Rules
1. No magic/powers.
2. No weapons.
3. Deathblows allowed. It doesn't really matter if your character dies in the arena, you can just bring them back in the next fight.

OOC: I love fistfights. Just plain old fistfights. I might love them even more than gunplay. I'd take gritty, blood, snot, and dirt bareknuckles boxing match to a Dragonball fireball throwing contest any day. So if you're up for it, join up, and we'll have ourselves a good fight.

IC: Well, let's face it. Roger was never a terribly bright young man. Getting punched in the face a lot had probably contributed to that, and this was gonna be one of those days when he was liable to get punched in the face a couple times. For whatever reason, every Friday night, he found himself in a parking lot, locked into a ring made out of cars parked in a circle with their headlights facing inwards to provide lighting.

Cheering and jeering fans sat atop, around, and in the cars, rooting for their favorite fighter. Even though it was an underground thing, there was alwaysa pretty good turnout. What's better than watching a couple of guys beat the living snot out of each other?

Why, beating the living snot out of someone, of course.

Roger faced his opponent. There would be no introductions or monologues. This wasn't pro wrestling, and there was no point in that bullshit. This was bareknuckle boxing. This was real.

He had cut his hair down to where it wasn't much more than stubble. In a fight, there was no point in having hair; it was only a liability and an extra handle to be grabbed by. He wasn't wearing anything else but a pair of blue jeans and some steel-toed work shoes. Once again, the more crap you packed around, the easier it'd be for your opponent to grab you.

You ready for this?