8

You open the dark door in front of you and are blasted with sound of hip-hop. Regardless of your personal feelings on this, you don't hesitate to walk inside and hurry down a long staircase and into a room filled with people in cheap hoodies and battered sneakers.

Almost everyone has worn-out clothes on, and cheap beer is passed around without any inhibition. One girl is even smoking, and the ceiling is pretty low.

It only takes a few seconds for you to notice the fighting ring. It's not much, just a bunch of duct tape making a big square in the middle of the room, but not one person has a foot in it. Everyone knows only the fighters go in there. Like you.

You were told you should look for "some white dude in a wannabe cowboy hat," and you scan the room for him. He's surrounded on all sides by people with beers in their hands, and he's got an arrogant grin that has as much ego in it as fake golden teeth.

You stride past two people who are arguing about soccer with him, and his eyes fall on you. "Howdy, partner! You must be new around here. Nice to meet ya! There's a fifty dollar fee for new gamblers, but you'll win it back in no time!"

His friends all laugh—it seems he's trying to swindle you. But you're not here for bets.

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