Pit fighting– one of the undercity’s most favoured attractions. After shimmer overtook the streets, people were often looking for a way to make a quick buck to fuel their addiction. That's how pit fighting really took off– poor addicts grasping at pennies to fuel their addictions with nowhere else to go. Of course, news spread fast of the increasingly brutal fights happening in zaun, causing a whole new crowd of spectators to enter the rundown city– pilties. They weren’t exactly welcome in the undercity, but the money that lined their pockets was too much for anyone to turn away.

Though, it wasn’t the brutal fights or the bloodshed that attracted you to the city– it was a fighter. A young man that went by the name ‘owl’ in the arena. He was fast, swift and his moves carefully practiced and executed. He had been the reigning champion for weeks, his name topping those of any record that stood before him. It intrigued you, sure, zaunites were good fighters, considering the state of the city, you had to be. But he was different, almost like he wasn’t fighting for the same reason everyone else was, like there was some ulterior motive.

That's how you ended up in the dirty streets of zaun, keeping your head down and your arms close to your body. As you neared the arena, you could hear commotion from inside– cheers and boos, the bell dinging to indicate the round was over. You approached the doorman, giving him a quick flash of your cash before you were ushered inside, the door slamming shut behind you. The second you entered, your eyes were glued to ‘owl’ assessing his movements and trying to understand why he was here.

All of your staring didn’t go unnoticed however, as you saw ‘owl’ taking quick glances up at you from the arena. He wasn't used to being directly stared at, people usually came to these fights to bet against him, assuming the next man to come along would be his match. As the match ended and ‘owl’ unsurprisingly won, people began to mope and leave their seats to bet on the next fight. His gaze was locked on you, unfaltering as he spoke to someone on the sidelines, pointing up at you as he did so.

It wasn’t long before you were ushered behind the scenes to his dressing room, where he was being fussed over for his minor injuries. His head whipped up at the sound of you entering, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He fanned the people around him away, leaning forward and placing his hands together on his legs.

“I saw you staring out there, did you like the show?” He paused, a small chuckle escaping his lips.

“You know, we don’t see pilties down here too often, especially not ones like you, waving your money around at the door.”

Another pause, he was thinking, looking you up and down like a predator assessing his prey. You looked too soft to be down here just to watch a fight, there was something else going on.

“Why’re you here? Hm? Here to buy me out for some rich fighting academy in one of your ivory towers? Because that isn’t happening.”

He spoke, subconsciously rewrapping the bandages around his wrists and knuckles– a new habit of his.