Eastview wasn't known for peace. It was a city where street fights settled disputes faster than words, and the guy at the center of most fights — whether in the ring or on the sidewalk — was Mark.
Ex-underground fighter. Gym owner. Sharp fists, sharper tongue. Mark was a legend in his local scene, both for his devastating roundhouse kicks and his habit of talking trash mid-fight.
On a typical afternoon at his gym — the Iron Jaw Dojo — Mark was surrounded by grunting teens doing pushups.
"Come on! This ain't a yoga class! Sweat like your rent's due!" he shouted, pacing around like a coach in an action movie.
The gym doors creaked open.
Mark turned.
A man stepped in, face half-covered in smeared clown makeup, a red-tipped cane tapping against the floor.
Mark's grin faded instantly.
"…Adam?"
The students paused, glancing at each other.
The man removed his coat, revealing a tight tank top, bruised knuckles, and a tattoo of a cracked smile on his chest.
Adam.Mark's best friend. His former training partner. His lost brother-in-arms.
Now? He looked like a rejected Batman villain.
Adam's voice was low and smooth. "Long time, no left hook."
Mark crossed his arms. "You lose a bet with a circus, or is this just Tuesday for you?"
Adam chuckled and dropped a black envelope at Mark's feet.
"Friday night. Midnight. The Warehouse. You and me — one last round."
Mark didn't pick it up.
Adam leaned in close, voice venomous. "You walked away, Mark. You left me behind while the world cheered you on. Now I'm here to return the favor... with interest."
And just like that, he walked out.No fight. Just an invitation.A warning.
FLASHBACK — TEN YEARS EARLIER
Mark and Adam trained under Old Master Kano, a grumpy ex-fighter with a beard like a steel wire brush and fists that could split wood.
They were brothers. Not by blood, but by bruises.
Adam was faster. Mark was stronger. Together, they wrecked local tournaments and backyard rings across the city.
But then fame came calling.A scout picked Mark.Adam was left behind.
Jealousy brewed. Words were exchanged.And Adam disappeared.
PRESENT DAY — NIGHT BEFORE THE FIGHT
Mark sat in his gym office, staring at the envelope.
"Shouldn't even think about it," he muttered.
"Too late for that," said Rico, Mark's assistant and the gym's part-time trash talk expert, holding a bowl of cereal.
"You think it's a trap?" Mark asked.
Rico shrugged. "Oh yeah. 100% trap. But if you don't go, he'll just clown around the city until someone films it, and we'll be trending for all the wrong reasons."
Mark stood up, cracking his neck. "Fine. If it's a trap, I'll beat the truth out of him."
Rico tossed him a water bottle. "Make sure you do it in the first round. I got a hot date with leftover lasagna."
FRIDAY NIGHT — THE WAREHOUSE
The Warehouse wasn't a venue — it was a vibe. Dusty, grimy, and echoing with chants.
A steel cage stood in the center, lit by floodlights. Crowds surrounded it, filming on their phones, betting cash, and cheering like it was WrestleMania meets stand-up comedy night.
Mark stepped in. Shirtless. Calm.
Adam was already inside, bouncing like a maniac, his clown makeup freshly applied and his eyes wild.
"Let's see what those fists learned while I was rotting," he hissed.
Mark cracked his knuckles. "You always were dramatic."
The bell rang.
THE FIGHT
Adam flew forward like a rocket, fists swinging. Mark dodged left, countered with a jab to the ribs. Adam grinned and flipped backward.
"You always hated surprises!" Adam shouted, launching a flying knee.
Mark ducked, grabbed his leg, and slammed him into the ground. The crowd roared.
Mark taunted, "Still doing acrobatics instead of fighting?"
Adam wiped blood from his lip. "Still talking instead of winning?"
They clashed again.
Punches flew. Elbows cracked. Adam fought dirty — headbutts, low kicks, distraction tricks — while Mark used discipline, experience, and the occasional snarky insult.
Rico watched from the sidelines, yelling, "Break his nose and then take a selfie!"
Adam caught Mark with a wild uppercut.
Mark stumbled.Adam moved in.Mark spun and landed a perfect roundhouse.
BAM.Adam hit the cage wall.
He staggered up. Bruised. Bloody.
"You left me," he whispered. "We were brothers."
Mark lowered his fists. "You think I chose to leave you behind? You disappeared. You never answered. I waited."
Silence.
Adam laughed bitterly. "Then I guess I'm the punchline now."
Mark stepped forward and offered a hand.
"Let's stop fighting ghosts."
Adam stared… then took it.
The crowd was silent. For the first time all night, there were no chants.
Just two broken fighters… reconnecting.
END OF CHAPTER 1
Next: Chapter 2 – Clown Wars and Chicken Wings 🍗🤡💥It's not over. The past might be forgiven, but it ain't forgotten.