"Don't cause trouble, buddy. This place is complicated."
John ignored the warning and didn't reply, just stood behind the worn-out white paint line, gazing into the distance.
The iron cage sizzled with smoke.
The surroundings reeked of tar, blood, sweat, fermentation, and some industrial mixed with a glue smell.
Brokers were arguing at the edge of the venue.
He carried back his utterly beaten Boxer, which was as much as he could do, even if the dream failed, at least he got a life back in the process.
Some Boxers had it worse, with no backup team.
Madmen already plunged into the abyss, trying to bounce back but ended up shattered, wrapped carelessly by the corpse sorting team through the corridors.
The stretchers were stained with blood.
The bodies were left with the Gambler's saliva and tickets.
This was the stage Black Gold Gang arranged for John's debut:
