Upon hearing the news, there was an excitement that had begun to fill Jonas' heart. He knew it hadn't been long since his enslavement, and looking back he couldn't see a future where he discovered how to use Sin and became a talented martial artist.

Jonas knew his new opportunity did not come every day, and he felt his muscles twitch in protest at the thought of losing a fight to his mysterious opponent from the Young gang. Whatever happened, he knew that he was going to give it his all and he would make any sacrifice to succeed. He would not go back to being a basic dummy slave.

“Tell me about him,” said Jonas.

“His name is Javier Garcia. From my understanding, he was an enforcer for one of the Mexican Cartels back in the late eighties,” Brow explained.

"An actual gangster," Jonas whistled, "Not like the phony ass thugs that you find here," and he shot a glance at the small-time goons who were guarding the various entrances, exits, and spectating the fights.

"Watch it," Brow narrowed his eyes, "You don't want to get caught insulting the guards. You might just never wake up again," and Jonas rolled his eyes in response.

"Anyway," Ahmed interjected, "What's Javier's record?"

"He's been fighting for a year or so now, "Fifteen wins, twenty losses."

"Not bad," Ahmed nodded, "Jonas should have a fighting chance."

"Maybe not," Brow looked a bit miffed, "He's too big."

"How big?" Jonas had a bad feeling.

“He’s six foot six and weighs about two-hundred and fifty pounds," both Ahmed and Jonas looked quite surprised.

“That's a big boy,” said Ahmed, “It’s going to be a tough task to win."

"I don't think he will win," Brow sighed, "It's the best I could do though. He just needs to make it a decent show and I should be able to get him another fight against someone smaller."

“Do these fights not have a weight class system?” Jonas thought it was ridiculous to go forward with such a mismatch. Javier had an advantage of nearly six inches in height and seventy pounds of weight over Jonas. The feelings of nervousness and suffocation began to grow as Jonas imagined a much larger fighter smothering him and choking him unconscious.

“Not really,” said Brow, “The only thing that your size changes are the betting odds,” and Jonas began to wonder how many smaller fighters had lost their match because they had to fight giants. Then again, David beat Goliath, and Jonas could see how lopsided betting odds might be intriguing for potential betters.

"Obviously I'm going through with it. I just think it's ridiculous that you couldn't get me into a fight with anyone else."

"Ungrateful moron," Brow's fingers twisted around his metal baton, "I had to find another gang who will agree to take a fight with a dummy slave, and I had to get Howard to agree to it as well. The Young gang was the only one who took me up on the offer and it was mostly because their leader would jump at any chance to embarrass ours. You think I want you to lose?" Jonas sighed and shook his head. He knew better than anyone how much Brow had already invested.

“It’s not that big of a deal though, right?” asked Johnson, “It’s a few inches and a few extra pounds. Jonas threw a top-five out of a sandpit, he can beat some small-time goon."

“They don't call them dummy slaves without reason,” said Brow while wearing a nasty smirk, "Javier has a longer reach, he's harder to hit, and he has more muscle mass which means Jonas needs to completely reshape the way he fights if he wants any shot at winning," Johnson looked upset at being insulted, but he swallowed his rage and stared red-eyed at his own feet.

"When's the fight?" Jonas asked.

"Friday, you've got five days to train and get ready."

"Just five?" For a moment, Jonas felt his confidence waver, however, he didn't want Brow to change his mind so he put on a victorious smile, “I’ll win. What’s my cut?”

“Cut?” Brow asked loudly, “You don’t get a cut, you-are-a-slave!” he added, “You better not lose, cause you’ll get cut if you do,” his threat came off rather weak.

“Fine,” Jonas said, “What if I win?”

“You need to win more than one match to start getting better benefits,” said Brow dismissively.

“Bullshit!” Jonas shouted, “I’m not fucking fighting if there isn’t anything in it for me,” and he watched as Brow’s hand shot for the holstered rod, his fingers gripping it tightly.

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“Watch your mouth, slave,” he said through gritted teeth. Jonas could tell he was seconds away from an explosion, but Brow swallowed his anger and added, “Who said there isn't anything in it for you? If you manage to win, I’ll double your daily rations,” and for a moment Jonas considered it.

“What about beer?”

“What about beer?” asked Brow impatiently, “Does this look like a fucking brewery?”

“If I win, I want double rations of what I’m getting now, that includes an extra pitcher of beer,” and before Brow could say anything Jonas hurriedly continued, “I also want a blanket, pillow, and a shower.”

“Oh?” asked Brow slowly, “Why don’t I just slap on a coat of paint and install some carpet while I’m at it,” he said as his angry eyes urged Jonas to quip something clever back.

“Double rations, double beer, blanket, pillow, shower,” said Jonas once more, “It’s not that much when you think about it.”

“Fuck you!” yelled Brow, “Who the fuck do you think is paying for your extra meals right now?” he pointed a finger at himself, “Me!”

“I thought the food was free from the cafeteria?” Jonas looked at him innocently, and Brow felt like strangling the naivety out of his only fighter.

“Free food?” he scoffed, “Nothing in this gang is free. Everyone gets a bare minimum as a reward for contributing: that goes for slaves, gang members, and fighters alike. However, I pay out of pocket for your extra food and beer.”

“Well,” said Jonas, “Just bet a whole bunch of money on me to win,” and for a second, Brow considered the suggestion without getting angry.

“I don’t think so. There's no guarantee you win and I’m already struggling to make ends meet considering I haven’t had a fighter win anything in almost a year,” Jonas didn’t feel very sorry for causing Brow to dip into his savings, as he felt like eventually, his new manager would make a very tidy profit off Jonas' fights.

“Think about it, the things I’ve asked for are simply an investment,” and he had a convincing way of putting it, “The food is to build strength, the beer is for morale, the bedding is for a good sleep, and the shower is so I look presentable. Don’t forget, I’m a reflection of you, and if you want me to become a crowd favorite, shouldn’t I, I mean you, look presentable?” Brow bit down his back molars as he considered the proposition for a moment.

Considering how much money he had left, as well as the pull he had in the gang, he figured getting some bedding and a shower was easy enough, but doubling the food and drink every single day was a pricy request that would eventually add up, and if Brow didn’t make clever bets on Jonas, or force him to fight extremely often, he would never have enough money to cover the costs.

“Fine,” he growled through gritted teeth, and Jonas could tell that Brow was bleeding on the inside, “I swear to God, Jonas, I swear to God, if you lose this fight, I’ll fucking end you, I’ll fucking take everything away,” he looked menacing, “The food, the beer, your life; I’ll fucking take it all away,” and Jonas couldn’t help but nod his head like a child as he paid no real attention to the threats and instead focused on the fact that he would be eating better than some of the gang members.

“Got it, boss, got it,” said Jonas, “I’ll win that fight, no worries,” and he gave Brow a thumbs up.

“You can have the shower the day of the fight,” said Brow, “The bedding I can get tomorrow, and the extra rations you can start with tonight at dinner,” and with one last menacing glare, Brow marched off and out of the fight pit.

Jonas was feeling rather elated about his negotiation skills, which seemed to have improved. Not only had Brow offered up new benefits, but he also had called Jonas by his name. This was something of a rarity as Jonas could only ever recall being referred to as a slave.

“You fucking mad man,” said Simon, “You’re the only person I know that could talk to him like that and get away with it,” but on second thought he added, “Okay there’s a few who could get away with it, but none of them sleep in a cage.”

“You gotta risk it to get the biscuit,” said Jonas, “I have all the leverage when it comes to Brow, it’s why I can almost do whatever I want as long as I don’t push past his bottom line.”

“Quadruple rations, double pitchers of beer?” asked Johnson in disbelief, “We’re going to be eating good,”

“What’s this 'we,' you're going on about?” Simon asked.

“Well,” said Johnson, “There’s no fucking way he can eat all that food to himself, is there?"

“No,” said Simon while stroking his stubble, “It looks like we will be eating well.”

“You have some interesting friends,” Ahmed said to Jonas as they watched the two useless slaves bicker about who was going to get the bigger portion of the extra food.

“Slaves can’t be choosers,” Jonas sighed, “What do you think I should do about my first fight?”

“I have an idea but you’re probably not going to like it,” Ahmed said with a very serious expression.

“What?”

“Remember that one crony that Wolf orders around?” asked Ahmed, “The big guy?”

“The one who wore Pete over his shoulder like a backpack?” asked Jonas, “Yeah I remember him, sort of.”

“He would be good practice for fighting opponents larger than yourself.”

“Are you shitting me?” Jonas looked at him in disbelief, “How would I convince Wolf’s lackey to help me?”

“You wouldn’t,” said Ahmed, “I mean you should pick a fight with him, that way it’s a real battle,”

“Fuck,” said Jonas, “That guy looked to be seven feet tall and three-hundred pounds.”

“Exactly, that's why he would make such a good sparring partner. If you manage to beat him, you’ll be able to win against Javier without a problem,” and although the idea was ludicrous, Jonas couldn’t help but feel that Ahmed was on to something.

“How should I go about it?” Jonas asked, “I’ve only got five days before the fight.”

“Start today,” said Ahmed, “Go pick a fight with the biggest guy in the gym, and if things get out of hand, I’ll stop the fight and get you out.”

“You’d do that for me?” Jonas looked awestruck.

“Of course,” said Ahmed.

“Fuck,” said Jonas as he got in the mindset that he was about to fistfight a giant, “I’m not sure I can beat him.”

“Me either,” said Ahmed, “I don’t know much about him, but I think he has a pretty good fight record considering he’s Wolf’s lieutenant.”

“Are you sure you’re going to do this?” Simon couldn’t help but have second thoughts about the entire thing, “Those guys hate you, and you want to go out of your way to pick a fight with them?”

“What did I say?” Jonas smiled, “Gotta risk it to get the biscuit.”

“That better be one big biscuit,” Johnson added, “Because the risk you're taking is a beatdown by a guy who might have ogre blood,” Jonas stood up and brushed the sand off of himself as he began stretching and rubbing his neck.

“How’s your head?” Ahmed asked politely.

“Well, I might have a concussion, but at least I still look pretty.”