The final strike lands, the opponents body collapsing like a bag of meat to the floor. The crowd around him erupts as he raises his bloodied fist into the air. Looking around the makeshift circle to find the shirt he had removed before the fight, he was congratulated for another successful bout. Nodding them off, he said nothing as he found his shirt and brought it to his face, removing the blood from the cuts he had sustained from the hard fight. This is how Mick would spend his free time, when he wasn't doing jobs for The Brickyard. 

Stepping through the crowd that was now focused on the next fighters stepping in the ring, he found the people in charge of the winnings and took what he was owed for being victorious, as well as side bets he made on himself to win. Did he need this money? Absolutely not, he made quite enough from other ventures and businesses. To be honest, this had less to do with money as much as it had to do with respect. There were several different little underground rings throughout the city, each offering different incentives to come and fight. Naturally, Mick had gone to each of them several times and made quite a name for himself as a brawler. Knowing that you have the power to take just about anyone down with nothing more than God's gifts was empowering. 

Laying the now bloodied shirt over his shoulder, he gave a nod to a few of the guys that came to the arena with him. While he was confident enough in his fighting prowess, some people didn't take kindly to the money he was costing them. Different people throughout his fighting career had tried to bribe him into throwing fights, for quite a considerable sum. They never understood though, that there wasn't any amount of money that could sway him into losing on purpose. They would have to kill him first, he told them on multiple occasions. As it so turned out, they were listening to those exact words.

"Right you paddy bastard, we've tried doing this the easy way. This is your final option kid, either you walk away and stay out of the rings, or we'll make sure you never throw another punch." The man had a thick neck, a greasy looking beard, bulging eyes, and stood a half foot taller. With him were five men equipped with a variety of weapons. Chains, brass knuckles, bats. Mick only had three with him today, but these three were some of his best. Each of them vicious, each ready to take as many licks as it took to take the other guy down. Knowing this, Mick just flashed a red smile, spitting a glob of blood onto the ground and tossing it shirt away.

"Aye, I've been waiting for you guinea fucks. Wasn't sure your balls had dropped yet. I'll tell your mother you'll be late or supper when I see her later." He liked the odds, and he wasn't a coward. Perhaps a little reckless, he charged at the man in front. The next few moments felt like a lifetime, though in reality the fight only lasted a few minutes at most. The clash had drawn a crowd from the paid entertainment inside, shouting and cheering as they had before. Mick seemed to be fighting on sheer instinct, the adrenaline blacking out the rest of the world but this singular moment. He could see men from both sides of the confrontation taking each other on from his side view, changing his target to anyone that chose to come near him. His body took a beating, but he kept on. A bat connected with his back, a chain here and there at his legs. He had managed to take a pair of the brass knuckles from someone and turned it around on them. At some point during the scuffle, he was stabbed in the side though he couldn't tell exactly who attacked him. It didn't matter, his fury kept him going until the fight was finished. Nobody was left unscarred from the altercation, but at the end it was he and his men that came out victorious. 

"I see you're making friends again, Mick. Never learn do you?" Achingly turning his head, he saw Goldbrick standing there, giving a small clap. It was in that moment that the adrenaline started to subside and pain seared into his side. Angry from the pain, he kicked one of the men on the ground in the side of the head and spit down on them. "Cowardly shite. Better make sure I die next time." Limping over to his Don holding his side he gave as much of a smile as he could. "Can't say I see you out here too often. Ya need something boss?" Goldbrick shaking his head gave Mick a hard pat on the back, oblivious to the jolt of pain just sent down the man's body. "I do, but it's something a little different this time. Come with me." Mick nodded and followed to the vehicle nearby and listened as he was given the good news.

"Mick, I've always been able to rely on you. Never afraid to get your hands dirty, do whatever I need done without any questions. You're loyal, and I've always believed that loyalty should be rewarded. I'm moving up, and as such there's going to be a hole that needs filled in Pasadena. I've spread your name around, and made it known that I want you to set up under me. Start your own family, or gang, or street fighters or whatever it is you'd classify your crew as. I could use that animal you've got inside you standing beside me. What do you say?" Mick blinked for only a moment before answering "Yes." It was something he'd longed for since he started this life. Always hungry to prove he belonged, to earn that respect from the rest of the world. Pulling up to Mick's butcher shop, he stepped out and turned around to give thanks to his new Godfather. Putting up a hand, Goldbrick shook his head and smiled. "I know you won't let me down. Get out there and show them what you got, you ruffian." So it was to be, the ruffian getting his chance to shine. Time to get rowdy.