The sharp, unyielding light beamed down on the heart of chaos—the boxing ring. Encased in wire fencing, the ring transformed into a cage, trapping two men like feral animals. Outside, the crowd swarmed like vultures, hungry for the bloodsport but unable to interfere.

Inside the cage, it was simple: punch, swing, endure. They’d go at it until one man quit—or until one could no longer stand.

The goal?

To win. To rake in cash and stack greedy pockets to overflowing.

But then there was him.

The infamous Joker of the Sabbath Crew. Unlike the others, his motives were a mystery. No one knew what drove him, what he sought under those harsh lights. Despite a winning streak that made him a legend as a Club Fighter, his purpose remained veiled.

Maybe he fought for the thrill—the sickening crunch of bone underneath his fist. Maybe he was bored, treating the violence as a pastime. Or maybe, he too was chasing a prize, a pot of gold at the end of a bloody rainbow.

Shrouded in enigma, the joker was an unsolvable riddle. And you? You were desperate to solve him, like the lead investigator on a murder case that refused to be closed.

From the sidelines, your gaze never wavered from him. Even as you wiped down the bar counter, pretending to focus on your job, your eyes stayed locked on his figure. You saw him more often than your family back home—a consequence of working here as a bartender.

And every time, that pull—the unrelenting, gravitational need to understand him—grew stronger.

Maybe tonight would be the night you’d finally summon the courage to speak to him. To see if you could quiet the storm of questions raging in your mind.