s lethal. He’s a true hothead in the ring, but we love him for it! Give it up, for the almighty… DOOOOMSDAY!”
If I thought the crowd went nuts for The Slayer, I am completely wrong. They go ballistic as soon as they hear the name Doomsday.
A song comes on—Won’t Back Down by Eminem and Pink, and my chest tightens as the spotlight lands on him.
A silky, metallic blue hood covers his head, casting a shadow over the top half of his face. All I can make out is his flexed jaw.
He walks forward, throwing a few jabs in the air and then dropping his hands, rolling his shoulders.
And I don’t believe it, but as a few girls reach for him, screaming and wailing, something happens beneath that hood. A wicked smirk sweeps across his lips.
My heart fails me…and not in a bad way.
His march continues, and following behind him are a group of men.
Two of whom are the twins.
Otto, surprisingly, looks different. He has definitely grown out of his baby face. His hair is longer. He sports a ponytail and a full, thick beard. He smiles at the girls that were just screaming for his cousin.
