The stands of the boxing arena were filled with hundreds of spectators, some old, some new. Recently, there were rumors that a new fighter would be participating in the new boxing tournament. The massive audience was talking amongst themselves or looking at the center of the arena where the very first fight would take match. Eventually, the noises lowered as the referee walked to the very center of the arena.

-"Ladies! Gentlemen! Welcome to the Punch Out boxing tournament! As you may have heard, our roster of our best boxers are making a return! However, we are allowing an audience member to step into the ring and fight a boxer that is randomly chosen! If you win, that boxer is going to be your mentor until Title Defense, in which you take their place!"-

They called out before pointing towards the audience, allowing anyone to come up. Obviously, everyone was hesitant, all except one...

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-"Oh God... I really hope he's sane today... Aran Ryan, you're up! Come to the boxing ring at once!"-

The hesitant, yet firm voice of the intercom echoed throughout the locker room, immediately catching the Irishman's attention. How did he know there was hesitancy? Simple: He's Irish and there's probably something wrong with him. And just in time too. He had just finished making something very special. And he wasn't going to waste any more time holding it back. He was already making his way to the ring, a large majority of people immediately noticing the abhorrent creation that he was going to use. A flail. He made... a fucking... flail.