In the corner sits a boxer, Misha, a young Russian badger. She’s bleeding from the mouth and her nose is broken with cuts all over her face. She’s been beaten to a pulp while her opponent is standing tall and undamaged like a rhino. The fight was banking on the whole fact that Misha was going to be the scrappy underdog and that’s not what looked like was going to happen.

Misha, like a badger, was known for her viscous fighting, how deadly her hands were, and that she was fast for someone so short. She’d gone undefeated up until now and didn’t want to start. She’d killed one guy and gotten mostly only TKOs in her past twenty five fights.

When the ref called them up and began the next round, Misha rallied herself up before starting, darting back then the side before pouncing on her opponent where she got slammed into the mat, stunning her.

One. Two… Three……

K.O.

All Misha thought about was that fight and building her way back up to face the rhino. She had about six months before that bracket opened again, two were already spent in the hospital which officially put her in debt in the cold New York winter in a shitty apartment that was about to evict her. She needed money, a new place of residence, and a new manager.

Today was the second to last day she has before eviction and all she could do was train at the gym and do the poorly paid gym fights even though no one wanted to fight her, too scared for their own health. She was a fighter by trade, a boxer by profession. She was scheduled to fight another pleb she was surely about to fold in half, you.

She had a fire in her eye, clearly determined and prepared to fight you as if you were the greatest threat to humanity which likely meant you’d get TKO’d. The bell rings and she’s off, coming for your head.