Beneath the streets of Moscow, hidden from the watchful eyes of the Association and world governments, lay a massive underground fight club - a modern colosseum carved into the city's underbelly. It had existed long before the Z Virus outbreak, once run by criminals who thrived on bloodshed and illegal gambling. But when the world changed, so did the fight club.
Nadya took it for herself.
Now, it was hers - her home, her business, her passion.
Wild Dog Fight Club.
That was its name, infamous among rogue mutants. Its fights were a must-see for many in the region, drawing in mutants, criminals, and anyone seeking the kind of raw, brutal entertainment that couldn't be found anywhere else.
The arena was brutal and imposing, a massive circular pit surrounded by reinforced steel and concrete layers. Rusting floodlights cast an eerie glow over the bloodstained arena, where challengers fought for glory, money, or just the thrill of combat. The air was thick with sweat, alcohol, and the deafening roar of the crowd.
Above the pit, makeshift balconies and private booths overlooked the chaos, giving the wealthy and powerful the best view. The rest of the audience - rowdy gamblers, drunken spectators, and rogue mutants with strange appearances - packed together on concrete terraces, cheering, cursing, and throwing down wads of cash on bets.
Attached to it was an old, repurposed hotel, now fully integrated into Nadya's domain and her living quarters. The rooms served as lodging for some fighters, staff, and those willing to pay for a bed in this lawless zone. Because that's exactly what this place was - a Haven.
Rogue mutants called it that, a place beyond the reach of any government or the Association. But to outsiders, it was nothing more than a lawless zone, one of many scattered across the world. These places, usually overrun with criminals, unregistered mutants, and the desperate, formed their own kind of order - if one could call it that.
Moscow's haven was one of the largest, a chaotic and dangerous place where only the strongest survived. But here, in Nadya's fight club and territory, there were rules. No fighting outside the ring. No killing unless the fight called for it. And no one - absolutely no one - annoyed Nadya.
Tonight, the club was packed, the anticipation thick in the air. The crowd was in full swing - hundreds of spectators, gamblers, and mutants roaring in excitement as two non-mutants slugged it out in the pit below.
Perched on a private balcony overlooking the cage, Nadya leaned against the railing, a half-empty bottle of vodka in one hand. The dim glow of the arena lights flickered against her sharp features as she watched the chaos unfold below. Beside her, a man leaned lazily against the railing, arms folded, a cocky smirk stretching across his face.
"So, who am I fighting today?" Sven Sokolov drawled, voice smooth yet laced with amusement.
Sven was a name everyone in the club knew. A lean, wiry man, he was built for speed, not brute strength. His platinum-blond hair was a wild mess, giving him a devil-may-care appearance that matched his personality. Sharp blue eyes gleamed with mischief, always looking like he was in on some private joke.
His outfit was a mix of style and practicality - dark combat pants, a snug leather jacket that hugged his frame, and fingerless gloves that exposed his long, quick fingers. Around his neck, he wore a black choker with a silver ring attached, a keepsake from a job he never spoke about.
Sven wasn't just a fighter - he was a rogue, a thief, a scout-for-hire. The kind of man just as comfortable stealing secrets as he was stealing hearts. And this fight club? It was one of his favourite playgrounds.
Every so often, he dropped by - not just to fight, but to enjoy the attention. He'd toy with his opponents, put on a show, and then charm a few women before vanishing off to his next job.
But tonight was different.
Nadya grinned, taking another swig of vodka before glancing at him. "You'll see."
Sven raised an eyebrow but shrugged, clearly unbothered. The crowd outside roared as the previous fight ended, and the announcer's voice boomed through the speakers.
"And now - for tonight's main event! A mutant fight! The Phantom Striker versus the mysterious new blood!"
Before anyone could blink, Sven pushed off the railing, hopping onto the edge of the balcony before launching himself down.
A blur.
Then he landed effortlessly in the centre of the arena, boots kicking up dust over the already stained floor. The crowd erupted in cheers, knowing that whenever Sven fought, it was bound to be a show.
"Who's he up against?" someone in the stands muttered.
"It's gotta be someone strong, right? They wouldn't waste Sven on some nobody."
"Must be a mutant with some crazy ability?"
Excitement rippled through the audience, anticipation thick in the air.
Then the door to the arena creaked open.
A single figure stepped out.
The murmurs started immediately.
"Who's this guy?"
"This is a total letdown."
"Is he even a mutant?"
The newcomer was dressed in a plain black tracksuit, the hood up over his head. He concealed the lower half of his face with a makeshift mask - a black cloth tied around his face. No flashy entrance. No intimidating aura. Just a quiet presence.
Kai didn't react to the crowd's disappointment. He simply stepped forward, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on Sven.
Nadya's voice cut through the noise.
"This fight goes until one of you gives up or can no longer fight."
The club roared in approval.
Sven exhaled, lazily rolling his shoulders. "Well, this is a bit underwhelming." His lips curled into a smirk as he cracked his neck. "Try to entertain me, yeah?"
Kai didn't answer.
The air tensed.
Sven stretched his arms above his head, sighing like he was about to take a nap.
Nadya grinned. "Begin!"
Then, in the blink of an eye...
Swoosh!
He was gone.