The Champion

By Cris Fireheart / Ken Anderson

Chapter 1 - KNOCKOUT!

Author's note: This story contains scenes of extreme violence, profanity, drug and alcohol abuse, and some sexual situations. Reader discretion is DEFINITELY advised. It is recommended that you read the two shorts “The Wasted Youth" and “The Family" before continuing; HOWEVER, reading those is NOT a requirement for continuing on. Each and every story in the Harbor City saga (C&J, wasted youth,  and the Family, ) was written to be read in any order. 

Remember, any and all comments and votes are appreciated! Now, without further ado, let's get to it!

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Connor was exhausted. 

He stood, like a shaking statue, in the center of the large boxing ring; sweat and blood dripping from his muzzle as his eyes remained locked onto his opponent, who lay sprawled out on the mat before him. The referee, an aging black bear, climbed in between the ropes and knelt quickly next to the unconscious gray wolf,  before going  through his usual routine of checking the wolf's vital signs. After a few tense seconds, the large bear rose to his feet, and swept his arms over the wolf's body, while raising his voice to announce his decision.

“HE'S OUT!"

           A thunderous cheer immediately rose up from the crowd around them. For this Championship match, Harbor City Stadium had been packed to the rooftops with both locals and out-of-towners, and they'd all come to see who would finally get to take home the title and the glory of becoming the national middleweight champion. Down in the ring, Connor, who was still slightly dazed from the many hits he'd taken to his muzzle and ribs, slowly raised his gloved paws into the air, and released a primal scream which forced all of the air from his lungs. He could feel the slight sting of teardrops coming into contact with the cuts and swollen patches on his face as he sucked in another breath and let out another triumphant howl.

“AND IT'S OVER!" came the voice of the announcer, echoing throughout the packed arena. “After seven rounds of suspense and punishment, it's all over with a BRUTAL knockout from CONNOR OLIVER! Ladies and Gentlemen, WE HAVE A NEW MIDDLEWEIGHT CHAMPION! Connor Oliver, twenty-six years old, born right here in Harbor City! He'll be going—--"

           The voice of the announcer quickly faded out as Connor used the fur on his arm to wipe away the layer of sweat and blood that had been dripping from his muzzle. The tall, well-toned red fox was in disbelief. Even seeing his opponent laying still on the floor in front of him, his mind had yet to fully process what had happened. He'd done it. It had taken him three years of work and intense training, but now, he'd done it. Nobody would look down on him again. Nobody would be calling him 'twinky,' or insinuating that he 'belonged' anywhere besides standing over the body of his unconscious opponent. He'd make quick work of them if they tried; and now, they would all see his handiwork and know it.

            As he climbed between the ropes and jumped down to the cold concrete floor, still panting from the fight, Connor allowed his green eyes to sweep over the massive crowd, searching for the face that he knew was seated somewhere nearby. There, amidst the cheering and applauding masses, he caught sight of a thick, taped-up arm, its owner jumping excitedly and waving around a paper betting slip as they attempted to get the fox's attention. Ignoring the new scratches on his face, Connor couldn't help the smile which began to tug at the end of his lips.

      Ricky Davis was a short, thick-muscled human with striking blonde hair and sky-blue eyes. The young man had grown up with Connor; they'd both known each other since the fox had once been a frightened little kit. Ignoring the crowd shouting obscenities and congratulations around him, Connor began to march solemnly up the small, concrete staircase which led up into the chaos of the stands, as he approached his old friend with a toothy, blood-stained grin.

“Nice combos, Champ!" came Rick's elated greeting. “Next up, you're gonna be wantin' to get into the octagon with me!"

           Connor let out his usual yip-like laugh, before shaking his head. Ricky had become a well-known fighter on the underground circuit during the last few years since he'd returned from his time in the Marine Corps, stationed overseas. He'd fought his way to becoming the local champion of the city's underground MMA scene almost a year before, and nobody had managed to take the title from him yet. The shorter human was known for knocking out plenty of his opponents as well; no matter where the two of them went together, Ricky would always keep both of his arms taped up, all the way to the elbows. He had a thing for accepting random challengers while they were out on the street, and quickly laying them out onto the asphalt.

“It's good practice, man!" he'd once remarked with a smile, “Besides, I gotta keep my hands in the game!"

And so it was…

           Ricky had supported Connor since before he'd first decided to become a boxer, nearly four years ago. He'd originally offered him the second bedroom in his spacious apartment back when they'd both attended Harbor Hills high school together, after a series of violent and traumatic events involving his abusive parents had driven the fox from his home, and he'd even been the one to train Connor in some of his signature combos and fighting techniques. However, for all of their friendship and support of one another, there were certain differences when it came to the two of them. 

In Ricky's case, the main difference between them lay squarely in Ricky's choice of the company he kept, and his 'side hustles,' as he liked to call them. Truth be told, Ricky Davis was a well-known hustler and gangster in their community, the South Side of Harbor City. He'd been a bookie, a drug dealer, a hired gun, and he had a serious gambling habit. He also loved to place large, rather outrageous bets on his best friend whenever it was a fight night. Seeing the glee in his eyes, Connor had no doubt that he'd likely done the same on this particular night.

“So, how much did you win this time?!" Connor shouted over the din of the crowd.

“Ten racks, man!" Ricky shouted back, before leaning in closer so he could speak softly. “That asshole promoter for Riley, the wolf you just shit-knocked, only had about six on him to pony up, so I had Mike and Ike take him out back into the alley to teach him some manners…"

“You put the TWINS on him?! He'll be lucky if all he ends up with is a fuckin' COMA!"

“Don't I know it… Ah, well; that's the price you pay for the game you play! You wanna go grab a drink, Champ?"

Connor shrugged his shoulders before nodding his assent. “Sure! Let's go check out that bar we saw across the street earlier."

           Ricky nodded, and began to lead the way up the stairs and away from the packed arena, heading casually towards a side exit as Connor stopped along the way to sign a few autographs for the fans which had been waiting for him, smiling politely as his bloodied boxing gloves dangled from around his neck. As the pair finally stepped out into the humid, cloudy summer night, Connor stopped to take in a deep breath of the city's thick, heavily-polluted air, before letting out his breath in a sigh of relief. Even though the air quality was obviously unhealthy, for some reason, to the fox, it always smelled and tasted like HOME.

       Even while still riding the high from his championship win, Connor knew that when it came down to it, in his mind, not much had really changed. Ricky was still 'Ricky,' he was still 'Connor,' and as far as the two of them were concerned, this day might as well have been any other given Friday night. God help anyone who tried to start anything tonight…

            As Ricky led the way across the empty, dimly-lit street, towards the small dive bar the two of them had spotted when they'd arrived earlier before the fight, they were quickly and quietly joined by a pair of tall, muscular white tigers, who seemed to materialize out of the shadows. Michael and Ian Westbrook, or 'Mike and Ike,' as the two brothers were known, had first met up with Ricky while they'd served together in the Marines. They had a penchant for violence, as did most of the people that Ricky liked to keep around. They'd also owed pretty substantial gambling debts to a rival crew, which Ricky had offered to pay off in full, with interest, if the pair would be willing to do a few jobs and 'lend a little muscle' wherever the man had deemed that such treatment was necessary. 

Hence the reason why Mike was now tapping Ricky's shoulder with a blood-smeared paw, holding out a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills.

“That mole had the other four grand sewn into a pocket he had next to his crotch," The tiger remarked with a chuckle. Ricky couldn't help shaking his head as he reached out to retrieve the cash.

“Man, why these pricks won't just give it up when they've got it, I'll never know…"

After adding the rest of the money to the large stack that he'd already won, the short man quickly divided it up into four parts, which he handed out to each of his friends, before turning around to hand one off to Connor.

“Here you go, Champ," he said with a smirk, “Party funds for tonight."

Connor couldn't help letting out a short laugh as he shook his head while stuffing the bills into the pocket of his shorts. Ricky had always been the type of friend who was more than happy to share the wealth. He could already tell that it was probably going to be a good night.

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           Two hours, many shots of liquor, and a loud play-by-play of the fight later, the four of them were laughing obscenely as they continued to run up a hefty bar tab between them. A small crowd had gathered around the dingy booth they'd chosen to occupy in one corner of the smoke-filled bar, the lively chattering of the patrons only interrupted by calls for refills from one of the two bartenders on duty.

“Hey, Rick, don't you have a fight comin' up in the next few days?" an older, gray-muzzled weasel called out from the crowd.

“Yeah!" Ricky nodded his head in response, “I got challenged for a street match on Monday night! What about it?"

The glassy-eyed weasel leaned in closer.

“You still runnin' that book, kid?"

Grinning widely, Ricky reached a hand into the back pocket of his jeans, coming up with a small paper notepad which had a half-pencil threaded through its metal rings.

“I'll give you even money on me. Three-to-one if this next guy somehow manages to win."

“I'll take the challenger for a hundred bucks," the weasel continued, fishing the bill out from his wallet before handing it over to Ricky. Shrugging his shoulders, the stocky human pocketed the money before making a small scribble on the notepad. 

“Sure thing, old man; it's your money to lose. What's your name?"

“Jimmy."

“Alright, then. See you at the fight."

The old weasel gave them a parting nod, before returning to his seat at the bar. As he weaved his way through the crowd, Connor was hit with a sudden burst of recognition. Leaning over the table, he nudged Ricky with one arm to get his attention.

“Hey man, you know who that guy was, right?" He asked, the look on his face voicing unspoken concern. His friend shot him an ear-to-ear grin as he nodded in response.

“Jimmy Ray Edwards. They used to call him 'Jimmy Fender'; he owned a pretty hardcore pub back in the day. Chaos Theory, one of the city's best bands, used to play weekly gigs there for free drinks. His son Theodore, or Teddy; you remember him? Always hanging around with us when he's not at school? He's the one who challenged me to a fight on Monday."

“And you went ahead and took his dad's fuckin BET?!"

“Why not?!" Ricky answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “It's not like old Jimmy will ever get to see that money again. Besides, even if Teddy DOES knock my ass into next week, I've got enough cash stashed to cover a loss."

“Remind me just HOW we're best friends again?" Connor mumbled as he shook his head slowly in disbelief.

Ricky leaned back in his seat, placing both of his thick arms behind his head before letting out a pitiful sigh. “Well… We could start with how I've been helping you out, since what happened with you and your family back in high school, or how I taught you to fight when you asked, or how we're basically fucking almost every nigh–"

“--OKAY! Okay!... I remember now…" Connor growled under his breath. His ears twitched slightly as he could feel the blood rushing into them. 

Although he was publicly open when it came to his sexuality, the fact that he was gay wasn't commonly known in the boxing world; he'd worked hard to keep it that way. That's not to say he hadn't knocked out several of his opponents who'd found out, and had attempted to call him homophobic slurs in the ring. Fighters just love trying to get into each others' heads; he just wouldn't tolerate it happening to him.

             And judging by the drunken smile which was starting to cross Rick's face, he knew he was probably going to be 'getting into' somewhere when they returned home to their apartment that night. Ricky might've been as hard as they come when out on the streets, but in the bedroom, he always seemed to prefer it when Connor ended up on top. In fact, he almost always made sure the fox ended up on top…

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                                                                    Monday Night, Downtown Harbor City

             The makeshift fighting arena, located in a dimly-lit parking garage somewhere in Downtown Harbor City, was packed floor-to-floor with cars, gamblers, and spectators. The match, which would be livestreamed to those who'd preferred to watch from the comfort of their vehicles, was getting ready to begin. The fighting area was nothing but a series of thin foam mats, forming the rough outline of a square upon the concrete. From either side of the 'ring', a tall, brown-furred weasel and a short, thick-muscled human were staring daggers at each other.

“Your pops bet against you, you know that?!" Ricky taunted his opponent. “Hundred bucks on you getting your ass kicked!"

“Bullshit!" Teddy, the weasel shot back, undeterred. “He never bets against me! Why don't you just throw this match, and go fuck around with your little fox boy over there?!"

Connor, standing behind his friend, began to step forward with a bottle of whiskey in one paw and a snarl drawn across his muzzle. Ricky quickly held up a hand to stop him. Smirking , he turned back to face the weasel. 

“Wrong position, dumbass!" He exclaimed, “ You've known us long enough to know that this fox actually prefers to be on top!"

“Man, I KNEW you guys were seriously gay!" Came Teddy's disgusted response.

“Oh, we're definitely SERIOUS!" Ricky laughed loudly, before making his way to the center of the ring. He was going to have fun with this one. Associates, or not, no matter what else happened on this night, Teddy Edwards was not going to be leaving this fight unscathed. 

He'd called out the Underground King, and by rights, he was entitled to everything he had coming…

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END Chapter 1

Well, this is my new story, everyone. After ten years in a glut, I've got two entire new series to type up, of which this will be the first. I hope you all enjoy my trademark combo of noir, romance, action, drama and tragedy. For those who've read my previous work, you might recognize some familiar faces, and be surprised at some new twists and turns. As I've matured, I feel my writing style has changed as well. But feel free to let me know what you all think! Any comments, faves and votes are appreciated.

–C