The week went on and I managed to avoid Rachel's accusing glares. She still fed me, expressed displeasure at the news stories, and threw kitchen utensils. It wasn't exactly the same, though, something bothered her.

At least it seemed that way. She was easy to read like I had known her forever and could pick up on all the little movements. A purse of lips was her form of disagreement. One cheek would twitch proceeding flying ladles. Outright telling me I was wrong equated to a normal person’s version of livid anger. This week, since Sunday, she had been broodingly quiet, hung up on something.

I didn't have a lot of room to think about it. Work came and went. No more deliveries to Camp Grace occurred for a few days. Our evening practices got better, though. Come Monday night two of Roy's spawn had returned, the set that looked like twins. They showed no interest in talking to me. In fact, they appeared bothered, almost afraid, anytime I got close. I wanted to ask where Roy went but they didn't say much.

The scrawny teen and his mom were gone also.

Cheerleaders came and went. Like there was a strange factory pumping out random combinations of females. The idea sounded like a fantastic strategy for some downtown gym. Yet, confusion often lined their features if they so much as glanced my way.

I didn't have the guts to talk to them. Not even a casual conversation. Approaching one woman is hard enough, but when they traveled in packs it became awkward. They didn't seem local, bringing them home to my room at Rachel's would probably be frowned upon. Never mind that I was trying to sort out my feelings about this girl I couldn't really remember.

Like most guys I'd known over the years it came down to a simple equation. The headache of small obstacles prevented me from making any attempt at conversing. Probably better that way.

Finally, on Friday night, I had enough of being completely ignored.

"Where's your father?" I demanded of them.

The twins were always near each other. They even exchanged a slight glance before one answered me.

"Gone," one said. They were hard to tell apart. Both had slightly thuggish faces, solid jaws, barrel bodies, and dark framed glasses that only came off well after sundown.

"Is he coming back?"

"He doesn't owe you anything."

"Listen." I stepped up closer and took delight in watching him flinch. "Isn't this whole gathering something he started?"

They glanced at each other again.

"Yeah." a twin gave a garbled answer. Whatever speech issues Roy and Tal had were clearly inherited by these two. Like they were trying to talk around extra large teeth or something. Not that I could see anything outright broken with their facial features.

I grumbled.

"He'll be back tomorrow, for you. He wants to take you to another match." They actually forgot their fear for a moment and looked happy at the idea of conflict.

That satisfied me and I turned to leave. For just a moment something felt off. A pressure, a shift, like they were moving aggressively. Nothing made a sound, not an audible one. I felt the stuttered edge of a drumbeat. The opening of a rapid pounding rhythm.

I paused and looked back toward the twins. They were standing shoulder to shoulder staring directly at me. Unblinking and measuring something. Belligerent drunks who didn't know what they were doing used that glare. It was an expression for someone eager to fight. I turned the rest of the way and waited. Roy's sons were probably well trained, likely had years of doing these moves that seemed to be the basis for a martial art.

How would I measure up to them? Were they sevens, eights, or higher? Did it matter?

They exchanged another glance then wandered off to their vehicle, a truck that looked to be waxed every other weekend. Truck. Hand wash only, dents not allowed.

If my hunch had been right, they were after a confrontation, and they either decided against it or didn't like their chances. Two on one was typically bad odds for the single man. I stood there a bit longer than needed trying to sort through the brief interaction then decided it didn't matter.

Rachel would have dinner ready by now, so I went home.

The next day I woke up during the late afternoon feeling both sluggish and apprehensive. Rachel had a worried look on her face and was staring out between drawn curtains. I tried not to sneak up on her but she was clearly engrossed.

"Nosey neighbor?" I asked.

"Too nosey," she muttered. "A man has been watching the house for the entire week. Part of last week too. Thinks he's clever hiding behind a mailbox."

"Nothing escapes you."

"Not very much." Rachel let the blinds slip closed and turned to stare at me.

I tried to ignore her and pick through food laying around the kitchen. Everything looked disorderly. Items on the highest shelves were nearly untouched for months. Rachel must not be able to reach up here without a ladder, but if that were true, who put them up in the first place?

"Careful eating there, your rent money went quick this week," she said. I pouted and stared down at the plate in my hands. It was a combination of mashed potatoes and turkey that I squirreled away after dinner last night. Rachel smiled briefly before saying, "I'm not saying you can't eat, kiddo, just might not be much tomorrow."

"Okay,” I said.

"Well, it might not matter. But it'll take more than a nosey neighbor to get me out of a house," she said, her words were faint and worried. I barely understood them. Moments later and she was back at the blinds peering out.

Since, to the best of my knowledge, Rachel owned the house, I didn't see why anyone would try to kick her out. Might be a small town rivalry. Or the local bridge club had turned against her.

Oh well. My current mission was to complete chowing down on another fine meal which contained a ton of pepper and garlic. Delicious in any combination. Afterward, I scrubbed off my plate and headed outside.

"You going out?" She caught me as I reached for the front door.

"Yes?" My hand on the knob wasn't clear enough I guess.

"You be careful tonight. Getting dark out."

"I'll bring a jacket," I said.

"Tell those boys of yours to be careful too,” she said while waving a finger at me. Her other hand held open the blinds.

"I'll tell them." There was no reason to keep it to myself. They probably had nice all weather clothes. Not that I could picture either of them bundled up in heavy jackets.

No, Roy and Tal probably were suit people. Something slick looking like that car Roy drove. I could see the man in a designer clothes, the kind that was hand tailored for a bigger build. He would look imposing in that kind of getup or as security for someone rich. Such a job might explain the nice car he and his sons had.

Rachel ignored my response and kept eyeballing the other side of the street. I gave it a glance but didn't see anyone of note. If there was someone there they were well hidden. Maybe Rachel was just getting old. That was a sad thought.

I went to the park and waited. Roy showed up an hour before sunset and didn't seem at all surprised to find me sitting there. Tal was absent. I got the feeling he didn't really drive anywhere on his own. Though I thought Tal was a local, and Roy was either an out of towner or just worked somewhere else.

"Ready to go?"

"Oh yeah,” I nodded.

"There's the fire.” Roy smiled but it looked strained. “It'll be a long drive again. You okay with that?"

Being in a car at all irritated me. "I'll survive."

We got into his car. The front seats were even better than the rear ones. Everything was adjustable. I pressed all the buttons I could find before ending up in an almost fully reclined position. Laying back made the trip much more bearable.

Ten minutes later I remembered that Roy had explaining to do.

"Roy?" I asked.

The large man reached over then turned down his classical music. "James?" he responded with a flat and nearly pure business tone.

"What-” my mouth felt dry, “-happened last time?"

"Which part?"

"I don't know,” my words drifted as I fumbled for a way to vocalize my question without sounding crazy, “I kind of, lost focus."

There was a pause and finally Roy said, "Battle frenzy."

The answer sounded like bullshit to me. "What do you meant?" I asked.

"It happens to warriors when they get lost in combat. Your mind expands, picks up lots of details."

"Like vibrations?"

"Sometimes. Touch, sight, hearing, it's a thrill that many combatants seek. It's why many return to fight week after week." Roy explained as if what had happened to me might be natural. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

"So you’re saying it’s just adrenaline?" I asked.

"If you like. My explanation sounds more majestic." Workout teacher, garbled speech, drives a fancy car, listens to classical, says words like 'majestic'. Roy was a confusing man.

"Do you enjoy fighting?"

"I do." His feral look betrayed just how much.

"Why didn’t you fight last time?" I asked. The car ride was making me sleepy. Maybe resting in vehicles was self-defense against the aggravating feeling of those gears grinding away.

"I only fight those worthy of my time."

"Like?" I wanted to hear more information on what Roy considered worth fighting.

"Champions. Men who've clawed their way to the top of a ranking. Veterans, strong new blood, doesn't matter." He shrugged.

"Do you normally win?" This man talked about battling the cream of the crop like it was a pastime.

"Usually."

I tried to picture myself fighting at that level. Against the best of the best. For some reason, it made my arm itch. I stared at the limb for a moment trying to figure out if there was a rash but noted nothing. A slightly charred smell did fill the air, probably from the car’s heater. Roy said nothing while rolling down one of the rear windows.

"That thing.” I didn’t know what to call his strategy of perceiving the fight as mine. “How'd you know it would help?"

"Old family secrets. My father always taught me that some people reacted better when they had a focus. Boxers do it, as challengers, or when guarding a title." Roy flipped a turn signal on and merged across lanes.

"Handy," my words were absentmindedly spoken.

"For some people, it helps things click. Try it again tonight. We'll be there a bit early so you have time to focus, mentally prepare. Maybe study the other fighters."

"Like you and your father?" I wasn't sure they ever actually advertised their relation since my arrival at Tennison. It was just obvious. Their family traits were shared across three generations. Maybe it was the hint of larger foreheads, squinted eyes, the slight barrel chest, any number of things.

"Yes. The old man’s still got the eye."

"Yeah, he looks like he’s been in a fight or two over the years." I had watched Tal. He had a slight limp in his walk. Not that it stopped him from keeping upright. It was just moving that looked painful. His skin had to be drawn tight and hurt somewhere under the full garb he wore. Scars, or burns perhaps.

"Tal’s seen the fires of real combat and dove straight into them. You'd be thankful if you understood the depths of it."

"Is he a war veteran? Military?" I tried to narrow down Tal and Roy's history. Service members would make sense. Roy's entire family could be true blue patriots. Maybe they were Homeland Corps. Those who fought for the Sector were often broken over and over until there was nothing left but steel.

"Not entirely,” Roy hedged. “We just take our jobs seriously."

"Mh?" I questioned.

"My father and I, my boys, we all have one real job in this world. To protect the family. It requires a lot of us. We train, we fight when we have to."

"But a man should enjoy his work." I was starting to get sleepy. Being in cars always gave me the same reaction. Stress, irritation, then it made me tired.

"That he should." There was a bit of tooth to Roy's words. Friendly, yet worked up at the same time. Something about our conversation had set the larger man on edge.

Why did I know that? It was like Rachel all over again, Roy had easy to read vibes. Everything we ever talked about came across without guile or falsehood. Family was a powerful motivator to him. Not just their existence, but protecting it. What an alien concept. My family was distant at best. Family felt like him cleverly alluding to an organization. Police? Mafia? Some other underground system?

"Your sons wanted a fight." I switched topics.

"Did they now?"

"Mh." The reclining front chair coupled with endless street lamps was starting to work magic. Almost hypnotic.

"You have my permission to put those men in their places."

"Men?" My eyes slipped downward. "Not runts?" I frowned, trying to remember when I heard them called that.

"Not anymore," he casually said.

"The Last Tribe grows. That is good." I yawned, not even paying attention to what came out my mouth.

Most of the motion was in his cheeks, raising upward to grin, then mouth pinching closed in worry. He didn't say anything outright for a few minutes. During his silence darkness crept in. When I opened my eyes much later he was talking on a phone to someone. The same worried look still present. It was easy to ignore. Calming notes from the classical music spun around in the background and put me right back out.

The car stopped. I woke up, expecting someone to start pounding on the window signaling our arrival. No such knocking came. In fact, Roy had barely parked and was just unbuckling his seatbelt. He gave me a raised eyebrow but said nothing. I shifted the seat back to its upright position and got out of the vehicle.

Tonight's location was much better than last week's. We were indoors for starters and stopped in a decent parking lot. People gathered nearby in larger numbers. We weren’t in a back alley and even the building was well cared for. This had to be a gym of some sort that was operating after hours.

Roy nodded his head over toward the door. We needed to wade past the crowd. I could hear the sounds of people talking. Some cursed and others sounded angry. The floor vibrated.

We headed over. Our goal was inside apparently, past a line of people stuck at the door. Roy barely even glanced at the bouncer and the man motioned us on in. People complained but no one tried to push by the guard. I guess he knew the fighters by face.

Women were at the door, but not very many. None fell into the high-class category. It wasn't like they were all drugged out coke queens or anything. No, they were just out here, attached to various scrubby looking men, waiting for something to happen. A few individuals looked fairly clean. This clearly wasn't a championship match.

Most were probably here to bet on the fights. I knew that kind of crowd. They put money down on anything that breathed, followed rookies from their starting positions all the way to their inevitable failures. Hopefully, I wouldn’t be one of those, the prospect of losing wasn't appealing at all.

I trailed behind Roy. The big man didn't bother going around everyone. Most parted as soon as they saw him. From back here it was impossible to tell if the man had a scowl or a people repulsion technique.

Then I noticed some of the people were looking at me, not Roy. Maybe there was something on my face. An unconscious sleeve check resulted in nothing. My frown must have disturbed the onlooker because he scurried off as soon as I looked back at him.

People didn't like me here either. I was used to that. Jogging in the mornings had shown me how much pedestrians avoided my presence. People avoided me nearly everywhere I had been over the years. This fact only slipped my mind because of how well Tennison had treated me. Tal, Roy, Rachel, Steven, even recently the bartender. Maybe the town was really growing on me.

We arrived at a locker room. It had that musty smell coming forth from the doorways. Roy shoved a pair of shorts into my hands that I hadn’t seen before. Maybe they had come from the car somewhere.

"Go change,” Roy said. “Pants and shirt won't work from here forward. Shoes come off too." I blinked at him but the man kept going. "I'll get you when it's your turn. Try to remember what we did last time. Make this place yours. Own it."

I nodded then went inside. There were a few other guys, all doing the same thing. They looked me over, I gave them a glance, trying to figure out what numbers Tal would assign them. Some were tense. Some nearly languid. They could have been fives, or threes and a seven. One guy to the side could have been an eight. Or maybe they were all the square root of pi.

I grabbed a bench, switched out my clothes, and debated what to do next. Roy had said to think of this place as mine. To focus on that belief.

My fingers clutched around the bench's edge. Thumbs ground back and forth across worn wood. Grooves already existed on the seating, probably from former people getting ready for a fight, just like I was.

Shoes were pulled off. Socks peeled away. The smell in here couldn’t get any worse. Too many men sat in a small room. Too much sweat saturated the walls. The floor wasn't extremely dirty, it wasn't exactly clean either. I worried about athlete's foot for a moment before it dawned on me that all the other fighters had their shoes off as well.

Hell. Now we were all part of the Brotherhood of Gross Gym Floors. That should make punching each other easier.

I noticed one object after another. The ground was actually warm, not disgusting, but heated. Smooth flooring sat below us save for the rubbery texture between tiles. This air was heavy. Steam filled part of the room, someone was showering. Water pelted into the ground, flowed down the curved floor into drainage. Silly little things that added up to a larger picture.

The location didn't feel like mine, though. Not like things had during that brief click last weekend. Last week I had briefly existed within the moment and been able to put my entire consciousness into the fight.

Shortly afterward everything had spiraled out of control. Roy said it was just a fighter's high. Runners got the same thing, especially at the longer distances, but these two things had been completely separate.

My clothes sat on the bench next to me. I picked up the pants and rubbed at the rippled cloth. Feeling the slight dips between each piece of machine woven material. Fingers traced the stitching that traveled down one leg. These jeans were mine, sure. It wasn't on the same scale as a place, though. Pants were just an object that prevented my privates from awkwardly showing to the world.

There was something, a hint of a memory or ghost of a feeling. The jeans almost hummed. Both eyes were losing focus, staring at the world like an optical illusion was forming in front of me. There was a growing disconnect between vision and everything else. Thoughts still centered on the sensation of fingers sliding across fabric as something strange appeared. A weird ghostly essence was slowly fogging off my foot.

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I blinked and the image stayed. It persisted with both eyes closed. Again, and again I blinked. My breath coming in a rush.

"Don't hyperventilate," one of the others said, which caused some chuckles to fill the room.

The foggy visual vanished. My head shook back and forth trying to recapture the feeling.

"You here for the tourney, or just a single fight?" a taller man asked.

With a frown, it occurred to me that Roy had not explained exactly what kind of occasion this was.

My lips pursed to one side as I tried to recall what we set up last week. "Single. I think."

"You've got time then. Singles are interspersed between the tourney fights.” He shrugged. “It gives us a breather. Well, some of us."

My head tilted up to look at the person talking. The guy near me, the only one actually, was a giant black man. Not the intensely muscled kind, but he clearly put work into his body. I could almost see him delivering a deodorant commercial or something similar. A slight tint of olive to his skin spoke of a mixed heritage. Tal might have him pegged as a seven. Maybe Roy could help me gauge.

"Thanks," I acknowledged the man's information.

"You’re not going to pass out right?"

The idea seemed possible. I had witnessed my foot shimmering with white and didn't feel too shocked. That alone should unsettle me, but hadn't. I shook my head in the negative.

"Alright." The man hesitated and both lips turned down in a slight frown. "Didn't expect Pack to only do a single round, though."

My back twitched once. “I'm not a wolf."

"You sure? I could have sworn..." The man sniffed a few times. A gesture that clearly said he was a wolf himself. I suddenly looked around, worried that I missed signs of other races.

"Huh. Well. You smell like one," he finally said.

Was that an insult or compliment? Coming from a human it might be insulting. Implying wet dog smell. From a wolf, it was just confusing. The only canine I hung out with recently belonged to Tal, a monstrous white creature he called Senior.

I shrugged.

"Good, I was worried for a moment. But if you're doing singles and not a wolf, then I doubt they'd pit us against each other anyway.”

"Okay." Maybe this strange talkative guy would leave me alone if I kept my responses short. It worked on other people.

"How long have you been fighting for?" he asked.

"Awhile."

"Talkative. Hey guys, what do you think?" the black man shouted at the rest of the guys in the locker room.

They protested, told him to shut up, but he kept right on smiling like it was all a game. Which, to a wolf, wasn't far from the truth. They were typically the best fighters, and it took an insane amount of training and skill just to go toe to toe with one. More if the wolf actually did any martial arts.

"I'm betting he's a striker."

"Nah, grappling. With those shoulders?" one of the others said. "Imagine a headlock."

"I could get out of it," another said. Soon they were all chiming in. As much to put each other down as to comment on their own skills. It was hard to tell if this was a chance to boast, figure out other people's skills, or what. This group was mostly amateur, though.

"Hey, what's the crowd like?" someone asked me. "You were the last one in."

I hadn't realized my arrival was that late. Roy's words earlier led me to believe we were early. Roy was probably the type to show up, get into the ring thirty seconds later, then leave once the enemy was hugging floorboards. Maybe this was his version of early.

"Scraggly," I responded.

"It'll shape up for the next few rounds."

“Prize money's shit at these smaller events."

"Got to jump the hoops." They kept talking and I had a hard time keeping up with who was speaking.

"You say that, but pitting against a wolf is unfair to the rest of us."

"That's why it's a two tier. You get an overall winner and a top human winner. Plus I have to wear fucking restraints." The black Pack member showed a bit of teeth.

"Should wear a muzzle," a scrawny guy said.

"Yeah, like one of those freaky masks they use to prevent prisoners from biting." Two of the other guys in the locker room were ganging up on the black Pack member. I kept my mouth shut.

"That'd suit you huh, mutt?"

"Hey, you’re the one with a loud mouth,” said the wolf.

"I'll send you running with your tail between your legs," responded the scrawny guy.

I couldn't tell if the other guys were trying to mess with him or serious.

"Only tail you’ll see of mine is your girlfriends," the black man said. "She'd by my bitch after one taste of this." Between the rude gesture and his smirk, it was plain as day that the black man didn't care in the slightest about the other two. Trash talking wasn't new to him at all.

I groaned. Bantering with a wolf inevitably devolved to accusations of sexual preference and doggy style jokes.

"She only likes real men,” the scrawny one tried to defend himself.

"Smells like you prefer real men too," responded the black guy.

"Hey now, nothing wrong with that," another male piped up, eager to get in on the banter. "Common, Teddy, what say you and me go visit the showers after a match? Huh?"

I couldn't tell if he was calling someone a Teddy Bear, or there was someone with the name of Ted in here. Everyone was staring at me, and it took a minute to realize it was the former, and the man had been hitting on me. The confusion on my face sent laughter around the room.

"Ah damn, that a no?" The other man looked hurt. He was thinner than I, defined, but not overly muscled. I probably had half again his weight.

"Not my type." I tried to keep quiet.

"Yeah, I'm more of an on top guy myself. I could dye my hair though if you prefer. I look hot as fuck with the platinum. Eh?"

Clearly they were screwing with me. Or maybe he was somewhat serious. I had been so comfortable reading Roy and Rachel that this stranger was difficult to understand.

"I'm straight,” I said.

"What? Where's the witty banter? Jesus fellas, I think he's been hit too many times. How am I 'saposta get rid of the pre-fight jitters when he's so serious." The awkwardly flirtatious one sounded put out, but was laughing by the end.

"So? Maybe he survived the first round because his opponent chickened out," someone offered.

"Won't work from here forward," the black wolf rejoined the conversation.

"First round's always stupidly boring."

"Bunch of wannabes signing up. No idea what they're getting into." There were too many people here. I glanced behind me to make sure this corner was devoid of others. Luckily I was mostly alone over here.

"I was there for his fight, guy one hit KO'd the other fighter. Dude swears he had a heart attack," another person said. I looked around trying to figure out who was speaking. Separating out the voices in this crowd of strangers felt aggravating.

"No shit?"

"God's honest truth. Bam, to the chest."

"See, striker."

"With those arms? I don't see it. Who’s he against?"

"Probably your dumb ass."

They kept going and I did my best to tune them out. It was getting impossible to track which one of the fifteen or so contenders had been doing the talking. It seemed like a different voice every time. Only three really stood out, the black guy, the scrawny one, and whoever it was that had called me Teddy.

I continued to wear down the fabric from my pants, relishing the tingling sensation on my thumb. It was getting sensitive, picking up the ripples more as I wore away thin layers of skin. A bump here and a thread there. Small snags from tears that had formed over weeks of heavy lifting.

The voices drifted in and out around me. People slamming lockers too hard. Their echoes careened around the room before becoming absorbed in the concrete. Feet slapped back and forth as contenders paced the room. Two fighters left, called forth by voices I didn't clearly hear. Some guys laughed, insulted, and threw out tones that were difficult to interpret.

Off in the distance, I could hear a hum. The direction was impossible to distinguish. That noise betrayed something, a vibration of energy. Like taut cords being twanged. I closed my eyes and tried to recall that energy I saw earlier. Tried to recapture the feeling of ownership. Anything that would help me tonight. I needed to hit something, and I needed to win. Failure was not an option.

Breathing slowed, growing less stressed. Shoulders relaxed, setting myself at ease. My spine curved just so at the neck, head hung down, watching the ground.

Remember this. Mine. See it. Feel it. This place.

Gradually I managed to recapture the sensation. It required moving past the strange thought patterns. I wiggled my foot back and forth, watching the perplexing haze around its movements, predicting where it would be and had been. Stranger still, the sight was evident with my eyes closed. It wasn’t like seeing with actual vision, but a feedback that was tangible. A hint of air curled around my toes. I lifted my head but kept my eyelids shut.

The objects around the room didn't have that vibrancy. They were inert, lifeless. When I tilted my head to the side and snuck a glance at the others, I noticed they had the same strange energy. Then there was their words. The way they rolled around the room and bounced off of objects. Not just the walls, but the air. Everything. It created an odd ripple effect.

Air thick. Laden with yapping. Room full. A Furry Thing. Pink Meats. Weak. Not a challenge. Want to go home. This place. Worthless.

The disgust running through my thoughts was intense. My eyebrows creased and tried to understand what had just happened.

"James," Roy's voice cut through the dull hum and succeeded in ruining my concentration.

I looked up.

He nodded at me. "You're next."

"Alright." I stood and went with Roy towards the door.

"Holy shit. Is that..." the black man muttered as we walked out of the room. I didn't know what he was talking about and didn't care.

Down the hall was where our fight would be. The room ahead was a huge auditorium or a college gymnasium. I didn't know they rented out for this sort of thing. There were bleachers on one side. People gathered on them in clusters. Most were engrossed by their phones.

Spectators sat in foldable chairs that lined the edges of our makeshift arena. We weren’t given a steel cage or boxing ring. Our stage was to be a wooden pig pen with reinforced walls. Solid, thick boards formed four walls with minimal padding. Cages alone couldn’t hold up to wolves dishing out damage. The wooden stage had another ring of chain link around it. One was a boundary for the fighters, the other a minor safety precaution for the audience.

Roy brought me up to the same gambling official we met last time. Today he was in slightly better attire with a pair of suit pants and nice button up shirt.

"Round two's simple. You're outside the wood for more than three seconds? That's a loss. You end up pinned for ten seconds? A loss. If you can't get up and keep fighting, you lose, if you die, you lose." If I died? That was a bit morbid. Then again with this kind of thing maybe it wasn't unexpected.

There were no point keeping judges. We weren't exactly fighting in a well-policed system. I saw a referee, but he was off to the side wearing jeans and a hoodie. Clearly the only way he gave two shits about this fight is if diarrhea struck.

"You avoid all those things, and you go onto the next round. Survive the two rounds and you'll be in the top two. Then next week you go onto Regionals. Buy-in's on the house if you make it that far." The fight arranger kept right on talking in a well rehearsed speech.

I guess that answered the question tossed at me earlier. Tonight wasn't a single match, I was in the tournament. Roy's face didn't show any apology. Maybe he didn't expect much from me tonight. My concern was releasing some stress anyway.

Roy ushered me over to one side, and the little man who had just given a speech went off to another contender. I barely took note of the person I was to fight. They could have been big, or strong, or wiry, quick, it really didn't matter. We would soon step into the ring, then from there, who knows.

I got into my corner and closed my eyes, not to try and pass time, not to reduce stress, but to feel that sense of other again. The one that had let me get lost in the moment and just move.

An iconic bell sounded, and before I had time to wonder where they dug up the fossil my opponent rushed into striking distance.

The last fight started with a crowd of people, in this ring, the border was wooden boards. I stepped out of the corner, refusing to be boxed in. The other fighter threw a kick in my direction then put his guard up in a well-practiced move. He expected me to strike back.

I wasn't functioning correctly. The blow barely connected with my leg but sent a throb of pain across my senses. Both arms went out in front, hands open, fingers slightly curved, ready to grab something. Roy hadn't shown me any moves like that, though some of the deflecting stances involved guiding the enemy with palm and wrist movements.

Another punch came my way that was brushed off. I swung back and missed. We exchanged more blows that went no where. This fight wasn't going either way. That feeling I wanted to recover was completely absent. The other contender looked annoyed as well, probably at my half-hearted effort.

He tried giving another kick to the same leg. I stepped out of the way and into a hand he had left out and open. One of my arms was grabbed then the rest of me followed, slamming into the floor as I was thrown.

That broke my meager concentration, and sent panic through me. I put up one leg to kick, the other pushing away to get distance so I could stand again. People in the crowd cheered at the sudden change in action.

I managed to get back to my feet just in time to be punched in the head. There was no time to figure out my strange abilities. No time to try and focus or get into some sort of zone. I had to fight, here, now, with whatever skills I possessed.

Both hands went up again, this time I stepped forward on the offensive. Sidestepping one punch resulted in getting hit by another. Still, I managed to push through that and bring a knee up to his side. Not into my opponent's balls like I might have done on the street, this was a somewhat clean hit.

He winced then tried to back up. I closed in then followed another knee to the side again. My fist swung through his face when he tried to dodge.

This time my enemy hit the floor face first. I backed up, breathing hard, trying to shake off the pain I endured just to do that small amount of damage. My knuckles stung, back felt raw from where I pushed away on the floor. One knee was almost numb from how hard I connected with the guy's side.

And him? He was breathing hard. Someone counted in the distance. Slowly, dragging his ass through each number from one to ten.

At a seven count the other contender stood up. Those seconds were all the breathing room given. He came back at me, trusting an offensive to keep me backing up. Despite the pressure I was enjoying myself.

A push kick caught me squarely in the abs. My back smashed into the wooden boards. A sharp line of pain accompanied my spine bending upon the corner. I dove to the side before a follow-up fist clipped me.

I shuffled backward across the arena. Trying to buy distance and coddle the pain in my back. Hell. This man allowed me no peace. More feet, knees, and elbows assaulted me. There was no type of blow frowned upon here except maybe a groin shot.

Roy stood off to one side with arms crossed. Not moving, not watching the other fighter. Like last time, he was solely focused on my actions. I spared him a glance then kept on moving. The crowd booed. Someone threw ice into the ring. Classy. Roy didn't even look offended.

I went back on the attack, trying to barrel through some blows. The patterns Roy had worked to enforce in us were falling apart. I was a step away from treating this like a street fight.

One shot got through, truly got through. My left fist collided with the side of his head. The other fighter's arm slipped down and lost any pretense of defense. I kept on swinging, again, and again, as long as he stood. The strength in my arm was weak due to the damage I had taken, but it was enough. Finally he crumpled.

My brain was rushing with energy. Arms felt heavy and tingled. Knuckles were reporting pain from the repeated blows. I looked over at Roy, and the clock near by. Four minutes of fighting without a break. No wonder I felt winded.

Well, winded and completely exhilarated, and maybe truly alive. The tingling that started in my arms was covering over everything, rushing by me like a tide. I failed at trying to capture that feeling of ownership. Yet, in terms of this fight, I won.

Roy said nothing while escorting me back to another room. This one sat separate from the first locker room. There he reviewed my wrists, checked the wound on my back, then grunted with disgust or possibly disappointment.

"I barely won that." My head hung down to make staring at the floor easier. I was trying to under what had happened and digest my performance.

"It was pathetic. A runt would do better," Roy agreed. He was barely a foot away, looking me over. I felt his gaze, intense, like a father figure who had been disappointed by his son's actions. A look Roy probably had down pat, and may not have intended to direct at me. Still, it was there.

"Guess I'm not champion material," I said.

"No, not like this. This, this is a disgrace," he nearly snarled the last word. A bench crashed against the wall.

I looked up at Roy, trying to figure out what he meant by that. The emotion there surprised me. His face was barely restrained. Ripples of displeasure rampaged across the man's face and were covered. His eyes wavered just slightly and betrayed just how livid he was under all that control.

It was like a pot just before the boil.

"There's one more round, right?" I asked.

He didn't say anything, just nodded.

"I'll do better next round,” I promised. There was a pause. That look didn't vanish from his face despite my attempted reassurance.

"Do that," he finally said, then stormed out of the room.

I had to learn to pull on that other sense faster. That sense of self made all the difference. I had to focus. Moments later I was sitting against the wall, breathing slowly, trying to ignore the small hurts all over my body.