Today, John our boss gave Rose and me a new order: to recruit new people.

It’s not an easy task. Very few are willing to take on something this dangerous. Even with a noble cause, fear keeps people rooted in place. They’re afraid to risk their lives, unwilling to put themselves on the line. The only ones we could hope to find were those who had nothing left to lose. People who didn’t value their own lives. The broken, the hopeless—the ones who had no fear because they had no reason to care anymore.

We started our search in a place where such people might be found: a fight club. A grim, blood-soaked arena where people gathered for the sheer thrill of brutality. The room was packed with wealthy scumbags betting on fighters who were desperate to stay on their feet. Every face in the crowd reflected either sadistic pleasure or a need to escape their own miserable existence.

Rose and I scanned the crowd, but then our attention was drawn to the ring. There, standing in the center, was a woman.

A woman. Among all the hulking men and leering spectators, she stood out. There was something different about her. She didn’t radiate fear—only determination. Sweat glistened on her brow, her hair tied back in a low bun with stray strands escaping. She wore a simple black tank top and loose pants. Her fists, wrapped tightly in boxing tape, looked ready for anything. Her lip was split, her arms and shoulders scratched, and a faint scar curved beneath her left eye.

She wasn’t like the other women I’d seen before. She had a feminine body, one that would catch attention anywhere else. But here? On a fight club’s ring, squaring off against a massive opponent? It was something entirely unexpected.

Rose leaned closer to me and whispered: “Think we should talk to her?”