Treading the streets of London, past sunset, is equivalent to venturing into a Pan's Labyrinth for those who've never before walked them. I was one such stranger, who after some serious persuasion by my colleagues , had agreed to go out for a drink.

It was an ordinary pub. Inconspicuously loud, cramped and smelling of alcohol mixed with much of sweat and lingering awkwardness. It was suffocating to say the least. But I had worn a smile matching the neon lingerie I hid underneath the all black ensemble I walked in. My companions were jabbering away about what's -his-name's and the what-he-done's. I sipped on my cranberry vodka, while observing the cacophony from atop my high chair.

The room didn't have a single window, or even an exhaust. People could die in here. The thought was just about losing its moment of importance when I saw a man walk out a door situated across the dance floor. He looked both ways, before opening the door again and put his head back in, as if he were talking to someone. He left the handle and walked towards one of the couches, but in that slight gap, I spotted a set of stairs going downwards, lit by a single wall lamp.
And nothing else.
It was a while before the door opened again, and this time, two men got out. One of them looked like he was taking the weight of his companion as well, and latter seemed to be dragging one of his legs along. The disco ball flashed right then and I got a glimpse of the limping man's face. It held a more amiable resemblance to Freddy Krueger. The visible eye was just a swollen lid. I gasped and very nearly dropped my glass.

Caution wailed sirens in my rational mind and yet the unreasonable part of me, the one that had read one too many books that held blood in their pages, had already gotten my legs to edge towards the suspicious doorway.

The crowd abruptly got thick when the music got crazier. I was shoved by more people than I'd ever intentionally made physical contact with, and it did not feel good. The shoving got too much and all of a sudden, I was the one who had shoved a poor waitress down, along with her empty tray on which she had lain her apron.

I apologised repeatedly and got her off the floor before she could get trampled by the unbothered throng of people around us. I retrieved her apron and tray too, but when I straightened up, she had disappeared.

I was just looking around for her, when I felt a pair of hands land on my shoulder and start pushing me with purpose.

"Hey, what're you doing? Get your hands off!"

"Shut up, newbie, and wear that apron. Never forget the rules, unless you want them branded onto you." His fingers squeezed my shoulders in a painful way, as he voiced the threat.

I turned to look around for a familiar face and that's when I saw where we were headed. Right towards the door that had been tugging at my curiosity moments ago. The man kept a firm hold on me with one hand, and reached with the other for the handle of the door. The stairs came into view and from somewhere down below, a bell clanged. The sound echoed over to where I was stood, reminding me of the start of a brawl. Or perhaps the end of something. Or both. Either way, I crowned my curiosity and put my wary mind to rest, and took the stairs as per my guide's instructions.

Testosterone. The room was drenched in it, given the lack of women accomodating the room, excluding the waitresses. It was a rage down here and I was surprised how the noise hadn't carried upstairs. It was more of an arena than a room, given the purpose it was serving.

It's dimensions mirrored that of the dance floor above. The fancy couches, bar stools and electronic music were replaced with scattered wooden chairs and blaring Metal. It was pure adrenaline charged excitement.
It was a Fight Club.
Several crowds huddled about in every part of the room, providing a circle for the opponents. At present, there seemed to be about 7 circles, from where I was standing, halfway down the stairs. Punches and grunts echoed as loud as the voices that cheered them on, with crazed enthusiasm. There was the stench of blood and sweat that hung in the air,  getting denser by the minute.

"Get a move on, girl. The men are getting impatient."

Fear thundered against my chest at his statement and I hurried to clear whatever misunderstanding had come up.

"I'm not what you think, you've got the wrong girl. I was looking for my friends."

"Well they're all down here, put that apron back on and get to work."

He shoved in the direction of a makeshift bar, and I nearly fell but caught myself, and turned back to glare at the impudent manhandler.

"Now, Now, Ryan." A figure came in my sight. A broad back, wide shoulders, a head of tousled brown locks topped with a hat. He even carried a cane, seemingly more for show, which was obvious from his extraordinary physique.

"What have I told you about mistreating our staff?" He tsked at the big guy, who was visibly fidgeting under this man's demeaning tone. His voice nearly swallowed up every other sound in the room.

"I'm....I'm sorry...sir...Mr. Kim."

He tapped his cane once against the banister and then peeked over his shoulder at me, one perfect eyebrow arched. A questioning look took over his face, as he turned about fully to face me.

"The wrong girl, indeed. You don't work here, do you, miss?"

I got carried away by his facial features and took my time figuring out that I should be shaking my head about now. A light smirk from his side helped, and I shook my head in a NO.

"Would you?" he held out a gloved hand, owning fingers that artists would envy. I took it without a second thought.

"I'm Kim Taehyung." He said his name as if he were stating a title. "You are? Aside from Lost, of course."

Mr. Kim had no issues about letting me get back to my friends. He also had no issues about a girl wandering into his obviously members-only Fight Club. Or he supposedly didn't. But he had one condition. I was to wait and watch one particular fight. And then I was free to go.

I wasn't by any means a coward, and I'd seen plenty of blood and gore in movies, although real life was a completely different thing. As if he had sensed my thoughts, he assured me that rather than a fight, it would be more of a game. And that I would enjoy 'capturing' it. I had no idea what he meant by that. But I agreed.

I was then made to sit at a little table that was surrounded by several wooden chairs. Nobody else was sat there, but me. Earlier Mr. Kim had come over and offered to get me a drink, but I turned him down. There was a napkin holder with a bunch of thick napkins. I took one out and retrieved my little charcoal pencil that I always stashed in my pocket, and began to doodle.

I was just done shading Mr. Kim's cane, when the music abruptly stopped and the crowds hushed down. The little circles had joined together to form a giant circle, and a single man stood in the middle of it. He had orange hair on his head, face, as well as his bare chest. His chest was heaving, as he kept his eyes pinned on a door opposite to him. The crowd had no gaps inbetween, except for the way to the door.

The tension was palpable as I stood up from my seat, unable to bear it, and walked a little towards the gang. Out of nowhere, Mr. Kim sidled up to me and whispered close to my ear,

"Whatever you do, never blink."

The double door slammed open just then, and it felt like every person in the room had caught their breath. The waitresses had abandoned their trays and were leaning over people to get a glimpse of whoever or whatever was about to arrive through the door.

It started off with one person mumbling, but the rest of them joined him in some sort of chant, that sounded like gibberish to me. I tried listening in, but it sounded like they were all coughing together.

"What....what are they saying?"

I didn't expect him to still be standing beside me, when I heard his reply.

"Krook."

And then, as if summoned, a man walked out. His tattoos were the first thing that grabbed my attention. They lined his knuckles, his arms and one side of his torso, along his well defined abs. Sweat glistened off them like he had just finished a fight. But then I saw his eyes, and they looked ready to hunt. The chants turned to roars and I could have sworn his opponent had taken a step away, and looked as though he would blend into the crowd if he could.

"Is that his real name?"

Mr. Kim chuckled, his voice low and resonant. "Of course not, silly. The crowd named him, Krook." He smiled towards the tattooed fighter, like a proud owner would look at his favourite pet.

"They call him Krook, because you'll never see him coming. And once he's got his sights on you, there's nothing that can rid you of it. Until he steals it all away. Your wit, your fight, your heart," he sent me a coy glance, "and from most, their life."

The words he spoke echoed in the back of my mind, like a narrative, for all I could concentrate at that very moment was the man they called Krook. He walked towards the centre of the ring in an agonisingly slow swagger. There was nothing extra about his confidence, he looked like he earned every bit of it. From his cocked eyebrow, his tongue rolling on the inside of his cheek, and easy stance keeping both hands on his hip, with which he faced his opponent. The opponent that was in several measurements larger and wider than he was, and yet his entire aura was predatory.

He never took his eyes off the opponent from the moment he'd walked in. After he was satisfied with his assessment, he reached for the back pocket of his jeans. His eyes swept over the crowd during the action, and by the gasps and disturbance that went through the group at his gesture, he was clearly making eye contact. I was too short and too far behind, for him to have seen me. But some part of me wanted to know, what it would feel like to look into those dark brown eyes that shone without fear.

"Would you like to move in a little more closer? Get a better look?" He hadn't taken his eyes off his pet, who had now pulled out a single leather glove and was wearing it over his left hand.

"Erm. Sure. I guess." Neither had I, for fear that I might miss something. Mr. Kim did advise me not to blink.

"Come then." He offered me an elbow, and I awkwardly held onto it. The crowd that was so densely surrounding the fighters until then, parted like the Red Sea when they noticed who was amidst them. One side of the crowd had completely dispersed, opening up a clear path for us to watch the fight through. Mr. Kim took a seat on one of the stray chairs and gestured for me to take the one next to him. The people looked back and forth between him and me, but it didn't take long until they had their attention stolen back by the Krook.

He had begun to circle his prey. Carrot Head looked like he was having second thoughts, but he also seemed to want to pummel the inked boy in one go. His frustration was showing and that appeared to be amusing Krook. His eyes still held fast to their calculations, but he let a smile on his face. And it seemed to have disarmed his opponent even more, because the next minute he came charging for Krook.

My hands involuntarily clenched themselves to the bottom of my sweater, judging from the speed with which Carrot Head came at him, I was sure Krook would take some sort of damage.

But his momentum couldn't get him even a hair's breadth close to the now gloved man. Krook sprang from the ground, and as his opponent sped by under him, he aimed a perfect kick to the nape of his neck. A single swing of his foot and CarrotHead was kissing dust. The crowd lost their heads and my heart was raging inside my chest. I almost wanted to jump out of my seat and shout with them. I wanted to see him. Wanted him to see me. I looked at Mr. Kim instead, and he smirked knowingly.

"He would make for an interesting subject, no?" He fingered the napkin I had been doodling on earlier. I simply stared at him.

"It's not over." And he was right. The crowd wasn't madly crowing anymore, they were back to their chants.

Carrot head was shouting abuses at him now. But there wasn't even the slightest change to the determination on Krook's face. He knew what he wanted. And he knew how to get it.

"Come at me, you skinny dog. So much for your little tricks! Fight like a man, won't you?" His words earned him a punch to the face and the man turned into a bull stripped off of common sense. Krook simply dodged him as if they were practising a particularly complicated dance.

"You and your girly gloves! What, afraid of a little blood?!" Krook stopped. The crowd froze, and CarrotHead looked like he wanted to dry heave.

"Why..."

"Shhh. Keep your eyes where they are." was the immediate response from my side.

Krook didn't do anything extraordinary. He didn't transform into a beast. He didn't glow with an unusually coloured flame. He didn't sprout horns. He smiled. I shivered.

He stomped one foot into the ground, and his opponent scurried back. The man was afraid. He seemed to know the consequence that was about to follow his actions. Krook stalked him again, but with more intention. And as he did, he tugged at the glove around his left hand. Slowly and seductively, he pulled it off, releasing one finger after the other.

Once he had taken it off, he neatly folded it and pressed it back into the pocket of his pants. He sized his opponent once more.

"Now! Now, we have the main act." Mr. Kim had a maniacal glow in his eyes, as he took in the scene before us.

Krook cut a half circle, on the dirt-smeared ground with his right leg, taking a stand. Then he rushed at his rival. He was a blur. A blur that struck his opponent once, right for his gut.
Twice, aiming his shoulder blades.
Thrice, at a spot on his chest with a chiseled form of his hand and the man swayed where he stood, a limp sack of meat. Krook caught him by his chin, holding him up for a beat before letting him crumple to the floor. Dead or dying. But no blood. Not one drop. Nothing to give away what had just taken place.

Krook took his place at the other end of the circle again,his eyes on his own hands, as if looking for something. I saw him, but I imagined smoke and fire and something more. Something that stirred sensations in me. My hands rolled the charcoal piece between my fingers, impatiently.

"In love already, are we?"

I didn't bother giving the smug man a response. I wanted to look into this prideful being's eyes. I wanted to know what it felt like.
And I wanted to recreate him as my own.

"And then he landed like three blows! Back to back! Just three of them! The guy didn't move after that," I shivered unconsciously, feeling like I was still there. So close to where Krook had knocked out a 200 pound man with his bare hands, like he was a mere sapling.

"He died?!" My roommate hugged her elephant plushie tighter, and I felt sorry for the poor thing.

"I...don't really know? I left right after that. Mr. Kim took me back to the bar area. Or rather, 'escorted' me back. I don't even, everything seems so hazy after the fight." I fidgeted with my scarf. I hadn't even changed out of the clothes I'd been out in.

"Wow. This Mr. Kim guy certainly sounds like the gentleman. The gentleman with a hidden twisted personality. So dreamy!"

I gave her a flat look.

"Soph, only you would categorise twisted under dreamy."

"I know right," she giggled and rolled off the couch.

"Now go get changed, I'm hungry!"