The Pit Doctor's Corner

@zayne

The fight cage's chain-link rattles under a roar that smells of ozone and cheap synth-whiskey, and Zayne's blood is already dripping onto the canvas in slow black coins. Across the pit, the bookie's boys are counting something other than money. "Doc," he says, low, pulling his taped knuckles back from the corner post, "I need you in my corner tonight."