Doug, Freddie, and Dennis sat all exhausted, sweat glistening from fur and feathers as the orange sun sunk outside the windows of the now-closed-to-the-public Gunnar’s Gym. Doug was especially swollen, black-and-blue, his eyes staring into space blankly and his torso rocking back and forth. Dennis hung backwards across a weight rack himself, and Freddie was laying on his back across a bench. The dog was wearing his keikogi as was his norm, while the other two wore long shorts. Freddie was shirtless, Dennis wore a compression shirt. Across the gym, on the side with the bags, Anne was still working tirelessly, her body soaked in sweat and her fur matted, her muscles taut and tired and cramping though she worked through it. The entire place was sepia toned, the old brick and wooden walls reflecting warmly the fire that shone through the windows. “I don’t think we can keep up with this, man…” Dennis said quietly. “I mean, you think she’s really up for it?” “The doctors said she’d never throw a left hook again… I think all three of us know how bulshit that is.” Freddie responded, his beak hanging open letting cool air into his lungs. “Fuck her hooks, that upper picked me up off the ground.” Dennis replied, his stomach visibly bruised under his fur. “Yeah, but whoe’er she gon’ fight ain’t gon’ be ninety pounds ’a’ holla-boned bat, Dennis.” Doug added before taking a big sigh and straightening up, stretching out his back and chest with several audible pops. “Still… there ain’t nothin’ wrong n’her shoulder… You’d feel it. Feel it bucklin’ ‘r feel it poppin’, even if she powered through.” He stood up and straightened his gi, then slung his arms in circles, stretching his shoulders and neck. “I’m gonna go offer one last round then go home.” “You’re a monster…” Freddie grunted as he sat up, his own back cracking and making him shiver. “Oohf.” He rolled his shoulders and stood up. “Come on, Dennis. I wanna see this.” Dennis said nothing, but whined as he slid to his feet, slumping forward and trudging behind the dog and the parrot. Anne heard them walking over, and leaned against the bag, clinching it and resting for a moment. The bag cinched in the middle where she squeezed it, the massive 300lb sandbag looking completely average next to her. Her whole body looked sculpted perfectly, the full day of work stressing her muscles and tightening them. Dennis didn’t even bother trying to hide how he stared at her, though more out of appreciation for her body than the usual creeping lust that dominated him. Before their padding footsteps crossed from the foam padding in the weight area to the hardwood she was standing on, she straightened up and started to walk to the back, towards the showers. “Good work today guys. Hit the showers then go home and heal up, we’re gonna start early tomorrow!” The three stopped and looked at each other, simply shrugged, and turned at once to the back towards the showers. [center]-----------------------------------------------------------[/center] Anne Gunnarsdottir pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex, a good five pounds of organ meat packed up in the passenger seat of her old jeep. The brakes whined through the holes in the floorboards as she parked underneath the old red-brick building. The door squeaked loudly as she opened it, and when she slammed the door behind her both mirrors and all of the glass shuddered. Her bag of meat dripped from a single popped corner onto the faded blacktop. The ground was just hot enough for the mixture of blood and condensation to hiss as it struck the heated surface. The antique metal stairs clanged with her every heavy stomp, her weight making it shudder as dust fell from the brackets connecting it to the building. She smelled a familiar cologne as she stepped onto the concrete landing, overly strong, spicy, and much too much for a single person to be wearing. It was Ghala by Ajmal. It was Ali Masri. Sure enough as Anne rounded the corner she saw the slender, unnaturally red mongoose standing in front of her door looking out towards the highway. The cigarette in his hand smelled odd, not that she was a smoker, but she could tell that Ali wasn’t a Marlboro man. His yellow eyes rested behind even brighter yellow sunglasses, with golden frames to fit the theme. His shirt was tightly-fitted around his torso and half-open to off his chest. He wasn’t in shape per se, he was a body sculptor. Just fit enough to look pretty for girls but not really serious about any sport or particular activity. She was surprised that she hadn’t seen or smelled his daily driver in the parking lot, a mirror-polished black Masarati Granturismo that stunk of his cologne and foreign cigarettes. What Anne hadn’t expected to see behind him was a black monkey woman of some kind. She was dressed semi-professionally, a white, button-up, collared blouse over a white tank. Her pants were Kahkis, the kind made for police and security, permanent press, nice-looking stain-resistant fabric, hidden pockets and so on. They were well worn but clean, and the crease was very tight and fresh. They were also fairly short, hemmed up at a capri length, probably to stand out less on a woman. There was an anklet around the monkey’s left ankle which was fairly thick, round, and looked like brass. It had a single ball closure, probably to prevent open ends from getting hung on things. She had a similar bracelet on her right wrist. She wore a watch on her left wrist, a very small, simple stainless steel watch with a black nylon band, the face on the inside of her wrist. On her face were a simple set of black plastic glasses, but the lenses were thin and there was little distortion in them. “Anne! We’ve been waiting for you! Long day at the gym? Working hard for your big day?!” He punched at her stomach, a short little flurry of dull thuds against her. He pulled back when he realized his fists were coming back moist with sweat, and shook them off as he laughed awkwardly. “Haha, hah, well, I figured I’d bring Ms. Araujo by for introductions! Obviously I couldn’t get any big American fighters to come back for… well… you know.” He withdrew a box of cigarettes and a small gold lighter, and continued to talk as he shook one out and prepared to light it. Anne looked down at the primate. She was in shape, toned, sure, but she wasn’t anywhere near Anne’s weight class. “Her? She’s… Very small. No offense.” “I am used to fighting above my weight class, Ms. Gunnarsdottir.” The primate’s jewelry jangled as she turned to face Anne, a hand in her pocket and the other hanging loose at her side. “You’d have to be if you fought much of anybody.” She replied with a sharp curl of her black lips, looking into the ape’s eyes, gauging her reaction. Vitoria’s eyes only slightly narrowed, but a smile crept across her own lips. ‘A scared dog barks,’ she must be thinking. Of course, Anne wasn’t afraid, she couldn’t be. She wanted to see if Vitoria would flinch, and she didn’t. That was good. The air between the two women seemed to heat, distorting like the air over blacktop in summer. Ali stepped into the middle of it, lit cigarette in hand, breaking the eyeline between the two. “Ladies like you are beyond bragging about your Resumes, but Ms. Araujo is BOPE, a very experienced trainer throughout South and Central America, and has recently started work in the US. Her skills are very similar to yours, Anne!” He pats her shoulder lightly. “That’s how I’m selling it! Fight between veterans, the comeback of an old champion, the introduction of a new underdog! I’ve even got some guys lined up for your boys, too!” Anne reflexively, very faintly, growled and snarled almost imperceptibly before scoffing. “So long as it worked…” “It did! Now, for the next good news!” Ali clapped his hands together, shaking the ash from the tip off of his cigarette. “I found a doctor willing to check you out. Your appointment is tomorrow morning, so clean up, dress nice, maybe wear some perfume. Dr. Welks is the only specialist I’ve found that would agree to performing your examination, so I suggest you play nicely, or else you still lose your business, and you will cost me a [i]lot[/i] of money.” He chuckled and took a short puff of his cigarette before stepping around Anne, starting towards the stairs. “I’ll be in touch!” He disappeared around the corner, his long tail snaking around last. Vitoria started to walk around as well, but stopped, standing with her back to Anne. “I am [i]at least[/i] as good as you. Come in with everything you have or it will be a quick, boring show.” She started walking again, the glove-like shoes on her hand-like feet slapping the concrete. Anne growled out louder as the primate rounded the corner, snarling openly. “[i]Ali is mocking me.[/i]” she thought, before punching the concrete pillar that held the walkway up. “[i]Pairing me up with a fucking… Welterweight?![/i]” She angrily unlocked her door, slamming the deadbolt and throwing the door open, stomping into her apartment. [center]-----------------------------------------------------------[/center] Steam roiled around Anne’s naked form. The claws of her left hand combed through the fur of her right shoulder, examining her flesh. Rough pads palpated her muscles and joints. She didn’t feel anything wrong, she didn’t know that she ever did. She was sore for a long time after, she was weak for even longer, but never felt crippled and never felt disqualified. But the physicians disagreed. In the mirror she stared at herself, stretching, flexing her shoulder and arm, trying to find a hitch, trying to find whatever it was Welks was meant to find in the morning. Maybe he’d find nothing. Anne hoped he’d find nothing. She walked out of the bathroom, only slightly wet still, steam following her out the door into her bedroom. The sun was still barely out, burning through the blinds, through the curtains. The lights were off, the light from the windows bathing the room in a faint golden glow, casting her mismatched furniture, mismatched curtains, mismatched pillows and blankets, mismatched piles of clothes on the floor in a slowly fading sepia. Her bed let out a rusty groan as her weight came to rest on it, every movement as she rolled her legs up and put her back to the headboard eliciting more squeaks and moans from the tired boxsprings. She turned the lamp on her nightstand on, a dim light to read by, and eyed her bottle of Jim Beam Rye and the shot glass next to it. “[i]To sleep on.[/i]” She thought to herself, reaching over and untopping the bottle. [center]-----------------------------------------------------------[/center] The room stunk like whiskey, sweat, and sex. Anne laid in what was once a puddle, but was now just a dry brown stain in her sheets. A nigh-empty bottle rested at her side, nestled under her arm, having spilled out in the night. Her covers hung off the foot of the bed in a mess. Her left arm was limp off the edge of her bed, the other rested on her stomach. Her head laid back, maw open and tongue hanging out, snoring like a beast. The sun cut across her face as the late morning brought it around and as she roused from sleep her phone rang out a tinny version of an old country song, eliciting a tired groan. She smacked her drooly lips and her heavy left head thudded across the nightstand, feeling for her phone. She lifted it to her face, and her eyes struggled to focus on the screen. Her vision went soft, and then sharpened, and lost focus in the other direction, back and forth for a good while before finally settling, letting her use her phone. “ALIMAS - 10:57am Your appointment is at 1pm, at UT hospital with Dr. Andrew Welks. You can find him when you get there. Get to it!” [center]To be Continued[/center]