C10 Xanth

Before the bastard can spit in my face, I sling my baton into his groin. All these fucking troublemakers think they are so smart. This asshole crumples, gasping for air. Two of his buddies emerge from around the corner and I straighten, ready for them. But they’ve got the fucking triangle tattoos on their neck. The sign for the underground and the pleasure-play tournaments for the gods