6: Red Hood?

The bar's dimly lit interior provided an ideal backdrop for Bruce's concealed presence. He donned his disguise with meticulous precision, ensuring that not a trace of his true identity would be revealed. He felt the weight of the fake beard, the touch of the contact lenses that changed the color of his eyes, and the weight of the hat that obscured his features.

Stealthily, he navigated through the crowd, a phantom among revelers who were oblivious to the transformation taking place right before their eyes. The ambiance was a chaotic mix of laughter, music, and clinking glasses.

Bruce's trained eyes quickly located the familiar face of his instructor. He approached the instructor.

"Everything ready?" Bruce inquired, his voice hushed to ensure the conversation remained private.

The instructor met Bruce's gaze "Yes, everything is prepared," he replied, his voice equally low. "Follow me."

With a silent nod, they discreetly moved through the bar, away from prying eyes and curious onlookers, and made their way to the bar's kitchen.

As Bruce and his instructor entered the kitchen, they weren't met with the usual sights and sounds of a bustling culinary operation. Instead, they were enveloped by an air of secrecy that hung heavy in the room. The instructor's eyes locked onto the chef who was working diligently at a counter.

The chef, a tall man with an imposing demeanor, seemed to sense their arrival. He looked up from his task and locked eyes with the instructor, a silent question in his gaze. With a subtle nod from the instructor, the chef's suspicion was confirmed.

He turned to Bruce, eyeing him with a hint of curiosity. "This the guy?" he asked in a low, gruff voice, not bothering with formalities.

The instructor nodded once more, affirming the chef's question. Without further discussion, the chef moved to a corner of the kitchen, where he reached under the sink and pressed a concealed keypad, entering a sequence of numbers and symbols that only a select few were privy to.

The unassuming refrigerator, standing in a corner, silently obeyed the command. With a low rumble, it slid aside, revealing a hidden door behind it, leading to a place far removed from the boisterous revelry of the bar.

The instructor turned to Bruce and handed him a vibrant red hockey mask, its surface smooth to the touch, yet with a hard and sturdy build. The mask was designed with precision, featuring small perforations for ventilation to ensure that Bruce could breathe comfortably during the night's activities. Its eye holes were wide, offering an unobstructed view of his surroundings.

Bruce accepted the mask and, without a word, secured it over his face. Together, they moved towards the hidden door. The moment they began their descent down a narrow staircase, the secret entrance swung closed behind them.

BRUCE'S POV

As we descended further into the hidden depths, the atmosphere underwent a profound transformation. The distant sounds of muffled conversations and clinking glasses gave way to a cacophony of noise. It was a complete shift from the quiet we had left behind.

The "basement of the bar" was alive with a riot of sensory experiences. The sharp and raucous voices of the spectators filled the air, punctuated by cheers and jeers that resonated with excitement. The dimly lit space was illuminated by the harsh glow of halogens hanging from the ceiling, casting long shadows over the bloodstained ring in the center.

The ring was encircled by a frenzied crowd, an assembly of well-dressed individuals from various walks of life, drawn by the allure of high-stakes bets and the brutality of this underground arena. Smoke and sweat permeated the air, creating a dense, suffocating ambiance. The atmosphere was charged with raw energy, a palpable sense of anticipation that hung like a heavy fog.

The participants, fighters from various backgrounds and social strata, were primed for combat. They moved about with a mix of determination and apprehension, their faces a medley of emotions—fear, aggression, and the sheer thirst for victory. The ring itself bore the scars of countless battles, its surface slick with sweat and the memories of past encounters.

In this tumultuous and primal arena, there were no rules, no laws to govern. It was a realm where individuals came to unleash their most primal instincts, a stark contrast to the world above, where the façade of society masked the true nature of humanity

Yes, this was the deal I had made with my instructor. To get me into an illegal fight club. One might think getting in as a fighter would be easy. Well, it was the exact opposite. They only took in fighters from known contacts or death row inmates who were trafficked in for fights. That's where my instructor came into the picture, an ex-military man who had turned to this perilous lifestyle of club fighting to gather funds for his daughter's battle against cancer. He had to be my contact in here as a fighter, In exchange, I arranged for his daughter to be transferred to a Wayne hospital. The treatment costs were fully covered, ensuring she would receive the best possible care.

While I was lost in my ruminations , my instructor led me to what looked like a bookie's counter. He exchanged words with the person behind it, a bookie who was in charge of the upcoming fights.

"I've enrolled a fighter," my instructor stated, his voice carrying an air of authority.

The bookie eyed us and then turned his attention to my instructor. "Name?" he inquired.

My instructor replied with an alias , "Red."

Without further questions, the bookie announced, "Fight in 10 minutes."

As the minutes ticked away, my instructor turned to me, his eyes piercing through the mask I wore. "Remember, Bruce, this is unlike any training you've been through. These fights are brutal, and they don't stop until one fighter is unable to continue. There are no rules, and you're going to face opponents who have nothing to lose."

I nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. "I understand."

He continued, "You've got the skills, but you need to trust your instincts. Remember why you're here, and don't let fear cloud your judgment."

As I nodded I heard my name being yelled on a microphone.

"RED!" The name echoed through the crowded, dimly lit space, punctuated by cheers and jeers from the spectators. It was my cue, my moment to step into the ring. I felt the weight of the mask on my face and the anticipation of the fight ahead as I made my way through the raucous crowd, heading for the ring or waiting area. Every step brought me closer to the unknown, to the adrenaline-fueled chaos of the fight club.

As I stepped into the ring, the commentator's voice boomed once more, "Big Bob" At the mention of "Big Bob," a mammoth of a man stepped into the ring.

Big Bob was an immense man, towering at 6'8" with an imposing presence that filled the ring. His massive frame was adorned in tattered clothing, emphasizing his bulk. His shoulders were broad, nearly stretching the width of the ring, and his muscular arms bore tattoos that hinted at a life of brutality.

The commentator's voice boomed through the arena, echoing with a hint of mockery, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special treat for you tonight! In one corner, we have a newcomer to the scene, the fresh-faced fighter, RED! It's his very first fight, so let's all give him a warm welcome, shall we?"

The crowd responded with a mix of jeers and laughter, clearly underestimating my abilities. Meanwhile, the commentator's tone shifted as he continued, "And in the opposite corner, the undefeated, the monstrous marvel, the man with a staggering record of 11 wins, and, well, a few losses... Big Bob! This behemoth has even sent three of his opponents to the great boxing ring in the sky!"

The crowd erupted in wild applause, completely swept away by the hype surrounding Big Bob. I took in the stark contrast of the introduction.

As the introduction concluded and Big Bob lumbered towards me , he attempted to intimidate me with his immense size . He leaned in close, his hot breath brushing my ear, and muttered, "You're in for a world of hurt, little man." However, his words received no reaction from me. I was hardly intimidated by a man who was about to lose. But my indifference only made him smile wider.

The crowd's deafening cheers reverberated through the arena as Big Bob and I moved to the center of the ring, where the referee presided. The referee's instructions were brief, and the bell rang.

Circling Big Bob, the massive opponent standing before me, I saw an opening. With lightning speed, I launched a jab to his midsection, a quick and precise strike that took him by surprise. He grunted and staggered, his guard momentarily down.

I seized the opportunity, unleashing a ferocious flurry of blows. Left-right combinations landed on Big Bob's face and chest with precision. Each strike was like a sledgehammer. He attempted to fight back, but my speed and skill rendered him helpless.

As the fight escalated, I ducked a lumbering punch from Big Bob and landed a powerful uppercut. His head snapped back, and he teetered on the edge of consciousness. With a final, devastating hook, I knocked him out cold.

In the blink of an eye, the fight was over. The entire encounter had taken less than a minute, leaving the audience initially stunned, their collective gasp of disbelief filling the air. A silence settled upon the crowd as they tried to process what had just transpired.

Then, as if on cue, the silence shattered. The spectators erupted into cheers, their astonishment giving way to thunderous applause. The commentator's voice soared, his tone a mix of awe and incredulity as he emphasized the breathtaking speed of the match. In a booming declaration, he announced "Red" as the victor, leaving no doubt that my triumph had been swift and undeniable. The arena resounded with the deafening roar of the crowd, celebrating the fighter my victory.

As the audience erupted in cheers and the commentator's excitement reached its peak, I couldn't help but feel a sense of indifference. I had expected to win, and the outcome of the fight didn't surprise me. To me, it was merely a demonstration of my training and skills. The roars of the crowd, while thunderous, barely registered in my demeanor. This victory was just a confirmation of my capabilities.

With the cheers of the crowd still echoing in the background, I stepped out of the ring, making my way towards my instructor. While a part of me relished the idea of continuing to fight, I couldn't ignore the commotion I had caused.

The crowd was in a frenzy, a cacophony of voices chanting "Red! Red! Red!" Their cheers echoed through the underground venue, a fervent desire for more. The spectators were insatiable, their excitement palpable. They clamored for an encore, yelling, "Get back in the ring, Red! Show us more!" The rapid victory over Big Bob had drawn more attention than I had anticipated.

Surrounded by the deafening chants and the clamor of the crowd, my instructor and I made our way toward the exit, weaving through the labyrinthine passages of the underground fight club. The dimly lit corridor acted as a respite from the chaotic spectacle we had just left behind.

Amid the tumult, I couldn't help but reflect on the fight. It was exhilarating, the victory swift and definitive. The crowd's cries for more were tempting, and part of me yearned to stay, to savor the moment of triumph.

However, I knew my purpose here was different. I wasn't seeking fame or a new career as a fighter. I was honing my skills, testing my limits, and searching for the fear that had eluded me. Now wasn't the time to establish a name for myself in the underground fighting circuit.

With this clear in my mind, we carried on, brushing past calls for an encore, the relentless chants, and the lingering rush of adrenaline. My indifference remained unshaken as I made my way through the chaos, my instructor steadfast by my side. The hidden door closed behind us, sealing the raucous world of the fight club, and as we ascended the narrow staircase, the tumult grew faint.

Outside the club, with the noise and chaos of the underground fight club now behind us, I took a moment to express my gratitude to the instructor. "Thank you for this opportunity," I said, my voice filled with sincerity. "Rest assured, your daughter will receive the best treatment at Wayne Hospital. All expenses will be covered."

The instructor nodded, acknowledging my commitment to the arrangement. However, he also offered a word of caution, a reminder to maintain a safe distance from the shadowy world we had briefly entered. "I appreciate your help, but I must emphasize, Bruce, not to get too involved with these people. It's a dangerous world, and your path lies in a different direction."

With that final word of caution we parted ways. After all these years of training and preparations everything seemed to fall in place. Now the only thing I awaited was the boon I was promised long ago.

----------------------------------

Hey guys! Planning to drop more of these longer chapters if I can snag more hours from my part-time . Stay tuned for more!

Also check out my patron for more chapters: patron/notcow