[IMG]http://i.imgur.com/Idna3il.jpg[/IMG]

The fight had been going on for just over an hour. The already dirty mat had been further sullied by the blood of all the competitors of the battle royal. Only two of the fighters remained on their feet, the bulky Polish factory worker people call Tank and a smaller man, Ripper they called him in whispers, to his face they addressed him by his Christian name, Ronan Duffy. His slim, well-muscled body was littered with battle scars from blades, bullets and broken bones. It only took a second for Ronan to switch positions and make his way behind Tank. He was faster than most fighters, he had trained with the best. His strong wrapped around Tank’s throat as he pulled him down to the ground. A smiled enveloped Ronan’s bloodied face. His icy blue eyes widened as he felt the larynx of his opponent crushing underneath the weight of his choke hold. Death was the only true end to a fight.

WINNER: RONAN DUFFY

Getting to his feet and dropping the body like a sack of shit, Ronan climbed out of the cage. It was time to go. Sirens rang out in the distance. The bloodthirsty fans dispersed out from the underground bunker and headed off in their own directions. Ronan took his time, washing his body with a sponge and putting his fine suit back on. He had to look his best for Sunday dinner with his family. He took one last look at the bloodied corpse in the middle cage before departing up the stairs and out of the front door of the comic book store front. He got into his car and drove off, a low winter sun hung in the brightening sky. 

Sunday bloody Sunday