“It seems we won’t get to see any dog die tonight, people!” the Emcee announced reluctantly. “Fuckers seem to have beaten the shit out of each other so much, neither can give us a... good closing. Well, anyway, we’ll call it a freaking Good Night!”

  He laughed maniacally as the crowd rained boos and cusses down on him. Some offered soft cheers or derisive laughter.

  One of the cage doors was yanked open by that same bald guy with the nose piercing and the tattoos covering his chin. I was finally allowed to leave. I took a few deep, ragged breaths, trying to conjure the strength to move. I stood up, using the iron bars as a crutch, and limped sluggishly toward the exit.

  Intensity coursed through my face and leg. No one offered a hand.

  “Bitch, get outta here… I don’t have all day,” the bald guy snapped with irritation.

  I moved as fast as my mangled leg allowed, stumbling out and grabbing my discarded gear. I continued limping until I reached a pile of wall debris and rusted cans. I fell back, resting my spine against a boulder of stone.

  The crowd was already evaporating, heading for the exits the moment the show was over. I tried to blink, but I realized I couldn't open my left eye. I remembered feeling the swelling start after I got Akio off me, but I hadn’t been able to pay attention to it. Not in the presence of that devil-fucker.

  As I sat there, I caught sight of the short guy with the Black bird tattoo. He was dragging Akio’s unconscious body across the rough ground by one arm. He didn't care as Akio’s head bounced off the metal bar of the cage door or as shards of broken glass embedded themselves in the boy's back.

  Suddenly, a huge figure loomed over me, casting a long, heavy shadow across the debris. I looked up. It was Hoshi. He held a small stack of dirty-looking Yen notes and tossed them onto my lap along with my backpack and shoes.

  He looked down at me and said

  “I’ve removed the money you owe me for spotting in my gym for the last five weeks. You still owe me three weeks and counting… Quack and Asuka will come your way soon, so that’s 8,960 yen. Fix yourself up and go home,” Hoshi rumbled.

  He walked away, heading toward the elevator I’d taken to get down here. A sudden, wet crack echoed through the room—a hard slap. I turned my head to see who the poor fool was; sometimes seeing others in pain helped distract me from my own.

  It was Kenzo’s short henchman, Hida. He was dishing out mouth-tearing slaps to the unconscious Akio. One, then another, then another. Kenzo stood behind him, staring at the limp boy with a gaze full of cold, sharp annoyance.

  Akio seemed to be slapped back into consciousness by the third hit. He started weakly muttering, a sound I couldn't quite make out, but it was enough to set Kenzo off. The gangster stepped forward and kicked him square in the chest.

  The force sent Akio skidding several feet until a pile of rubble caught him. He slammed against the stone and coughed violently, struggling for a 'serious' breather. Kenzo and his lackey strolled over to the crumpled boy.

  “Motherfucker, you couldn’t even beat someone on your fuckin' level,” Kenzo shouted. “You can’t kill an old man, you can’t take out two of Date’s boys, you can’t outrun a fuckin' fat Enforcer… you can’t do shit. Fuckin' ass-wipe!”

  He looked ready to kick him again, but he stopped, reaching up to touch his own skinned head.

  “I know what you need. I know what you need…” the psycho muttered, caressing his shiny scalp. “Hida, go to his place. Find his fuckin' sister, his brother… whoever the fuck is there. Give them a good beating, then break two fingers on each of their hands… no… no…” He shook his head. “Cut off all the fingers on their left hands!”

  He ordered it with a raging, absolute tone while looking down at Akio, who was sobbing and groaning, curled up like a ball.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Suddenly, Kenzo looked my way. I instantly averted my eyes. I cursed myself for being a dumbass—why the fuck was I even looking at them?

  I heard footsteps approaching over the damp ground. A long, dark shadow loomed over me where I sat. I slowly turned my head, dreading what was coming. I couldn't talk my way out of a paper bag, unlike Daigo. I wished he were here.

  I bowed my head, my eyes landing first on his dirty but expensive looking shoes. I slowly raised my gaze, scanning the sleek black fabric of his suit, but before I could even see his neck, a heavy kick slammed into my belly.

  The blow sent me rolling onto my side, groaning weakly as the air left my lungs.

  “…Fuckin' bastard, looking all smug for shit,” Kenzo spat with crazed annoyance. “You’re lucky I’ve got places to be and you’re Hoshi’s mutt. Otherwise, I would have ripped off your arms and beat you to death with ‘em.”

  Smug? How the fuck could I look smug when my face was a mountain of swollen meat and I could barely open one eye? I wished I could rip his tongue out and feed it to him.

  He left immediately after that, but I stayed there, gritting my teeth against the nerve-racking pain. I was pinned to the ground by my own agony, wishing for the feeling to just vanish. I lay there on the rough ground for what felt like a minute until a feminine voice broke through the ringing in my ears.

  “Quack, get him up.”

  A skinny man in his mid-forties with a shaved head appeared in my limited field of vision. He wore a patched-up T-shirt and ragged denim shorts. A cigarette dangled from his lips, and a massive tattoo—the Japanese character for 'Awaken'—was etched under his left eye.

  He bent down, sliding one palm under my head and the other onto my right shoulder. He hauled me upright, propping my back against the pile of rubble and scrap metal.

  “You look like shit, Rat-boy… I freaking thank the clouds I’m not you,” Quack teased. As he crouched in front of me, I noticed the glove-like tattoos covering his hands. He just stared at the mess of my face.

  “Quack, hurry up… the kid is in pain,” another voice said.

  It was feminine and familiar. She stepped into the light, coming to stand directly in front of me.

  Asuka was skinny, much like Quack. She wore patched-up, tight leather pants under a black singlet. Half of her left arm was missing, severed from the elbow down. Her nose was pierced with two rings in each nostril, and the visible parts of her upper body were a canvas of tattoos in varying shades and colors—even the stump of her left arm was inked.

  Her face wasn’t spared either; tiny tattooed characters I couldn't interpret (likely Japanese though) crawled underneath her eyes, and her eyebrows were weighted with silver rings.

  Quack pulled a syringe from the weird black fanny pack hanging over his belly and stabbed it into my arm. After a few seconds, he gripped the back of my head with one hand and used the thumb and index finger of the other to pry open my right eye, searching for something in the pupil.

  He examined the rest of me as I sat still—my swollen left eye, my neck, my chest, all the way down to my mangled leg.

  “Hmmm, his eye seems to still be good. I’ll just puncture the bag under it to release the blood and kill the swelling. Then you can take it from there,” Quack declared in a nonchalant tone. “He’s also got a nasty bite on the right leg... but it’ll be alright if you handle it. Aside from the cuts and bruises on his face and chest, I think that’s all.”

  He pulled out a switchblade and, without a second of hesitation, sliced the flesh under my left eye. As he did, the pressure vanished. My eye slowly drifted open. It felt freaking good.

  Quack stepped back, and Asuka crouched in my personal space. She placed her right palm over my eye. Tiny bolts of green electric sparks zipped out from her skin, contacting my eye and the surrounding area. Like always, it wasn't painful; you wouldn't even know she was doing anything, really. But I could feel the cut under my eye knit itself shut and the deep, throbbing ache begin to evaporate.

  She moved her hand to my right calf. The same green bolts flickered across the gore of my leg. I felt the muscle and skin pull back together.

  “I’ll take half-price for these ones,” she said, moving her palm to my belly.

  “God, don’t tell me you want to fuck the kid?” Quack grunted, standing close behind her with a tone of suspicious disapproval.

  Asuka didn't offer a verbal response. Instead, her power suddenly seized. She formed a fist and swung the back of it hard into Quack’s junk, just inches behind her shoulder. The blow caught even me by surprise.

  Quack doubled over, walking sideways in a pathetic, awkward shuffle. He leaned one hand against the wall and lowered his head, silently wailing and cussing her out.

  Asuka returned her focus to my belly, bathing the bruise in green electricity. She moved to my nose and my lips, systematically erasing the evidence of the fight. It took about ten minutes before she was finished.

  “H… How much?” I asked, finally able to sit comfortably.

  “The usual,” Asuka replied.

  I recalled a TV segment about Evolves with healing powers like hers—how their abilities differed in potency, scale, and limitation. Asuka is the only healer I’ve ever seen. She can deal with external trauma and some internal damage, but I’ve never heard of her curing a disease or growing back a limb. I guess if she could, she wouldn't be half a person herself. But she isn't lame, and her kind are rare. I’ve never heard of a healer outside the Conquest District, that makes her kinda special.

  I handed her 2,600 yen. She gave me a look—pity, anger, or something in between. I didn't care. She took the money and told me to ‘take care’ before disappearing into the shadows.

  Quack was still clutching his crotch, gently massaging himself as he glared at her retreating back. He turned his head toward me, his expression perplexed and annoyed.

  “Rat-boy, the rate for patching you guys up has gone up. It’s double what you used to pay per injury. My exam fee is now 900 for every area I check,” Quack snapped. He didn't take the money until I added more notes to the pile. “I don’t know why Asuka took that old fee. I don’t care. But you better get your shit together, Ratty... I don’t work on credit.”

  He took the money, fanning the bills out to count them at a glance, then shook his head and left.

  I watched him go. Only a few people remained in the pit now—a group playing cards and passing a joint, and a few stragglers sleeping in the corners. I sat there for a while, dressed in my own clothes, daydreaming about what life would be like in the rich districts.

  When I’d rested enough, I stood up. I didn't want to go back through the gym, so I took a back route I remembered. It led to the street behind the Underground. After navigating a few dark passages, I emerged from a dusty old garage filled with the skeletons of rusted machines.

  How weak is my storytelling so far?