<strong><span class="bbc_u"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;">Daniel Carter-Centropolis</span></span></strong><br/>The crowds wrapped around us, preventing either of us from a attempted escape. Their chants, boos and cries pushing us forward. Bets being placed and taken every which way. Money exchanging hands as the odds and prize money climbed ever higher. The wager now was that I could not take down the six guys teamed up against me. Earning me thousands in cash provided I won. But thats not why I do it. In times past, I have fought in the name of many things. When I was a kid, it was bullies which I traded blows with. Fighting for acceptance. When I was known as the 'Centropolis Knight' it was for fame. Boxing my way up all the way to the National Championships. After ruining my shot at the World Championship with street fighting, I gave thugs and crime bosses dates with the pavement in the name of justice alongside the Outriders. Now, I am once again fighting illegally, why?<br/><br/>I'm bored.<br/><br/>No matter the paint washed over it. No matter the message I claim to be sending. It all hides a simple truth. Asking why I fight is like asking why a fire burns. It's simply it's nature. Some ask better questions, like what is worth fighting for. Me? I ask a more basic question. One I thought about as I intercepted the nearest man's kick and broke his knee with a elbow strike.<br/><br/><em>Who's next?</em><br/><br/>The man dropped hard to the pavement as he rolled away. The other five men each edging in from different directions. The one to my left plainly knew some form of martial art, his stance was very practiced and fluid. The two to my right were more accurately described as brawlers. Burly men, one armed with a lead pipe. The final two were in my blind spot, not in my field of vision but regardless I could feel their presence just hovering behind me. The first one to move was the large man armed with the pipe, as he lounged at me, swing the pipe overhead. Catching it the force stung my hand as I jerked the pipe away from him and cracked it along his ribs, sending him reeling over and then targeting his back up as I let the pipe fall to the pavement and went into a fast paced boxing charge against the third target, tanking a full haymaker punch to my cheek as I advanced undeterred striking him three quick times successively in the gut.<br/><br/>This was enough to finally bring the number of opponents to three. It was then that the two behind me each grabbed hold of an arm. As I jerked both arms attempting to break free the man in front of me finally made his move. With precision and training the man launched a burst of strikes to my upper chest, each blow hitting with great force as blood seeped from my mouth as his foot collided against my face from a shrieking round house kick.<br/><br/>The two men dropped me as I hit the ground for a second, blood starting to slowly stain my white tee shirt. The martial artist stood over me, supposedly checking to see if the fight was finally over. The answer lay in the crushing uppercut I threw. The uproar of the crowd toned down as the man fell to the ground with a thud, slowly rising. The two who stood behind me started to back off. Following the old rule of scattering once the best of them fell.<br/><br/>Money changed hands as I wiped blood from my lip with the back of my hand. The disappointed groans of the losing betters was drowned out by a series of sirens. The crowd turned to a panicked atmosphere as everyone scattered like cockroaches when the light is turned on. All except me. I stood in the middle of the storm until I was now standing in the middle of the back alley surrounded by police. A tall blonde man in a blue uniform stepped closer, his blue eyes meeting my own. "Daniel Carter." He echoed, lighting a cigarette as he spoke to me. "Tell me, if I placed you under arrest, would you come quietly?" I gave a slight smirk. "That depends." I answered. Flicking the ash from his cigarette he responded. "Depends on what?" I crossed my arms as I answered his question. "If you can knock me out." The cop snickered as the other officers tensed up but he waved them off.<br/><br/>"Consider this a warning. A acknowledgement of what you have done for this city. You can go, but if you keep this up. You will end up a prisoner of the very city you took so many beatings to protect. Think it over." I shrugged as I walked away, waving them off. Appreciating the gesture, but nothing he said was  anything I didn't know.<br/><br/>After all, what other fate is there for those whose only skill is fighting with no war to justify it?<br/>