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Chapter 1: A New Light, A New Fight

The smell was his least favorite thing. Despite the old rusted lockers, and cracked tiling on the floor, the smell was by far the worst. It wasn’t one particular odor that violated his nostrils, it was an amalgam of several. The smell of old cleaning solution, the strong bleach like scent mixed with sweat from long years of use blended together into a concoction that had a couple more notes that traveled through to Roland’s senses. Coupled with the smell of old mildew and chlorine, one final scent was easily picked up that normally others would not notice.

Blood.

The metallic scent of blood, if one were to taste it, it would be like licking a penny. This and all the other odors mixed together into an annoying and noxious combination that frankly, Roland did not truly enjoy. And as he sat along the old wooden bench, the dark red rust settling in along the screws and bolts, he attempted to block out the other smells. He wanted to remove the chlorine, the bleach, the mildew, the sweat, and leave just the one scent that pleased him out of all of them.

The blood.

It was the only thing that pleased him at this moment. In effect, it was the ideal scent for Roland. Flowers are one thing, they are pleasant, pretty, enjoyable. But blood, in it’s crimson glory was the smell that pleased him the most. It’s the scent of humanity, the scent of life and death. For the warmth of blood is just one way of knowing you are alive. And frankly, life was something that Roland enjoyed greatly. Life is simple, pure, fluid. Just like blood.

The door behind him popped open with a loud crash as Dominic marched in. His blue eyes darting around as two men came in following him. They were large men, Roland probably guessed a couple inches taller than himself, and probably had a good 30 pounds more on him. Dom put his hand up to his head and let his fingers run through his salt and pepper hair, the short cropped hair glistening in the fluorescent light. He wore a lightly colored suit, a simple gold chain with a even simpler golden cross fell across his white shirt.

“This place looks like s**t.” He said matter-of-factly to Roland, placing a Marlboro into his mouth and pulling out a gold-plated lighter, “We gotta get you into better gigs.”

“Unfortunately there aren’t any good gigs.” Roland retorted, “It’s a pit fight, what’s good about it to begin with?” Roland had started to grow weary of the fights. He had been doing this for a long time, six years if he was correct in guessing. In the beginning he had enjoyed the brawls, they excited him, and he even catalogued and long since documented the fights with the best of his memory in journals he had Dom acquire for him. The number of journals he had in fact accumulated now slowly formed a small library of violence. Tracing his career from the very first fight to the fight he had last week. It was quite a show, he won of course, and the spectators all had a good show. But even now as he prepped for his next bout of bloodshed, he came to the conclusion that the is no longer enjoys it. One could argue that this was the result of the continuous desensitization that he had experienced for well over half of his life, that he had begun to hunger for far more excitement in his life, but it was much far simpler than that. He was not desensitized, not in the slightest. He knew and openly accepted the fact that he was doing horridly violent things to other people, and even killing them. Some might call that being desensitized.

He called it acceptance.

But the truth is, he felt that he had no true reason to fight. Of course let’s face the facts: he’s a cage fighter, what sort of reason could someone possibly have beyond the simple desires? Money? Sport? Or did he simply enjoy spilling blood? For Roland it became something of a matter beyond the simple earthly desires. Yes, it put food in front of him, and the money was good, he has a nice allowance in a very nicely cushioned bank account that only a few people within Dom’s group are privy to: Dominic and Roland himself, however Roland has the knowledge regarding the account information, including the bank. Whenever he needed to manage his funds, he would have one of Dom’s associates drive him several blocks away, make them think he was going to a small café. The bank believed him to play the stocks, and had done quite well enough from a young age.

“Don’t you talk to me like that you little s**t.” Dominic surged, “You do good in this fight for me, you understand? I got a little nice prize for you after if you do well enough.”

“Oh really, I wonder what it could be?” Roland pondered sarcastically.

Dominic answered with a bit of frustration, “Do me good, and you’ll find out. Now go, and make me some money.” Dominic then turned around and left the room, the door slamming behind him with a loud bang. Roland then proceeded to take a cigarette out of his pocket, a hand rolled one, one of the other pleasures he had acquired from his bouts. He placed it within his mouth, the dry paper pleasant along his lips. He lit a match, the sulfur bursting into his nostrils removing any trace of the other odors within his senses. Letting the flame dance along the cigarette, the smoke slowly and gently flew about as he breathed in. The fire filling his lungs with a strong punch as he held his breath. Finally letting out a billow of smoke, he took a few more drags as he stood up and walked towards the door to his arena.

Cracking his knuckles, he said to himself, “Time to go to work.”

The fight had gone well enough. He won, quite easily ironically. It was interesting enough to face his opponent, a man of rather large stature: with multiple appendages. He had in fact two extra arms. Roland had not imagined that this was to be a simple show, but who was he to judge. He had entered the ring with his cigarette in mouth, a factor Roland had taken to great advantage of in the end. His opponent came at him hard and fast, but not fast enough. Roland dodged all of the blows, cleverly and with the grace of a dancer. What he did not take into account was the fact that this man was quite the grappler. He managed to get him into a corner and soon had him within a four armed bear hug. Luckily his armor swiftly formed over his body to only accommodate a few bruises for later on along his rib cage. Cigarette still in mouth, the fight ended by dropping out of his mouth from the process of his guard forming. A bit of ash just so happened to land directly into the fighter’s right eye, which caused his opponent to relinquish his grasp upon Roland. The fight then soon ended by several swift blows to the head. He dropped with a thud, and Roland climbed out.

Dominic came over to him, “I thought you would kill him.”

“Not worth the effort, besides this fight was one by chance. No sense in allowing for an opponent to be robbed of another opportunity. He’s a skilled fighter, I hope to face him again.” he was quite serious about that. He had no desire to lose a worthy opponent, no honor in that.

Dominic said to him, “I understand.” the man had a long standing desire to see life ended, therefore he could only gather that Dominic was disappointed in letting him live. Roland had come to notice this over the time he had spent living with him. He was a sadistic b*****d, that only has a love for a three things: sex, money, and bloodshed. All things considered, he truly has come to hate him. “Anyway, you did good kid. Guess I have to give you that reward I promised you.” he smiled a devilish grin as he lead the way to the cars. A wad of bills bulged prominently from his coat pocket.

Roland followed him to the SUVs the night sky loomed over them. The grandness of the night sky was impeccable. He stepped into the vehicle, the leather seats a pleasantry that Dom continuously was excited about. Every now and then he would yell at the others for “messing up the damn leather”. He got so excited that he once pulled a gun out of on one of his clients. This was an unfortunate setback, and would have gone much worse had Roland stepped in. He wasn’t a man of words, but he knew full well that his ability to disarm him spoke much more loudly than Dom’s threats to bury him in the swamps.

Arriving back at the house, a large home in the outskirts of New Orleans, Roland was greeted by the sight of several cars and loud music. Great, Dom’s having another damn party. He thought as he walked up onto the porch, Dom trailed behind him as he began greeting guests. His loud voice started to annoy Roland, who wanted nothing more than to enjoy some peace and quiet. Dom of course wanted him to partake in the party.

“Come on! Your reward should be here soon enough! Just chill with us for a few minutes man!”

“I don’t care,” Roland said to him, “I’m going to bed. And if you even think about the tire iron again, I will put you in a body cast.” he was quite serious about that, as he walked up the stairs, remembering how he broke his nose for trying to do the same thing to him not a month ago. His nose healed quickly, but for the most part he made up the excuse he fell down the stairs. Yeah, stairs that were the shape of my fist, Roland thought as he let Dom continue on with this bullshit story.

He walked up the stairs and made the turn left to his room when he noticed something before him that normally wasn’t there. A young girl stood at the door way to his room. She was a good head shorter than Roland, her golden blonde hair covering her face. She wore a pair of tight black leather pants, a tight cut top clung to her frame. He stood there for a moment, wondering what exactly the hell was going on.

“Oh! There’s your reward there Goldeneye!” Dom called out from the bottom of the stair, “Play nice now big man!” and he continued back into the party.

So this is Dom’s brilliant idea of a reward for me. He thought as he approached her. As he came closer he realized that she was literally shaking in her boots. Getting to the door, he opened it and she quickly flew in. At least it looked like he invited her in, he thought as he followed. Closing the door, he noticed that she quickly had gotten into a corner.

“Please just make it quick.” she spoke, a hint of Russian cropping into her voice, “Just make it quick.”

Roland looked at her, and felt a pang of pity for her. This girl was clearly not doing this by her own will. Examining her, he saw her face, a beautiful angular face hid behind the tapestry of her golden locks. Her eyes were a powerful deep blue, like the oceans. And as he looked into that face he could feel the fear permeate from her and radiate into the room.

He finally answered to her, “I’m not going to touch you. However, you are still going to spend the night here.” He knew how this worked. If he sent her away after so long she would be beaten for not having pleased him. And of course the best way to fake that was to have her spend the night in his room. He saw the tension vanish partly from her body, and she began to relax for the most part. Looking upon her, he saw a cut across her hand. The bleeding had stopped, but it looked fresh.

“Has someone taken a look at that hand?” He pointed

“No.” she answered, her now looking directly at him.

“Let me take a look at that. What’s your name?” he asked, wondering what could have driven her to this life as he approached her with a medicine kit he picked up a few years back. It had long since been beaten to hell, but it still was a useful tool. Gesturing for her hand, he took out a bottle of antiseptic, a cloth and some clean bandages.

Hesitantly, she reached out with her wounded hand and responded, “Sonya.”

“Well Sonya,” Roland told her, “This is going to hurt, but we need to get that cleaned to eliminate any chance of infection.” he slowly unscrewed the cap off the antiseptic, so as to not startle her with his actions. He dabbed some of the antiseptic onto the cloth and as gently as he could placed it along the cut. She tensed in pain as the cut obviously burned. After a few moments, he put the cloth to the side, and wrapped her hand in the bandages.

“Where did you learn to do that?” she asked him, looking at the tightly woven cloth along her hand.

“Years of experience taking care of myself.” he answered, moving towards the bed, a shoddy twin size bed with a few sheets and a thick comforter, “You can sleep here. It isn’t much, but it is a hell of a lot more comfortable than the floor.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll sleep on the floor. I can deal with the hard wood, slept on that until I was 9.” he responded, his golden eyes warming as he offered his bed. He took his shirt off, revealing his tan flesh and intricate tattoos, the black ink running across his arms and back.

She looked at him quizzically, “Thank… you.”

“No need for thanks Sonya. The name is Roland by the way.” he took a blanket off the bed and lay down on his side, “I’m pretty tired. I’ll try and stay awake for you if you like.” he normally wasn’t this cordial to guests, but she seemed pleasant enough.

“No, that is fine.” she replied, “There is no need to stay up for me. Have a good rest.”

Roland rest his head along the floor and let sleep take him. He was soon enveloped in the darkness of sleep, a kind of sleep that would normally over take someone and never let them go. But Roland had learned to deal with that kind of sleep, to be able to rise when even the slightest noise.

But when he woke up he never thought he would imagine seeing Sonya laying next to him, under one of the blankets she must have brought from the bed. Her head rest upon Roland’s shoulder, gentle breaths dancing along his chest. And for once, Roland smiled, for something he never expected, happened.

Thanks ACM. More to come soon.