Brawl (Part 1)

Part one: a brawler in the rough

Chapter 1

A bloody Virgin Mary. Solomon remembered Maddox, his father, saying now she was a bloody Virgin Mary.

The recently demolished Lions Gate estates, a former gathering location for corporate clones trading with gangs for resources and turf, gave birth to the stench of fluids and open lesions.

Combating to curve the educated withdrawal brawling sowed into their body, derived from the passion of gritty bare knuckle fighting, LG's patrons flocked confidently into a slaughterhouse. But they left with legs and arms convulsing, feet echoing against the concrete.

In the brawling circuit, Solomon's stepmother was known was Virgin. He knew her was Mary, but the sadism amalgamated in his fathers voice sounded like he just met her within the ring, created by humans in love with freshly shed blood. In truth, the wedding band around Maddox's finger was suffocated in its givers flesh and blood. She was nothing to the man whose modifications required him to survive on Icde, and the weeping skin separated by his potent fists. After his father punctuated an opinion by a backhand across the jaw, Solomon knew that crying because of death was not futile. It seemed palpable that the term, 'father knows best', would never apply to his own father again. Maddox murdered Mary, and nothing said from his lips-the lips of a liar, drug addict, adulterer, murderer- would change Solomon's mind about the border crossed between love and madness.

The yellow eyes of his mother as she kissed him goodnight, there was love in that gaze. Heavy smell of fresh gore strewn out on concrete, and the Icde being produced by adrenaline intoxicated sweat glands-that was Maddox's madness.

The night before Maddox forced him to Lions Gate, his mothers future murder scene, Solomon knew the initial modifications to his body were Maddox's idea. Muscle enhancements first, same as his father. The only mods a prepubescent body could handle. Between breakfast conversations of school, he realized his father was methodically preparing his son to become a replication of himself. Forcing the gruesome reality of brawling onto a young, frail mind, not equipped to deal with bloody corpses with the incapability of sustaining life.

Arena medics appeared, taking Virgin by the arms and legs-an automatic response to someone who dies in the ring. If Maddox hadn't grabbed Solomon by the forearm, pulling towards the exit, he would've indefinitely stayed to mourn over Mary, the only mother he'd known since his own vanished into the prostitution ring, tired of being burdened with children.

Solomon blinked, interrupting the reenactment of his most vivid memory. Screams of an audience lost to the gore of illegal fighting rivaled the sound of police helicopters circling the city. At home, a half brother was waiting for him, instilled with a splinter of hope that he'll come back in one piece. Forcing tired eyelids to stay posted at the living room window, just in case.

Before entering Nirvana, the high-risk brawling arena known for disfiguration, he glared at his reflection. Maddox consumed his every feature, mod, habitual response. And for the torture of seeing a murderer everyday looking back at him, Solomon brawled for credits, which hopefully translated into the bodily modifications needed to beat Maddox dead. Death still wasn't enough-he had to grind his bones to dust and hope hell continued the torment. He wanted to finish the metamorphosis Maddox began. End the pain of knowing he' ll become a man who beats his wife to death in warm blood and jokes about it minutes after.