The Underground (Cyberpunk Au)

No Turning Back Now

A man pulled his hoodie over his head as he knocked the secret code on a rusted door in a hidden corner of the rundown sector. After a few clicks, a big man with rusted metal gear and sharp edges opens the door with a glare. The smaller man simply walks inside as the door slams shut behind him.

As he walked down the dark hallway, he shifted his duffle bag. "I'm in."

"Good, we need you to get acquainted with the sponsors and fighters, build a reputation for yourself."

"Tch, easier said than done..."

Connor recalls his meet up with the man who was in charge of the whole event.

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Connor's job was to find the bar from which the gambling side of the fighting was taking place. There, he could work his way into the club as a fighter. He didn't revel in the idea of cage fighting, the mindless violence for other's entertainment but that's what his briefing said he had to do, so that's what he was going to achieve.

Finding the bar wasn't too hard, a few well-placed bribes and he was being nodded through to the back room of the third establishment he visited. It was filled with smoke and the whole thing seemed painfully clichéd. Connor shouldered past a guy and scanned to room. It was easy enough to find Barstow, sat pompously at a table with sheets of paper for all the bets, screens with bolts behind him.

"What are the odds?" Connor asked roughly as he got to the table.

"You're new, what brings you here?" Barstow's voice was serene in his confidence.

"Whispers say you've got the best. I want in," cockily Connor throws a wad of bolts on the table.

Opposite him, Barstow looks up at him from under raised eyebrows. Without breaking eye contact he pulled the money closer and began to calculate. It was a hefty sum and he nodded appreciatively.

"These are the odds," he pushed a sheet at Connor who looked over them. Never before had he been grateful for the one time Zane had dragged him along to that awful food truck. While Zane had been busy stuffing his face, Connor had been cornered by a guy running illegal betting and had it all foisted on him. At least it had given Connor an understanding of it all and now he could confidently scoff at the numbers.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were skewing the bets. Paying off fighters the throw a fight here and there."

"What you implying?" Barstow snarled and Connor sneered back with easy contempt.

"I'm saying you're a crook. Bet you I could wipe the floor with most of your so called fighters."

It was a brash statement, one that could easily be thrown back in his face, in which case he had royally messed up before the investigation could even start. But, Connor had faith in his instincts.

"Yeah? Put your money where your mouth is," Barstow took the bait and Connor barked out a harsh laugh.

"Why don't you?" he countered. His money was thrown back in front of him.

"Tomorrow night 21:00, Rivertown, third warehouse upriver from Denton. Knock twice, wait a beat then three more times. Bring your own body bag because that's the only way you're getting out of there."

Connor collects his bolts with a shark-like grin. He nodded and turned, sauntering out of the building like he owned the place. Sometimes criminals really did just make it too easy.

He had a day to relax until he clambered into the fighting ring to not only make a good impression but to become Barstow's champion.