Bronze Bengal: Becoming The Tiger

Ch 1. To Live And Die In Gotham City

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*BEEP*

After finishing the last water, I picked up my headgear and gloves and slipped them on before entering the old ring. Grant's Boxing Gym wasn't exactly 'run-down,' but there was a clear...history to the place, a history you could see and feel.

"C'mon, T!" Mr. Grant, or 'Ted' as he told everyone to call him, beckoned me from the red corner inside the ring. His shock-white beard curled around a big, toothy smile. "Last round, then you can hit the showers. I don't want to work you too hard before your first real fight! Haha!"

Ted 'Wildcat' Grant was still larger than life with his broad barrel chest and gorilla arms that I knew for a fact had two bricks at the end of them. His so-called 'hands' were meant for knocking people out, and Mr. Grant would be the first to tell you the same thing. Once an infamous heavyweight boxer, he earned his nickname for his penchant to finish fights wildly and the inhuman ability to take the kinds of punches that would knock anybody out cold and get back up. Newspapers and ringside announcers loved to claim he had 'nine lives' as a result.

I watched some of the old, low-quality tapes, and all I had to say was that Mr. Grant was, is, and forever will be the real deal. Don't tell him I said that, though, or his ego will get too big for his bald head to contain.

I tightened my glove with my teeth and eyed Mr. Grant as he leaned back into the opposing corner. He wore a simple grey tank top, shorts, shoes, and faded, tagless black boxing gloves. Since taking me in, I'd never seen Mr. Grant so much as glance at any headgear or mouthpiece. Yeah, don't get me started on that.

"It's just the two of us in here, Mr. Grant," Like usual. I found my mouthpiece and bit down. "You don't have to yell."

"I'm not yelling," The exclamation points I could literally feel told a different story. "I'm just loud; there's a difference. Anyway, you got your first fight coming up, and I can feel it in my loins that it'll be the one to put you on the map, kid. We need you sharp as a knife, haha," he 'joked' and laughed...at his own joke.

Never meet your heroes, kids. They'll only turn out more corny than you ever expected.

I adjusted my trunks and bopped my gloved together, my signal I was ready to go.

"Ding, ding," Mr. Grant was the bell, and as he waded out of his corner, I went to meet him.

We touched gloves in the middle of the ring, and I went right at him. I threw out a quick couple jabs to establish my space. Mr. Grant was strong as a bull, able to knock someone out in one punch, but I had the reach advantage being taller than him. He bobbed his head out of the way with a finesse that hadn't dulled, but I kept at it.

Another couple jabs, then I feinted a body shot and threw a hook Mr. Grant blocked. He retaliated with a cross I swerved back from, peppering him with more jabs to keep Mr. Grant at bay. The old man weathered it all with an irritating smile, but I refused to let him to me. I kept to my game plan but backed a jab with a hard straight; the smack echoed in the gym.

"Haha!" Mr. Grant laughed at my power punch and put some distance between us. "There's the power I know you have, T. Use it more! Stop thinking so much and try to knock me out like I've told you. Last round, you need to finish it!"

He said it as if it was a simple thing. His words, that he could even talk at all while facing me in the ring, pushed me to pick up the pace. Mr. Grant wanted power, then I'd give it to him. I maintained my jab spacing, but occasionally I'd launch a right hook or straight thudding against his guard. Like every punch I'd ever thrown at him, he weathered them like they were nothing.

Any chance of me knocking him out withered by the second, but I refused to let up. I needed to trap him, to corner him and wail on him until he had no choice but to call it. I stepped to the side, cutting off his pathing, and pressed the issue. My head was on a swivel, my eyes active and alert. I was ready for anything. I wanted to win and prove to Mr. Grant I had what it took.

"Ted!" A voice broke through the air and caught my attention for a split second. I took my eyes off Mr. Grant and spotted two women walking up to the ring in that split second. One had red hair, and the other one had blonde, but that was as far as I got because-

POW!

I blinked, expecting pain or embarrassment for taking my eyes off my opponent, but all I saw was darkness. Pure, pitch-black darkness. Where was I? What the…? Wasn't I just in the gym with Mr. Grant? Where was…

"Theodore."

That was my name, but the voice was unfamiliar. Plus, nobody called me Theodore. It was either T, Theo, or Ted. Or double-T from Mr. Grant cause he liked to be complicated. Still, I didn't see anything. I tried to speak but found I couldn't. So I couldn't talk, I couldn't move, I couldn't blink.

Damn, did Mr. Grant accidentally kill me?

"Theodore, you have to find it. Remember who you are. It can be no one else."

God, was that you? The voice was deep enough to be like what I'd think God would sound like - thanks, Morgan Freeman. And find what?

"Find me."

The voice came from behind me; the heat slapped against the back of my neck and straightened me out. I couldn't see, but I could feel a presence behind me, large with a weight to it that easily outclassed my own. It breathed in and out again, hot breaths crashing against my skin. It moved, slow and lumbering, and something big and orange revealed itself from the back pocket of my vision.

The first thing I noticed was the whiskers. Then came the stripes, and as the creature unveiled itself to me, I saw it for what it was.

A big, hulking tiger. It was as big as I was and looked me dead in the eyes. Its yellow eyes made me feel pinned like a dart in a board. They were so intense and so focused, yet…beautiful.

The tiger itself was majestic too. The orange, white, and black coloring was unique; it popped against the darkness and stood out like a beacon of light.

I took a breath, and it hit my face, oddly smelling of fresh-cut grass and dirt. Almost like a garden or a flower bed?

"Find me, Theodore," it spoke. Yes, its mouth didn't move, but the words went directly into my brain. I knew it came from the tiger without actually knowing.

Find what? Find who? Tigers were in India or Russia or something? I'm from Gotham City; any tigers were miles away.

I was compelled then. Suddenly, I could feel my arm moving and my hand reaching out towards the most enormous tiger ever. No, don't pet the tiger. Do not pet the tiger!

I wasn't controlling it. It was like a cutscene from a video game. Slowly, I watched my hand reach out, and the moment I felt the slightest touch of soft fur, I-

SPLASH!

I shot up feeling wet as a rag after doing the dishes. Water dribbled from my eyelashes, and I wiped it away. I was dazed and confused with images of a giant tiger prowling about in my head. What the fuck was that?

Then I heard the rough laughter like an old car engine starting up, and where I was before all that mumbo jumbo came back to me.

I sighed and felt the embarrassment creep up through me.

There was zero chance Mr. Grant would let this one go easily.

"Here," went a softer voice, and I peeked through my wet lashes to find a towel offered in my face. I took it, wiped my face, and found out who gave it to me. It was one of the women that I saw coming into the gym, the red-headed one. And gahdam, was she pretty! I'm taking out of a magazine pretty.

My mouth dried up as she smiled at me, and all sorts of fuzzies went off in my gut. She had the greenest eyes I'd ever seen and long hair so red I thought it was dyed. It fell like a curtain around her beautiful face, and there was no other way to describe her than beautiful.

"You okay?" I didn't even register that she asked me a question; I was so dumbstruck I could only nod.

Mr. Grant's laughter broke me from my stupor, and I realized I was still on the ground. Fuck that, I moved to get to my feet, and the lady extended a hand to help me up.

I took it and was pulled up with more strength than I thought she'd have; it was like I was yanked from the floor. I landed unsteadily, not cause of my head but cause I was caught off guard by her strength.

"Easy there, big guy," she smirked at me with a knowing twinkle in her eyes. "Ted got you good there, didn't he?"

I nodded a couple times. "Y-yea," everything still felt so out of whack. I was having a hard time getting my bearings. "I-"

"Got knocked the fuck out! Hahaha!" Mr. Grant interjected with big hands crashing down on my shoulder and his even bigger laugh. "I thought we worked on your ability to take a punch, Double T. I even held back; why, back in my heyday, you'd have been spitting teeth, hahaha!"

Against all sense, a hand whipped across the back of Mr. Grant's head and deaded his laughing. It was like smacking a bowling ball, no doubt, but it got his attention.

The second woman who came in with the red-haired one was blonde with blue eyes and looked like she had stepped out of one of those fashion magazines. She wore blue jeans that flared out at the ankle and a gold tank top spaghetti strap. The belt she had on was admittedly cool, with the buckle being initials BC, whatever that meant. Probably some clothing line.

"You shouldn't be punching your students that hard in the first place Ted," she chastised and stepped beside the redhead, crossed her arms, and gave Ted an unimpressed look only a woman could pull off. "And you wonder why you don't have many students nowadays."

Standing next to the redhead, they both were dressed like they had somewhere nice to be. Not for a visit to a singly old gym with Mr. Grant and me.

"Bah," Mr. Grant waved off her observation with ease. "It's cause all the boys nowadays ain't got what it takes. It's all about who can get to success the quickest, not about the grind like it used to be. The dirty work."

"Dirty is one way of saying it," the redhead said while looking around, but she took the edge off the jab with a slight smile. "You oughta hire a janitor."

The blonde woman giggled. "Yeah, if this is how you take care of your gym, I worry about how your bedroom looks, Ted."

"Oh, you think you're funny? Joking about an old man and his beloved gym, do ya? Hop in the ring; I'll show you something funny."

The two women smirked and chuckled, and even Mr. Grant had a smile on his face. He left my side and opened his arms up to the two ladies. "Come here, you two, give old Ted a hug."

They tried to escape, but Mr. Grant was too quick. His bear-like arms gobbled them up into the most uncomfortable-looking hug I'd ever seen. I'd rather get punched again than be subjected to that. He even started rocking side to side, and by the looks of their faces, they weren't enjoying it.

"Hey, uh," I wiped the last of the water from my chin and felt myself smiling at their antics. "Mr. Grant, who is…"

"Oh!" He let them go and turned to me. I even got two thankful smiles sent my way. Score. "Let me introduce you all. Ladies, this is Theodore Turner, my current student. T these are my former students: Barbra Gordan,"

The redhead gave a little wave. "Sup."

"And this pain in my ass is Dinah Lance."

"Hey, kid," the blonde said, then shoved Mr. Grant. "She gets a regular intro, and I get 'pain in my ass'? This is why I don't visit."

"Oh, is that why?" Mr. Grant wriggled his brow, sending Ms. Gordon into giggles. Probably some inside joke. "I don't know what they're doing here, though…."

The two women exchanged a look that chilled the air. Any levity left, and I even noticed Mr. Grant looked more...serious.

"We need a favor, Ted," Ms. Lance said.

Mr. Grant eyed them for a long moment; his stare was hard as granite before he relented and turned to me.

"T," he said, but I had already understood the direction things were headed.

"Imma hit the showers, Mr. Grant," I said, already heading towards my bag on the bench. "It was nice meeting you two, Ms. Gordon and Ms. Lance."

They bid me goodbye, and I felt their eyes on my back as I grabbed my stuff and entered the locker room. The feeling didn't stop until I was inside, and the door was shut. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but my ears were open as I went to the little rinky-dink shower and cut it on.

It was old, so it would warm up in a few moments. That gave my curiosity more than enough time to fester and grow to the point where I found myself leaning towards the door to try and hear something of their conversation. I don't know how long I stood there or even why. I couldn't hear anything over the shower running, and the thought that I was intruding kept blaring in my head. I was not meant to listen to any of this, and I knew how the saying went about curiosity.

So, I gave up and returned my attention to washing up. The gym's showers were really communal, with no walls, just shower heads and a small window that let light inside. At least it was spotless. I remember cleaning it after all because some days, this was the only place I'd be able to take a shower.

I stripped out of my sweaty clothes, grabbed my towel and body wash out of my bag, and stepped in. Whatever Mr. Grant had going on was none of my business, and I didn't think it would be in my best interest to make it my business either. They'd probably gone into his office anyway for privacy.

I had my own things to worry about anyway, like what I saw after getting knocked out. I closed my eyes and let the shower rain down on me. The noise and relief it brought helped me think more precisely than I ever could outside of it.

I don't know what would have happened if I had been honest with myself. I was in the ring one moment; next, I was punched into this 'shadow-realm,' unable to move. Then, on top of that, I saw a freaking tiger that talked. Well, it didn't actually speak, but words were spoken, and I heard them. Something or someone was talking to me during all that, and I didn't know how or why.

There was that line about finding something? And me being the only one who could do it? If that wasn't the vaguest thing ever, I don't know what was.

Then this tiger. Why a tiger of all animals? Couldn't it have been a duck, cat, or something smaller and less capable of killing me? Why a tiger? I wasn't connected to any tigers, didn't have a tiger tattoo or tiger anywhere in my name. I didn't even know what tigers represented.

If someone or something wanted me to find some stupid object, they shouldn't have been so vague about it because what am I supposed to-.

It was only thanks to years of paranoia that someone would walk in on me showering that I heard the door ease open. And by ease, I mean noticeably eased, as if someone did that shit intentionally. If it had been Mr. Grant, he'd have busted in here like he owned the place and made a joke about me being naked cause he was the most immature old man I'd ever met. I doubted those two ladies, Ms. Lance and Ms. Gordon, would've come in like that either. This wasn't some porno. Relax.

No, it was someone else, but for the life of me, I couldn't imagine who it'd be. I got a bad feeling in my stomach as whoever was in here with me was trying their damndest to be quiet about it, and that didn't bode well for me at all. My heart suddenly began pounding in my ears as my fight or flight instinct kicked in like at the beginning of a fight.

'Make the first move, T, and make it a good one,' Mr. Grant told me once upon a time during one of our sparring matches. 'A good opening will set the tone for the rest of the match, so you got to make it count.'

I didn't know where they were, but all logic would point to them coming up from behind me. If they came from up top, well shit, not much I could do there, so fingers crossed they had no imagination.

In a sudden move, I turned and threw my towel behind me. I hit pay dirt, heard it smack against something that wasn't the floor or a wall, and saw some motherfucker dressed in black reel back from having a towel smack into their face.

I didn't get much of a chance to examine them; all I could tell was that they were real, I wasn't tripping, and I needed to do something. So, I grabbed my body wash - Old Spice because I had a taste - and threw it at their head as hard as possible. It bonked off their forehead, and I charged at whoever it was with a yell just in case Mr. Grant and them were still around.

That was my first mistake. This is not because the ninja person recovered in time but because you shouldn't run on a wet tile floor. I slipped, my charge turned into a crash, and I collided hard with whoever had snuck into the locker room.

I wasn't sure what part of me hit them or what part of them hit me, but we fell to the floor in a heap. The person struggled, and we grappled on the wet floor as the shower ran behind me. I was somehow able to mount them and tried to punch their face. It wasn't easy for me, and they somehow moved out of the way. My fist hit the tile, which went 1-0 against me. I cringed, out of reflex if anything else, and my reaction gave whoever was under me enough to throw a strike of their own.

A hand or an elbow cracked against the side of my head, and I tumbled off them. I had taken harder punches from Mr. Grant, like the one that knocked me out, so I was able to shrug it off and get some semblance of footing.

The other guy, however, stood opposite me. They were in all black, with masks covering their head and lower face. All I could see was their dark eyes glaring at me with an intent that made me gulp. Quickly, they flexed their wrist and threw their arm out at me. I wasn't fast enough to duck or dodge, and I barely got my arms up in time before a dagger lanced into my forearm.

The pain was harsh and biting, but I wasn't overwhelmed, only taken aback. A fucking knife, man?! This shitter was trying to kill me!

The realization flicked a switch inside of me, a switch that lay deep in my spirit, for lack of a better term. I always believed most fighters had it due to dedicating their lives and bodies to such a violent sport as boxing or martial arts. You learned a hundred different ways to hurt a man, to bring him down in the ring, but there was always that line, y'know? The line you didn't cross, but a deep-seated part of you that knew you could.

That deep-seated part of you that knew you would.

This shit-faced ninja fuck was trying to kill me, and every part of who I was at the moment raged against the idea. I wasn't going to die here. Not without taking this motherfucker with me, at least.

Their wrist flicked again, and I covered my face as best I could and bull-rushed them with a head full of steam. I felt something hit me, but I was too far gone to give a shit. All I cared about was caving this fucker's face with my bare hands.

I crashed into them again but didn't fall this time. Instead, I picked them up and rammed them into the back wall. I heard the tile crack but didn't give a shit. I pulled the ninja guy back, then banged them against the wall again, again, and again until a punch thundered into my nose. It stunned me, and my eyes watered against my will. I had to blink them away, and the ninja struck again. Two punches to my chest felt like cannonballs. They swiped down on my arms and then kicked me off of them.

I stumbled back, didn't fall, and they were on me again, this time swinging a knife. I'd practiced something similar with Mr. Grant because it helped with reflexes, and you never knew who you'd run into on the streets of Gotham. I blocked and diverted flashing knife strikes as best I could, but I was only an amateur. The knife's edge sliced across the skin of my forearms more times than not, but I kept myself alive. One went high, and another went low. I blocked the stab at my face but couldn't do anything about the one to my leg. The ninja stabbed the knife into my leg, and I screamed.

I raged against the pain and threw a headbutt into the nose of the ninja staring at me.

THUD!

I threw a knee at the one who went low, but they rolled away. I kept my hold on the stunned ninja, reeled them back in, and drilled them with another punch, then another, and another. Then, I turned and used the body as a screen against the other.

I shoved the punch-drunk ninja into the leg stabber, but the knife addict simply moved out of the way, brandishing another knife. I looked down at the knife in my leg and saw blood, my blood, running down my leg and mixing with the water painting the floor red. It almost didn't feel real.

A sixth sense screamed at me to duck, so I did. A knife swipe whistled over my head, and I speared the ninja around the mid-section into the wall. The ceramic cracked, and I heard something clatter to the ground before elbows beat down on my back. I popped up and threw a right cross, then a left that sent blood flying out of the ninja's mouth.

Seeing them dazed, I grabbed their neck with both hands and squeezed as hard as possible. They beat at my wrists hard, and I lifted them up off the ground with a strength I never knew I had.

With both hands around their throat, I didn't care if I had never lifted someone like this. I held them up for a moment and choked them with satisfaction and savagery running through every nerve and cell of my body. Then, I was tackled to the floor.

With the floor wet and slippery, I slid and rolled and somehow ended up on top. I rained down punch after punch until someone came from behind and put me in a chokehold. I clawed at the arm for purchase until I found a finger. It was easy to break it, but the ninja refused to let go. Instead, they kept the hold on, squeezing down until dark spots bled into my vision.

I needed to do something. I somehow found the strength to rise even as the ninja locked in the hold tighter. I had them on my back now, but I couldn't get to my feet. I couldn't breathe, but then I got an idea. Instead of rising, I threw myself backward, smashing the ninja into the ground. They let go, and I crawled away, wheezing and struggling to breathe.

Thankfully, the door banged open. "T!" I heard, and it cut through my haze.

I looked and found Mr. Grant in the doorway, shirt cut up and blood-stained. He was alive, and, and, and-

"Kid!" I heard a scream, it might've been from Mr. Grant, but I wasn't sure. Everything felt so murky, so muddy all of a sudden. I felt something in my stomach like a blazing rod of fire, and I looked and found the ninja's hands falling away from the hilt of something lodged there. A knife.

It almost didn't make sense. They'd got me. I looked at their face, their mask had come undone sometime in our fighting, and I saw a woman, her nose shifted in the wrong direction, and her lip busted up and bleeding severely.

I saw her lips move, but the sound had already begun to fade for me. She clenched her jaw, and some green stuff started fizzling in her mouth. I grabbed up my hands. I couldn't see, and they laid me down. Things got worse there. All I could see were lights, and feel a wetness on my back and in my hands.

I looked at my hands and saw them coated in red. My head was moved, and I saw a woman with red hair and a cut on her cheek. Her lips were moving, probably saying something. To me. Did she know I couldn't hear her? Who was gonna tell her?

My eyelids got heavier and heavier. It took a lot of work to keep them open. Everything was so bright. That ninja lady was a demon, and she got me. I got her back, though. I got them both. I-

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