Coffey could hear the roar of the crowd all around him as one of the fighters in the ring was knocked onto the grass. Many of the people around him had just made a lot of many, and many had last it too; the world martial arts tournament did not officially allow bets, but the fact of the matter was that they were an innescapable element of the culture around the tournament. Coffey had never bet on the tournament before but today was his day.

While Coffey wasn't a betting man, he had been watching these tournaments since he was a child; he was sure he knew who was going to win the upcoming finals. The semi-final match now over, he darted out of his seat to the are beside the bathrooms, where bets were often unofficially made. It would have been more profitable to win a bet placed at the beginning but that was would be a blind choice; now everyone had seen these fighters in two rounds already the odds on any bet had lowered considerably. They were still worth making of course, this was the [b]world[/b] tournament after all: the olympics of fighting.

On the way to the bathrooms Coffey's vision began to blur; in a matter of seconds his perception of what was around him was distorted beyond decifering, and in a flash of light his senses were restored, but he was not in the tournament stadium anymore. A young man with a sword on his back stood before him, and he himself stood in-line with a series of strangers, including one with green skin and one with a four-pointed head; no one seemed happy and the atmosphere was heavy. "Is this a bad time?" he asked as politely as he could.