[Schofield Drive, Port Shelby | 1350 Central Time, Day 1]
"Why does everything have to be so damn far from each other?" grumbled Becks as he approached the docks. "This shit ain't good for my gas money, you know that?"
"Eh well, it's not that far," replied Mendez. "It's just that there's traffic with the trucks lining for the docks and all. Anyways..."
"...yeah?"
"About this fight club," pondered Mendez. "Is it legit? And it's just about 2 in the afternoon, I thought fight clubs are usually held after hours? Least that's how I see it in the movies."
"That's what I thought before I joined," answered Becks. "Turns out, this thing's pretty well organized. Aside from dudes from the streets looking for some fisticuffs, most of the club members are dockyard workers looking to vent after a long day's work or when they have nothing to do. That's why the club opens so early. Rather than loiter around causing trouble, they kill time on the ring. People put money on fights, and the fighters get to earn some cash on the side. No one gets hurt too bad since that Foy dude's got a doctor on standby."
Becks' explanation led to Mendez drawing a conclusion. "He knows his stuff."
The former nodded. "Heard he used to be in the MMA business or some shit. Fought in them high levels for a couple of years, then I heard he became a trainer. But yeah, you're right; he's done his homework."
"And what about the meeting? Got any idea why it's at the club of all places?" asked Mendez again.
"Probably 'cause Foy owns the place?" proposed Becks.
"What, the warehouse or whatever the club's being held?"
'Yeah, the warehouse," answered Becks. "Warehouse DF3 on Dock 7. That's his turf, he kind of runs things there. If some shady deal's about to go down, most likely it's gonna happen there. Club's legit, but no one, like, keeps an eye on it, know what I'm sayin'?"
"Yeah," concluded Mendez as he shifted his gaze towards the side window. "Interesting."
[Warehouse DF3, Dock 7, Port Shelby | 1400 Central Time, Day 1]
Rugged yet lively.
Those are the best words Mendez could have found to describe the warehouse where the fight club is situated.
The warehouse itself looked spacious with a massive triangular roof looming on top of the structure complete with industrial lights hanging from the ceiling underneath it. Entrance into the warehouse are from two points, both of which are tall shutter doors: the front and the side. The front entrance spans the width of the warehouse itself, while the side entrance only consumes an eighth of the warehouse's length. For Mendez, the interior smelled like steel, rust, and a hundred days' worth of labor sweat.
The warehouse has been partially filled with steel shipping containers approximately half of the building's capacity. The other empty half? That's where the fight club is happening.
Mendez saw a small mass of a couple dozen people consisting of brawny-looking dock hands and boorish-looking street muscles gathered around a makeshift octagonal fighting ring, clamoring and hollering in accordance to what happens in the octagon. The octagon itself looked surprisingly sturdy considering its mostly improvised and riotous setting; the metal barriers that made the stage are bolted to the ground with one shorter barrier linked to a fence gate that served as the entrance to the ring.
And yes, there was a fight going on as the two men entered the rowdy club. Apparently the fight is coming to a close; both fighters have already looked worn, battered, and bloodied. It looked like the next strike would've decided the winner of the fight.
One of the fighters made the first move, committing to a heavy swing.
His opponent sidestepped and countered with a fist to his face.
Hit. Lights out. The crowd went wild.
"That's Foy?" asked Mendez as he referred to the winner, a shirtless muscled man around his height with bald head and a mean streak.
"Nah," answered Becks briefly. He hung on to his answer, meaning that he was looking to show rather than tell Mendez how Foy looked like; he knew Foy is here somewhere.
As the fight winner went on to celebrate his victory prancing around the arena bathing in the hype he's earned, another man entered the ring.
He was a powerhouse, no doubt about it. His chiseled body surpasses everyone else's in the fight club and he stands considerably taller than all of them, easily taller than Mendez himself. However, his muscles are well-toned compared to the fighters' uneven distribution of muscles, which Mendez guessed is a result of a strict and disciplined training regime. Not just on the upper half, as Mendez also noticed his legs having the proportionate size to support his burly frame. Thanks to his muscular build, the man's grey sleeveless shirt struggled to contain his bulky torso, which was complimented with his firm square jawline.
The big man went in, effortlessly picked up the loser's body on his shoulders, went to the winner, and then raised the victor's hand to the crowd's screams of excitement; all without showing signs of fatigue or overexertion. It was almost as if it's the routine for him.
"That one?" Mendez asked Becks for confirmation.
"Yeah."
"Let's go talk to him."
Soon enough, the pair made their way to the club owner, who was standing near the ring's fence door.
As they drew closer to Foy, Becks tapped Mendez on the shoulder. "Lemme do the talking."
Hoo boy, thought Mendez. This won't end well.
"Yo, Foy!" hollered Becks at the big man. The call got his attention. "Remember me?"
"Yeah, I know you," replied Foy. His voice is deep, but it was far from rugged or gravely as Mendez has expected. If anything, it was calm and soft-toned. "I've seen you a couple of times around here."
"That's right," said Becks as he introduced himself. "Becks, Trey Becks. And this is..."
"...Lucio Fernandez," finished Foy as he saw Mendez standing behind Becks.
Mendez took off his cracked aviators that he wore from Becks' car. That went well, he thought.
"Foy, huh?" said Mendez as he held out his right arm. "Nice to meet you."
Mendez' handshake invitation went unanswered. "Do you know there's a price for your head out there?" asked Foy with his arms crossed.
"And that's exactly why I'm here," retorted Mendez. "A proposition."
"Which is...?"
"Trial by combat," proposed Mendez. "In precisely two hours, you'll be meeting someone that has a great interest in finding me. Two hours, which leaves us with plenty of time to settle our differences on the ring. You and me, mano a mano. You win, you hand me to those guys and get a fat payday. You lose, you answer to me."
Didn't take long for a response from Foy. "A fair proposition," he said. "But one might ask, 'why not just kill you right here and now?'"
"You can, but why go against your own code?" answered Mendez again. "Out there you can do whatever you want. But down here, you settle your problems on the ring. I believe this has been the tradition in the club since you ran it. You make the rules, not me. You wouldn't even let someone walk out of here with a broken bone, much less in a body bag. So why start now, especially when it's convenient for you?"
"Easy there, Fernandez," defused Foy. "As I said earlier, you make a fair point. But on the other hand--"
"--screw the rules, why not just kill him right now?!" barged in a member of the club crowd beside Foy. He's around Mendez' height, baring a bare chest with dark jean shorts and a bandanna concealing his face. Looks like a fighter. A club regular, perhaps?
"Like I said, 'one might ask'," confirmed Foy as the fighter launched his fist towards Mendez.
Which Mendez totally saw coming.
Sidestepping, Mendez raised his leg and used his momentum to trip the fighter, throwing him all the way into the ring beside him.
As Mendez saw the fighter was visibly stunned by Mendez' reversal, he turned to Foy. "Allow me to submit my resume."
With those parting words, he handed his rainjacket and La Mutilar alongside its holster to Becks and stepped into the ring.
Round one.
As Mendez entered the ring, he saw the fighter groggily getting up and readying his stance.
In response Mendez raised his left knee, which seemed to startle the fighter. Noticing the fighter's nervousness, Mendez lowered his knee and held out his left hand gesturing the fighter to come forward, essentially taunting him.
The fighter's retaliation was a flurry of punches directed at Mendez' face.
Left, right, left, right. Mendez blocked them all with his two hands.
Incoming big right swing.
Mendez swerved, completely ducking under the blow and ending up standing behind the fighter.
It took a second for the fighter to look behind him, and when he did Mendez can see the rage in his eyes. But that's nothing to worry about.
His next hook is going to be the end of him.
Here it comes. This time, from his left arm. Mendez raised his left arm again.
But this time he held it sideways, in a way that made his elbows protrude out of his stance. In fact, he wasn't just blocking, he was striking with his left elbow.
Thing is, Mendez wasn't aiming for the fighter's face for a counter attack. He was aiming for the fighter's fist.
Hit.
Mendez could hear the fighter's fingers crumbling from his elbow as his arm intercepted the fighter's left hook. And of course, the fighter's yelp as he reeled in pain.
No time to revel as Mendez' opponent went in again, this time a right body blow.
It would've been a threat for Mendez had it not been so slow in its delivery. It's probably his offhand, thought Mendez. As such, Mendez saw it coming, and with it, an opportunity to counter.
He held his arm in a 90-degree angle and drove the elbow down at the fighter's fist.
Another bone fracture.
That counterattack staggered the fighter backwards, holding his fingers in agony. But he wasn't done yet, as evidenced by his feet lunging forward once more. How else is he going to attack but his legs?
The fighter kicked high, aiming for Mendez' head. But it wasn't there.
Instead Mendez turned and crouched--performing a low spinning heel sweep with his right leg--striking the fighter's standing leg in a sweep and knocking him off balance.
There was a second period where the fighter was completely suspended in air.
And the next second, he landed on the ground--hard.
Standing up, Mendez saw the fighter groaning on the ground. He then looked around him, the club crowd exploding in hysteria.
Mendez had won. Easily.
He then looked towards Foy.
His stoic facial expression didn't change, however it didn't look like he was just going to stand there and watch as Mendez made his statement. For one, he's no longer crossing his arms.
Instead, he stepped forward towards the ring's fence gate.
Foy's going to fight Mendez. Just as Mendez had planned.
After the previous fighter was dragged away by two members of the crowd, it's just the two of them.
"So how's my pitch?" asked Mendez as he sized Foy up.
"Pretty impressive, if I do say so myself," answered Foy as he did the same to Mendez. "But remember: you asked for this."
Never fight a man who has no urge to fight, said Mendez at the back of his mind.
This is going to be tough. Least compared to previous skirmishes.
Round two.
Unlike the fighter before, Foy didn't seem to exhibit any aggressive behavior in his approach.
Instead he circled around Mendez, patiently waiting for him to make his move.
Well, no point in making it boring. Also, a good opportunity to see what Foy has got in store for Mendez, even if he has to take a hit or two.
Mendez dashed forward, going for a quick combination.
Right jab. Blocked. Jab cross. Blocked.
Right body blow. Hit. Foy didn't even flinch. No surprises there. Now for--
THWACK!
Mendez took a left jab square on the face followed with a huge left body shot to his diaphragm.
Stunned, Mendez reeled back.
He saw Foy lining for a right jab. It was fast, too fast to be countered with his elbow. But Mendez saw it coming.
He launched one of his own. Like the one he did with Becks--
--only this time, he is the only one getting hit.
Mendez was staggered back. That was a hard hit, but not enough to knock him out.
Longer reach. That's what Foy had going for him. His definite advantage over Mendez.
So maybe avoid his long-reaching keep out attacks and get up close?
Foy didn't move much, Mendez noticed. He was assuming a defensive position, practically waiting for Mendez to come for him.
And came for Foy Mendez did.
As he charged towards the club master, Mendez weaved in a zigzag anticipating Foy's jabs.
There's one. A left jab. Mendez bobbed to his left, dodging Foy's blow completely.
An opening for counterattack(s). Left body blow, hit. Left high jab, also hit.
Mendez saw Foy flinch a liittle. He wasn't wide open, but probably just enough for Mendez to follow up with a jab cross--
--Mendez got hit again. Foy countered his counter with a counter of his own. A low-hitting left body blow, followed by a right uppercut through Mendez' jaw.
Again, Mendez staggered backwards. But he didn't have time to recover as Foy launched another attack still in the same motion--a spinning side kick!
Which Mendez caught with his two hands, right on his stomach, all before Foy jumped, spun in mid-air, and kicked Mendez across the face with his standing leg!
Both men fell to the ground as the crowd roared on. Only one of the two was hurt, however.
The hurt man wiped blood off his mouth and smiled. He got him good.
Mendez noticed Foy was already up, while he was still down on all fours.
And that Foy was advancing towards him. Probably looking to kick him while he's still down. But even if he wasn't, Mendez still has to find a way to hurt him. After all, he's taken enough hits already.
Foy's close now. Within kicking distance from Mendez.
In response Mendez sprang, shifted his weight backwards, and drove his left boot against Foy's thighs like a football player committing a sliding tackle.
He certainly felt that. Mendez could hear a brief wail of pain coming from his opponent as he went down on his knees.
And like a man possessed, Mendez jumped up, grabbed Foy by the head, and launched his knee against his face.
Foy fell backwards. Mendez saw an opening for a ground-and-pound.
But instead of pummeling Foy's face in, Mendez received a huge kick towards his chest that sent him flying backwards.
Both men were on the floor again, this time with a bigger distance between them. It was like a reset of sorts.
Mendez has something else in his mind. Maybe getting in close wasn't such a good idea, with Foy recovering quickly from fast-hitting counterattacks allowing him to counter Mendez' counters with his own.
Now Foy and Mendez were level. Time for another exchange. Mendez stepped forward.
Foy chambered his mid-height roundhouse kick. A good long-reaching kick to keep Mendez' rushdown at bay.
But this time, something different happened.
Mendez suddenly stopped and shifted his advance into a backstep.
If he'd continued stepping forward, Foy's kick would've connected against Mendez' diaphragm. But with that abrupt maneuver, the kick had missed him by mere millimeters. There's not enough time for Foy to recover from his big whiff, while there's enough time for Mendez to launch a counterattack of his own without worrying about Foy's recovery.
As for the counterattack, Mendez leaped and threw a flying punch, Superman-style. It was so quick, Foy's leg was still sticking out from his kick when it happened.
And of course, this one connected square on Foy's jaw. Mendez could've sworn he punched blood out of Foy's mouth. Good hit.
Foy fell, but he didn't stay down for long, stumbling back into his two feet in a single motion.
They were at the edge of the ring now. Foy was almost backed up against the metal railings. He was dazed, but definitely not out.
Mendez is well within Foy's attack range. However, Foy is not engaging, most likely due to his defensive fighting style, which Mendez has already figured out.
With that in mind, Mendez feigned a left jab. Foy almost instantly responded with a left jab of his own, which was exactly what Mendez expected.
As soon as Foy's fist launched, Mendez sidestepped to his left--Foy's right--and launched his foot in a high vertical curve, with his shin hitting Foy's face right at the peak of his curve!
An already-stunned Foy got even more dazed to the crowd's astonished howls.
Time to knock him out before he gets his bearings.
And so Mendez got a running start, jumped, and stuck his two legs at Foy's face.
A drop kick.
Even Mendez was knocked back defending the move from Becks, and he was ready for it. What would've happened if he drop kicked someone who wasn't ready?
The drop kick hit--spectacularly.
That sent Foy stumbling through the fence gate.
Mendez wins.