The room was well lived in. To both sides sat women who were either tied together or in various states of undress, sprawled on mattresses. Whoever the leader was had a shame and humiliation kink, that’s the only reason I could think of as to why they were all bunked together like this. 

I hadn’t seen things like this until a few years into the apocalypse, the first time. Even now, it still turns my stomach. Some of the men stood up, either with their hands up or ready to pull their guns and shoot if given the chance. The standout was the big black man who had waited perfectly in the center of the room like a boss in a video game.

I guess I should play boss music then. “Hey, big guy? What kind of music do you like? Like, are you a big rap, rock, or metal fan?” I pulled out a few different CD players as I shuffled through them for the perfect songs, depending on his preference. “Why, are we going to fight? I know you can shoot spikes and don’t want any of that noise; you’ve beaten us. We’re willing to go back to jail.”

He said it with an almost assured tone that I wouldn’t kill him in a heartbeat. “Ahh, since the breakout, there are new sets of rules. Anyone with any lethal intention gets dealt with lethally. So, I’m giving you a chance to fight fairly instead of just-.” One of the men reached for his gun before a bone spike pierced his heart. “Instead of just shooting bone spikes into you until you look like a hedgehog.”

His smile got far more evil as he took a boxer's stance. “I’m a big fan of metal. My coach played it all the time in his gym, and I got addicted to Pantera.” I flipped through before clicking my tongue. “No Pantera, have you ever heard Bleeding Mascara by Atreyu?” I didn’t know what his power was, so I gave myself a song that was two minutes long to finish the fight.

That sounds like a short time, but most fights don’t go as long as they do in the octagon; they’re quick and brutal, with one person being far stronger than the other. Very rarely (unless booze was involved) will someone pick a fight with someone they didn’t know they could beat in a fight. In real life, it was over before one person was even ready to fight, and with powered individuals, that went doubly.

He pulled his pants up as he rotated his neck. “Sure, I’ll trust your judgement on the song then.” I played it and started walking toward him as he moved toward me. I click play before setting it down on the ground. The song starts with a soft and casual. “GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” As the song started, it was like a signal that the fight had started.

I sprinted toward him while he kept his stance and shuffled forward. My punch coming out was only a quarter of my strength, but it was still stronger than what a normal man could possibly throw out. He casually rotated his body, his hand knocking my hand to the side as he countered, his expertise in fighting clearly far above mine.

I think about taking it with my face, but at the last moment, I move my other hand up to guard. As I was almost knocked off my feet, knocked back to almost the starting point, I did not regret overestimating him. If he were a normal man, his punches couldn’t do a thing, so blocking an attack was counterproductive most of the time. It wouldn’t have put me down in a single hit, but it might have stunned me enough or him to get a much bigger advantage.

I could already feel my arm start to hurt from the first punch, and the man looked more surprised than anyone that he didn’t outright knock my head off in his first move. He was clearly a strength-based powered, and I would put him at the mid rank. His strength had to be close to ten times the amount of a normal person. 

I knew I couldn’t take it as a casual fight anymore, as I took on my own stance, a stance derived from life and death struggles in the apocalypse. A stance that was full of purposeful openings. A stance that would give an arm or a leg if it meant it could take the opponent's eyes. A standard boxer wasn’t much of a problem, but a strength-based one was an entirely different creature altogether.

If he grappled me, his grip strength alone was enough to pulp my bones; he could crush my head like a watermelon if he got his hands on me. Him taking a boxing stance seemed dangerous, but I had seen far too many cocky fighters get destroyed because they weren’t willing to risk their own lives, even at the cost of a crippling injury, to win.

I didn’t plan on giving him an arm or leg, though. That punch was the last of his that would land unless one of his goons tries to jump in and shoot me. That was why my stat boost was unfair. He might have been stronger than me, but that was all he was. I was faster, more perceptive, and I could react far faster than he, which is what matters most in fighting.

He closed the distance again and swung at me with another haymaker. The first strike that hit me gave him the courage to leave himself open for attack. I think about dodging to the left before moving to the right as a bone spike came out and pierced the last remaining prisoner in his hand, launching the gun out of his grip as he cried in pain.

At the same time, I ducked his blow and kicked his leg with enough force to snap a tree branch. The strength power did come with some endurance as well, if someone gained just ten times the strength of a normal human, they’d tear themselves apart when they went to use it. Even with the improved endurance, the kick was almost enough to topple him in a single blow. Only through perfectly adjusting the force I used could I deliver such a debilitating strike without rendering him useless.

If he broke his arms or legs right now, it would make his zombie form that much more useless. Another punch was thrown in desperation as I dodged underneath again and kicked his opposite leg. This left him sprawling to the ground just as a bullet flew where he was. One of the women who was chained by herself had fired at the man, only out of sheer luck, and he collapsed, saving his life.

The unfortunate point of the situation was, I hadn’t been expecting gunfire to come from someone without a gun at the beginning of the fight, someone chained to a radiator separated from everyone else, someone I couldn’t see as they fired the gun. The bullet struck me, and for a moment, the room went silent; only the sounds of heavy breathing from the black fighter could be heard.

I slowly pulled the bullet off of my chest; it had gotten stuck in my shirt as it hadn’t quite managed to pierce my chest. I only sighed before explaining. “That gun isn’t strong enough to put down powered like us. You could unload that entire clip into him, and he still might be alive. The best way to make sure a powered is dead.” 

An orange gasoline can appeared in my hand as I continued. “Is to burn them alive and keep adding fuel after they stop moving. I’m not going to do that, though. I’m going to force this gas down his throat until it kills him. The room went even more silent at my words, even the leader's breath hitched as the pain in his legs didn’t seem that bad if it meant his death in such a painful way.