Sodium Reactor

Late September, The Year After Everything Happened

Teresa Paraiso knew they had the address right. She'd checked it three times and driven past it the day before just to make sure. At this point they probably thought she was casing the joint rather than coming to fight for the first time. But no amount of mindfulness and deep breathing could abate the anxiety in her chest.

“You get quiet and sweaty when you're nervous. Just stop it.” Jennifer Schwiezer deadpanned, leaning forward from the backseat of Nisha' busted little sedan to and face Teresa. Teresa's longtime roommate and training partner had agreed to accompany her alongside Teresa's longtime friend, Nisha Patel, who'd agreed to drive only on the condition that someone else be the designated driver on the way back. Teresa's tall, pale roommate maintained a mild enmity with most of her friends, including Nisha. The feeling was largely mutual: she and Jennifer might be thick as thieves but neither one had ever gelled with her roommate's friends.

”'Lucky Shot' is such a shit name for a bar.” Jennifer grumbled.

“What? Nah it's hilarious. It's a pun. It's cute.” Nisha protested. “It's a bar, and they host fights. Lucky shot? Get it?”

“I get it. It's stupid. Someone was trying too hard.” Jennifer shot back, and Theresa welcomed her friends' arguments sas a quick reprieve from her thoughts of her own fight. This wasn't the first time she'd had an organized fight: she'd appeared on Kelsey Drama's Beat, Prey, Love series a dozen times over her college career so far.

Beyond that training with her professional fighter friends had provided crucial insight into what she did well and what she struggled with. Her stocky, light brown 5'3 frame was soft, and voluptuous, but far sturdier and stronger than it looked. Her plump thighs and squishy arms hid real, devastating power. She just had to believe in herself.

Nisha parked her cramped little sedan in the asphalt parking lot and stepped into the night air, running a hand through the short undercut she'd recently dyed silver again. “Less worrying, more fucking shit up, 'Pound Cake.'”

Hearing her ring name made this more real somehow. Teresa Paraiso was a college student. Pound Cake was an underground fighter.

The anxious 21 year old Filipina and her two friends flashed their IDs as they moved past the bouncer and into the bar. The Lucky Shot was bigger on the inside than it looked, and when Teresa turned around to ask the bouncer for direction, her voice failed her. Instead Jennifer pulled her hand so hard that Teresa clutched her glasses to keep them from falling off her round face.

“Hey, my friend signed up to fight tonight. Where do we go?” The tall Seattlite explained to the nearest server over the low din of the bar.

“Which one?” Asked the server, a reedy brown man with stubble and tired eyes. When Jennifer and Nisha pointed back towards their shorter friend, Teresa fought the urge to flee. “Here...” The server explained, wrapping a blue disposable bracelet around her wrist before pointing towards the far wall. “Head to the back. Ask for Acacia.”

Theresa nodded wordlessly, gripping her wrist as if she'd been marked for death.

They passed through the spacious bar, eyeing the boxing ring that dominated its center and the two women brawling inside it. Both were topless, and the bawdy crowd cheered each time one struck the other. It looked so barbaric from outside, but Teresa couldn't deny how much she enjoyed competing. She’d never even thrown a punch before college, but her life had changed dramatically since the last few weeks of her freshman year. The thought buoyed her a little.

The trio reached the far wall of the establishment where a tall woman blocked a door marked “Staff Only.” When Teresa flashed her new wristband and stammered the names of the two women who'd recommended this place to her, the muscled woman's countenance changed considerably. “Oh so you're here to fight fight. You shoulda said that from jump.” She nodded. “Locker room's two doors down on the right. Rock, go let Acacia know. ” She motioned for the buxom brawler to walk down the hall and then motioned for another man to head to a different door.

“We're her team.” Nisha explained, following closely behind their fighter.

“Mhm. I bet. Just don't do anything stupid and you'll be fine. Keep the fights in the ring ladies.”

Jennifer and Nisha both resented the implication that they might cause trouble, but neither could contest that they both attracted scuffles and brawls— often with each other's friends—like metal attracted magnets. Pound Cake might be the one fighting tonight but Meanstreak and Raya Riot wouldn’t let their friend have all the fun, not for long.

Inside the locker room, Jennifer and Nisha combined to do their best impression of a boxing coach, helping their chubby friend wrap her hands, get her boxing gloves on, and keep from melting down in the process. “Listen T, you've been topless on camera with both of us. Hell, you've beat both our asses at least once.” Nisha smiled. “Just keep your hands up, keep coming forward, use your angles, like Simone always says. Tag this bitch once, she'll start running and then you can trap her.”

“Wait, what if she's bigger than me?” Teresa countered, adjusting her glasses.

“Didn't they tell you who you were fighting?” Jennifer asked. Teresa shook her head and a new wave of dread fell over her: What if they paired her with someone far better, far more experienced? She suddenly felt small and inexperienced and like every other woman in the room was sizing her up like a hungry predator might. Simone had joked for years about her, Nisha, and Teresa being 'snacks' in the sexual sense, but right now Teresa felt like dessert for some veteran fighter. Her nerves frayed by the minute.

---

“Alright, which one of you is 'Pound Cake?' A feminine voice asked as if its owner expected a prompt answer.

“Th-th-that's me!” Teresa turned around so quickly she almost fell. The voice's owner was a fair complexioned woman with violet hair that transitioned to a bright pink at its tips and matched her hot pink blazer.

'Don't hurt yourself.” The woman laughed, folding her arms and looking down at her newest competitor. “That's what the other girls are for.” One of the woman's assistants laughed nervously until this pink haired woman put her hand up. “I'm Acacia. I'm in charge here. First timers get $500 and $500 to win.” Teresa balked at the pay. Beat Prey Love certainly paid better, but she hadn't come here strictly for the money. She wanted to know what it felt like, what her scary dangerous friends meant when they said they felt free inside a ring fighting for real. Beat Prey Love was run by an e-girl video game streamer and martial artist, and the online series stressed the performance rather than the result: Kathy Liu's audience didn't care much which girl won or lost so long as they fought hard and someone got finished in dramatic (sexual) fashion. But by all accounts Teresa wouldn't have to worry about some overly handsy coed trying to finger her on camera. Tonight she could just box.

“You call yourself Pound Cake and... “The woman continued, looking Teresa's chubby, voluptuous frame up and down. “Your name fits at least. The crowd's gonna loooove you.” Acacia grinned, patting Teresa's massive bust and her thick ass and thighs. Teresa was glad she didn’t touch the chubby tummy she’d struggled to accept as part of her body.

Acacia turned to call for someone behind her and smiled. “Finesse, your girlfriend's here.” Teresa Paraiso watched a tall, fit, pale, blonde woman grimace and then approach, dripping disdain for everyone in the room.

“Yeah? What's this one call herself? Besides ‘overweight and out of shape.’”

“This is Pound Cake.” Acacia explained before pointing at the tall blonde. “She's Finesse. You two are dance partners.”

Unseen by the nerdy infighter, the friends who'd accompanied her shared excited glances. They’d both personally felt how dangerous Teresa could be once supplied with a little extra motivation. Their shortstack friend was much stronger than she looked and had put both of them down on the canvas multiple times. If this snotty blonde wanted Teresa angry instead of anxious, who were they to intervene?

“Wait... Finesse?” Nisha asked. “Oh! I remember you. You've been to Beat Prey Love a few times.”

“Get lost, twerp. You're not on the menu tonight and I don't talk to NPCs” the woman called 'Finesse,'” dismissed the Indian woman with a wave.

“So you two know each other? Even better.” The pink haired woman reasserted herself. “Rules are simple: Foxy Boxing, Strip Boxing, whatever you wanna call it: Lose your top if you get knocked down. Lose your shorts if you get knocked out. Winner gets her shit back and the loser's gear as a trophy. The crowd loves that shit.” She chuckled.

Teresa observed that Acacia didn't look much older than she was. There was a story here that she wanted to unravel, but the first chapter entailed leaving here with cash and clothing. “Speaking of, how many sets of green bras and black shorts have you had to buy, Finesse? I hope you're buying in bulk.” Acacia cackled.

“Very few. Fuck you very much. Those are collector's items.” The pale white woman retorted without missing a beat, though Teresa swore she saw the fair blonde's face redden.

“Yeah yeah. So matches go six 3-minute rounds, if you last that long. After six rounds it's sudden death. No bells, no timers, no judges. Just boxing. Either way the fight's over when one girl can't make a 10 count. No Standing 8 counts, no referee stoppages, no TKOs. But you can be saved by the bell. I should warn you though that if the crowd really enjoys watching the other girl smack the paint off you, you can expect a slow count. Lucky Shot patrons like KOs.” She explained, and the buxom Filipina brawler wondered if this woman owned the entire bar or merely coordinated the entertainment.

“Someone will let you know when the last fight has finished. Come on out to the ring and then come out swinging.” She looked from one woman to the other. “Oh, and the ref is just there for legal purposes. Don't make her get involved please. She’s a spaz and I don’t pay her enough.” The pink haired organizer muttered, halfway covering her mouth with her hand.

“Hope you like pain, fatass.” Finesse sneered. “I'm about to make you regret every slice of cake you've ever eaten.”

“Y-yeah? Well you're ugly, and you're stupid, and at least my boobs are real you fucking fake plastic Barbie bitch!” She'd started talking and ended yelling loud enough that a few heads turned towards her. Teresa's vitriol surprised even her, and she felt her blood pounding in her ears after she finished yelling. Her massive bust rose and fell slowly as she tried to regain her composure. She hadn't meant to yell that loudly, but this stupid blonde kept turning everything into the same corny fat joke she'd heard since high school and Teresa wanted only to shut her up.

Acacia's team separated the two fighters and now satisfied, the pink haired twenty-something left the competitors to their own devices. “Don’t kill each other before the bell rings. It’s bad for business!” She called out with a wave as she left.

The rest of the time spent waiting passed by without incident but Teresa felt as if time passed too slowly and too quickly at the same time. Her friends teased that for all the skill's she'd gained, trash talking still wasn't one of them. She felt that familiar relief and dread when a staff member came by and told her to get ready. Whatever else she'd done today, she'd be fighting tonight.

She caught sight of the last match's apparent loser: a thin, pale, teary eyed young redhead wearing nothing but a floral blue thong, boxing shoes, and a miserable frown. She carried her blue boxing gloves in front of her, shielding her breasts, but she couldn’t hide the ugly blue bruises marring her face and stomach. A broader woman walked behind her, trying to offer some solace that the poor girl clearly didn't want to hear.

Teresa decided that her only goal was to end the night with her clothes in her possession. And there was only one way to do that: a knockout victory.

The walk out to the ring was muted and underwhelming: the bar played generic club rap as she walked to the ring and the DJ called out her ring name with the same enthusiasm she imagined he'd introduce a 5pm stripper. The crowd was more appreciative, and she caught more than one person staring intently at her jiggling bust as it struggled against her purple, white, and black sports bra.

Her friends had helped her come up with the nickname “Poundcake” two years ago. She’d fought Jennifer, her roommate and best friend, topless on camera for Beat, Prey, Love, the video series started by Kelsey Drama to sell videos of hot coeds fight and fucking each other. It'd been a week none of them would ever forget. Since then she’d clashed with Jennifer and Nisha and a dozen other girls, some of whom didn’t even go to her college. Teresa couldn’t deny that ‘semi-pro fighter’ was as much a part of her personality as ‘gamer’ was.

Finesse, who Nisha had remembered answering to 'Britney' during her Beat, Prey, Love appearances, was already waiting for her in the blue corner, wearing a racy green sports bra and black boy shorts that barely reached past her hips.

“Ready to lose, nerd?” She called out from behind the ref.

“N-No! This gamer geek is about to put you to sleep!” Teresa menaced, already cringing about how lame she sounded. Everything sounded better, cooler, in her head before she said it.

The rest of the formalities passed quickly: the referee called them together, checked their gloves, and repeated most of the information they'd received backstage. The striped official sent them back to their separate corners and each woman waited for the bell to signal the start of their bout.

The bell came as a relief for Teresa; at least she could do something about all this pent up energy.

Unfortunately the first thing she did was walk face first into Finesse's green and black glove. The rangy blonde met her in the center of the boxing ring and rebuffed the shorter woman's attempts to draw within arm's reach. Finesse poked and prodded with her left hand, firing her jab at any perceived gap in Teresa's guard until the Filipina nerd backed away.

“You're too short, meatball!” Finesse jeered, circling away.

Chastened but not convinced, Teresa bit down on her mouth guard and advanced again, brown eyes firmly fixed on her target. She just needed to get a littl- psh psh ... psh

The athletic blonde's jab knifed through Teresa's guard again, stinging the shorter girl's cheek before she slammed a right straight into Teresa's nose. Finesse circled away to the center of the ring again, content to stick her glove in Teresa's face and then move away.

Pound Cake lunged at her and caught a looping left hook for her trouble that knocked her off balance and nearly onto the canvas before she righted herself. Finesse kept laughing, kept punching, kept moving, and Theresa couldn't get a bead on her. Nearly every punch she threw landed where the cackling white woman had been a moment ago, and she could pin Finesse down for more than a second, more than a single errant jab of her own.

The logic of the fight pounded in her brain so loud she could almost hear it: keep her guard up, minimize damage on the way in. Move, and retaliate as soon as she felt Finesse's jab on her glove. Approach slowly, save her energy for the dash from the outside of the other fighter's to the inside of hers.

Her brain knew. But her body refused to comply.

Instead Finesse taunted and smacked her, growing increasingly confident over the first two minutes of the first round that this buxom nerd didn't belong in the same ring as her. Finesse might not be a star on the Beat, Prey, Love shows, but here in a boxing ring with no fear of being wrestled to sleep she felt much better about her abilities. This dork had more breasts than brains and she relished the idea of sending this sloppy fatass home in just her underwear, sporting a few new bruises.

The first two minutes of the round ticked by in familiar, agonizing fashion. Finesse controlled the action, initiating each engagement with her rapier of a left jab. It was her radar antenna and her opening salvo, forcing the shorter woman to stop and contend with it while Finesse repositioned. She could circle to her left to line up her right straight down the middle of Pound Cake's guard or fire a left hook meant to sneak around her opponent's guard or smack her for an ill-timed approach.

Pound Cake walked into several of those punches, grunting with each impact. But getting smacked just made her push harder, certain she could get to Finesse this time if she just wanted it a little more. But that cycle screeched to a halt when Finesse faded to her left again and Pound Cake turned to find a rocket of a right hand waiting for her.

The overhand right walloped her, leaving Teresa blinking and dazed for the first time tonight. Instinct begged her to tighten her guard and back away, but her failing defenses couldn't keep Finesse at bay. Her own punches were answered with stinging retorts that buffeted her like winter winds. Finesse pursued her now, hitting her, landing that damn jab at will and any other punch she seemed to want. Finesse’s jab landed again and again on Teresa’s cheek, her eye, her jaw, stinging her before the inevitable right that left her seeing stars and wishing for an escape.

Teresa backed away from the torrent of green leather and felt the ropes dig into her back before Finesse sunk a right hand deep into her stomach, then scored with two more punches to her eye. The grinning blonde finished her with a screaming left hook that spun Pound Cake partially around before she staggreed like a baby gazelle and sat heavily on the canvas.

The referee shooed her blonde tormentor away, only turning back to Filipina slugger after Finesse backed into a corner and began preening for the rowdy crowd. “There's gonna be a lot more where that came from. I'm gonna turn Pound Cake here back into Cookie Dough!”

Teresa sighed. She was more angry than hurt, more frustrated than beaten. The ref counted slowly and the pudgy pugilist rose to her feet before the referee said “5.” The woman in stripes held her wrists, checking to see that Pound Cake still wanted to fight, before reaching for the chubby woman's purple sports bra.

“Top comes off after a knockdown.” She reminded the fighter.

“There's a zipper in the front.” Teresa pouted, looking away. “Don't rip it though. I'm gonna put it back on after I knock this chick out.”

The referee smiled and helped her out of her top. “Of course you are sweetie.” Teresa's heaving breasts flopped out of her unzipped bra and the announcer and audience both cheered the raunchy new development. Teresa wondered how often the ref had heard some variant of what she’d just said, and how often those girls made good on their promise of revenge.

“Now I know why you're so slow!” Finesse jeered from across the ring. “Those bowling balls have gotta be slowing you down!”

The referee backed away and commanded them to box, and Teresa came out hands up and newly angry. She couldn't wouldn't lose like this. Not to this blonde loudmouth fitspo reject.

Unfortunately her body had other ideas, and Teresa remained a step slow as Finesse resumed her assault. The tall athletic blonde tagged her again, splitting her attention between Teresa’s face and her bare breasts. A looping left

Find shorter thoughts at https://c.im/@NaClKnight