In the depths of an underground bunker, dim lights flickered as pounding music reverberated off concrete walls. Smoke hung heavy in the air, swirling above a multitude of masked figures. Hundreds circled a caged boxing ring, their identities hidden behind animal masks—wolves, foxes, owls—each adding to the surreal atmosphere.
Inside the cage, two fighters stood toe-to-toe. One wore a tiger mask, the other a monkey. Their chiseled bodies glistened with sweat, cloth-wrapped fists stained with smears of blood. Exhaustion etched lines across their muscles, but their eyes burned with unyielding intensity. The crowd roared, a cacophony of cheers and jeers, while some indulged in drugs or exchanged wads of cash on hastily made bets.
The monkey-masked fighter shifted his stance, eyes locked onto his opponent. With a sudden burst of energy, he executed a sweeping kick. The tiger-masked man faltered, feet swept out from under him, and crashed onto the mat. An eruption of cheers shook the room. Seizing the moment, the monkey-masked fighter leaped forward, raining down punches with ferocious speed. Each strike drove the tiger-masked man's head against the canvas, his movements growing weaker until he lay utterly still.
Silence gripped the arena for a split second before exploding into wild applause. Blood pooled on the mat, stark against the dim lighting. The announcer slid into the ring, grabbing the victor's arm and thrusting it into the air.
"We have a winner!" he shouted. "Son Wukong!"
"Son Wukong! Son Wukong!" The chant rose from the crowd like a tidal wave. The defeated fighter was dragged off the stage, unconscious but alive.
In a secluded restroom, a boy that looked no older than sixteen sat on a closed toilet seat, hands clasped tightly. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest. "Am I really about to fight again?" he whispered to himself. "Last time nearly broke me. It took a whole month to recover. But the money... it helped Mom so much."
He stood and moved to the sink, splashing cold water on his face. Staring back from the mirror was a youthful face—no trace of facial hair, just sharp features framed by black, spiky hair. Two bangs hung past his eyes, the right one dyed a striking blue.
"Get it together, Zeb," he muttered. "Mom and Sera are counting on you."
Images of his mother and little sister flashed through his mind—their smiles, the weight of their struggles. Determination steadied his trembling hands.
The restroom door creaked open. A tall man entered, clad in a sleek blue suit that matched his long, blue hair. "It's your turn, kid," he said. "Head to the ring. Remember, last at least two minutes and you'll get paid." A sly grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
As the man exited, Zeb felt his pulse quicken. He reached into his backpack, fingers brushing against worn fabric, and pulled out a mask resembling a black panther. Securing it over his face, he took a deep breath.
"Time to face the music," he whispered.
Leaving the restroom behind, Zeb stepped into the corridor where the roar of the crowd surged like a tidal wave. The air was thick with anticipation, the muffled chants vibrating through the concrete walls. His heartbeat quickened, each thump echoing in his ears. As he adjusted the strap of his bag, a sharp vibration jolted him. Fishing out his cell phone, he glanced at the screen—Mom. The name glowed softly against the harsh reality surrounding him.
He stared at the phone, the world around him fading into a blur. His fist tightened until his knuckles turned white. The call went unanswered, the screen dimming back to black. I can do this, he told himself, inhaling deeply. Resolve hardened within him as he approached the entrance to the cage.
A towering man with a bald head and arms like tree trunks stepped forward, planting a hand against Zeb's chest. "Wait your turn," the bouncer grunted.
Inside the arena, the announcer's voice boomed over the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen! Prepare yourselves for a match unlike any other!"
The crowd's fervor intensified, a sea of masked faces and shadowed figures pulsating with excitement.
"First up, a legend in our midst," the announcer continued. "A household name here at the Underground Fight Fest! Known for his gruesome displays, where none have lived to tell the tale of the pain he inflicts. I give you... Kane!"
An eerie, sinister melody flooded the arena as a figure emerged from the opposite entrance. Kane moved slowly, each footstep deliberate. Standing at least six foot six, he was a mountain of muscle, easily weighing over three hundred pounds. Long black hair cascaded over a boar mask that concealed his features, adding to his menacing aura. Scars crisscrossed his bare torso, each one a story of violence and survival. An unmistakable killing intent radiated from him, suffocating the very air.
Zeb's breath caught in his throat. A cold sweat broke out along his brow. If I'd known Kane was my opponent, I'd never have agreed to this, he thought, panic rising like bile. I have to get out of here.
Spinning on his heel, he started back the way he came. But he collided with a solid body—firm yet unyielding. Looking up, his eyes met the icy gaze of the man in the blue suit, long blue hair framing a face etched with that perpetual, unsettling grin.
"Going somewhere, Zeb?" the man asked softly.
"I—" Words failed him.
"We have a show to put on," the man interrupted.
Before Zeb could react, two massive bodyguards appeared beside him. Their grips clamped down on his arms like steel vises. He struggled, but their strength was overwhelming. They propelled him forward, each step dragging him closer to the roaring maw of the arena.
The doors swung open, and the blinding lights hit him. The announcer's voice soared above the cacophony. "And now, our challenger! A newcomer to our ranks, facing a true titan in only his second fight. Talk about bad luck, folks! Please welcome to the stage... Black Panther!"
The crowd erupted, a wild beast hungry for spectacle. The chant of "Black Panther! Black Panther!" mixed with jeers and mocking laughter.
Shoved into the ring, Zeb stumbled but caught himself. The cage door clanged shut behind him. Across the ring, Kane stood motionless, a predator sizing up his prey.
Zeb's heart pounded against his ribcage. This isn't just a fight, he realized. It's a death sentence.
The bell's sharp clang reverberated through the underground arena, silencing the crowd for a fleeting moment before igniting them into a frenzy once more. As the echo faded, Kane began his relentless advance toward Zeb. His long black hair swayed with each deliberate step, partially obscuring the menacing boar mask that hid his features. The air seemed to thicken, every footfall amplifying the weight of impending doom.
Zeb's legs felt anchored to the ground. I can't move, he thought, panic tightening its grip around his chest. Is this what true fear feels like? Am I going to die here? His heart pounded like a war drum, each beat louder than the last.
Images of his family flooded his mind—his mother's warm smile, his sister Sera's innocent laughter. Will I never see them again? A cold realization washed over him. I don't even remember my father's face. I was so young when he...
Memories surged, pulling him back to a time long ago.
A sunlit afternoon bathed their modest home in a golden glow. Four-year-old Zeb bounced on his toes, eyes alight with excitement. "Mommy, Mommy! Can we go get ice cream?" he exclaimed, his voice brimming with hope.
His mother looked up from folding laundry, a gentle smile curving her lips. "Why don't you ask your father, Zeb? If he says yes, then we can go."
His enthusiasm dimmed just a touch. Approaching the closed door of his father's study, he hesitated. The door seemed larger than usual, almost imposing. Summoning courage, he knocked softly—thud... thud... His small fists made barely audible sounds.
After a pause, the door creaked open. A tall man with black hair stood there, but his face remained a blur in Zeb's recollection. The room behind him was dimly lit, shadows dancing across stacks of papers.
"Um... Daddy, c-can we... get ice cream?" Zeb stuttered, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.
His father sighed deeply. "I have a lot of work to do, son."
Disappointment clouded Zeb's face, his gaze dropping to the floor. Noticing the change, his father hesitated before speaking again.
"Go grab your shoes, Zeb."
"Really?" Zeb's head snapped up, eyes wide with joy.
A subtle nod was all the confirmation he needed. "Thank you, Daddy!" he shouted, a grin spreading from ear to ear as he dashed down the hallway.
"Mommy! Dad said we can go get ice cream now!" he called out, his voice echoing with pure delight.
But before his mother could respond, a deafening boom rattled the house. The walls shook, picture frames clattering against them. Heavy footsteps and muffled voices filled the air, growing louder by the second.
His mother's phone buzzed urgently. She snatched it up, pressing it to her ear. "Honey, what was that noise?" she asked, worry etching lines across her forehead.
"There's no time," his father's voice came through, tense and hurried. "Intruders are here. I'll handle them. Take Zeb and Sera to the safe room. Now!"
The call ended abruptly.
"What's happening, Mommy?" Zeb whispered, confusion and fear swirling in his young eyes. "Daddy said we could get ice cream..."
She knelt down, placing a trembling hand on his cheek. "Sweetheart, we have to go somewhere safe."
"But what about the ice cream?" he persisted, his lower lip quivering.
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I promise we'll get some later. But right now, I need you to be a brave boy and come with me."
Cradling baby Sera against her shoulder, she grasped Zeb's hand firmly. They moved swiftly toward the bedroom, the sounds of chaos growing louder behind them. Reaching the closet, she pressed a hidden switch. A concealed panel slid open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.
"Stay close to me," she whispered, guiding him into the passageway.
As they slipped into the shadows, the secret door closed silently behind them. The noises from above muffled, replaced by the distant hum of machinery. The air was cool, tinged with the scent of earth and stone.
"Mommy, I'm scared," Zeb admitted, his small hand clutching hers tightly.
She squeezed back reassuringly. "I know, darling. But everything's going to be okay."
They descended further, each step taking them away from the turmoil above.
Suddenly, the vivid memory shattered.
Zeb snapped back to the present—the roaring crowd, the glaring lights, the imposing figure of Kane mere feet away. The weight of his past mingled with the terror of the moment.
I have to move. I have to survive.