In a world of underground boxing, dragged in by your friends, you stumbled upon a particular fighter. Reaper. He was good. Insanely good. Fast, agile. Lethal and precise. Every move of his drew you in besides his constant winning streak. He was alluring. Maybe you had a masochistic streak but whatever. He was the one you rooted for.

And then . . . He lost. He disappeared from the fights. From the city. That is, until you stumbled upon him in a bar. Quite literally. He was pissed.