Zane placed an ice tray on his stomach to ease the pain. As he sat in his room, gazing at the pile of books, his computer, the four pairs of shoes he owned, and an almost empty closet, he wondered what his life had become. He's now 28 with no job, no money, heavy debts, and entangled with people he never should have had anything to do with. He wanted to remain optimistic, but the light at the end of the tunnel was on the verge of extinguishing.
"No need to let the dark thoughts win,' Zane thought to himself. 'No matter how bad things are, they cannot get any worse than when I was in that five-by-five cell." A glint flashed in his eyes. "And as long as I have money and power, the Lion Pride will be nothing. On the contrary, they might become my pawns."
After exhaling to calm down, Zane slowly reached for his laptop and entered the WhatsApp icon. He scrolled down to one name: Mykhailo Rykov. Without helping it, his memory shifted to six years ago.
A beardless Zane walked swiftly toward the end of a locker corridor. "Stop walking so fast!" Alisha yelled, but she received no answer. Zane arrived in front of a door and flashed a backstage pass before directly walking into the room.
"What was that out there?"
Mykhailo tried to smile, but his face was so swollen that it hid his handsome features, including his green eyes. In fact, the sweat, blood, and previous exercise even ruined his brown hair. "I lost. It happens sometimes."
"Do you think I'm stupid? I've seen you fight since middle school. I've built a computer model of all your fights and training for my computer class. proving statistically that you were a gifted fighter. Don't I know what you can do? Tell me the truth."
"You're overthinking things — as you always do," Mykhailo chuckled while scratching his chin.
"Myk, haven't you always wondered how we always knew when you were lying?" Alisha suddenly said. "That's because you always scratch your chin when you do."
Mykhailo's body paused, followed by lowering his head.
"Myk!"
"I needed the money," Mykhailo sighed deeply. "So, when someone approached me to throw the match, I accepted."
"What on earth would you want the money for to throw your career away?" Alisha asked.
"It was for my bail money, wasn't it?" Zane asked.
"No, it's not," Mykhailo argued. Sadly, his argument was instantly rendered useless when his hand was midway toward his face.
"There was no need to throw away such a prominent career for me," Zane said as he walked back and forth. He did not say these words carelessly. His computer program utilized math and science to demonstrate that his friend possessed the talent and skills necessary to become a professional mixed martial artist, and potentially even a champion. And he did.
Mykhailo sighed deeply, "Z, we both know how sketchy your case is. What if something happens to you before your trial?"
"I'm the one who should be overthinking, not you," Zane snapped back.
"Maybe it's not too late. Maybe we can return the money and not deal with them anymore," Alisha said.
"Yes. How much did they pay you?"
"20,000$ in advance, with another 20 grand coming after the fight."
The two took a deep breath; that's a lot of money to give to an amateur fighter. While Mykhailo was already on a 20-game winning streak and was on the verge of fighting a sponsor and going pro, he was never making this kind of money per fight.
"Let's not freak out," Zane said. "Let's just refuse the second half and find a way to pay the one already spent."
"It's too late."
Zane stopped zoning out and focused on the computer screen. He clicked on the video call option and waited. Soon, a handsome Ukrainian man with a bruised, but not swollen, face showed up on the screen. "Z, I'm so glad you called."
"I'm only doing this because of Aunty Rykov. How's her situation?"
Mykhailo's joyous demeanor immediately dissipated. He paused for a moment before saying, "It's cancer."
Zane was quiet. Of all things that could have happened to that sweet woman who had had such a hard life, it had to be cancer. "Do you know what stage?"
"The doctors said they will need more tests to determine, but things are not looking good."
"I don't know what to say except don't give up hope. Nothing is definitive yet, and even if it is, you can search for the best hospitals and doctors."
"I won't, but I'm scared she'll give up — that she won't even try to fight."
"Life has molded Aunty Rykov into a fighter — she won't give up," Zane reassured. "And I'll be there if you need me. While I can't offer any material aid, I'll always be there to support her and you."
"You have no idea how glad I am to hear these words," Mykhailo sighed. The two then spend the next few hours talking and catching up before ending the call. Zane's mood was much better, but one thought could not help but overcome his mind: "Am I an unlucky star?" Ever since what happened six years ago, everything in his life and the people around him seemed to be wrecked by disaster. If he were not an atheist, Zane would have thought God was now testing him or something.
Breathing is a crucial aspect of human life, and deep breathing is a great way to focus and control emotions. So, once he felt calm, Zane accessed a secret account to view a middle-aged woman's page. After checking all their social media, Zane stopped the secret stalking in disappointment. He clicked a link to access Weibo, the Chinese version of Twitter and Facebook. The message that his account had been banned for harassment appeared on the screen, so Zane changed his IP address to create a new one. He clicked on a woman's profile and started to message her in Chinese:
"I need answers."
"You should understand my persistence by now."
"I'm owed at least one conversation."
"I've given you my number, so call me."
"I only want to know the truth— I only want JUSTICE."
Zane only stopped after sending a dozen messages. He then opened another secret page, a virtual crime-solving board. It contained names, pictures, records, and all documents related to his case.
There were anomalies from the moment campus police arrested him. The only time in his life that Zane has ever used any illegal but recreational drug was with his girlfriend — now ex — Cindy Zhang. They wanted to experience what it was like, so they gave it a try. So, how did the marijuana get in his bag? But that was not the only glaring anomaly in the case.
The officer in charge of his case —Jose Martinez — held him in jail for 48 hours without a phone call, limited food and water, and intense questioning. The latter desperately wanted him to sign a confession. Zane refused, and he even took a few punches, but somehow that part of the recording never made its way into court.
The second red flag was the hearing trial. Usually, these things take time, but he stood before a judge in less than three days. More importantly, no one wanted to represent him. His mother drove from New York and wanted to use her savings to hire a good lawyer, but somehow, everybody refused, and Zane almost ended up with a public defender. Luckily, Alisha had been dating Sarah for a few months now, and she agreed to represent him.
The third red flag was the hearing and trial itself. According to Massachusetts Law, Zane was caught with about 5 ounces of marijuana, so his sentence would only be a charge of more than 3000$. However, the prosecutor changed the charge from possession of an illegal substance to distribution, which could carry a maximum sentence of 30 years. The judge then swiftly set bail at $250,000, even though he was an exemplary student with no criminal record and no indications he posed a risk.
Finally, a random student that Zane had never met before falsely testified that he had bought the product from him, and the jury sentenced him to 10 years in prison. For the past six years, he has been investigating all aspects of this trial, trying to discover who was so desperately trying to get him out of the way. Unfortunately, most of the people involved are in another state or abroad, and with his limited resources, he hasn't made much progress. Regardless, he was determined to get his justice.
Zane closed the laptop before heading straight to the bathroom for a shower. As he lay on his bed, he began calculating how he would survive the next few days. "I still have $10 left. A bag of rice and a can of Spam will cost approximately $8.90. There is still some oil, and once I cook it, it can last me a week. The issue is how I'm going to make rent."
Today was July 16th, meaning Zane had about two weeks left to raise the $ 1,500 for next month and the additional $150 for utilities. Most of his income came from the shop or from doing some IT work at a nearby shop. However, none of these jobs is full-time, resulting in considerable instability.
Zane could not stop turning that night as the future weighed heavily on his mind. And when he thought the night couldn't get worse, someone started banging on his door early in the morning. "Who the hell is knocking on the door like I owe them money?"
"Boy, watch your tongue!"
"Ma?"
A slightly plump woman in a headwrap, dressed in a floral scrub and black pants, with white, comfortable shoes, walked into the room, holding a bag. At first glance, it was easy to see where Zane got his looks. She headed straight to the kitchen table to put her bag down.
"When did you get back?" Zane asked as he closed the door behind them.