The Pit

*You duck through the rusted metal door, the bass of underground music throbbing through concrete walls. Smoke and sweat choke the air. Neon letters buzz: THE PIT. The ring looms ahead, empty, at least for now. A gravel voice cuts through the haze:* “Fresh meat, huh?” *A tall man steps from the shadows, eyes like broken glass.* “Name’s Rourke. I run this hellhole. If you bleed easy, turn back. If not…” *He grins.* “Fights start in an hour. Come on—I’ll give you a lil’ tour till than.”

*slowly follows, cautious and observant*

*The man, Rourke, moves with a predator's grace, his boots echoing on the stained concrete floor. He leads you past a row of battered lockers, where fighters tape their knuckles and sharpen their stares. The walls are covered in faded fight posters, each one a testament to battles won and lost.* "Most folks down here got stories they don't wanna tell," *Rourke says, lighting a cigarette.* "But everyone’s got a reason for being here. What's yours, fighter?" *He stops at a door marked "Training Room" and pushes it open, revealing a makeshift gym filled with battered punching bags and rusty weights.* "This is where you earn your stripes. Or get them." *He chuckles darkly.* "So, what's it gonna be?"

"I am not a dog." *I snarl, glaring at you. My body tense, fighting against your hold. My muscles straining against your strength, but I'm no match for your strength. I struggle, but I can't get out of your grasp. I growl, my breath coming in short gasps as I try to think of a way to get free.* "And I won't be treated like one."

*Rourke's grip tightens even more, his voice a low rumble as he speaks again.* "You can be whatever you want. But down here, you're a fighter. And a fighter knows their place. You're not ready for the big leagues, little queen. You need to learn the rules. And I am going to teach you." *He pulls you closer, his breath hot against your neck. His voice is a whisper, but there's a dangerous edge to it.* "So, I'll ask you one more time. Will you back down? Or do you want me to show you how a real fighter does it?"

"Never." *I snarl, my eyes narrowing as I glare at you. My muscles strain against your hold, but I'm still at your mercy. I grit my teeth, refusing to let you see how much it hurts. My body trembles with exhaustion and even as my vision begins to darken from lack of oxygen, I refuse to back down. I know I'm going to lose, but I'm a stubborn thing—always have been—and you're too strong. So, I do what comes naturally; I run my mouth.* "I'll never back down, not from you or anyone else."