Tru Grit’s Fight Pit (Pt. 1): Welcome To The Club

--- Jon ---

Tracking down the fight club wasn’t all that hard given how the address wasn’t too far from his usual routes being somewhere between his Ma’s police station and the Witch’s Wares. Almost in what could be considered downtown for their city but still on the southside of things and just outside of the more business-like district.

Or rather it wouldn’t have been all that difficult if there was a place that looked like it would hold a fight club such as a gym or a warehouse. Instead he spent twenty minutes walking around the same block trying to find a shady alleyway or something equally shady that could lead him to the fight pits.

It was just as his patience was beginning to fray that he noticed a slight oddity on the address. (That… that can’t be it…)

He pinched the bridge of his nose, finding this whole day to just be… (a thing…) before making his way back to the main address and finding in front of what looked like a business office. An extremely professional business office with a wide open tiled floor that had people in suits about underneath a large fancy chandelier hanging in the air.

All of which was why he had immediately dismissed this place as the site of the club, but having only become more frustrated by his aimless wandering he decided to just go ahead and go inside.

Looking around the large empty tiled floor office building he felt distinctly out of place in his jeans, jacket, and t-shirt. Luckily, he had long since lost the ability to actually care about being places he wasn’t supposed to between his Ma’s training and said places typically trying to kill him.

So instead of worrying about it, he walked up to the blonde receptionist and simply waited for her to notice him.

“Welcome to The Fighting Dogs Security Firm, how may I help you?” The receptionist eventually smiled at him in a way that actually reached her eyes unlike most people with her job.

“Right, so I’ve been walking around for a while and this is a bit of a longshot but…” he held up the flier, “I don’t suppose this means anything to you?”

The receptionist took the flier before checking the back, and upon reading the address pointed at an elevator on the wall as she handed it back to him. “Bottom most button. Fresh meat.”

He nodded with a sigh. “Thanks.”

Making his way to the elevator he clicked the call button before waiting a few moments for the elevator to arrive. When the doors finally opened and he stepped inside, he couldn’t help but sigh as looked at the button panel before clicking floor B1, because the written address was not ‘floor- 1’ but ‘floor -1’. (Because someone is an idiot.)

As he rode the elevator he couldn’t help but think about the building before shaking his head as he realized what was happening here. (The Mad Dogs run ‘security’ for people, so having a ‘security firm’ as a front cover actually legitimizes their presence guarding places with guns. Smart.)

It also said something about Tru Grit that the front for the Mad Dog’s fight club was ‘The Fighting Dogs’ security firm.

When the elevator doors opened once more he found himself standing in a long concrete hallway with a single light hanging above and ending in a set of heavy double doors. It was as he got closer to said doors that he spotted a small camera in the corner hiding in the shadows.

He held his flier up to the camera and after a moment heard a click from the doors before they slowly slid open to reveal a small room with another set of doors, these noticeably less heavy than the previous ones and looking more like the black doors leading into an actual club.

Which he realized wasn’t too far off the mark as he found himself in a small carpeted hall leading up to a larger area with bright lights overlooking a room with half a dozen floors ringed about. Each spreading slightly further than the last, and all with a number of tables and fixings that reminded him more of a fancy restaurant or theater than a fight club.

Though the large gray pit separated from the rest of the room by clear glass walls, clearly fixed that little problem.

A curly haired woman wearing glasses and a black suit dress walked up to him from the side while typing away at a tablet in hand. “May I have the alias you’re entering the club under?”

“Uh, Jon-”

“Alias, not your name.” The woman glared, cutting him off as her eyes flashed a different color behind her glasses.

He bit his lip for a moment before reluctantly answering. “Huntsman.”

“Very well.” The woman nodded, typing something into her tablet before turning to leave. “I am Ms. Leed. Please follow me this way, Mr. Huntsman, Mr. Grit has been expecting you.”

Following after the woman -(Ms. Leed)- they made their way around the ring and while he expected them to branch off into one of the many hallways lining the area they never did instead coming full around to the dead opposite of the entrance where the stairs to higher floors cut off half way up and instead spread out into what he assumed was a VIP area of sorts.

The reason for this being that at the back of the area was a second smaller set of steps leading up to a gold and red throne, upon which sat a large red haired man with lightly tanned and scarred skin wearing a mostly unbuttoned suit vest with no shirt underneath.

“Ah, there you are!” Tru Grit smiled as he leaned forward with a wide smile on his face. “Was starting to think you weren’t going to show given how your invite ‘s almost a month old.”

“I had some things to take care of.” He shrugged.

“Ah, the Horror.” Tru nodded before shaking his head with a grin. “Now there’s a fight I wish I could’ve tagged into.”

“Yeah…” He agreed, forcing down how frustrated he was that he couldn’t (rip the horror’s screaming skull from its shoulders!) “There’s always next year if you’re lucky.”

“Ha, that’s the spirit!” Tru laughed, before pointing at Jon. “Now then, since you are here, I’m guessing you’ve finally got that itch for a proper fight?”

“Something like that.” He nodded, instead of explaining how he wanted to (dig claws into something as it squirms in my teeth.)

“Well… before that there’s good news, great news, and sadly some bad news on that one.” Tru warned him looking a little down about it. “Bad news you missed the Halloween Tournament I wanted you in. Good news you can fight in the next one though.”

He looked around the empty theater. “I’m guessing that tournament isn’t today given how empty the place is.”

“You are right, but that’s where the great news comes in!” Tru assured him before leaping off of his throne and landing in front of him and Ms. Leed who had taken a step back without ever looking up from her tablet. “Just because you can’t fight in the tournament yet doesn’t mean you can’t take the entrance test for said tournament!”

“Entrance test?” He frowned.

“Yeah.” Tru nodded before making his way towards a side hall that branched off of the VIP area. “While I know you can handle yourself in a fight, club policy states we’ve got to test people to make sure they can handle the weight class they're stepping into. Now after seeing your fight with that girl’s Scarecrow, I would happily waive that rule! But…”

“He’s already allowing you to skip the rest of the circuit to compete in the elite ring.” Ms. Leed explained, glaring as they followed. “So it was either skipping the entrance test for the beginner’s club or skipping the rest of the clubs. Should you fail the entrance test for this club, you shall instead be delegated to one of the clubs closer to your actual level rather than the level Mr. Grit believes you are on after spectating but a single fight. A fight that depending on how he tells it, you lost. And rumors of a fight that involved three others and again, you lost.”

“Ah, fighting ‘s not just about winning or losing, it's about gritting your teeth, and busting your knuckles as you feel that rush telling you you’re alive.” Tru tried to argue. “Trust me, the kid ‘s a real fighter, just give him a chance to impress ya.”

“Hence why I’m letting you administer a test that he is clearly too young to be taking.” Ms. Leed reminded Tru, leaving him to wonder which of them was really the boss of this whole thing.

“Ah, you worry too much. Kid ‘s gonna pass with flying colors!” Tru dismissed the woman’s concerns.

Concerns he could understand, and would probably agree with if not for everything that had happened back in Blackwell and the months since. (Pix I can handle anything they throw at us… and I need to ask about that.)

“Uh, I just remembered but what are the rules for these fights?” He felt the need to ask.

Ms. Leed sighed. “First and foremost do not kill your opponent, and when we say a fight ends it ends. Our entire legal defense revolves around a loophole in our state’s laws allowing for duels so long as no one is permanently hurt and our healers can only heal so much.”

“Completely understandable.” He nodded, pretty sure she was talking about the same loophole his Ma had told him about should he ever need to pick a fight with someone, and be unable to cover it up.

“Second there are limitations upon weapons, while most are allowed they must be subjected to a minor enchantment that allows their damage to be mitigated to non-lethal levels. If your weapons -barring firearms- are already enchanted this is unnecessary thanks to the passive effects of our safety measures.” Ms. Leed continued. “That said, mundane explosives are largely banned due to the fact that the enchantment cannot conceptually tie itself to the chemical reactions and fragmentary aspects post explosion.”

“Does that include Molotovs?” He asked, because he was pretty sure that’s what that legalese translated to.

Tru made an amused sound while Ms. Leed stared at him distinctly unimpressed. “Yes, that includes Molotov cocktails, though I do wonder where a child your age acquired such things.”

“I learned how to make them at summer camp.” He answered honestly.

“Arts and crafts sound like a fun time.” Tru told him with a smirk.

“It is.” He nodded. “Though we’ve got to limit some of it for the younger campers. Can’t leave them alone with the hot glue gun or else they might hurt themselves.”

“Of course.” Tru laughed.

“If you two are done joking?” Ms. Leed glared.

(Who’s joking?) He frowned, feeling confused.

“Third, all gambling must be directed through the club and a portion of all winnings will be donated to charity. This is strictly enforced due to our state’s strict gambling laws, so legally working around them requires a finesse that most bookies will not do.” Ms. Leed told him. “Additionally, the charity fund helps obfuscate the income changes and present a topic that law enforcement does not wish to investigate so long as the money is being sent to the charity in question.”

“So a fake bribe?” He figured, not actually knowing anything about gambling law.

“The actual bribes are distributed from our service fees.” Ms. Leed assured him while giving him a look he could quite decipher before eventually adding that, “Our state’s government is notably corrupt when it comes to a variety of factors, the only reason our perceived corruption is so low is because our actual accountability is equally low. If you’re going to be involved here you need to realize just what our relationship with the government is and that neither side is legally speaking ‘the good guy’.”

“I don’t know, I figure the guys paying for kids and homeless people to get free food and extra gifts for the holidays by conning rich people out of their money by taking a beating for charity, sounds pretty good.” Tru argued.

“I’m making a point to the child.” Ms. Leed growled. “One he needs to be aware of before he joins our club as some misguided act of teenage rebellion.”

He wanted to point out that that was not what this was about, but felt that doing so would just underline her opinion of him being childish. So instead he pointed out, “I’m not intending to join this club long term, nor do I intend to use it as a form of money making. What I am mostly interested in is exploring the opportunity presented to me by the leader of one of the city’s gangs, a gang that has notably run under the radar given its clearly sizable and Deviant operations. The fact that said gang leader enjoys fighting as a sport simply makes that the most efficient avenue to pursue.”

While all of that was technically true, he did not underline the fact that the presented opportunity was ‘attack things until I’m no longer angry’. He just knew from DeSade that making people believe you were confident and professional tended to keep them from dismissing you out of hand.

(‘There’s a power in words beyond magic, if you wish to infiltrate an organization you must learn to ensnare those you cross with this power.’) The ensuing lessons had greatly sublimated his Ma’s infiltration lessons, while teaching him etiquettes his mother wouldn’t usually bother.

Though that did little to divert from their mutual point of, (don’t let anyone push you around.)

Which is why he held a glare with Ms. Leed before slowly reaching into his jacket and extracting a curious little fairy that had been woken by his sudden tenseness. “Now if we were to move beyond your lecture on morality, and back to the rules of this establishment. The source of my inquiry is whether or not contracted summons are legal within the arena?”

Rather than Ms. Leed answering, Tru cut in as he moved between them with an uneasy grin. “They are but you can only have one active summon, barring those with a [Swarm] type trait, and technically that’s still one summon as far as magic is concerned. But, uh, you sure you want that little gal to fight for you?”

“Pix is my healer, I am the fighter.” He assured the older man as Pix nodded alongside his words. (Though I would’ve appreciated having Wolf and maybe Noctis as back up if I needed them.)

“Alright, now that’s a summoner-summon relationship I can get behind!” Tru smiled at him before not so subtly corralling him away from Ms. Leed and out of the access tunnels into the main pit area. “So with your partner out, I’m guessing you’re ready for the actual test, eh?”

He inhaled deeply, before exhaling and nodding. “Yeah… I could do with beating something up.”

Tru glanced towards Ms. Leed who had stayed behind. “Heh, yeah… Uh, let’s direct that energy somewhere productive.”

“So how is this test going to work?” He asked as Pix took to the air with a bit of stretching.

“Well, usually we’ve got three ways to do this.” Tru told him, before counting off. “First is a Bloody Ballroom, where you fight a bunch of simulation types and if you last long enough we let you in. Second is picking a fight with one of the guards and seeing whether or not they approve of you or not. Lastly, instead of one of our guards we send you against a decently powered regular, though in that case if you beat them we’ll usually let you in automatically.”

“And why doesn’t beating the guards have that condition?” He frowned, beginning to stretch himself.

“Because if you’re good enough to beat one of our guards, then whatever site you’re at is too low of a level for you. Meaning we’ll send you to do an entrance test at one of our other pits.” Tru answered, crossing his arms one at a time.

“Fair enough.” He shrugged before rolling his shoulders and taking a look around. “So, uh, am I doing the Ballroom thing since I don’t see any guards or guests?”

“Nah.” Tru Grit cracked his neck before punching his hand as music began to fill the air. “You, you get a shot at the champ.”