MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

"And We're Almost Here"

The driver's voice woke Damon up from his sleep, amon yawned, stretching his arms over his head, feeling the familiar ache in his muscles.

"Thank you," he said, his voice still husky from sleep.

The driver chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You a fighter?" he asked, his gaze flicking to Damon's face with a hint of amusement.

Damon sat up straight, nodding sheepishly. "Yeah, I fight. It's just amateur... but I'm pretty sure I'm getting paid in bruises."

The driver laughed, a deep rumbling sound. "Well, you're definitely getting paid in bruises! I mean, I've seen some rough faces in my time, but yours takes the cake."

Damon laughed, feeling a sense of familiarity with the driver. "Hey, at least I'm consistent, right?"

The driver grinned. "That you are, kid. That you are. So, how did you get into fighting?"

Damon shrugged. "Just something I've always been interested in, I guess. And I've got a lot of anger to work out." Mixing truths and lies

Damon's curiosity got the better of him. "How did you know I fight? Besides my face, of course," he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

The driver's gaze remained fixed on the road ahead. "Well, for starters, I know of the event you fight in," he said, his voice low and smooth.

Damon raised an eyebrow. "You a fan?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

The driver let out a deep laugh. "Was, but no... my kid fights there," he said, his voice filled with pride, but also a tinge of sadness.

Damon's confusion was evident. "You don't want him to fight?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

The driver shook his head. "No, no... nothing like that. It's just... I've been diagnosed with cancer," he said, his voice cracking slightly.

Damon didn't say anything, letting the man pour his heart out.

"It's got the whole family shook up," the driver continued. "They start treating me like an egg... it's curable, but you know... money."

Damon nodded sympathetically.

"And we all know the money I make from cabs isn't enough for that," the driver said, his voice laced with frustration. "So the kid decided to take things into his own hands and started fighting."

The driver's voice swelled with pride. "I'm proud he's determined and passionate, but that same passion scares me. He's putting all his heart into this... I'm afraid what will happen if it doesn't work out."

The driver's eyes clouded over. "I know I have to be positive, but he's not getting paid there... and from what I've heard, it takes years before those big companies notice you. I'd rather him go to college than this."

The driver's words lingered in the car, you could tell his words were a mix of hope and fear, as the taxi continued to roll down the darkening streets.

Damon leaned back on the seat, sighing, but the man suddenly spoke up again. "But I heard him talk about being offered something, but I think it's a scam to get him to fight harder."

Damon's interest was piqued. "Mmh, an offer? What's the offer?" he asked, his voice curious.

The driver chuckled. "He said some scum in a suit offered him a chance to get a team, a coach, and better competition, and even pay, all he needed to do was just win three fights."

Damon froze, his mind racing. Wasn't that the same offer Mr. Steele had made to him? He smiled, his pride a bit hurt. He had thought he was the only one.

"Why do you think it's a scam? It could be real," Damon asked, his eyes narrowing.

The driver's expression turned skeptical. "Kid, I know you're young, but who in their right mind would give such offers for free? I think they're just trying to make young fighters fight harder so they get good shows for their events."

The driver's words hung in the air, a mix of concern and suspicion. Damon's mind was racing, thinking about the offer he had received. Was it too good to be true?

The taxi continued to roll down the streets, the only sound the sound of the engine and the driver's occasional cough. Damon's eyes gazed out the window, lost in thought.

The driver's voice broke the silence. "I just don't want my kid to get hurt, that's all. I know he's passionate about fighting, but I also know he's not thinking clearly."

Damon nodded sympathetically, his mind still racing with thoughts of the offer. Was it a scam, or was it the real deal? He didn't know, and honestly, he didn't care, as long as he fights.

The ride was silent for the rest of the way, the only sound being the sound of the engine and the occasional passing of cars. Finally, the driver spoke up, "We're finally here, kid."

The taxi pulled up to the motel, the neon sign creaking in the gentle breeze. Damon got out, stretching his arms over his head. "Thanks for the ride," he said, his voice sincere.

He took out his wallet and paid the fare, adding a generous tip. "Also, I hope things look up for you," he said, his eyes locking onto the driver's. "Get well soon."

The driver smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thanks, kid. Take care of yourself."

With that, the driver put the car in gear and drove off, leaving Damon standing alone in front of the motel. Damon stood there for a moment, lost in thought.

He couldn't help but wonder what he would do if his mother had cancer. Would he be like that man's son, fighting to make ends meet and trying to stay positive?

Damon's eyes gazed off into the distance, his mind racing with thoughts of his own family. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.

He took a deep breath, feeling the cool night air fill his lungs. He looked up at the motel, the neon sign casting a colorful glow over the parking lot.

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