"You do all your policing with your mouth?"
The moment Sapp saw Rorschach had stepped into his range, he struck first without a word.
Bang!
The Black fighter's fist cut through the air and smashed into Rorschach's head.
Gasps erupted around the cage as everyone stared in shock.
No one had expected Sapp to be this vicious and shameless, launching a sucker punch right off the bat.
After landing the blow, Sapp did not rush in for the finish. He wanted to play with this little cop first.
Watching his opponent stagger back without even raising his arms to guard, Sapp sneered. "This isn't a game, Rorschach. If you climb in here, you'd better be ready to be carried out."
Rorschach wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, eyes utterly fearless.
He bared his teeth in a mocking grin. "You're right. This isn't some bullshit title fight. But this is a 'champion's' punch? Doesn't hurt as much as a bullet."
Before the last word left his lips, Rorschach shot forward like a hunting cat.
Sapp, completely unprepared, had no time to react. A straight right slammed hard into his gut.
He grunted and stumbled back several steps before he managed to steady himself.
That punch… was that heavy?
His eyes now held a hint of disbelief. That single shot had to be packing at least eight hundred pounds of force.
"Not bad. Now we're talking."
Sapp gave a savage grin, brought his hands up, and launched his own attack, punches raining down like a storm.
But Rorschach did not back down like the opponents Sapp was used to. His gaze was terrifyingly calm. He slipped and weaved around the blows, sometimes even eating a punch or two on purpose, waiting for the perfect chance to counter.
Suddenly—
Rorschach dipped low, wrapped Sapp around the waist, and drove him into the canvas.
On the ground, though, they had stepped right into Sapp's wheelhouse. As a heavyweight champ in no‑holds‑barred fighting, he was not just a dangerous striker—his ground game was solid too.
The next second, the ground war exploded.
Sapp quickly swung his legs up around Rorschach's neck, crossing his ankles tight and locking down on the choke.
Brazilian jiu‑jitsu—triangle choke.
Once it was cinched in, ten seconds was all it took to put someone out cold.
Rorschach's face flushed a deep red, veins standing out on his forehead, but he did not wait to die. His legs drove hard against the mat—he actually forced himself up to his feet.
Sapp's entire body hung off him, the choke still clamped around his neck.
But Rorschach seemed oblivious to the suffocating pressure. He hugged Sapp's waist tighter, then suddenly broke into a run toward the cage wall.
Boom!
Sapp's back slammed into the steel, shaking the entire structure.
His breath hitched, and the choke loosened just a fraction.
Rorschach did not stop. In that instant, every muscle in his core fired. He leaped off the mat in mid‑stride, twisted, and slammed Sapp down with a brutal throw.
Sapp's body crashed into the floor, agony shooting through him.
Right now, Rorschach looked like some motherf*cking war machine cast in steel. Ten‑plus seconds into the choke and his face was red, but he still had not gone down.
He clamped his arms around Sapp again, hauled him off the mat a second time, and delivered another airborne slam.
Sapp's back hit the floor again, and this time his legs finally loosened.
"My back…" he groaned.
Rorschach seized the fleeting opening, twisted his hips, and tore himself free of the choke.
And in the same heartbeat, his fist was already on the move.
The uppercut swung like a wrecking ball and detonated on Sapp's jaw.
For a heavyweight champ, Sapp had one outstanding trait: he could take punishment. Even after eating several shots, the bastard still did not go down.
He staggered, swayed, and then came back swinging again.
This time, both men went berserk. No guard, no retreat, every punch aimed straight for something vital.
Outside the cage, camera flashes went wild.
The reporters who had come to cover Sapp had forgotten all about scandals, postponements, or anything else. They were completely mesmerized by this raw, bare‑knuckle brawl.
But unlike the hyped‑up onlookers, Ginny's heart was in her throat.
She could not take her eyes off Rorschach. Seeing his swollen cheek and the blood on his lips, her chest clenched with worry.
Her hand had already closed around the Taser at her hip. One more punch.
No—if he took even one solid shot now, she was going in.
Fortunately, Rorschach never gave her the chance to jump in and make a scene.
After trading dozens of blows, he had fully mapped out Sapp's limits.
As he slipped his head just past another straight right, he stepped in hard, closing the distance in a heartbeat.
"I think you forgot something," he growled, voice cold as the grave. "This isn't a fight."
His right hand snatched Sapp's wrist. In one lightning move, he wrenched the arm into a lock that twisted the joint to its limit.
Sapp's face went chalk white as the pain took his breath away.
Rorschach did not pause. His left hand balled into a fist and hammered into Sapp's ribs, while his knee shot up, driving into the back of his opponent's leg.
Sapp's legs buckled. He crashed to his knees.
In the same instant, Rorschach's elbow whipped out like a blade and came crashing down on Sapp's forehead.
Mossad—Krav Maga.
Crack.
The dull thud echoed as Sapp's frontal bone gave way. His massive body crumpled to the mat like a dead dog.
Looking down at him, Rorschach wiped the blood from his mouth and spat a bloody wad straight into Sapp's face.
"Looks like your fists only work when you're hitting women."
Sapp stared up at him, dazed, unable to form a word.
No one knew exactly what was going through his head, but everyone in the arena understood one thing.
The reigning double heavyweight champion of no‑holds‑barred fighting was finished. His career ended right here.
Around the octagon, the reporters who had just filmed everything went insane.
They surged forward, cameras trained on Rorschach, microphones jammed in his face as questions poured out.
"Officer Butcher, have you ever considered switching careers and entering MMA full‑time?"
"Was that final strike a little too brutal? Are you worried about potential legal consequences?"
"Officer, with a body like that, have you thought about moving to the San Fernando Valley?"
Meanwhile.
An RV from the hotel pulled up outside the arena.
Jon "Bones" Jones, UFC heavyweight contender, took a deep breath and stepped down.
As the strongest challenger in the title picture, he had spent a full year grinding himself down for tomorrow night's war with Sapp.
He was going to end Sapp's reign with the cruelest tools he had and pull every spotlight and every dollar bill onto himself.
Uh…?
Wait. Why the hell wasn't there a single reporter waiting for him?