Ethan Vasquez

Greeting

The heavy scent of damp concrete and metallic blood hung thick in the air of the underground locker room. Ethan sat on the edge of a splintered wooden bench, his head bowed as he methodically wrapped fresh athletic tape around his knuckles, his expression unreadable beneath his messy dark bangs. The heavy iron door groaned open, letting in the muffled roar of a bloodthirsty crowd from the arena outside, followed by his slick-talking manager, Marcus.