"The unthinkable has just happened!" shouted the presenter. "The biggest loser ever to step into this ring has just dethroned the young prodigy Richarzon with pure emotion!"
But after those words... there was only silence.
"You stupid brute! Do you know how much money I lost because of you?" shouted a man from the audience, throwing a glass bottle.
The bottle shattered against Gorgo's head, cutting his forehead. The man brought his hand to the wound, confused, blood running down his face.
He looked up: there were no cheers, no smiles. Just a chorus of general contempt. One by one, the attendees left the gym, with gestures of disapproval directed at the winner of the night.
"But what...?" Gorgo muttered in shock, watching as the place emptied. What the hell happened?
"Thank you very much, big guy!" exclaimed the presenter from the betting booth. "With this fight, you made me a lot of money without having to pay out any prizes!
"But... what happened?" insisted Gorgo, incredulous.
"Nobody bet on you..." replied Hector in a subdued voice.
"What do you mean, no one? But I was the underdog! If I won, whoever bet on me would have made a fortune."
"Yes... but that's not how it went, Gorgo," said Hector, without looking up. "No one believed in you tonight..."
"Well... but at least we won a lot of money. You bet on me, right?" Gorgo tried to joke, with a shaky laugh.
"Didn't you hear the presenter?" Hector asked, unable to hold his gaze.
"Don't tell me..."
"I'm so sorry... but even I didn't believe you were going to win."
"How much money did you lose?"
"Twelve thousand dollars..."
"Son of a..." Gorgo muttered, disappointed.
"I'm so sorry..."
"Why, Hector?" he asked angrily. "I was supposed to win today. I promised you, I asked you to trust me. I told you you'd pay your bills with the money we'd win..."
Gorgo clung to the ropes of the ring, his eyes trembling and his teeth clenched.
"I know! But what did you want me to do? You've been promising the same thing for the last five losses! My expectations were through the floor... I just couldn't take the risk and played it safe," said Hector, visibly nervous. But I've learned my lesson, next time I'll bet on you...
"Forget it! There won't be a next time, I quit!" Gorgo shouted furiously. "I did this for you and your hospital bills, because I cared about your wife too! But screw you!"
"Well done, big guy. You fought well. Here's your prize," interrupted the presenter, handing Gorgo an envelope with money.
Gorgo took it without looking at it and, without thinking twice, threw it at Hector, hitting him squarely in the face.
"You can shove that money up your ass," Gorgo spat contemptuously as he left the ring, gathered his things, and walked away.
Hector stood there, holding the envelope in his trembling hands, feeling the weight of his bad decision crush him more than any blow that night.
Gorgo walked out onto the street with his bag slung over his shoulder. He wandered aimlessly along the sidewalk, observing the illuminated buildings, the shiny shop windows, and the cars passing by like ghosts under the streetlights.
After several blocks in silence, he stopped in front of a second-rate bar with half-working neon lights and a faint smell of tobacco in the air.
He entered without saying a word, sat down at the bar, and dropped the bag beside him.
He looked around. The place was full of men drinking carefree, laughing, shouting, telling stories that no one was really listening to.
Gorgo said nothing. He just listened. He just breathed.
"Life is shit... If I lost tonight, I'd still be a loser who broke his own record... I won, and now I'm just another failure. My life is falling apart..."
"A beer, please..." Gorgo asked in a dull voice.
"Right away..." replied the bartender.
"Nah... not a beer. Make it a bottle of whiskey and three glasses," interrupted an unexpected voice.
Gorgo turned slowly and saw Richarzon, accompanied by a man dressed in a perfectly pressed black suit, white shirt, dark glasses that hid his eyes, and, as a special touch, a dark green tie.
Gorgo blinked, confused.
"Richarzon?" asked Gorgo, surprised, noticing the bruises and band-aids on the young man's face. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to get my anesthesia," he replied with an enthusiastic smile. "But we found you here, so... how about we celebrate your getting out of your slump? It's on me!"
"That's not why we're here, but whatever... do whatever you want," said the man in the suit, taking a seat next to Gorgo.
"You should be more considerate, Do'cientos... you just saw what happened to him," Richarzon reproached him, sitting down on the other side of Gorgo.
"Do'cientos?" Gorgo repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"That's his nickname... I don't even know his real name," Richarzon laughed.
"This seems strange..." Gorgo muttered, trying to get up.
"Don't get up... until you hear my offer," Do'cientos ordered him in a firm voice.
Do'cientos took the bottle of whiskey and poured a glass for Gorgo, Richarzon, and finally one for himself.
There was an awkward moment of silence.
"What's going on?" Gorgo asked nervously.
"Your performance today was incredible. You had no chance of winning. Your victory was purely luck... Richarzon's mistake led you to victory..." Do'cientos explained.
"Thanks, your words are comforting," Gorgo replied sarcastically.
"But your performance made me realize that your body is gifted..."
At those words, Gorgo leaned to one side and covered his crotch, causing Richarzon to burst out laughing.
"I'm not talking about that vulgarity..." the man clarified, annoyed. "Your body is more resistant than Richar's... more capable of carrying out our project..."
"What are you talking about?" asked Gorgo.
"My participation in underground boxing is merely a hobby... a physical test," explained Richarzon, lowering his voice. "I'm part of something much bigger, Gorgo... and my agent wants you to join the raid."
"This smells illegal to me..." Gorgo replies suspiciously.
"Because it is, in part," commented Do'cientos, leaving a card on the bar.
"Dediurity Foundation: agency of heroism and private security," Gorgo read aloud. "An agency of heroes? What's illegal about that?"
"Actually," interrupts Do'cientos, with a barely perceptible grimace, "the foundation's real name is Money Corporation."
"What a ridiculous name..."
"Want to compete to see who has the most ridiculous name? 'Great Gorgo Garilla,'" retorts Richarzon with a sly smile.
"Touché..." admits Gorgo, snorting. What the hell do you want?
"The Money Corporation seeks wealth and power. We are a mafia disguised as a security agency," Do'cientos explained coldly. "We want to dominate the states, the markets... everything."
"I don't want to be a killjoy, but 70% of the population here in the United States has some kind of superpower." And 40% of them are professional heroes. As soon as your 'mafia' comes to light, it will be crushed along with your desires.
"Your statistics are correct. But of that 40%, 25% are motivated by fame and money... They are corrupt. Part of a system that protects them. Example: our Corporation.
"You reveal too much information too confidently..."
"I trust you won't say anything, Mr. Garilla," replied Do'cientos, slightly pulling back his jacket to reveal a hidden weapon.
Gorgo swallowed hard and took a sip of whiskey, feeling his nerves tighten in his chest.
"What do you want?" Gorgo asked, his voice breaking.
"Two things..." Do'cientos began calmly. "We want to test an experimental serum on you. Your body meets the requirements to withstand it. In addition, we want you to be an 'action agent' for our corporation."
"To put it bluntly..." Richarzon interjected, now with a serious look. "They want to inject you with a dubious serum to give you powers, and make you one of the ones who does the dirty work."
"The pay won't be bad, Mr. Garilla..." added Do'cientos, leaving a wad of bills on the bar. "It's thirty thousand. Money won't be a problem. "And if you perform well..." he continued, "you'll gain power and fame in the underground world. But only if you guarantee success in every operation.
"And if I refuse... will you kill me?" asked Gorgo, tense.
"Not at all..." replied Do'cientos casually. "We'll kill you if you refuse the offer and tell anyone about it."
"If you don't want to accept, that's fine," he added as he swirled his glass, "but the only condition for staying alive is absolute silence on this matter."
"Think about it, Gorgo..." suggested Richarzon. "They treated you very badly, they were even making fun of you before our fight. Let us help you earn the respect you deserve."
Gorgo remained silent, thoughtful, staring at his glass of whiskey.
"He's right... Today my life took a nosedive. My only source of income disappeared along with my best friend... I hit rock bottom. I'm being presented with an opportunity to turn my life around 180 degrees..."
"I accept."
"That's it!" Richarzon exclaimed enthusiastically.
"My number is on the card. The money is yours... And welcome to the Money Corporation." I'll call you in three days to do the serum test and give you your payment.
"Payment?"
"A risky experiment deserves good pay."
"I see..."
"Isn't that great, Gorgo? Let's toast, since we're colleagues now," Richarzon said cheerfully, clinking his glass with Gorgo's.
They separated their glasses and took a long sip of the drink, letting the burning alcohol slide down their throats.
Around them, the laughter of the patrons and the pungent smell of tobacco filled the air, as if the world continued to turn regardless of the decisions being made at that table.
The bottle lay empty on the bar, silently sealing the celebration, or perhaps the beginning of something much darker.
<< After that night, Gorgo Garilla's life became dark and hopeless. >>