The cage. Prologue. Let me tell you something you don't already know. The world aint all sunshine and rainbows, it is a very mean and nasty place, it will beat you to your knee's and keep you there if you let it. Lets face it, nothing is going to hit you as hard as life. It's not about how hard you can hit, it's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving on. How much you can take and keep moving on. Thats how winning is done.
Chapter 1: "Round one, you know the drill kids, touch hands." The two fighters touched hands, the crowd screaming for blood. One had red tape around his fists, the others were bare. Un-Beknownst to the fighters, one guy was sat on the side-line watching, peak fitness. As the first bell rang, the first punch broke out, knocking the tape guy square in the nose, also knocking him to the floor. "FINISH HIM!!!" the Crowd roared, like bloodthirsty animals. The guy jumped on top of him and hit his nose again, breaking it. "Congratulations Man, you've won." The guy grabbed a towel and wiped away the sweat, then the blood on his knuckles and chest, as he ripped away the tape, he noticed The guy, and cracked a smile a boxer would to a worthy oppenent. The guy on the side-line, wasn't a kid either, ex-marine 22-male, Rick Rodriguez quit after all the scary shit of warfare, but he still loved a fight. Scarily muscular, abs and a solid line of muscle, but if he wanted to do this type of fighting, he needed to train... Rick, A Cagefighter... "Dreams can only be achieved with effort son," his Dad had said "And effort means training." With that, he pulled up his hood, and followed the crowd drifting into the darkness.
He woke up the next day and dressed in grey sweat pants and a grey t-shirt, then he grabbed his frayed battered skipping rope, stepped outside in the fresh winter air and started to skip. "C'mon C'mon 148, 149... YES 150!!" he said throwing the rope down. He'd finally achieved his goal of 150 skips a minutue. He threw his rope back inside and pulled on his running shoe's, going for his 10 kilometre run took less than 40 minutues on a good day, maybe an hour on a bad day. He streched his arms as he jogged, then broke into an all out sprint. Powering through the park he didn't notice the guy running after him and stumbled when he got hit in the back by a spring-loaded-cosh. "Your ma owes us £200 nicker brother." the guy said. Rick turned around and immediatly sized him up, 5'9 and a potbelly. "My mama doesn't owe you sod all Joesep." Rick spat. "Well if you don't pay up i'm gonna smash your head in." He said menacingly. Rick eased into his boxing position. "Bring it fatty." He said. "Oh you goin' down sucka' " he shouted and threw a punch at Rick, who sidestepped and smashed the guy in the sweet spot above the guy's eye where the skull's thinnist, giving his brain a good rattling. With that rick wiped away the blood and ran back to his house, finding his Glock and Silencer, tucking it in his Jeans for protection and put on his kevlar body armour, the cream plates fixed together like your an imperial stormtrooper, but Rick didn't want to be shot in a lot of places, this covering most of 'em. He Grabbed the Keys to his crappy ford and locked the front door as he left, climbing intothe car he heard a shout but didn't question it, well... Not at least until gunfire shattered his back windowscreen.