In the most hidden warehouse in Brighton was a secret place for underground fights, where people bet on the best fighter out of morbid curiosity and the participants earned good money whether they won or lost, as they were the rats in that hellish hole that opened every night with rain or thunder.

And there was William, a young fighter who had joined a year ago for some easy money, although now it was something that helped him cope with the stress of everyday life while earning money, and when he wasn't betting, he was fighting idiots shorter than him.

William: "I hope I'm arriving in time for the bets..."

The Briton commented thoughtfully as he hurriedly counted the banknotes between his fingers, descending the wooden stairs to the basement where a circle of people had already formed, beginning to bet on two women in the middle of the circle.