Chapter Text
“Who’s next, du fotze?!” Dim lights barely illuminated the crowded garage, chains and machinery hanging from the ceiling of the abandoned building. A circle of people stood around the center of the room, cheering, exchanging bets, watching the two people in the nonexistent ring. One standing, panting. The other laying on the ground, head bleeding on the concrete from where he fell. This was overwatch, an underground mixed martial arts tournament held for the amusement of rich and wealthy entrepreneurs, where aspiring fighters could try to hold their own in possibly-deadly combat in hopes of money and fame. Fighters from all over the globe came, seeking treasures and status that the sponsors handed out like pocket change. The so-called Angel of the Ring, Angela Ziegler, stumbled as she made her way to a bench, dabbing a towel against her split lip as several people in suits dragged her competitor from the arena, the green-haired asian man sagging in their arms. They took him outside.
Ziegler’s breath ran ragged as she tried to compose herself, pressing a bag of ice against her bloody, bruised knuckles, catching her breath as the next fight started underway. A pair of leather shoes stepped into her vision, obscuring the view of the floor as she sat, doubled over. “That was very entertaining to watch, you earned this.” A second pair of shoes stepped up, setting several crisp hundred dollar bills on the bench next to her. They followed the other pair back the way they came. She crunched them in her hand, holding onto them for dear life as she tried not to pass out from exhaustion, not to mention the heady taste of iron in her mouth.
Angela Ziegler was the leading Swiss fighter in the organization, and definitely the one of the best German ju-jutsu fighters in the world. Holding a spot in the upper-middle section of the underground hierarchy, Ziegler made good use of German ju-jutsu 1960’s origins, only aided by its combination with countless other martial arts as the effective standard of all German police. Having spent time time in the army as a combat medic, Angela combined her medical knowledge with physical combat, making herself a lethal opponent to fight against. Although her petite figure made many a wrestler or boxer sneer at her, they laughed only to be put in the ground later on. She had appeared at the ring’s gates only recently, but was already causing ripples among the sponsors. Her past was undiscussed, but her effective ruthlessness made a clear reputation in its stead.
The crowd cheered as another body hit the floor, the next round having apparently been decided. Money exchanged hands once more. Ziegler sat back on her bench, doing her best to relax among the aches and pains that had been sprinkled over her body. She unwrapped the bandages on her hands as she surveyed the crowd, eventually her eyes resting on the glass viewing room fixed above the front of the room. Fat cats, sponsors, and event organizers enjoyed themselves from a lofty perch, although the luxurious lounge always seemed a bit out of place in the ruined building. It hadn’t helped they had decided to reconstruct the entire thing either, the front wall enjoying new infrastructure to support their vision. There had been talk of a fully revitalized arena, too. Maybe one with an actual ring. Angela doubted it, this hotbox was just one of many they cycled through, something to evade cops and prying eyes.
The same pair of leather shoes was there, alongside his bodyguard. Her sponsor. The man was good at what he did, despite being new at the game. He ran a small oil company overseas, but made his real fortune as a drug smuggler. No one was willing to sift through barrels of oil. Anyway, the man was talking to some of the others, more than likely setting up the next match. Fucker never really did like to give his fighters time to rest, something about getting his money’s worth. That was fine with Angela, a few pills here and there would help her make it through the next round.
A pair of eyes met Angela’s intrusive stare, belonging to a elderly woman sitting in a chair, better described as a throne, overseeing everything that went on below. This kingpin, called Horus, was at the top of it all, the one who created these events in the first place. Rumors say she started her regime as a boxing sponsor, fell out when her boxer died in a fixed match, and used everything she had to build up her crooked empire. No one really knew why, maybe for revenge, or maybe she was looking for something. Plenty of people guessed her motive, but no one really cared in the end. It was profitable, her kingdom, and that was all that mattered.
An imposing looking person appeared next to the old woman, arms crossed as she carefully watched the fights below. One of the only people not wearing a suit, the brash fighter exchanged some words with Horus before following the line of sight that landed on Ziegler. Angela stared right back, unperturbed as she locked eyes with the famous combatant.
Fareeha Amari, sole daughter of Ana Amari and heir to the fortune of the organization. Growing up bored and pampered led her to seek excitement elsewhere, something she obtained by jumping into the ring herself. Rumors say that when she was younger she was a vicious street fighter, going after petty gangs to justify using her brute strength. The same rumors led many fighters doing their best to avoid ending up in the ring with her, and the ones that did were pulled out by sponsors looking to protect investments. Hence, Fareeha spent most of her time in the viewing box, sneering at the fights like a racehorse at the gates. She was always dressed for a fight, though, hands bandaged and a blue jersey she never took off. And now this unbridled fury had locked eyes with Ziegler. Angela just hoped her sponsor was smart enough to refuse a match.
Fareeha turned, interrupting a conversation between several men in suits, pointing a finger at Ziegler as she barked questions. Almost immediately most of the businessmen stepped aside, leaving our poor leather-shoed sponsor in the limelight. Angela watched as Fareeha challenged him, probably incentivising him with money. It wasn’t unusual for the daughter of Horus to throw money and organizers in order to get a match, but despite the risk-free profit most sponsors would still refuse. Angela grumbled as she dug her knuckles harder against the bag of ice, knowing her sponsor lacked common sense. She didn’t think he had ever seen an Amari matchup, but he still ought to know better. It was a few hours before Angela saw him again, she was lounging in one of the back rooms as he approached.
“Fareeha Amari wanted to make a deal.” The suit-wearing businessman stood in front of his fighter, hands folded as his bodyguard leaned against the nearby wall.
“Did you seriously agree to put me in the ring with that m iststück?” Angela glared as she bit the end of her cigarette, smoke leaking from the corners of her mouth.
“No, I’m not that ignorant. I know what happens. She wanted to organize a certain matchup, though. Wanted to see you fight again. I think you can take this guy, and the pot was doubled. I know you’re tired, but this is a good opportunity.” The sponsor waved a hand, his bodyguard handing Angela a dossier before they turned to leave. “You have four hours before the fight. Don’t let me down.”
Angela smashed her cigarette into an ashtray on the table next to her, licking her fingers before opening the file. Contained was a profile along with a nice bundle of cash. She counted it. A few hundred. She knew how her boss worked, a bit of pay before hand and three times that if she won. Losing was always subject to opinion, not to mention other sponsors would occasionally reward particularly entertaining or brave fighters. But this wasn’t just any fight. Ziegler crossed her legs as she started reading the profile of her opponent. A true-blooded American, a rough looking man in a cowboy getup. It was almost laughable. The man looked like he should have gone into wrestling, although his track record seemed impressive. Having spent his life in and out prison, the man by the name of McCree was a small time gang member before he was picked up in a smaller fighting organization. An expert of jailhouse rock. Angela almost burst out laughing, it didn’t even sound like a real style. She regained her composure and kept reading. Analyzing an opponent had always helped her in the past, regardless of the hilarity.
Four hours came and went, and Ziegler was ready. She still had no idea what kind of style she was up against, seemed more like a urban myth than anything else. After spending some time by her locker, Angela headed for the arena, fresh bandages on her hand and a grin on her face. The circle of people opened up for her to enter, spotlights swinging overhead as she exited from the back room, various cheers filling the air. It was unusual for the same fighter to have two matches this close together, a buzz of excitement echoed through the crowd as bets were made, most against the already-exhausted fighter. Angela took her place on the edge of the concrete slab, slipping a mouthguard in as she waited.
Rap music filled the air as lights turned on at the other end of the stadium. Angela tilted her head, it wasn’t just rap. There was...country? Ziegler shook her head of confusion as the cowboy himself sauntered from the opposite waiting room, wearing respectable boxer garb, had it not been for the ugly looking cowboy hat. She had read that he never took it off, but this was something else. Trying to resist laughing as they stepped into the ring, Angela took her stance, waiting to see what she was up against. The bell sounded.
Angela stood still as she watched the cowboy, a smug look on his face as he...Angela almost let down her guard, she couldn’t quite understand what she was seeing...starting waving his fists in front of his face, bobbing them up, down, and around as he bounced on his heels.
“C’mon now, don’t be shy~” McCree stepped forward as he continued moving his hands, almost looking like he was dancing as he approached the Angel of the Ring. Ziegler shrugged her shoulders, thinking she would just pin him before going to town, just like any other fist-heavy fighter. With that in mind, she got low, preparing to grapple as the two fighters got within arm’s reach. Angela looked for a hole in his defense, deciding to play the waiting game as he continued dancing with his fists. Suddenly, Angela’s head snapped back, followed by an impressive follow-up as the cowboy struck her three times, all aiming for the face. Ziegler grimaced as she felt blood spurt from her nose, falling to her knees as McCree bounced back, circling his hands even faster.
“Aw, are you done already? Poor thing.” The cowboy chuckled to himself as Ziegler dragged herself back to her feet, pressing her bloodied nose to the back of her hand as she tried to focus. He was using distractions, that’s what his awkward style was all about. Didn’t help that each movement of his hand was either a circling block or a lethal jab, and there was no way to tell the difference. Angela slid her foot back, bracing herself as McCree took a step closer. Ziegler tried to close the distance, snapping out her leg in a kick to the side of his head. The cowboy grinned as he caught it with his cycle of blocks, slapping it away as he dashed at her with a straight jab.
Ziegler heaved as she took the punch to the chest, her ribs definitely bruised. Her opponent followed up with a jab to the stomach, sending her back to the floor. Angela coughed, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth as she carefully stood up once more. Striking a stance, the Angel of the Ring watched his ever-moving hands. She couldn’t block it, so why should she try? The cowboy crept in, his hands a blur before he slid forward, delivering a sickening blow to her bread basket. The crowd audibly winced.
Angela clenched her teeth as she grabbed his arm with both hands, trying not to puke as she felt the wind exit her lungs. McCree tried to bounce back like before, trying to pull his fist free before realizing it was stuck good. Without missing a beat, he pulled his free hand back, the brawler landing his fist squarely on the side of her head, breaking skin. The crowd cheered as he did it again, drops of blood landing on the ground. Ziegler refused to budge, digging her nails into his flesh as she took a third hit, then a fourth.
Fareeha watched the scene unfold from the viewing box, arms crossed. Her mother chuckled softly in the throne next to her. “Looks like your prospect isn’t all she’s cracked up to be.” Fareeha narrowed her brow, watching the fight intensely.
“The match has already been decided, mother.”
McCree started panting, running low on air as he smashed his bloodied hand into her head again, pulling back for another hit. Angela took the opportunity, jumping and driving her shoulder into his chest with a dull thud, sending them both reeling to the floor. The two scuffled, Ziegler locking her legs around his back as the cowboy tried to free himself, hitting her in the side. Ziegler held him tight, grabbing his wrist, wrenching it behind his back and then some. A sickening pop followed by the cowboys pained shout. Angela let go of his useless arm, holding him steady before punching him squarely in his dislocated joint. He screamed a second time, his free hand trying to push her off. Ziegler wrestled with his free arm, locking it in her own before twisting it around, keeping his joint stiff. A single strike would probably give him a compound fracture. The crowd waited. Blood dripped from the Angel’s face.
Ziegler hesitated before letting go of the man’s arm, choosing instead to place a hard jab to his face, breaking his nose and knocking him out before standing up. The crowd cheered as usual, money flying. Ziegler swayed, everything felt far away as her knees gave out, falling to a kneeling position as blood trickled down the side of her head. The last thing Angela saw before collapsing was the viewer’s box, Fareeha Amari smiling at her.
“Angela. Wake up.” Ziegler groaned as she opened one of her eyes, a splitting headache running through her head as she struggled to sit up. It took her a moment to gather her surroundings, almost certainly suffering a concussion. She was laying on a plush couch, resting in the sponsor's box. Her boss was there, as well as Fareeha Amari. Horus sat in her chair a ways off, still watching the crowds below. “Don’t get up. You’ve earned it.” Ziegler’s sponsor stepped forward, patting her shoulder as he handed her a bank transaction slip. “Your prize was a bit hefty, so we took the liberty of putting it into a mutual fund for you. Hope you don’t mind.” Angela shook her head slowly, crunching the paper in her hand as her sponsor was replaced with Fareeha Amari.
“So, Angel of the Ring, we finally meet.” Fareeha stood above the bed-ridden fighter with a smirk on her face. “I’ve been watching you, and I want to fight you.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not a dummkopf.” Angela gave her a short wave as she turned over on the couch, looking to go back to sleep. Amari growled under her breath as she leaned down to her level, grabbing her by the shoulder as she talked into her ear.
“Do you know why I fight? It’s the thrill. The blood rushing, heart pounding. There’s nothing quite like it, you know? I live for it. And so do you. I can tell.” Angela whipped back around, looking to tell this motherfucker a thing or two about staying in her lane, only to end up lips on lips with the daughter of Horus. They froze. A good two seconds passed before Fareeha sprung back, spitting to the side. The two locked eyes as they glared, a sudden aura of death surrounding them.
“Why you…..I’ll fucking beat the shit out of you, schlampe!” Angela clenched her teeth as she rose to her feet, walking out of the room with white knuckles.
“Yeah, I’d like you see you try! ” Fareeha called after her. After making sure she had left, Fareeha lightly touched her lips. It was warm. She shook her head and went back to watching the fights.
Angela stormed back to her locker, her sponsor falling in alongside her with an encouraging speech about how well she hung in there during the fight. Ziegler wasn’t listening, she had violence on her mind. After telling her boss she had agreed to the fight, Angela found herself being treated to the best alcohol the back bar had to offer, her sponsor eagerly chatting away that he would arrange everything for the coming match. In the meantime, he told her, she was supposed to take some time off, not fight too many matches in order to stay in tip-top condition. Angela nodded, his words going in one ear and out the other as she stared into her glass of liquer. Somebody had to teach that bitch a lesson, regardless of how soft her lips were.
Either way, it was going to be a match to remember, the Angel of Ring made would make sure of that.