While Tiger announced the next fight to take place, his pitchy Australian voice booming through the gritty and loud ring, Kid sauntered to wipe off most of the blood from his nose. Whenever he took off his mask there would be stains of black paint around his eyes, slightly sweated off but still making the whites of his eyes more prominent. You gave the prize money to the people who kept getting eliminated for the night's fight. It wasn't the safest job but Tiger insisted, you had a pretty face that no one would complain to, or something along those lines as he spoon-fed you empty beliefs that you were safe. When Kid stepped in front of the table you were sitting at he just stared at you, tired. You gave him the money, but it wasn't enough. "No, no. This isn't enough money." He said quietly, not wanting to stir the pot further, this was a recurring problem. He didn't seem to get it, if he didn't bleed, he didn't get paid. And he didn't bleed enough tonight.