Origin

1.

THE END OF MY life began on a Wednesday. Looking back, the day itself was rather unremarkable. There was no terrible weather signifying my impending doom, nor any natural disasters indicative of the beginning of the end. I can't deny, though, that this particular Wednesday was unarguably the beginning of it all.

I left my apartment bright and early toward 7th and Main, where an abandoned athletic center sat crooked and crumbling on the edge of downtown. The building itself was somewhat austere, both in appearance and interior, the old gym equipment long since rusted and coated in a fine layer of grime and graffiti. Regardless, the decrepit shack still served its basic function. Most of the kids and young adults in my neck of the woods who couldn't afford a gym subscription frequented the building, making good use of the punching bags and worn benches.

I personally preferred a more hands-on work out, and spent most of my time at the pool, long since drained of water, to practice hand-to-hand combat with some of the other downtown inhabitants. I wasn't very good at fighting, barely adequate was being generous, but I enjoyed the work out and the company, even if they were a little rough around the edges.

I descended the stairs to the pool area and tossed my bag beneath a bench, approaching a familiar silhouette waiting at the bottom of the wide basin occupying the room, long since drained of water.

"What's up, Cobra?" I bumped my fist against his and the man shrugged, settling into a stance. His snakeskin facemask covered the lower half of his face and neck, rendering his slanted, hazel eyes his only distinguishable feature. Everyone in the group covered their faces in one way or another, and had been since I'd first come here. I figured that was for the kids who got in trouble on the streets, but I wasn't really one to ask questions. Some things were best left alone.

I subtly eyed Cobra, sizing him up and trying not to feel too discouraged by his size. His upper body was so built he had to come through narrow doorways one shoulder at a time, and it didn't look like he'd been slacking off since I'd last fought him.

"Brother started using again," he muttered. "You ready?"

I winced. I'd fought him a few times before, and he hit harder when he was stressed.

"Bring it on, man."

I saw the first hit coming and ducked, aiming a solid kick at his shins. He grabbed my ankle before it connected and I twisted in the air, whipping my other leg around. Instead of kicking him in the jaw like they did in all the movies, he dropped my leg and I lost my leverage. I fell on the cement, hard. I swore under my breath, wincing as I stood.

"Don't show off, Moony," Our unofficial leader walked over, dark hair sticking up behind a full mask with a smile of jagged teeth imprinted from ear to ear. "That's how you end up dead."

I made a face, annoyed.

"You have bedhead, Venom," I answered moodily, rubbing my hip.

"Sí, but I am not losing, so nobody cares."

I muttered something considerably rude in Spanish, and he made a particularly impolite hand gesture as he returned his attention to his own fight.

Moony was short for Moonshine, the unfortunate nickname I'd gotten stuck with after a not-so-pleasant fight I'd gotten into one of my first times coming down to the center. The first fight I'd ever won had been against an alcoholic who apparently didn't have much of a taste for losing. He'd tried to break an empty bottle of Moonshine over my head, and I kicked him so hard in the gut he lost the contents of his stomach, directly over my tennis shoes. The nickname had stuck ever since, despite my distaste for it.