Smokey’s was two things. First it was a homely and half decent bar in Chicago that did enough business to keep afloat. However it had second function in the seedier parts of Logan Square. It was host to a rather populated underground fighting ring, that sat beneath it’s fake varnished wood floor in a concrete covered basement. The set up was simple, one large and falling apart boxing ring surrounded by benches and a small table serving booze. On Saturday nights, as the moonlight reached a midnight apex, it came alive and so did Leland Avery.
Today was quite the night, the smell of booze hung in the air while raucous conversations echoed out through, money being passed like a donation drive, as bets were made and hands were shaken. On the average night, you could make three hundred bucks from a win, not that Leland was there for that. The money was helpful but only insofar as given him something to blow freely without consequences - normally on rum.
The heat clammed around Leland as he stood in his wife beater vest, belt off as per the rules (a few years ago apparently a man used one like a whip during a fight). It was his turn to go. He stared at the dimly lit stage, rolling bandages tightly over his fingers. Even now, outside the ring, he could feel the adrenaline start to build, and light came to his dark eyes. This was it, and the electricity of excitement crack between each of his knuckles at the memory of what this would bring. He would win, or he would take the blows, but either way he’d leave with a smile on his face.
“Gentleman! We’ve got some old favourites here today, squaring off for a second time. First our beloved Champion, the former navy Seal and a Goliath in his own right, Colton “The Mountain” Jones!”
WOOOOoooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOO!
The face that ducked under the ropes was a familiar one. Colton Jones wasn’t a pretty man - his face had clearly being punched into something resembling a bruised apple, and his nose was so off centre you’d wonder whether it had been broken, or ripped off and stuck back on badly. But by god was he big. He stood a head taller than any man in the basement and even with the high ceiling, he would likely reach the top without much effort. It wasn’t just his height either, his muscles bulged in his tshirt and his calves were large enough to feed a family of eight. He truly was a mountain, and last time Leland had faced him, he’d nearly sent him home in a body bag. But that didn’t deter the Marshal. You didn’t get into the line of work he did without some big balls.
Plus this time he had a strategy, and some extra anger to let loose. “And second, our crazy, unrestrained uncle that’ll still be coming here even with a zimmer frame.”
The crowd gave a collective laugh, the referee giving a smug look at the attention. Leland licked his lips and cracked his neck as he thought about giving that man his own beating. Other than the peppering of grey in his beard sometimes, he surely didn’t look that old?
“It’s Dale “Dallas” Lee!” The applause was still there, though not as loud as for Colton. Not that Leland gave a shit, but he’d somehow become a sort of legend in these parts on the simple fact that he’d been doing it for years, that and he won even when people thought he had no chance. A mix of having a love for pain itself and being agile from all his years of fitness in both the army and the deputy marshals was the key to his success. It felt odd to have people know you by a different name, but it wasn’t like he really cared about any of these guys, they were just the tool for his own desires, just like he was their entertainment.
He didn’t show off like Colton when he entered the ring, simply getting himself in fighting stance and doing a small hop to make sure his body was warm and ready.
“Ready?”
Two nods.
“Fight!”
Colton didn’t hold back. The first fist came out almost immediately, but unlike last time, Leland was ready. He ducked his head neatly under the jab, throwing in a punishing hook into the mountain’s side. It was like hitting concrete. His opponent showed no sign of hurt and his skin barely moved but Leland knew in a fight it didn’t matter. Just because it look like it didn’t hurt each punch would add up.
He hopped back, putting distance between them as they encircled each other. Leland kept his eyes on those deadly looking fists, as he made sure to not get too close to the ropes.
The next encounter hurt more, as Colton charged forward, reminding Leland quickly that this wasn’t a boxing match. The giant fighter seized Leland’s waist, trying to push him to the ground. The air pushed out of marshal’s lungs from the impact, but he fought back immediately, his knees coming up to slam into Colton’s stomach. His elbows joined in too, battering at the man’s face.
His knuckles began to sting, but it only spurred Leland on. That pain, he lived for it, each small drop brought him closer to the feeling he desired. The one that kept him going.
But he was up against the mountain, and even those sharp blows couldn’t stop Colton throwing Leland to the ground, lifting him up and tossing him to the other end of the ring like a barbie doll. His back slammed into the hard leather, Leland arching in as it reminded him how old his was.
There wasn’t much to think about before Colton was on top of him, ready to start bloody murder. It was a repeat of their last fight, and he knew what was coming. But as Colton stranded him, pushing that heavy weight onto his stomach, there was only a manic look on Leland’s face that made even the mountain pause.
It was only a moment, and then the first hit came down. He could smell the blood as it dripped down his nose, licking it as it touched his lips. Pain. Agony. His body tensed with it, coiling as a shock of sharp neural impulses shot through his muscles and mind.
Another punch and he could feel his jaw click, as bone feebly took the impact. Now the blood was in his mouth, pooling among his teeth. But when Leland looked up he no longer saw Colton “the mountain” Jones. He saw a man in a mask, light blue eyes piercing through the slits of the balaclava.
Freeze!
Leland!
Bang! Bang…
His stomach burnt in memory, as his blood raised and suddenly his eyes saw nothing but red. All that echoed in his mind was the screams of a crying girl, all he could see was her being dragged away by the man with the blue eyes, and the blood. His own blood, spilling through his hands as he held onto parts of him that were never meant to be held.
He felt the unshakeable, relentless, berserk rage fill his whole body. The anger he had felt in those moments, that poisonous, frenzied hopelessness that drove a storming resentment in his veins. It had the power to make a man do stupid things, or in Leland’s case bestow on him a temporary insanity that made him do the most unpredictable things.
A bellowing roar, the kind belonging more to an animal than human, rang out in the ring as the laughter died a moment and all eyes lay on the stage to witness what was about to happen. The mountain’s fist hovered in confusion as spittle launched into his face at Leland’s cry, but he didn’t have time to wipe it as suddenly the deputy’s head came careering into his own.
Their heads smashed like metal plates, not that Leland could feel the pain anymore, completely lost in his own torturous memories. The impact was sudden enough to send Colton leaning backwards, which gave Leland all the space he needed to slip his legs out and kick the man off him.
Colton seized his likely ringing head, blinking from the migraine that was forming as he didn’t have time to see a unstoppable Leland. The nimble older man wasted no time returning the favour from behind, leaping to launch his entire body at the other fighter. Even at his size, the mountain couldn’t take the full weight of another man, and they both toppled to the ground, but with Leland on top.
The rest was just a blur to his mind. His fists went wild, hammering over and over again, the initial pain as they crack along Colton’s already broken face lost in the slick blood that began to cover them. He wasn’t even thinking where he was striking - eyes, nose, mouth, it was all the same. He didn’t know how long he was punching the daylights out of the other man before a few regulars jumped into the ring and dragged him off.
The whole basement was completely silent. Colton lay almost still, the ring covered in splatters of blood. The referee charged forward, immediately muttering to the mountain and checking his pulse. Finally there was a cough and Colton stirred, groaning and rolling to his side, to which there was an audible breath of relief.
“The winner is, DALLLLLAAAS”
The crowd erupted. It wasn’t necessarily applause so much as reaction, grumbles of loss, hurrahs of surprised victory against likely bad odds and general discussion. He had just upset the Champion.
Leland paid near no attention to any of it. They let him go, focused on dragging Colton out of the ring while he was left standing, blood dripping down his nose still, knuckles numb and unmovable. He took a breath, looking around at everyone their gazes expectant. They wanted a show, for him to be victorious. But the man he wanted to kill just then was still alive, and now the pleasure was simmering his body simply wanted more and there would be none tonight.
Despite everything Colton wore him down enough that this would be a decent end to the evening. With a small breath, he shifted to the ropes and ducked out, moving to a small nearby bucket to wash the blood off his knuckles.
In the ripples of the bucket, he saw himself. Beat, bloody but more than that. He looked empty. He laughed weakly to himself. His voice was a whisper.. “All hail the new champion.”
Anya looked down as her phone beeped, alerting her to yet another happy birthday text that also served as an apology for being unable to celebrate with her. “You know, at some point, a birthday just becomes a normal day, but if you ever wanted to know whether or not having a birthday the day before a major national holiday sucked or not, it does. It really, really sucks.”
So, perhaps this hadn’t been the best idea that Florence had had. She’d only been in the city for two months, two months of not knowing what street lead where, and not knowing what shops were just around the corner. She had walked out of her apartment with a spring in her step and a desire to meet people and get to know the city -- and now she had found herself in the Museum, specifically The Loop (she believed it was called), and she had a passport in her hand. The map was all sorts of confusing, and a heavy sigh passed through her lips as she headed through the doors to the Aquarium floor.
The cool, dark blue hue of the room calmed her slightly, and a nervous hand ran through her brown locks as she moved over to the first tank, praying that one of the creatures inside matched one of those she was looking for. “How am I supposed to see the clown fish if it’s hiding in an anemone?” Florrie spoke without thinking, the worlds coming out a little louder than intended.
Five miles - that's what the blone ran every morning at six. She wore ten pound weight bands on both wrists and ankles, and once a week she even added a resistance band to her ankles, as well. However, she missed her run that morning due to a work thing, so she was getting it in now, both large dogs (rhodesian ridgebacks) running alongside her. Both off leash and rather well trained in many things - but one of them sometimes liked to make friends. He had ventured off to a bystander, wagging his tail excitedly at them.
"Simba!" Missy called out, jogging over, reprimanding the dog. She wore just a sports bra and pants from the run, and stretched out her arms a little as she stopped to collect her dog, who obediently took the walk of shame back to his owner after a moment of hesitance. "Sorry about that, Darlin'. You ain't afraid of dogs, are you?"
“No, I’m not interested right now. Yes, I know, I-” Max pressed her lips together in mild annoyance as the voice on the other end of the phone continued to speak. “I understand that, but right now, other things are taking priority. Bear with me a little longer. I’ll have your answer soon.” She hung up the phone before the other voice could interject again and sighed. “I hope I will at least.” She put the phone away only to look up and see someone nearby. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make a scene. I apologize if I bothered you.”
Anya was walking down the street with a bag full of toys to donate at the nearest drop off when the door of the shop she was passing bust open. “Now everybody just stay on the ground!” A masked man yelled, pointing a gun back into the store as his masked friend ran out. Before Anya could even react, the gun was turned on her and pointed in her face. “Don’t try to be a hero. Don’t do anything stupid.” “Jesus Christ,” Anya dropped the bag of toys and put her hands up in the air, letting the gunman direct her to press herself against the wall. By the time it was safe for her to turn back around, the men were long gone and police sirens were rushing closer. “Ugh! What? Do I have a target on my back that says ‘Trouble come get me’ or something?!” She bent down to pick up the dropped toys. “I guess at least I wasn’t robbed.”
The world was vibrant. Not in the way movies were when you turned up the contrast, but in a pulsing, living sense. Every little piece of stimulus felt like it hit him ten times harder. The air wasn’t just bitingly cold but it held a kaleidoscope of smells with it, everything from the sandwiches of the local deli to the perfume of passing women.
Jackson loved it, though likely his brain wasn’t wired to think much else. It had only been two pills, two simple doses and yet the world was alight in a way it had never been before. He had hesitated so long, but ever since he had the moment with Anya, everything had seemed dark, boring and lifeless. His artistic self had been crying out for something, anything to stop him becoming boring, ordinary Jackson again.
It took some time. At first he took it out on the canvas. He ripped three in an induced rage, just unable to do anything. He couldn’t work, taking a two week leave, he couldn’t paint, his heart too torn to get anything in paint. He was slowly becoming a husk, just as he had been in LA.
They’d just been waiting for him. Begging him to write a fake prescription and request the legal high from the pharmacy. Now they ran through his blood and made both himself and the world pop into colour. It was hard to describe what it did to your thoughts, but Jackson’s raced at about a million per minute. The most mundane became spectacular and was likely the reason he ended up scaling a tree as if it was a mountaintop.
It was like entering Charlie’s chocolate factory, except the candies were leaves. They just seemed exceptional to him in that moment, each trace of the vein along their green surfaces like a mini-painting itself. They carried a startling freshness with them, and Jackson found himself trying one without a second thought.
“Bitter.” He grumbled to himself, so lost in thought he didn’t feel the branch crack under his weight until it was already broken and sending him hurtling to the ground.
The world didn’t just feel more, it also hurt a whole lot more. Jackson groaned on the ground, blue eyes staring bleary at the sky, which seemed like an infinite ocean spread. Laughter bubbled to his lips, unstoppable and loud. He didn’t know why, but he thought falling had just been hilarious.
It was late, far too late for a woman of her age to be walking along the street of Logan Square at night alone, but the darkness didn’t scare her any more. It hadn’t scared her for a long time - in fact, Florence saw it more as a friend than a foe. The darkness hid things that didn’t want to be seen, and that had always once worked in her favour, and perhaps it would do now. She was on her way home after a drink at a local bar, just one glass of red wine after a long day at work when a deep moan from down one of the pitch black alleyways beside her alerted her to the fact that she may not be alone.
The hairs on her arms stood up on end as she stopped dead in her tracks and swallowed the lump that had appeared in her throat. “Hello?” No response. “Is someone there?”
