"PHIL ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME BOY!" Phil was out of yanked out of his thoughts by the smell of cigarettes that just smacked him in the face harder than Logan's managed to hit him so far.

As he zoned back into reality, he saw the face of a sweaty older man in his late 40s. The man had a total of about 20 grey hairs left on his head, a big brown fuzzy caterpillar resting right above his upper lip, and a big bumpy nose that was less than an inch away from his own.

This man was none other than Marc Hoggard. The owner of Bad Company MMA, which is the gym that Phil trained at because it, sadly, was the only one he can afford.

Marc wasn't a bad guy, but he wasn't necessarily a good guy, either. The only reason he gave Phil such a killer discount for his membership and even offered to be his cornerman for free is because Marc knew that Phil had an innate talent for shutting the lights out on his opponents, whether it was by knocking them out or submitting them, he never let the bout go the distance. He was born to fight.

So Marc knew that if he can act as his coach and cash in on his 60% cut every time, then he was more than happy to let Phil train and fight under his gym's banner to his heart's content.

"GODDAMIT, WHY ARE YOU JUST STARIN' AT ME LIKE A FIRE ANT IN A SHIT STORM? YOU TAKE TOO MANY HITS THE HEAD BOY?"

Phil looked at the veins about to bulge out of the poor man's beet-red face and chuckled as he stood up.

"Marc my man, if u keep smoking and yelling like that you won't make it to 50"

"Hmph, I'm not gonna croak until I see someone beat the shit outta that smug face of yours, you little brat"

"Well then, I got some good news for you bud, looks like you're gonna live forever"

"Hah!" Marc hollered, "Then go out there and prove it, boy," he said with a grin that made even the fans all the way up in the nosebleeds subconsciously put a hand over their wallets.

Ding! Ding! Ding! The bell rang, signaling the end of the 1 minute rest period before the start of the next round.

Phil eyed the tanned beauty as she walked around the octagon, holding up a sign with the number "5" on it before setting his gaze on the man opposite him. Not just in the cage. But in every aspect of their lives, they were opposites. Logan Druski grew up with a silver spoon shoved so far up his ass that he'd moan the second something didn't go his way.

This really pissed Phil off because that couldn't be further from the truth for his upbringing. He wanted to just stand face to face and beat the breaks off that kid but unfortunately, Logan was the champ for a reason, he was pretty fucking good when it came to fighting and Phil knew he couldn't underestimate his opponent and had to play it smart. That being said, he knew that this 5th round would be the last.

As they made eye contact, Logan scowled and with his currently crooked nose he failed miserably at trying to be intimidating, while Phil just gave him the most dazzling and charming smile he could muster and felt the cut on his lip open up even more.

"Blue corner, are you ready?!" the ref shouted.

Logan nodded.

"Red corner, are you ready?!"

Phil nodded.

A resounding clap pierced the silent tension in the air as the ref smacked his hands together and shouted.

"FIGHT"

Both Phil and Logan dashed to the center of the octagon in their orthodox fighting stance to control the center and control the pace of the fight.

They both start throwing light feints to recalibrate the range in their head and get a feel for the distance.

Logan throws a leg kick. Phil checks it and throws one right back while sneaking in a right hand that connects to Logan's body.

Logan retaliates and throws a 1-2 combo, and it hits Phil's guard.

Phil ducks in and twists his torso as he throws an uppercut that would've sent that spoiled bastard to the shadow realm if he didn't lean back and dodge it.

Phil then throws a 1-2 combo of his own with a leading left jab followed by a right-hand haymaker. Logan brings his head down to Phil's left as he leans out the way and dodges the strike. Even though he didn't connect, Phil smiled internally as he's been setting up this shot, and every time he throws that 1-2 combo Logan dodges, in the same way, leaving an opening for a brief second. Phil didn't want to be too quick to the punch and wanted his opponent to get comfortable before he let loose.

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The two fighters exchanged similar blows for the next minute, going back and forth like a game of chess.

Just when it seemed like no one would get the upper hand, Phil throws a 1-2 combo, and just as Logan leans away to dodge Phil snaps his left leg up and a resounding clap like wood on wood reverberates through the entire arena as Phil's shin connects square with Logan's head and makes the latter go limp like a puppet whose strings just got cut.

A brief silence took a hold of the arena as everyone watched with bated breath to process what just happened.

For Phil, that half-second of silence always seems to stretch forever. A limbo where he's soaked in sweat that steams off of his body that feels like it's a thousand degrees. Watching his opponent fall in slow motion.

Logan's body smacks the canvas, taking everyone out of their trance. The arena erupts in a volcano of sound.

The adrenaline in Phil's body was at its peak as it coursed through his veins. His heart beating like a drum in his ears, washing out the screams and cheers of the crowd who were on their feet cheering after witnessing such a clean and brutal knockout from the challenger.

"YYYYYEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" Phil screamed as he basked in this rare elusive feeling of happiness that penetrated his bleak, depressing life.

Marc's beer belly bounced up and down as he laughed in triumph and envisioned the riches he would earn from all the bets he made with friends and foe alike.

-----

"Wanna make it a large?"

"Uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhh, fuck it yea I'll take a large"

"Sure thing, you're number 13. We'll call out your number when it's ready"

Phil decided to step outside in an alley behind the McRonalds and take a nice, not-so-fresh breath of Philly air.

As he looked up at the night sky, waiting for his traditional post-fight milkshake, he tried to see if he could find even a single star that managed to not be drowned out by the city lights. But look as he may, all he found was the empty black cavity of space looking right back at him. A dark, suffocating blanket devoid of any light enveloping him from above.

"Found you, you little shit"

Phil looked toward the entrance of the alley and saw the broken blue face of Logan Druski.

Phil smirked. "Looks like somebody finally woke up from their nap."

"You're dead, a dead man walking. Did you really think I was just gonna let you run away with my belt?" He could see the fury burning in Logan's eyes as six guys, all holding bats, gathered behind him.

"So this is how it's gonna be," Phil said, as he prepared himself to fight the seven armed men all by himself. He rarely makes dumb choices, but Logan and his goons were blocking the only exit in the alleyway, so even if he wanted to do the smart thing and run away, he wouldn't be able to.

Phil knew he would lose, so he decided to go out in a blaze of glory and take at least one or two of these assholes down with him.

He urged his tired, bruised body forward and charged toward them at full speed, catching them by surprise. He jumped and snapped his legs out before they could react, delivering a satisfying dropkick square to Logan's chest, sending him flying back and gasping for air.

The other six goons finally reacted and attacked Phil all at once. Phil started swinging back without prejudice, hitting whoever and whatever he could, and a slugfest began.

After several exchanges, one bat made its way through the cluster fuck of arms and bats and nailed Phil right in the temple, bringing him to his knees.

The rest of the goons took advantage of this opening and started swinging haymakers wherever they could land, battering him from head to toe while Phil just curled up, trying to protect himself as much as possible.

Logan recovered, pushing the goons out of his way as he snatched a bat from one of their hands and walked toward Phil. He looked down at Phil and smiled as he crouched and got up in his face.

"Who's smiling now?" he said.

Phil responded with a 'kth-pooh' as a glob of bloody spit hit Logan's eye.

Logan reflexively fell back and wiped the spit off of his eye while hurling slurs at Phil. He stood back up, as enraged as a bull in a bullpen. Phil could see the murder in his eyes and tried to smile back as much as his beat-up face would let him. That dazzling smile broke the last strand of sanity Logan had as he yelled, "YOU MOTHERFUCKER" and brought his bat crashing down on Phil's face.

He kept bludgeoning him over and over, venting all his fury. Phil's life flashed before his eyes as he went in and out of consciousness. He had it rough ever since he was born into this cruel, unforgiving world. After being raised in a shithole by shitholes, he realized he was at least going to die doing the one thing he loved. The one thing that kept him sane through all the years of neglect and suffering that he endured. He died fighting. As his memories, and Logan, kept bombarding his brain, he realized he had never been happy. Not even once. Not one fond memory crossed his mind.

A dad he never knew.

A mom who loved abusive men more than her own son.

Ever since he was young, he had never found a single person who cared about him. Nobody he would consider a friend. Even Marc was only in his corner for the money.

But there had to be a girl, right? A girl who could see past the rough exterior? A girl who could see past the constant frown that had etched itself onto his face over the years?

Not for Phil.

He had nobody.

Nothing.

Although for him, it seemed like it lasted a lifetime, the entire altercation only took a couple of minutes. Logan and his goons all ran away before anybody could see them because they knew there was no way Phil was coming out of that alleyway alive.

Phil laid there.

Wheezing with each labored breath he took.

He once again looked up at the dark void above that didn't have a single star to keep it company. It seemed to be mocking him. 'You just had to get the last laugh, didn't you?' he thought.

As he felt himself slipping away, he felt a sense of relief and hoped that in his next life he could live a happy, fulfilling life.

Although he couldn't move, he tried using just his eyes to look around to see where the robotic Alexa-like voice was coming from, but couldn't find anybody. 'Huh? So dying makes you crazy, I guess'.

Just as he took his last breath, he heard a faint voice from inside the building, except he could tell that this voice belonged to an actual person.

"Number 13! Large vanilla milkshake for number 13!"