?? ??? ????

                                        

                                              
chapter one
———
🥊 SANTANA "REAPER" BILES 🥊
                 SANTANA STANDS IN THE makeshift dressing room, which really is a storage closet that's been cleared out, only holding a small couch, desk, and mirror. Her brown eyes are low and focused, wrapping her hands for the fight. She grunts lowly when the tape doesn't cooperate, letting out a deep sigh when she realizes she'll have to start over. Unwrapping the messed-up part, she grabs the scissors and cuts it off before starting again.
This time goes much smoother and quicker. Once her hands are wrapped, she stares in the mirror, taking in her appearance. A couple of bruises and a busted lip are on show from her last fight—but she doesn't care. The other person looked way worse, and Santana got paid.
Knowing that it's almost time for the fight to start, she takes out her piercings. Does she have to take them out? No—but she's smart, unlike some of the others she's fought before. She's sure they learned pretty quickly that piercings while boxing is a big no.
Grabbing a hair tie, she pulls her locs back into a semi-tight bun.
Looking at the clock on the stained wall, she nods to herself. In a few minutes, she'll be called out, and just like every other night, right on time, she hears the screams from the crowd, soon followed by the ring announcer and loud music as he gets the crowd hyped.
Santana isn't worried about tonight's fight. She's never worried about any of her fights. Worrying does her no good and would only knock her off her game, so she pushes any thoughts and negative feelings away.
She gives herself one more glance over, slightly adjusting her sports bra and shorts, before opening the door and walking out of the room. Instantly, she's met with the smell of weed, cigarettes, and liquor. Cracked walls and busted concrete floors. She pays it no mind, already having fought here before. Plus, the only thing on her mind is winning and taking home the cash prize.
Reaching the door where she's supposed to walk out to the ring, she stands there cool and calm, listening to the crowd. They're louder than last time, and Santana already knows why. Last fight, she won by knockout—definitely drawing more attention. She doesn't mind, though. It only means a bigger cash prize.
The announcer's voice cracks through the speakers, hushed at first, then slowly rising as the crowd quiets.
"Ladies and gentlemen...The time has come."
His voice drips with anticipation—slow and sharp like a knife before the plunge.
"She's silent until the bell. Cold-blooded. Precise. A walking executioner in gloves. Standing six feet tall, weighing in at 172 pounds of unrelenting power... With a record of 22 wins, 19 by knockout... undefeated in the underground."
The crowd hollers, feet stomping, bodies pressing against the ring.
"She's knocked out champions. Ended careers. Shattered jaws and egos alike. From the Southside of Chicago—she's the one your fighter hopes to avoid. Calculated. Cruel. Beautifully brutal. You don't beat her. You survive her. She's the hitman of this underground... and baby, business is booming. Step light... because Death just laced her boots. Make. Way. For... THE REAPER—SANTANAAAAA BIIIILES!"
The crowd erupts. Screams bounce off the walls. Beer flies. Fists pound on chain-link.
Santana breathes in steady, unbothered and focused as she walks out. Hands by her side, her steps confident and quick as she steps into the ring. She goes to her corner and stands on the rope, quickly engaging with the crowd. They scream even louder, if possible.