It looked like a rather nondescript building. Technically sitting in the docks section of town, it lay close enough to the industrial district to be considered part of it. It certainly fit the latter aesthetic. A single story flat-topped structure, it sat in a tiny strip mall to the left of two other businesses. It was painted green at one point but only a few specs of color remained, having given way to dull concrete beneath long ago. White letters along the top spelled out Petey's Boxing.

She'd heard about this place during her several excursions into criminal territory. A few of the Triad thugs she beat down had mention of it in their text messaging history as well. Now standing before it, Ayda wasn't sure exactly what she expected. It was obviously the right place judging just by the name, but it struck her as odd. The exterior both met her expectations, yet simultaneously fell far below them.

It was an interesting dichotomy she couldn't quite wrap her head around. But she was wasting time just thinking about it. Ayda did her best to shake the cobwebs from her brain before entering through the glass and metal double doors. Immediately on the other side was a small entryway, a place for hanging coats and hats, though the rows of pegs on both sides were empty. Ayda ignored the space and walked through a second set of doors on the other end. These ones retained their green color.

The first thing Ayda noticed was the smell which filled her nose, a combination of mold, sweat, and cheap floor cleaner. While not necessarily unpleasant, it wasn't a scent she wanted to deal with for any protracted length of time.

It was quite warm inside. It probably didn't have an air conditioner at all. Most gyms she'd ever been insider were a little on the cold side, so she'd dressed in a purple hoodie and jeans with that in mind. Now that she were inside, however, that choice seemed erroneous.

As she got used to the smell and the heat, Ayda took a gander around the inside. It was mostly one big room with a few doors set into the far wall. The plain concrete floor looked as though it had never been properly cleaned, and was likely the cause of the moldy aroma. The walls and ceiling were also cement.

The vast open space played host to six boxing rings aligned in two columns. Around the edges were various exercise and practice implements such as sandbags, treadmills, sparring pads, and the like. It had everything an aspiring fighter could need, even if it lacked in presentation. Ayda could see herself training in a place like this.

She wasn't alone in the establishment, either. Random slaps of vinyl on vinyl betrayed a pair running combos in the center-right ring. A few others used various pieces of equipment, working out at their own pace. They all were good-looking young men, not much older than Ayda. Yeah, she could definitely see herself training here.

While they were nice to look at, another person caught her attention. Also a man, he did not partake in any gym services. Instead, he stood at the far end. Dressed in a beige sweater vest, brown slacks, and a white button-up shirt, he watched over everything with a clipboard in his hands. He had an air of self-importance. Probably the owner, by Ayda's calculations. She made a b-line for him.

The man noticed her approach right off. He glanced in her direction a few times as she came, but made no move to intercept, opting instead to continue watching his patrons from afar. When she got a little closer, Ayda noticed he had no pen to go with that clipboard. In other words, it was just for show. She stopped at easy conversation distance, but was careful to remain outside his personal space.

"Are you Petey?" She asked, straight to the point.

"I am. And you are?" The man replied curtly, offering only a nod in acknowledgment.

"A customer," Ayda said. "I hear you're selling a lawnmower?"

Where Petey had been before focused on the athletes, he now gave this new girl his full attention. His eyes snapped to meet hers and narrowed considerably. He ran his pupils briefly up and down her figure, trying to take her in all at once.

"Yeah, you heard right. Why don't we go in my office so we can talk more privately?"

Ayda nodded and Petey turned around, headed for a green door directly behind him. Ayda followed, but kept her head on a swivel. Accompanying a strange man into a small, secluded room didn't exactly appeal to her. Petey couldn't hurt her even if he tried, but instinct said to remain on guard.

Petey opened the door and slipped inside, new patron in tow. He walked around behind a blued steel desk smack dab in the center of the room atop a gaudy, multi-colored rug. A pair of matching file cabinets flanked him in the corners on either side. Other than the chair behind him, there were no other decorations in the room. It was the definition of barebones, which Ayda appreciated.

"You're here about the cage fights?" Petey said, skipping any semblance of formality. He leaned forward, bracing his palms against the desk.

"Yeah, I am," answered Ayda swiftly. "I heard this is the best place in town to find a little action."

"You clearly know some very intelligent people," Petey nodded with a grin. "Before we move forward, I'll need to see your driver's license real quick."

"Why...?" The girl drew out the word, a suspicious sideways glance for her present company.

"I need to make sure you're not a cop. Don't worry, I'm not gonna steal your identity right in front of you. I'm not that stupid."

With great hesitation, Ayda reached into her right front pocket and extracted a slim black leather wallet, which felt much thinner in light of recent events. She'd rather not give up such sensitive and personally revealing information to someone she just met not even five minutes ago. Necessity, however, drove her fingers. There wouldn't be a better opportunity than this. Quickly, as if to just get it over with, Ayda flipped the bifold open, removed the desired plastic rectangle, and handed it over to Petey.

The middle-aged man took it. Light from the naked bulb overhead reflected briefly off its reflective surface, illuminating the gray flecks in in his chestnut hair. Brown eyes looked over its surface, while a single finger picked out letters on a grimy keyboard which used to be white. Ayda was convinced every single surface in the place lay under a solid layer of dirt. She'd have to take a shower when this was all squared away.

Thankfully, Petey did not need very long to go over her credentials. He only typed once. Everything else he did involved a series of mouse clicks. It would've taken him considerably longer, otherwise. Ayda could only guess at what he was doing, but it probably involved running her name through several databanks, just to make sure she's clean. The power of the internet expedited this process. After around maybe five minutes, Petey stood up, handing the license back to its rightful owner.

"Well," he began, "not only are you not a cop, but your record is spotless. That's rare around these parts."

"Not the most wholesome of crowds?" Ayda quipped, retrieving her property. In a flash, she returned both it and her wallet to the appropriate pocket.

"You could say that," Petey shrugged. "Well, you're background checks out just fine. If you pass the trial fight, I can pass your info on to my boss and we'll see about setting you up with a match."

"That easy?" Ayda raised an eyebrow. "No application or review process?"

"The trial fight is your application and review process. We're not the most discerning of organizations. If someone wants to fight, we'll let them fight; we just want to make sure they won't get themselves killed."

"That makes sense," conceded Ayda. Illegal operations like this probably had a much smaller clientele than she realized at first. They probably couldn't afford to turn too many people away.

"Having said that, there are some things you should know before you say yes." Petey cleared his throat before continuing. "There are no weight classes, and no gendered divisions. Anyone can challenge anyone. You don't have to accept, but worse odds give you a better payout if you win."

"Is that how it works? Fighters just call each other out? There's no bracket or anything?"

"Nope, no bracket. The fighters come to an agreement themselves and then the boss and I give them a fight date, usually within a week." Petey explained. "There are some rules of the ring, but we can go over those later. Are you okay with everything so far?"

"Yeah, it seems pretty straightforward," Ayda answered honestly. "When's this trial fight of mine supposed to be?" She realized this may have been pushing the issue a bit, but she wanted to get this over with sooner, rather than later.

"The sooner the better. Are you free right now?"

"Of course. Who's my opponent?"

"I am."

"Seriously?" Ayda scoffed. "Alright. I mean, I'm ready if you are." She expected to fight one of the guys training outside, but not him. This may be easier than expected.

"Great," Petey said with a wide gesture. "If you follow me out onto the floor, we can get started."

Ayda nodded confirmation. Without another word, Petey slipped past her and out of the office. The teenager followed behind him. The same little group of people was still outside on the training floor, although they seemed to have retired from training. One of the two fighters patted off his neck with a white towel, while the other took a long drink from a blue sport bottle. The rest lazed around separately.

Petey paid them no mind,. Instead, he brought his charge as far from them as possible to the leftmost ring closest to the door. This one was more or less identical to the rest—red ropes tied to black posts, which matched the floor-sweeping skirt on the gray mat—but the entire thing seemed markedly tidier. Either it had been cleaned recently or, most likely, saw less use than the rest.

The older man wasted no time stepping inside the ring. He stepped up on stairs at the far end of the ring and threaded his visage through the ropes. Once inside, Petey took off his stupid beige sweater vest and tossed it over the side. It landed on a heap on the concrete floor.

"No gloves or anything?" Inquired Ayda from the ground. "Not even a mouth guard?"

"You won't have safety equipment in an actual fight, so you wouldn't be ready if we used any right now," Peter responded, again making perfect sense. "Take off that sweater, though. Wouldn't want to give me anything to grab onto."

That was a piece of advice he needn't bother giving. Ayda had planned on removing the garment, anyway. She unzipped the old purple hoodie and stripped it off her torso to reveal a spaghetti strap pink tank top beneath. As she did, an ounce of hesitation sprung up in the back of her mind. The skin around her scars began to crawl. She suddenly became uncomfortably conscious of each and every one of them, especially the horrid stab wound on her left shoulder.

They usually didn't bother her. Or, at least, not any more. What years of brainwashing convinced her were signs of failure, she now wore as badges of honor. Not all were medals of victory, but they stood as reminders of all the times she'd survived and grown stronger. It took more than their accumulated influence to bring her down. Something about letting this gang of ruffians ogle them set her at unease.

She adjusted the left strap in a vain attempt to better conceal what lay underneath. This wasn't like her. She normally was a bottomless well of confidence, but the unwholesome gaze of several strange men bored into the back of her mind. Maybe recent events had a more profound impact on her than previously assumed. Maybe she still wasn't at one-hundred percent. Though, if Petey was looking for a true warrior, these numerous marks might convince him she's the real deal.

Doing her best to ignore everyone else in the room, to focus solely on her opponent, Ayda climbed the nearest set of portable wooden stairs and hung the hoodie on the post. Doing so drew some unwanted attention. One of the patrons pointed to her and mumbled something to his friend, who also looked. Had Ayda her staff, she would've thrown it at them. A cold glare was the best she could muster, but it seemed to do the trick. They jerked their gazes in opposite directions.

Ayda entered the arena to find her opponent limbering up. Petey made wide swinging motions with his arms to loosen the ligaments in his shoulders. The teenager couldn't tell before, but tight muscles bulged against his too small white button-up shirt. For his age, Petey clearly took care of himself. But, working out didn't equal combat prowess. From what she'd seen in movies, the owners of these gyms usually weren't great fighters themselves. This should be easy.

"So, is this full contact or are we just sparring?" She asked, to that effect.

"Nah, full contact," clarified Pete. "Show me what you got."

"And you're sure you don't want a sparring helmet or anything?"

"I'll be fine." A statement Petey accentuated by assuming a fighting stance. "Worry more about yourself."

"Alright, have it your way." Ayda did the same, and embraced her powers. She couldn't use her blasts, obviously, but the enhanced reflexes would be a boon.

Although there were no bell or announcement otherwise, with both combatants in ready postures it was understood the fight had begun. Ayda hung back for a moment—in great contrast to her normal bull rush strategy—to observe her opponent. He kept a typical, defensive boxing stance: left foot forward, a moderate base bent slightly at the knee, dukes up, chin tucked to protect his neck.

Her own silhouette was similar, yet wider and looser overall as well as slightly lower to the ground, which amplified the height difference between them. It betrayed a more aggressive tendency. Ayda smirked. Most of the opponents she fought fancied themselves boxers. She knew exactly how to deal with the style.

To that effect, Ayda charged at him, running full bore. Petey drew back a step and planted his feet, ready to either absorb or avoid a blow. But his opponent came up short. Ayda rooted to the mat, stopping instantly. Condensing her body like a spring, she flung herself up into the air, twisting on the way up. The girl came around with a vicious, jumping and spinning axe kick. Her right foot made an upward arc, then came straight down as she rotated toward the opposition.

To her astonishment, however, the attack met only air before her heel slammed into the mat. That strike should've been almost impossible to read, yet Petey dodged it without a flaw. He leaned back to slip it by not even an inch.

The moment Ayda touched ground, he was on her. Petey came forward with a double combo, getting right in her space. Ayda stepped back in time with him, parrying each strike barely. She offered a lofty jab in retaliation. It connected with his cheekbone, but accomplished nothing more than to halt his advance. The teenager attempted to follow up with a right hook, but Petey put up his hands in a cage block. The strike died on his forearms. He used this opportunity to take a big step back.

At this point a crowd formed. The guys who had been hanging around before—along with a few fresh faces who must've just entered—gathered around the ring to watch the spectacle. One of them shouted something incomprehensible, yet seemingly targeted at Petey. They bothered Ayda little. After years of testing at the behest of two scientists, she'd become more than used to people watching her fight.

Ayda would not allow the enemy a chance to catch his breath. She went forward again, closing the distance between them with a single stride. In almost the same motion, she chambered her leg and kicked twice, once for his chest and then immediately again a little lower. Petey leaned back again to avoid both, but didn't actually walk anywhere.

Ayda leapt from one foot to the other, bringing the one which once was on the mat around for a terrible inside crescent kick. This one Petey ducked under. Again, he waited until the teenager hit the ground before leveling a counter. He swung out with a right hook to the body, which slipped right past Ayda's defenses to collide with her kidney. She winced at the impact and took a few quick steps to her right, moving with the momentum transferred to her by the blow.

The two separated. This wasn't going Ayda's way at all, and that was putting it mildly. Petey put up a much tougher fight than she'd even ventured to imagine. How she longed to use her powers, to give him a good blast rather than hollow hands and feet. But that was out of the question. No illegal fighting circle would ever allow someone with strange abilities to take part. It would be an unfair advantage, after all. Ayda had to win this under her own power, with sheer skill and tenacity.

The combatants came together again. Ayda took a much more measured approach, exchanging blows with her opponent. Petey went for a quick lab-hook combo, which Ayda blocked. She answered with a low lick, but the older man raised his foot so the kick instead harmlessly hit his shin. He threw another jab, which Ayda dodged. She came back with an overhand hook, but missed completely. Petey had a considerable reach advantage. Ayda stepped back, out of the fray.

Petey reinitiated combat. Again, he led with a left hook. This time, Ayda was ready. She stepped to her left and turned a quarter rotation. The punch sailed harmlessly past her. The moment it reached full extension, she grabbed the arm with one hand at the wrist and the other at the shoulder.

The teenager bent her knees and pulled, an attempt to rip Petey from his feet. He would not be swayed so easily, though. The man widened his base. He slid a few inches, but remained indomitable. Recognizing the futility of her task, Ayda released his shoulder to instead give him a pair of blows—one to the ribs, and another to the cranium. Petey broke free and quickly stepped for the ropes. Ayda attempted to catch him with a hook kick as he escaped, but whiffed by an inch.

Petey whipped around as soon as he exited engagement range. He didn't remain there long. The man came forward with a wild right hook that Ayda blocked without even really trying. At almost the exact same time, Petey kicked for her shins, an attack with barely enough range to reach her. Ayda brought her legs together and avoided the attack, but doing so put her just slightly off-balance. She realized too late this had been Petey's intent all along. He struck out with a powerful uppercut. Ayda took it on the chin, but the worst part was the way her teeth clacked together. Perhaps she was the one who needed a mouthguard.

The aggressor seized his chance. With his back foot Petey let out a surprisingly high roundhouse kick a man his size shouldn't have been capable of. It may have caught a normal opponent off-guard, but Ayda was much too fast for it. She ducked low, well underneath the foot. With a swift arcing motion, she swept at Petey's one leg still in contact with the mat.

The man tumbled head over heels as his base was forcibly knocked out from underneath him. He landed flat on his back with an impact meaty enough to cause shockwaves through the canvas. The crowd let out an enthusiastic "ohhhhh" as he went down.

For Ayda, however, it was not time to celebrate quite yet. She righted herself and dashed up to the shoulder of her downed foe. Petey was just starting to recover when a blue and white sneaker pressed against his neck. He went stiff against its influence, looking up at the one who pinned him there. Ayda stood sentinel over him, foot planted under his chin. She snarled down at him.

Petey's eyes darted around, searching desperately for an escape, but found none after a few seconds. He gave a weak smile and raised upturned palms over his head.

"I give, you win," he croaked through a partially compressed windpipe.

Ayda let up, taking her foot from his throat and onto the mat instead. Petey took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out in one sharp huff. The teenager reached out a hand to him. After a moment's hesitation, he took it. The man righted mostly on his own. Ayda needed provide little assistance. As he stood, the crowd which had gathered slowly dispersed, seemingly disappointed at the abrupt ending.

Hostilities having ceased, the two now simply stood in the middle of the ring, the older of them breathing at a slightly accelerated pace. This was awkward, unbearably so. Ayda normally didn't parlay with the men she bested. They usually ended up either passed out or in custody well before the possibility of conversation presented itself. She had no experience with this kind of thing. Thankfully, Petey did. He spoke before the situation could grow much worse.

"Do you know how long it's been since I lost a fight that quickly?" He quipped.

"Is that a bad thing?" Ayda fired right back.

"No, I'm impressed. You don't look like much, but you pack a wallop."

"Thanks?" Ayda trailed off, unsure how to respond to something which was both an insult and a compliment.

"If you're still interested, I can see about setting you up with a match. Or, you can train here, if you want."

"No—no," Ayda denied quickly. "I'm still very much interested in a fight."

"I had a feeling you'd say that," Petey responded matter-of-factly. "I'll pass your information on to my boss, and if he likes what he sees, I'll get in contact with you."

"Sounds good to me," Ayda said, even though it didn't. The idea of her personal information being tossed around so lightly made her heart sink. Although probably harmless, these men were still criminals. Handing them her identity was the height of folly—especially considering her occupation—but she hadn't another choice. This was her only ticket in.

"Perfect, Ayda," her name slithered off his tongue. "I'll be in contact very soon, one way or the other. It's probably best if you don't come back in the meantime, though, just to keep the others from getting suspicious."

"Good point," Ayda said as if she hadn't already come to the same conclusion long ago. "I'll get out of your hair, then." She turned to leave.

"Stay safe," Petey called as she exited the ring. Although probably just a simple farewell, it almost sounded like a threat coming from him.

Ayda gathered up her jacket and wasted no time in exiting the gym. The air outside smelled sweet compared to the interior she'd just come from. Hints of salt drifted up from the nearby ocean, mingling with heat and exhaust fumes. She took a deep breath before mounting her bike.

As Ayda revved the thing to life, an odd sense of dread shivered down her spine. She'd accomplished exactly what she'd set out to—and it was much easier than expected—but something about it struck her funny. No matter how she looked at it, she's just thrown her hat in with criminals.

It wasn't the business itself which bothered her. Ayda had little problem with underground fighting rings. Rather, the likely clientele got under her skin. Who knew what kind of wretched villains gathered in such a place? Did willfully joining their ranks make her one of them? Ayda broke the law on a daily basis, but communing with criminals instead of busting them didn't sit right. At least she'd get to beat a few of them up.

She reminded herself of what brought on the current predicament in the first place. She only went to these degenerates because there were startlingly few other options. In a way, this wasn't even her fault. Bernard shared much of the blame. In trying to keep his daughter from chasing thugs, he turned her into one.