Several months later
A discarded newspaper lay on the wet pavement, It's headline clear 'The champ Vs The legend : One last dance'
The city air was cool against his skin. Long since the roar of the crowd had been replaced by the gentle hum of traffic and the distant wail of a siren. But he will be back to it soon, one last time. He walked with a steady, unhurried pace, a stark contrast to the explosive energy he'd unleashed just an hour before on the gym.
"My dear diary," he mumbled, his voice a low murmur meant for no one but the small recording device in his pocket. "I'm hungry."
He pulled his hands from his pockets, glancing at them under the orange glow of a streetlight. They were worn, the knuckles slightly swollen, but impeccably clean. His nails were neatly trimmed, his hands well kept, a strange detail for a man who made a living with his fists. His left hand was wrapped in a tight white bandage . On his right hand, scrawled in black marker near the base of his thumb, was a big drawing of an X.
"Right. The turtle," he sighed upon seeing it
"I forgot to feed it earlier... Again."
"I hope someone does before I get home." It was a coin toss whether the 'X' was for the turtle or something else he'd forgotten he needed to remember.
Taking a turn ,he continued his monologue to the recorder. "Today I trained harder. These weeks seem to fly by so fast. I had burgers for lunch, which had me chased by the coach. Randy… And, it seems I'm still being chased."
He stopped dead in his tracks. The feeling was unmistakable. A shift in the air, the subtle sound of footsteps trying to mirror his own. He slowly swung the gym bag from his shoulder and let it drop to the pavement with a heavy, metallic slam. Crouching, he unzipped it. Inside, nestled amongst nothing else but his shake, were multiple crowbars . He always left his spare clothes at the gym. He took one out. As He stood, leaning on it like a cane, its tip resting on the cracked concrete, and waited.
From the deep shadows of the alleyway across the street, several figures emerged. They were dressed in identical, form fitting black attire --like the shadows they blend right in, their faces obscured by hoods and masks. No features were apparent.
He let out a soft, unimpressed breath "Nice. Even the local gangs are following trends now. 'Aura farming'... was it?"
He shook his head, faking a disappointed sigh "What has the world become."
"Good sense of fashion, though. Were you sent by my opponent?" Pointing with his crowbar
He was trying to get a read on them, to extract some piece of information, he likely thought it had to do with his next match ,his last one.
But they remained silent, spreading out to surround him.
A smile touched his lips. It wasn't a pleasant one.
'Three in front, two flanking,' noted calmly. 'One has a gun. I see him' his thoughts mixing
He didn't wait for them to make the first move. He lunged forward slamming the crowbar upward into the chin of the first one to reach him, lifting the man briefly off the ground before he crashed back down.
He countered the mess of incoming attacks. he feinted a swing --forcing the others back, he ducked low, spun, and whipped the crowbar in a vicious arc. Then distanced himself, catching a hit in the process.
No screams, no sounds other than those of the fight.
A figure Grabbed him from behind.
He thrown a front push kick ,headbutted back, then used the hook end of the crowbar to catch the man's leg, yanked it out from under him, then stomped his chest as he fell.
As the attacker in front was getting back at him ,he swung his crowbar.
Amidst the chaos. He spotted the figure holding a gun, the space clear between them.
Not retracting the crowbar from his last swing ,he used the momentum back fluidly, then with an outer throw launched it in a rotating motion ,like a boomerang ,directly hitting the target. He was unarmed now.
Back to his side ,he instantly dodged a jab moving his head
Then, with a clean uppercut ,he took down the figure in front of him
Using him as shield against another gunshot
'They are unlimited'
Not long after covering himself
He lunged forward, not at the criminal this time, but towards the fire escape of the nearest building.
'Not playing with guns'
Bullets rain,Metal creaks,Sparks fly. He's moving.
The chase was on.
He moved with a fluid grace, with swift motions across the urban landscape.
Sprinted across a sloped roof. A gap was ahead , it looked like a cliff
Ten meters left
five
Three steps..
He jumped.
Time slowed.. His breath was visible in the cold. Only darkness lay ahead.
Barely anything visible.
He vaulted over a dumpster to tune the impact, the chase continued on a narrow alley.
He slid across the hood of a parked car, swinging under another, quickly exiting the dark and empty open area
Upon entering an alley again, he kicked off a wall to climb a drainpipe, grabbing a window ledge with one hand, using momentum to lift himself upward, narrowly dodging a thrown blade that buries itself into the glass in front, shattering it in the process. He kicked the attacker throwing him off, then entered the house .Which was empty .
'Fortunately no one is getting hurt' Paying that no mind ,he quickly exited from another window.
He hit the concrete with a roll, and took off again
He was laughing, a genuine, breathless laugh, the figures in black relentlessly pursuing him .
It was exhilarating. It was a dance ,a not so typical one.
But then, something shifted. His legs felt heavy, his lungs burned. It felt as if he were running in place, the scenery around him starting to blur and warp at the edges. A deafening, high-pitched ringing erupted in his ears , swallowing all other sounds.
And then, everything went pitch black.
.
.
.
Static noises of flickering detuned tv screen echoed throughout the room.
A room that felt oddly familiar. Void , stripped of all but the bare essentials. Several pictures lined the walls, their subjects vague, a poster ,and a single frame hung crookedly .Its contents obscured by the darkness onside.
In the corner, a desk lay cluttered with scattered papers. But what drew the eye most was a glowing blue aquarium ,with a turtle drifting inside.
The television suddenly lit up in the corner, its screen twitching and rolling with static. A news anchor's voice, distorted and tinny, cut through the silence.
"...a body was found shot, after what appears to be a gang related altercation...Investigations are still conducted"
The screen flickered, and for a moment, a clear image appeared. It was a picture of him, smiling from the ring, his glove raised in victory.
The anchor's voice became clear, cold, and final.
"The champion is dead."