A dose of fetish. Good friends. An incomparable muse.
Cage-fighting wasn’t a publicly sanctioned event; a fact which increased its popularity among certain demographics. As with all human enterprises there were rules. Fighters couldn’t leave the ring until the fight had reached a satisfactory conclusion. The referee’s ruling was absolute. Death matches were prohibited. Death was messy. Death meant corpses and corpses were bad publicity. Corpses brought in law enforcement. The arena would have to relocate and that was expensive.
This particular establishment, which will remain nameless for reasons of security, was located somewhere in the warehouse district. There was nothing to distinguish it from the other buildings in the district. The upper level was filled with rubbish, broken glass, dated machinery, and homelessness. The lower level was an arena with an official capacity of 2,000 spectators. Headliners drew in significantly larger crowds. The floor had been stripped of concrete and filled with packed dirt. A wire cage 22 feet by 22 feet surrounded the combat area. Two bulky and nearly indistinguishable guards stood watch by the doors. They were equipped with armor and stun gun batons. Blood stained the ringside seats.
Use the above setting in the creation of a short story or poem.