Sometimes a Fight is all you need....

     Sometimes when you're eager for a fight, but no one will give you one, you go out looking for one. This was the case with Molly O'Hatherine, known as the Ginger Ninja throughout much of her wrestling career. Much of her life has been spent fighting and despite her positive nature, she has demons just like the rest of us. No matter how hard we try or the choices we make, abuse lends itself for a need to abuse others or even yourself at times.

     The red haired Scotswoman stood barely five foot, two inches, but packed a lot of muscle on her pale, freckled frame. Her vibrant green eyes could be seen as envious for it seemed that everyone around her had a fight to wage except her. Her options dried up and now she's out walking streets she hadn't walked in a long time. She hoped in her heart that this one particular place hadn't been disbanded or relocated, for she used to earn quite a bit of money in her teenage youth, which seemed much more long ago to her than it should have been.

     The pavement beneath her boot-clad feet was a bit icy and it always amused her to see the trash practically frozen to the sidewalks. She entered the familiar alleyway on twenty-second street, the smell of urine and vomit assaulting her nostrils. It was a back entrance to an infamous bar that had no signs and was covered in graffiti and a thick layer of dirt. She said she'd never come back to places like this, but the need was too great. Molly O'Hatherine needed a fight and she needed one, now.

     There was a tall rake of a man she actually remembered and shouted his name, “Tullae'! Is that you lad?” she said with her thick Scottish accent that was unmistakable to the tall man named Tully.

     “Well, the Whiskey Bitch returns!” Tully answered, much to Molly's surprise. She didn't expect to be remembered, but then again, she always underestimated the impression she made on others.

     “I have nae' gone by that name in ages, Tullae,” she said. “They still host a fight pit here or is it more about tha' strong drinks at tha' bar?”

     “Oh we still have a fight pit and there's a big bruiser named Arch sitting in the back whining because his opponent chickened out for the night,” Tully answered.

     “I'll take him,” Molly cracked her knuckles in acceptance of the challenge.

     “You sure about that, Molly?” Tully inquired with an arched brow.

     “Why Mr. Tullae' did ye' ferget that I used ta' bust men's faces in that bar fer cold hard cash?”

     “He's six-four and about two forty three pounds and is an ex golden gloves boxer with an undefeated streak so far,” he informed Molly.

     Molly smiled, patted the tall man on his leather clad arm, and said, “I'll take him, Lad.”

     Tully pulled a small walkie from his pocket and whispered something into it. It squawked back with something garbled but he understood it and gave a nod, opening the back door for Molly.

     “The cage is right where you left it, Ms. O'Hatherine,” He said.

     Molly grinned and shed her gloves, revealing her hands were already taped up. She headed through the door and was immediately escorted to a changing room, which was still the same old back bathroom that it was before. She removed her jacket and hung it on a hook. Molly looked down at herself and realized that, with the white tanktop, suspenders, and brown cargo pants, she looked very much like a thicker version of the girl she was the last time she ever stepped into this hell hole of a bar. Back then she went by a different moniker, calling herself the Whiskey Bitch. She definitely liked Ginger Ninja better.

     “Perfect,” She said quietly to herself. As she bent forward to adjust the padding on her knees, the door opened and rather burly looking man wearing a faded Affliction t-shirt, jeans, and boots pushed the door open. Molly rose to her full height as he regarded her for a moment.

     “I don't fight little children. Fuck off and run home to momma.” He said.

     Molly smiled sweetly as she stepped up to the man that practically towered over her, craning her head back.

     “Arch, good Lad,” she said, “Ya' have no fawkin' idea who yer up against do ye'?”

     “A little pie faced bitch that's gonna' get wrecked if you step into the cage with me,” He said with a hint of a southern drawl. He could have been from Missouri or perhaps Oklahoma. She always did have trouble placing which southern accent came from where.

     “If yer so confident, than stop gabbin' and get out there in that fawkin' ring. Show me how tough ye' are. Donnae' be tryin' ta' intimidate tha' wee Scottish girl so ya' have another easae' night of doin' jack all shyte with yer life and gettin' paid fer it.”

     The man's fists tightened. Molly shot him a dangerous grin and loosened her stance a bit in preparation. They stood staring up and down at one another perspectively.

     “Come on, make yer move or get tha' fawk out,” Molly told him with a steel in her voice.

     He backed up a couple steps and nodded his head, “See you in the ring, tough talker.”

     “Like wise,” Molly said and, when the door clicked shut behind him, “Ya' big fawkin' fairae'”

     Moments later, she was fetched from the back and escorted to the fighting pit, where Gerald, the announcer, was wrapping up the introduction of Arch. “Well, it's nice to know this place has kept the old man around then,” Molly thought to herself. The big man raised his arms in the air to the rowdy drunken patrons that surrounded the six sided steel cage.

     “...FROM KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI... BIG BAD AAAARRRCCCCHHH!!!,” Shouted old man Gerald from his little balcony above the ring.

     “AND HIS OPPONENT,” bellowed Gerald once more over the microphone, “SOME OF YOU MIGHT REMEMBER HER! FROM ST. FILLIAN'S, PERTHSIRE, SCOTLAND! SHE WRESTLES IN THE PITT!!! THE WHISKEY BITCH TURNED GINGER NINJA, MMMMOLLLLLLYYYYY OOOOOO' HHHHHAAATTTTTHHHHHEEERRRIIINNNNEE!!”

     A few people cheered in the bar crowd, apparently as wrestling fans as well as old regulars. Molly stepped down the fenced in aisle, rolling her shoulders and neck for one last stretch. There is no referee, no pinfalls, nothing like that. You were either knocked out or tapped out and sometimes, the opposition took liberties. It had been awhile, but she was more than confident in herself. She knew what she could do and she intended to do everything in her power to put this big man down.

     Yet he caught her off guard with a fast sucker punch that drove her small body to the floor. She fell with a trickle of blood from a freshly busted inner cheek. Naturally, the arrogant prick threw his arms up and postured for the crowd, turning his back to her. “Dumb fawker,” She thought to herself, “Both you and me on that one, lad.”

     Molly got to her feet as he turned to deliver a kick that caught her square in the gut and launched her directly into the cage. She crumbled to her knees, her reflexes slowed by that severe punch she took right off the bat. Arch launched himself forward, laying into her with stomps and kicks. The crowd, surprisingly, wasn't very into it as the fight seemed rather one sided at this point, but the night was still young.

     Once more, Arch stepped back and threw his arms up at the crowd, roaring at them. Molly picked herself up using the cage wall. She fought the urge to vomit due to all of the blows she took to the stomach. Indeed, she hadn't been in a fight like this in a very long time and it showed. He was much slower to turn this time and took far too much time posturing for the bar patrons, which allowed Molly that much needed breather.

     When he turned this time to go for another kick, she rushed at him and leaped towards him, throwing both feet into his stomach for a surprising impact that sent him staggering back. The Ginger Ninja was back on her feet in a flash and battered both legs with kicks to the inside of both knees, followed by a hard kick to the groin and a roaring uppercut to his jaw as he doubled forward.

     He'd go to the ground and Molly hung back, hands up, feet bouncing as she waited for him to rise. Some would say this is unwise, but she had a point to prove. As soon as he got to one knee, she moved in with rapid fire jabs and cross punch combinations. He still gained a vertical base, but was staggered and not able to block her shots effectively as she now hammered away at his torso with a particular focus on his ribs and diaphragm.

     Molly would suddenly find herself gripped by the head and shoved back, but the Ginger Ninja tucked and back rolled to her feet. Deftly, she'd avoid his lumbering, slow strikes and moved in where she's most dangerous once more. Molly ducked down and punched the outside of his knee in a manner that caused it to nearly buckle. He'd fall on that knee with a cry of pain and from there, Molly would violently hammer home at his face with fists and kicks, driving him straight to the canvas. This time, however, She didn't relent. The long time out due to her injury, the anger, the humiliation of it all, came pouring out of her and now Arch was no longer an aggressor but a victim.

     The Ginger Ninja unleashed her rage and fury on this now helpless man, only stopping because someone or something was pulling at her. She almost swung at them, but suddenly remembered where she was and what she was doing. The young woman panted for breath and allowed herself to be pulled off of Arch, whose face was barely even recognizable anymore. Her hands hurt, knuckles bleeding through the tape.

     Someone was raising her hand and she barely heard old man Gerald calling out her victory. The crowd was a cacophony of noise assaulting her ears. The white tank top she wore was spattered with Arch's blood. She could taste her own in her mouth from the split lip. She stared blankly ahead and was escorted back to that bathroom changing area. There she sat on a closed toilet, resting as sensation started to come back to her body. There was the familiar ache of muscle as well as the dull pain in her guts from the initial brutal attack from her opponent.

     Molly wiped her bloody hands off on a towel that hung nearby, then wiped at her face with a clean spot. Tears started to flow from her eyes and she buried face. She fought hard to steel herself from her emotions as she had rarely lost control of herself like that. Fighting was nothing new to her, but she couldn't believe how easily the switch had been flipped inside of her. She didn't want to just beat that man. She wanted to end his existence and erase him with her bare hands.

     It would be a few minutes later after she had collected herself that she'd unwrap her hands and start cleaning the blood as well as the splits in her knuckles. Places like this kept iodine and such for a reason. Luckily her knuckles weren't too bad. She'd have to explain a few things if anyone saw them. The cheek was another story. It had already started to bruise visibly. It was going to look like a nightmare come time for the Pitt's Violent Resolutions pay per view.

     Molly threw on her jacket and gloves and exited the bathroom and saw Arch being rolled down the hallway on a stretcher. She stopped one of the paramedics and asked, “Is he gonnae' be alright?”

     The man gave her a curt nod and answered, “He's suffered a massive concussion, broken orbital and cheek bones, broken nose, broken jaw, and shattered teeth. If he's lucky, he'll be able to walk again. You can visit your friend in the hospital tomorrow.”

     They rolled the stretcher down the hallway and left her standing.

     Soon after, Molly left the establishment, picking up her winnings from the pay window on the way out. She earned quite a chunk as despite the cheering, quite a few bet against her. With fifteen hundred in her jacket pocket, she left and headed back home on foot. She was happy to get this frustration and anger out of her, but troubled by the fact that this was the first time she had ever fought with the intention of killing a person. The ease at which she did it didn't sit well with her at all...