"I can't believe this is happening," Laura muttered, wiping her brow. She was tall and athletic, with a determined glint in her eye that betrayed her unease.
Emily, shorter but stocky and strong, shook her head. "We have to do this, don't we? No other way out?"
Laura glanced at the steel door, bolted shut from the outside. "No other way," she confirmed.
They had been brought here by a ruthless underground fight club organizer, known only as The Curator. Both women had been tricked into coming to what they thought were legitimate matches. Now, the only way out was to fight until one of them was knocked out.
"I don't want to hurt you," Laura said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Me neither," Emily replied, her eyes softening for a moment. "But if we don't, we might never get out of here."
They both knew the rules. Bare knuckles. No holds barred. Full knockout.
With a deep breath, they circled each other, the sound of water dripping from the ceiling echoing in the confined space. Laura made the first move, a tentative jab that Emily easily dodged. Emily countered with a quick strike to Laura's midsection, causing her to grunt in pain.
The fight escalated quickly. Laura's longer reach gave her an advantage in keeping Emily at bay, but Emily's compact strength and agility allowed her to slip inside Laura's defenses, landing powerful blows. They fought with grim determination, each strike fueled by the desperate need to escape.
Minutes felt like hours as they exchanged punches, their bodies becoming bruised and battered. Laura's lip was split, blood trickling down her chin. Emily's eye was swollen shut, yet neither woman backed down.
As exhaustion set in, their movements slowed. Laura saw an opening and delivered a crushing blow to Emily's jaw, sending her stumbling backward. Emily's back hit the tiled wall, and she slid down, barely conscious.
"Emily, I'm sorry," Laura gasped, every word a struggle.
Emily looked up, her vision blurry. "Do it," she rasped. "End it."
With a final, reluctant strike, Laura landed a knockout punch. Emily slumped to the floor, unconscious. The silence that followed was deafening.
Moments later, the steel door creaked open. Two burly guards stepped in, lifting Emily's limp form and dragging her out. Laura, still panting and in shock, was escorted out as well, the shower room door slamming shut behind them.
Outside, Laura was met by The Curator, his face unreadable. "You did well," he said, handing her a towel. "Your prize is freedom."
Laura wrapped the towel around herself, her body trembling. "And Emily?" she asked.
The Curator's eyes flickered with a rare hint of empathy. "She'll be taken care of," he replied. "You both fought bravely."
As Laura walked away from the grim building, she couldn't shake the image of Emily's battered face from her mind. She had won her freedom, but at what cost? The memory of the brutal fight would haunt her forever, a stark reminder of the price of survival in a world where humanity often came second to the cruelty of necessity.
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