Chapter 5 - The Underground

Kamino Ward. Midnight. A black sedan speeds through the near-empty streets. Inside the sedan were two men. The driver was a scruffy, unshaven man, a large scar stretching from his left eye to his right upper lip. He wore ragged clothes, with a frayed red scarf wrapped loosely around his shoulders, concealing the bottom of his face, and a black beanie cap that reached down to his eyebrows, making it difficult to passersby to see his face.

The boy next to him dressed just as shabbily, wearing a frayed black hoodie with a grey tank top underneath, red fingerless gloves, and cargo shorts. His normally messy green hair was covered by a red bandanna, and a domino mask covered his eyes, concealing his identity. He fidgeted nervously in his seat.

"Don't be scared," Said Bruce, without taking his eyes off the road.

"I'm not scared," Izuku lied. Upon arriving at the warehouse that night, he was surprised to see Bruce dressed as a homeless thug and was ordered to dress as he was now. "Where we're going," he had said. "It's better that no one knows who we are. But it's the best place for you to get practical combat experience."

"Where are we going?" Asked Izuku.

"The Underground," Bruce replied simply.

Izuku had heard of The Underground. It was an illegal fighting ring that had eluded the authorities for years. They always chose a different place to fight, and you had to know someone to get there. In the Underground, there were no rules. Any quirk was sanctioned, and you won only when your opponent was no longer standing. It was a place Izuku never thought he would ever find himself at.

And not only was he going there, but he was going to fight.

"People see you as disadvantaged because you don't have a quirk," Said Bruce. "You need to test yourself against those who are naturally stronger than you. It's only when faced with a situation that seems impossible will you will surpass your limits." They pulled into a covered parking structure. Once parked, they walked to the elevator that led into the building and took it down to the basement.

The elevator doors opened to a dank, darkened hallway. Izuku could hear loud music blasting from the large double doors at the end of the hallway. Next to the double doors stood a hulking gorilla-faced bouncer. He glared at the Bruce and Izuku as they approached. Bruce merely flashed him what Izuku assumed was several thousand dollars, and the bouncer nodded towards the doors, indicating they could proceed.

Past the doors, Izuku felt the immediate assault of his senses: the loud, screeching music playing over the raucous cheers of the surrounding crowd; the smells of cigarette smoke and booze filled the air, burning Izuku's lungs and stinging his eyes. The crowd consisted of a motley crew of varying assortment: mutants, gangsters, thugs, prostitutes, gamblers, delinquents and other dubious characters the likes of which Izuku had never seen before.

In the middle of the room were two men. One of them was a tall and lanky man, using a stretching quirk, trying in vain to subdue his opponent: a burly, bald man with a strength-type quirk. The lanky man wrapped himself around the bald man, who tried to break free of his binding. The lanky man attempted to apply pressure but was not strong enough to cause any harm to the bald man. After a brief struggle, the bald man freed himself and grabbed the lanky man by the throat with his large ham fists. The lanky man tried to break loose of the grip, but the bald man simply squeezed harder. Eventually, the lanky man went limp, and the bald man released him.

The crowd roared. Those who won on their bets cheered, while those who lost cursed their luck. Izuku wished he had brought his notebook. There were so many different quirks in the room that his analytical mind was buzzing with information. After a moment, he turned to see that Bruce was no longer standing next to him. Instead, he was leaning over a large folding table, speaking with two nasty-looking men behind it. Bruce gestured over to Izuku, and one of the men simply laughed. After a minute of talking, Bruce handed the men a large stack of money, and they simply nodded.

Bruce walked back to Izuku. "You're fighting next," He said simply. Izuku felt his stomach twist. He didn't realize he was going to be fighting so soon. Bruce must have sensed this because he placed a hand on Izuku's shoulder. "Every chain has a weak link," He said. "Find it and exploit it." Without another word, Bruce pushed him into the ring.

A fat man with a red face stood in the middle of the ring, a microphone in his hand. "Place your bets for the next fight!" He shouted. His speech was slurred, and it was obvious that he had been drinking. "Returning for his tenth match, the 7-3-win contender, give it up for – Roadkill!"

Izuku's opponent stood opposite of him. The crowd erupted in applause as Izuku began to study him. He was a tall, scrappy-looking man, heavily muscled with a scarred, weasel-like face that was twisted into sneering glare, which he directed at Izuku. His hands were covered in white tape-wrap that stopped at his knuckles, which looked three times as large as normal. Izuku assumed that this must be his quirk and made a mental note to avoid his fists as much as possible.

"And making his Underground debut," Shouted the drunk man. "And will undoubtedly be his last time in the ring, give it up for – Deathwish!" There was barely a reaction from the gathering crowd. Some people cheered, others booed and shouted in protest, demanding they show a real fight. Izuku simply raised his fists in a fighting-ready stance, his legs visibly shaking underneath him, trying desperately to bury his fear.

The bell rang.

Roadkill wasted no time. He charged at Izuku, his large-knuckled fists raised in attack and shouting like a lunatic. Izuku felt his fighting instincts kick in and began to dodge the incoming barrage of punches, one after the other. Roadkill swung his fist at Izuku's head for a haymaker, which Izuku ducked under. This was what Roadkill was apparently hoping for, and thrust his knee into Izuku's chin, knocking him backward. The crowd cheered as Izuku fell on his back, clutching his face.

Roadkill raised his hands, gloating and soaking in the praise from the crowd. He turned back to Izuku, spitting on him as he lay there. Izuku gradually pulled his hands away from his face, and anyone looking at him saw that he no longer looked like the scared boy from thirty seconds ago. As a matter of fact, he looked pissed.

He looked really pissed.

Rolling back onto his hands, he leaped to his feet in an instant. The sudden movement took his opponent by surprise and attempted to advance on him. But this time, Izuku was ready, easily evading the oncoming haymaker, and grabbing Roadkill by the arm, throwing him into the hard cement.

Roadkill lay there for a minute, the wind knocked out of him. Then, in a flash, he took Izuku off his feet with a sweeping kick. He rolled on top of Izuku and began laying blows on top of him, trying to beat him into submission. After a couple of blows, Izuku caught Roadkill's fists, pulling him into a headbutt that connected with his nose.

Roadkill howled in pain as he grasped at his face, blood oozing from beneath his fingers. Izuku didn't waste his chance. He began to lay down an immense barrage of punches and kicks, to which Roadkill was helpless to defend against. His punishment came to an end as Izuku threw his enemy to the ground again, but this time, he didn't release his arm. Instead, he stomped his boot into the shoulder of his opponent, and with a sharp twist, heard the satisfying snap of Roadkill's arm breaking. Roadkill screamed before rolling over and passing out from the pain.

The bell rang again. Izuku was the victor.

The crowd was in an uproar. Izuku was placed on the low-end of the betting odds. A few people were celebrating their winnings, while most were shouting that they had been hustled. One man stood in anger, pushing his way through the crowd.

"That fight was fixed," He shouted. "No way this punk-ass beat Roadkill!" Tearing off his shirt, he lifted his fists to fight. "You and me, bitch. Let's go!"

Izuku looked at Bruce, who nodded, a slight smile on his gaunt face. Izuku raised his fists and couldn't suppress a smile of his own.

As the hours passed, Izuku continued to put down contender after contender. The crowd around him had cheered, all trepidation or prejudice towards Izuku was gone. Their chants could be heard in unison over the cheers: "Deathwish! Deathwish! Deathwish!"

Exhausted and aching, Izuku stumbled back to Bruce, who placed his hand on his shoulder with an approving look. "Now," said Bruce. "You're ready