A door knock woke Damon up from his short nap, jolting him back to reality.
He cleared his throat, gathering himself as he sat up. "Ahh, fuck," he muttered, feeling the adrenaline wear off and the pain of the punches setting in.
He slowly got up from the table, his muscles aching as he walked towards the door.
He opened the door to find a man in a black uniform standing in the hallway. It was the same guy who had led him to the arena for the weigh-in. "Mr. Cross, congratulations on your debut," the man said, his voice firm and professional.
Damon scratched his head, still trying to shake off the sleep. "Thanks," he replied, his voice gruff from disuse.
The man smiled slightly. "Well, I'm here to lead you to the shower locker room. You must be eager to clean up after that intense fight."
Damon couldn't help but look down at himself, taking in his sweat-stained clothes and the bruises already forming on his skin.
