Unconcealable Excitement

It was a dark night. The only source of light on the street being the neon streetlamps and the distant glow of the metropolitan nightlife. By this time, with most people back from work, the underbelly of the city woke up from its slumber.

As Midas strolled through the streets, he observed the changes he had undergone during the procedure. His senses had become exceptional, he could perceive his surroundings with unusual visual acuity. The darkness of the night did nothing to impede his sight as he looked around the dark streets which appeared as bright as day to him.

Chuckling in glee, he ran as fast as he could towards a certain part of the city not far from his neighbourhood. Midas slowed down his sprint and settled into a slow jog as he approached a dark streets which had most of its side lamps broken and the intact ones flickering in and out of existence.

As he walked deeper into the street, the quiet night slowly gave way to a noisy atmosphere filled with the shouts of sweaty men and stale booze. 'The Black Pit', an underground fighting den headed by one of the more prominent thugs in the city. This particular den was a side branch located in what could be considered the slums.

Midas had come to this very location for one purpose- to see the fruits of his endeavour. He planned on using the little time he had left before the assessment to shore up on any flaws he had combat wise. The entrance to the den was barely noticeable amongst the crumbling urban decay.

"They really need to demolish these buildings, look at all this mold. Disgusting."

The surrounding buildings were dilapidated, with graffiti covered-walls and broken windows. An old rusty sign lit with neon words hung crookedly above a narrow alleyway, barely readable with its dim light, but Midas was able to make out the unmistakeable words, 'The Black Pit'.

As he walked down the alley, the sounds of raucous shouting and the thud of bodies hitting the ground grew louder. The stench of sweat, smoke and spilled beer thickened the air. The entrance itself was a heavy, metal door, dented and grimy, guarded by a pair of burly men who look like they could break him in half with a single swipe. They peer at him through narrowed eyes, assessing whether he was worth the trouble of letting in.

Flashing an inconspicuous black card at them, they let him pass reluctantly. 

Pushing past the door, you step into a dimly lit corridor, where the roar of the crowd is even louder. The walls were lined with old posters advertising previous fights, now yellowed and torn. The floor was uneven, covered in a mix of dirt and spilled drinks, and the air was hot and thick with anticipation.

The corridor opened up into the main arena, a large, grimy space that buzzes with electric energy. The arena itself was a makeshift fighting pit surrounded by a chain-link fence, its metal links stained with the remnants of past brawls. The floor of the pit was covered in sawdust and patches of dried blood, giving it a rough, worn look.

In the center of the pit, two opponents were locked in a fierce struggle. One fighter was a towering figure with a shaved head and bulging muscles, his tattoos glistening with sweat as he threw powerful, decisive punches. His opponent, smaller but incredibly agile, ducked and weaved with incredible speed, retaliating with quick, precise strikes aimed at his larger foe. The crowd surrounding the pit is a chaotic mix of shouting, betting, and cheering, their faces illuminated by the flickering lights hanging from the ceiling, casting a dramatic glow over the scene.

The atmosphere was electric, charged with the raw intensity of the fight. Every punch, every kick was met with roars and gasps from the spectators, their excitement palpable. As the fighters continued their brutal contest, the air was filled with a mix of adrenaline, tension, and the unmistakable thrill of the forbidden. Midas hadn't moved more than ten paces when a husky voice addressed him.

"Is that who I think it is. The sun must have risen from the west today. The great Midas Sullivan graces my humble establishment."

A lanky youth in his early twenties, wearing a weathered brown shirt walked up to Midas, laughing. He threw his arm around his shoulder, dragging him along as he introduced Midas as his best mate to anyone who cared to listen. This went on for about five minutes before Midas pushed him gently to stop him in his tracks.

"I need that favour, Mickey." The smile vanished from Mickey's face as he stared at Midas for a moment before whispering.

"Just say the word, as long as its in my ability and won't get me killed, I'll do it. I, Mickey, might be a homeless thug, but I do have honour."

Midas stared at Mickey in amusement before chuckling.

"It's nothing too serious. I want to participate in tonight's match."

Mickey simply waved his hand superfluously. "Consider it do-.... Fuck NO!"

Mickey's face paled once he understood what Midas was asking of him. "Do you have a death wish, kid. Those guys there are hardened criminals, they aren't going to spare you just because you have a pretty face. Dragging your dead body home was not on my itinerary for the day."

"Make another request. Ask for an Aether Core or for the new X-1 model hoverboard. I should have some illegal shipments stashed somewhere. Anything but that."

Midas waited patiently till Mickey got tired of trying to dissuade him from his suicidal request before speaking.

"I've told you what I want Mickey. Look at me, do I look like someone who wants to die. I know what I'm doing, trust me"

Mickey looked at Midas sceptically. He truly didn't look like someone who had given up on life. All he saw was unconcealable excitement,

"You sure about this?" He asked once more.

Midas nodded in reply.