Knuckles

The Roman Stacks - Moukhtar (a.k.a. Sandwich)

“And don’t come back, you fucking asshole!” Tara slammed the door in Moukhtar’s face. His children looked on from behind their mother, sadness in their eyes, before the lock clicked into place.

Moukhtar sighed and turned back to face the sandy path the city technically designated as a “street,” at least by Roman Stacks standards, and saw Li sitting on the shell of a broken car nearby. She waved him over. Li was his manager in the streetfight Fourth Circuit, the lowest tier in Vargos that only included fighters from the Roman Stacks and Grey Alley. She’d signed him to her agency—or her attempt at one—two years ago, and he’d already won all but two fights in the circuit, earning him the moniker "Sandwich" for the knuckles he buried into his opponents’ jaws. He took a seat next to her, his big arms brushing up against her thin frame.

“Guess she’s really mad this time, yeah, mate?” She said as she smirked and hopped off the broken-down car to start stretching. It was hot out today, and the heat always felt worse in their neighborhood.

“Yeah. She thought I was working at the Greased Pig Garage in the upper stacks all of last year, not doing this again. But with everything happening today, I had to tell her and the kids. She hates this job, but I think she’ll hate it a lot less after today.”

Moukhtar had lived in the Roman Stacks his whole life, but today was his chance to give his kids a better life in The Sprawl, assuming he pulled this off. The guy he was set to fight in a couple of hours was from Grey Alley, a man who’d killed his last three opponents with a right-hook handshake—what the sport called a firearm cybernetic implant. Despite the danger, Moukhtar wasn’t worried. Roman Stacks kids had few advantages in the world, but not being as afraid of getting shot as the average person was definitely one of them. If he could beat the guy into submission he could apply to enter the Third Circuit in Vargos streetfighting. That meant fewer death bouts, no more unpaid matches, and, most importantly, no more living in the Roman Stacks. Tara would forgive him if he could move her and the kids out of what amounted to Vargos’ unemptied trash can.

“Just remember, the guy won’t hesitate to fire a shot off after he hits you a couple of times—that’s his signature. My hunch, mate? Duck his hits. Don’t let him land more than three, otherwise, that’ll be good enough for him to activate the implant and put one right in your head like he did the others.” Li finished her stretches and started jogging in place.

“Don’t lose focus, Sandwich. We play our cards right today, and it’s goodbye Roman Stacks, hello real Vargos. I don’t know about you, mate, but I’m looking forward to having indoor plumbing for once.” She grabbed her bag off the car and motioned for Moukhtar to follow. It was time.

Moukhtar liked Li, and he knew this fight meant as much for her as it did for him. She’d backed a handful of fighters coming up in the Stacks, but all of them had gotten flatlined, either in or out of the ring, before any advanced past the Fourth Circuit and took her with them. His plan for the fight was simple: avoid letting his opponent land any punches or kicks for the first few minutes to tire him out and mess with his head, then start pushing into his space and forcing him into a grapple. Then, once the guy started panicking, take one of his bullets to the arm and pummel him into submission. He hadn’t told Li about the latter half of the plan, but it didn’t matter—she’d just worry and try to talk him out of it.

They got to the makeshift ring some kids had put together over the last couple of weeks—tossed-out junk cars and industrial scrap forming a crude barrier. The sun was beating hard today, no shade even for the crowd. But the weather never stopped Roman Stacks folks from attending a fight. The place was packed, and some of his neighbors were in attendance, people who would almost certainly get an earful from Tara for supporting him.

Moukhtar wandered into the ring and raised his arms, riling the crowd up as it erupted in roars. He turned to face his opponent at the other end of the dirt ring. The guy was bigger than anyone he’d gone up against before, but that implant was clear as day: an old rifle barrel sticking right out of the top of his right forearm.

The barker walked into the ring and got between the two of them in the center, launching into his spiel. The guy had been announcing Roman Stacks fights for decades, but his voice had given out long ago from hitting the pipe too much. Now, he had a speaker embedded where his Adam’s apple used to be. His robotic voice blasted from the speaker and through the makeshift sound system strung up along the ringside.

“We’ve got a real gnarly one today, folks! First, we have the purveyor of broken jaws, the gargantuan beast, the Roman Stacks’ own junk son: Moukhtar ‘Sandwich’ Al Abdani!”

The crowd roared. These were Moukhtar’s people. His peers. He was glad they’d get to see him fight his last Fourth Circuit fight today before he moved up.

“And the visitor! The Blaster Master, the Shock Trooper, coming all the way from Grey Alley on Vargos’ east side! Here’s Tony ‘Big Bear’ Mandano!”

The crowd erupted even louder for him. Moukhtar’s cheers gave way to jeers and ridicule, spitting, stomping, and curses. The barker ran as the two squared up in the ring’s center and gave the makeshift bell a hard kick with his bare foot, starting the fight.

They locked arms in a grapple, muscles straining as the crowd pressed in closer.

Big Bear made the first move, sending his enormous fist toward Sandwich only to catch air. Another punch. Then another. The sloppy strikes repeated, ad nauseam.

This was his move. Keep throwing punches, upsetting the crowd as they were dodged or blocked, before activating the gun on his arm and ending the fight. Sandwich wasn’t going to give him the chance.

He leapt back from another punch then dove for Big Bear’s legs, bringing him crashing down into the dirt. He got behind him and locked in a chokehold, arms crushing his opponent’s thick neck, legs wrapped around his waist like a vise.

Big Bear struggled. Then, as expected, he activated the gun and pointed it at Sandwich’s leg.

Sandwich moved fast—flipping Big Bear over, shoving his face into the dirt. Then, he did something unexpected: he grabbed Big Bear’s right arm and bent it backward as the shot rang out.

Someone in the crowd screamed after being hit by the stray bullet. But the crude implant jammed. The gun fired off internally. Big Bear’s arm exploded, metal and flesh splattering across the dirt in an almost refreshing spray under the merciless sun.

Big Bear screamed. Sandwich shoved his face back into the ground and waited.

Ten seconds. And that was it, Moukhtar ‘Sandwich’ Al Abdani had just punched his way out of life in the Roman Stacks.

He leapt off of Big Bear’s back and took in the cheers from the crowd as he made his way over to Li, who looked…less than pleased.

“What’s up Li? I won, we're out of here!” She turned her gaze away and scratched her head nervously before looking up at the giant man.

“I didn’t think you were going to pull it off…” she was being avoidant. Moukhtar looked at her confused before turning his eyes to some Gilded Teeth guys hanging out not far away, staring menacingly at the two of them.

“I sort of bet against you. I thought you were gonna get flatlined mate.” Moukhtar couldn’t believe his ears. She’d walked him over here expecting him to die.

His face twisted into an angry grimace before he looked over her shoulder and spotted two kids. And behind the two kids, stood a beautiful woman: Tara. She looked angry, but she was doing that thing he loved where she furrowed her brow extra hard trying to hide a smile. She knew what this all meant: Moukhtar and his family were free. He turned back to Li and smiled, extending his hand.

“Hey, it’s all business no worries.” He said with a grin, placing her tiny hand in his before clenching it into a fist, crushing her bones as she let out a deafening yelp.

“Good luck with your next one,” he said looking back over her shoulder at the bookies from the Gilded Teeth. “And good luck with them.”

He turned as she collapsed to the ground cradling her crushed hand and wandered towards his wife and kids, arms outstretched to embrace them.