Dax Harrac
Against the Ropes
His corner was empty.
He was alone.
Dax turned his head towards the crowd, thousands. A lot. A whole lot. They were deep in the stands, drunk from the first two fights. He was fighting in the middleweights now- heavier and bulkier than he was. Shockboxing wasn't as lucrative as it was, bloodsports were more evolved nowadays. Now it was these elaborate cage fights.
Dax had finally made it onto a card- he wasn't the premiere fight, hell, he wasn't even the last fight. But a fight was a fight. He bounced on his toes in the cage, narrowing his eyes at his opponent. His opponent bore a lot of tattoos, some he recognized, some he didn't. He only needed to know one- a Stormtrooper corps tattoo on his chest. Dax may have been far removed from the Alliance soldier he once was, but he definitely wasn't about to let a Stormtrooper fight him and win.
He paced back and forth, chewing madly on his mouthguard while the other fight prepared with his coach in the corner. He rolled his hands, watching the crowd. There was a lot of money in here- a lot of money for, against him. The prize pool could help him get off the planet, get him started somewhere else. No more city. No more crowds, no more taxis, no more bombings, no more shootouts.
Somewhere quiet, with blue skies and green grass not placed there by a gardener.
He waited for that bell, eyeing the crowd. A lot of variety there- and something felt off. Maybe it was his nerves, or maybe he was right and there was something weird going on in the crowd of thousands.
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