I can do whatever I want in the beginning, just don’t knock my opponent out until the signal where, then I let him hit me in the dome and I take a dive, then I’ll have the money to pay back the debts I put myself into to get this body of mine. I grab my wraps from the table and begin securing my hands in their soft cotton embrace. Breathing in through my nose I steel my nerves against the imminent onslaught of noise and pain I am going to have to experience. One last check in the mirror to make sure my braids are tight and he won’t get a grip on them.
Stepping through the curtain to the cage I suddenly feel hundreds of hungry beady little eyes snap to glare at me. Jeers and slurs get yelled my way, I have learned to ignore them but they still cut at my psyche a small amount. Once I am done with this fight I am done with these subhuman imps, miserable dicks who cannot stop jacking off to poor people forced to fight for their survival. They only stop at the next fighter coming out of his room, this time to cheer and shout in glee as the one they actually came to see walks into the room. The man who will beat the shit out of the disgusting tranny for them.
The mouth guard is uncomfortable, my opponent has made it to the cage and now stands across from me, the bastard who has the pleasure of winning a rigged fight against a person who has been on estrogen for a few years and therefore has less muscle than a steroid addled roidmonkey with daddy issues. I hear the bell ring and we both climb into the cage and I finally get a look at the man who will be knocking me out today, and he looks like me. Rather, he looks like I did two years ago before I started hormones and before I got my brow and jawline shaved. Of course my final fight is going to be against him, how did they even find this scrawny asshole, though he isn’t as scrawny as he used to be, the fuckers in charge of this event clearly knew what they were doing. They wanted to torture me for being a fucking tranny, and the best way they could do that was by getting my good for nothing brother and training him up to beat the shit out of me.
God, I hate that fucking brow, protruding like a neaderthal’s over his eyes, his hair buzzed into a shitty skin fade in an attempt to make him look more manly than the unkept mop he used to have. He doesn’t seem to recognise me, that must mean I have made it far enough to no longer look like his twin brother. He readies himself for the fight, I stay loose but bring my arms up to defend my still slightly puffy face. We slowly circle each other waiting for the bell to chime, letting us know that we can fight. I can’t wait to beat him senseless.
And there it is, he lunges at me clumsily, leaving his guard wide open. Sidestepping him I let my elbow catch the side of his ribs, a jolt goes down my arm, but it’s just a tickle. Spinning on my heel and finding footing, bracing for another sloppy haymaker to come careening towards me. Just as I predicted. I sidestep this one too, but this time I ram my fist into his kidney as he stumbles past me, I am not going to pull my punches against him.
I think he finally learnt the lesson that he needs to be careful with how he approaches me, he can’t get too overconfident over the fact that his big fight of the night is against a woman who is not as buff as he is. Unfortunately for him this lesson is one he is going to have to repeatedly learn tonight. My first offensive is a quick kick to the kidney I hit earlier. I angle my foot to catch him just as he is getting his balance, making sure it hurts. His arms lower to defend his mid section as my foot returns to the ground. I don’t want him thinking he is any safer. My right hand jabs towards his face.
His reaction time isn’t half bad, as he manages to adjust the position of his face so that instead of getting the satisfying crunch of the cartilage in his nose snapping under my fist rams into his tensed jaw. My knuckles sting, but the hut is still satisfying. Another punch comes his way, an uppercut, it catches him off guard in the gut. He splutters. I fucking hate his splutter, it’s the exact same sound that used to come out of my mouth before I ran away from home.
Our dad was a piece of shit, he would kick me until I threw up. All for the crime of being a bit faggy, nothing was worse than a faggot to our father. My useless brother would stand and watch, doing nothing but crying, afterwards he would beg me to be normal, to stop doing whatever it was that would get so mad at me, like playing kitchen. Eventually he stopped crying when watching my regular beatings, and whilst I was lying on the floor of our unfinished basement crying my eyes out he would be upstairs playing the latest video we got as a present from our mother who was smart enough to divorce the piece of shit we had for a father. If only she had taken me with her.
He lifts his head again, bringing up his guard, pathetically open. I feint with a quick jab of my left hand to push him into position before swinging hard with my right to catch him in the liver. He buckles in half, hands dropping to his sides just for a second, leaving his face completely open. My knee lifts into his face, hitting him in the cheek, I hear a loud crack as something gives way, my knee doesn’t hurt so I think it’s his face shattering. Not giving him a moment to recover, I sweep my other leg behind him and pull his weight out from under him, forcing him to the ground. A pathetic little whimper escapes his lips. I catch the eye of the fixer who set up this match, he scratches his nose, the signal that I need to start letting my brother beat the shit out of me and win this fight.
I wonder If the man lying on the floor in front of me enjoyed watching me take all those beatings towards the end, if our dad’s brainwashing got to the polished dorodango that this asshole has for a brain. He would just watch and do nothing, even when we were teenagers. I wonder if that’s why he just got up and left the room when I came out to him, he didn’t want to be around the shameful faggot that was his brother now that it has very clearly said that it is a tranny. Fuck, maybe he was the one to text dad so that he would race home from work to kick the shit out of me, forcing me to jump out of my bedroom window with what little belonging I had stuffed into a backpack.
I get on top of him, pinning him in place beneath me with my one knee as I lift my fists up to punch him. The first strike against his back, he twitches with pain, he probably hasn’t been at the receiving end of a beating before. He’s desperately trying to keep his head covered as I follow up the first of the barrage with another punch to the back, and another. Something cracks beneath my fist, probably a rib, and his hands lower from his face for just a moment, letting me get a good left hook in and finally feel that satisfying crunch of a nose breaking under my fists. Another fist lands on his head and I hear him begin to cry. Heaving sobs of pain just like the ones I would let out as a child. Fuck, I went too far, he was just a child like I was, it wasn’t his fault our dad was like this. He didn’t deserve me breaking him in multiple places, I’m sorry, you deserved better.
Silence sweeps into the world around me, the audience isn’t saying anything, no cheering, not jeering, just the susurrus of hundreds of people waiting to find out if they bet their money on the wrong fighter. The only break from this uncomfortable silence are the pained wheezes and sobs of my brother. Shit, I won the fight.