VENOM

The first rule of the underground was simple. Nobody cared who you were. Not your name. Not your family. Not your dreams. Not whether you were a good person. The only thing that mattered was whether you could still stand when the bell stopped ringing. Rain hammered against the rusted roof of the abandoned warehouse as hundreds of people packed themselves around a steel cage. Men in expensive suits stood beside criminals. Students stood beside gang members. Businessmen stood beside people who had probably killed for a living. Nobody cared. They had come for one thing. Blood. Money changed hands throughout the crowd as bookies shouted odds. "Three to one!" "Five thousand on the big guy!" "C.Y. won't last two minutes!" "Double it!" Inside the cage stood a young Black man with his fists wrapped in worn white tape. His name was Cyril Victor. Twenty years old. No professional record. No sponsors. No championship belt. No wealthy family. Nothing. Just a battered black jacket hanging over his shoulders and a reputation that had slowly grown through the underground fighting scene. They called him C.Y. And tonight, C.Y. was looking at the biggest opponent he had ever faced. The man across from him looked like a wall. Nearly two meters tall. Broad shoulders. Thick arms. A scar crossing one eyebrow. The crowd had already decided how the fight would end. C.Y. didn't care. He bounced lightly on his feet. The larger man smiled. "You're young." C.Y. shrugged. "So?" "You should walk away." "Then why are you still standing here?" The crowd laughed. The large man didn't. The referee stepped between them. "No weapons. No interference. Fight until one fighter cannot continue." C.Y. looked around the cage. Then toward the crowd. He noticed something unusual. A man standing near the entrance. Black suit. Black gloves. No betting slip. No excitement. He wasn't watching the larger fighter. He was watching C.Y. Their eyes met. The stranger didn't look away. C.Y. frowned. Then the bell rang. The giant charged. C.Y. barely moved in time. A fist passed beside his face. The wind from the punch made his cheek sting. C.Y. stepped backward. The giant followed. Another punch. C.Y. ducked. Another. He slipped sideways. The crowd screamed. "STOP RUNNING!" "FIGHT!" C.Y. smiled. The big man was strong. But he was slow. C.Y. waited. One opening. Then another. He saw it. The giant swung with his right hand. C.Y. stepped inside. His fist slammed into the man's ribs. The giant grunted. C.Y. hit him again. And again. Three quick strikes. The giant stumbled. The crowd suddenly became quieter. C.Y. didn't give him time to recover. He moved around him, striking from different angles. The larger fighter tried to grab him. C.Y. slipped away. The giant swung wildly. C.Y. ducked. The fist struck the cage. The metal shook. C.Y. drove his shoulder into the man's chest. The giant stumbled backward. C.Y. followed. A clean strike to the body. Another. Then a final punch that sent the giant crashing onto the floor. The crowd exploded. "GET UP!" "GET UP!" C.Y. stepped back. The referee started counting. "ONE!" The giant moved. "TWO!" He pushed himself onto one elbow. "THREE!" C.Y. watched carefully. "FOUR!" The giant tried to stand. "FIVE!" His legs shook. "SIX!" He fell back down. "SEVEN!" The referee looked at him. "EIGHT!" The giant tried again. "NINE!" He couldn't rise. "TEN!" The bell rang. The warehouse erupted. C.Y. had won. Again. The cage door opened. C.Y. stepped outside. People immediately surrounded him. Some congratulated him. Others cursed him because they had lost money. A bookie pushed an envelope into his chest. "Your money." C.Y. opened it. His expression changed. "This is less than we agreed." The bookie shrugged. "Medical expenses." "You didn't pay for medical expenses." "You want the money or not?" C.Y. stared at him. The bookie smiled. C.Y. took the envelope. Not because he was afraid. Because he needed it. He walked away. Behind him, the suited stranger continued watching. --- C.Y. left through the back entrance. Rain immediately soaked his clothes. He pulled his hood over his head. His phone vibrated. He checked the screen. MOM: Can you come home soon? C.Y. typed a reply. C.Y.: Yeah. Give me thirty minutes. Another message arrived. MOM: And don't forget the medicine. He looked inside the envelope. He counted the money. His smile disappeared. "Great." He needed more. Much more. C.Y. started walking. His apartment wasn't far. But he stopped when he saw a woman standing beneath the awning of a closed shop. She was holding a broken umbrella. She looked at him. Then at his bruised face. Then back at him. "You fight?" C.Y. frowned. "No." She looked at his swollen knuckles. "Right." C.Y. kept walking. "You're bleeding." "I'm fine." "You don't look fine." "I've looked worse." She smiled slightly. "That's supposed to make me feel better?" C.Y. stopped. He looked at her properly for the first time. She had dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail and a small medical bag hanging from one shoulder. "You a doctor?" "Almost." "Almost?" "Medical student." "Then why are you standing outside in the rain?" She lifted the broken umbrella. "Because my umbrella decided to betray me." C.Y. laughed despite himself. She smiled. "I'm Maya." "C.Y." "C.Y.?" "Short for Cyril Victor." "Why not just Cyril?" "Because C.Y. sounds better." She laughed. "That's debatable." C.Y. started walking again. Maya followed. "Where are you going?" "Home." "You're going to treat that?" He looked at his knuckles. "I've got ice." "Ice doesn't fix everything." "You sound like my mother." "Your mother is probably smarter than you." C.Y. smiled. "Probably." They walked together beneath the rain. Neither of them noticed the black sedan parked across the street. Inside sat the man from the warehouse. He watched C.Y. disappear around the corner. A voice came through his earpiece. "Is that him?" The man nodded. "Yes." "Confirmed?" "Cyril Victor. Twenty years old. Underground fighter. No criminal record. Exceptional reaction speed. Abnormally high pain tolerance." "Any military training?" "No." "Police?" "No." "Family?" The man looked down at a photograph. C.Y.'s mother. His younger sister. His apartment. "One mother. One younger sister." A pause. "Would he be suitable?" The man looked toward the street where C.Y. had disappeared. "More than suitable." "Mr. Confidence wants candidates with loyalty." "He has it." "How do you know?" The man smiled. "Because he's poor." --- C.Y. returned home nearly an hour later. His mother was waiting. "You said thirty minutes." "Traffic." "You walked." C.Y. froze. His mother crossed her arms. "You think I don't know you?" C.Y. smiled. "Love you too, Mom." She sighed and touched the bruise beneath his eye. "Another fight?" "Last one." "You said that last week." "This time I mean it." "You always mean it." His younger sister appeared from the hallway. "Did you win?" C.Y. smiled. "Of course." She looked at his face. "You look like you lost." "That's because winning hurts." She laughed. For a few minutes, everything felt normal. Then C.Y.'s phone rang. Unknown number. He answered. "Hello?" Silence. Then a man's voice. "Cyril Victor." C.Y.'s expression changed. "Who is this?" "We would like to offer you employment." "What kind?" "Government work." C.Y. laughed. "You're calling the wrong person." "We don't think so." The call ended. C.Y. stared at his phone. His mother noticed. "Who was that?" "Nobody." But C.Y. knew that wasn't true. --- The next morning, three black vehicles arrived outside his apartment. C.Y. noticed them from the window. He hadn't slept much. He had spent most of the night thinking about the phone call. A knock came at the door. His mother looked at him. "Are you expecting someone?" "No." C.Y. opened the door. Two men stood outside. Both wore black suits. The man in front held a thin folder. "Cyril Victor?" "Who's asking?" "My name is Daniel." "Daniel what?" "Just Daniel." C.Y. didn't smile. "What do you want?" Daniel handed him the folder. C.Y. didn't take it. Daniel lowered his voice. "We represent a government department." "Then show me an identification." Daniel produced a black card. C.Y. looked at it. There was no name. Only a symbol. An eagle surrounded by a circular emblem. C.Y. looked up. "What department is this?" "The National Strategic Operations Directorate." "I've never heard of it." "Most people haven't." C.Y. finally took the folder. He opened it. His blood ran cold. Photographs. His underground fights. His apartment. His mother. His sister. His school records. Medical records. Even photographs of him walking through the city. C.Y. slowly closed the folder. "How long?" Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" "How long have you been following me?" "Long enough." C.Y. stepped outside and closed the door behind him. "You threatened my family?" "No." "You photographed them." "We monitor potential candidates." "Candidates for what?" Daniel smiled. "A position." "What position?" "Assassin." C.Y. stared at him. Then laughed. "You've got the wrong guy." "No." "I fight underground." "Exactly." "I'm not a soldier." "You don't need to be." "I've never killed anyone." Daniel's expression remained calm. "That's why we're here." C.Y. looked at the vehicles. Then back at Daniel. "What happens if I say no?" Daniel paused. "You walk away." C.Y. relaxed slightly. "That's it?" "That's it." Daniel looked at him. "But you'll keep fighting in warehouses until someone stronger eventually puts you in a hospital." C.Y. said nothing. "Your mother will keep struggling to pay bills." Silence. "Your sister will keep needing medicine." C.Y.'s jaw tightened. Daniel opened the folder again. "There are things you can't protect them from." C.Y. stared at him. "How much?" Daniel smiled. "Enough." "How much?" "Enough to change your family's life." C.Y. looked back at the apartment. He thought about his mother's tired eyes. His sister's medicine. The leaking roof. The unpaid bills. Then he looked at the folder. "What exactly would I be doing?" Daniel answered simply. "Removing threats to national security." C.Y. frowned. "People?" "Sometimes." "Targets?" "Criminals. Terrorists. Traitors. Dangerous individuals." C.Y. stared at him. "And you're telling me this is legal?" Daniel's smile returned. "We work for the government." C.Y. looked at the folder one last time. Then he noticed a photograph near the bottom. A man sitting behind a massive desk. Perfect suit. Calm expression. Confident smile. The name beneath the photograph was simple. MR. CONFIDENCE. C.Y. studied the man's face. Something about him felt wrong. Daniel noticed. "He's the head of the department." "What does he want from me?" "Everything you're capable of becoming." C.Y. closed the folder. He looked toward his family's apartment. Then back at Daniel. "When do I start?" Daniel smiled. "Today." Behind them, one of the black vehicles opened its door. C.Y. stepped toward it. He didn't know that he had just entered the world that would eventually destroy his family. He didn't know that the people giving him orders would one day hunt him. He didn't know that the man smiling from that photograph would become the person he hated most. And he certainly didn't know that somewhere in the future, after everything had been taken from him, people would stop calling him Cyril. They would stop calling him C.Y. They would give him another name. A name whispered by the people who survived him. VENOM.