Justine was nervous when she got in the taxi.

Justine was second-guessing herself when she walked through the parking lot.

Justine was self conscious as she entered the mostly empty bar.

Justine was anxious as she opened the door leading to the basement.

Justine felt a rush she had never before experienced as she walked into the dank and dirty area filled with shirtless, bruising men, just waiting for their chance to prove themselves to others, or themselves. She had no idea what would happen, if she would be welcomed, laughed at, removed, or treated with hostility. There was no going back now.

Maybe thirty men crowded the basement, in a vaguely circular shape. A tall tan man with spiky hair and a wild smile on his face paced back and forth, waiting for the din of speaking men to quiet down. A pale and tired looking man who was slightly shorter than his companion stood to the side, a small smile graced his face though, and his eyes held a spark, signifying to Justine that he must come here because it was the highlight of his week.

Once everyone quieted down the taller man spoke loudly, "Hello ladies!"

Justine tried not to snort at his ironic choice of words for the night. "It looks like a lot of people have been breaking some rules…" He tsked, and shook his finger at the group. "Can't have that now can we?"

His voice suddenly rose in volume as he said, "What's rule number one?" His voice demanded the crowds attention and they all responded with enthusiasm; 'You do not talk about fight club.'

"Second rule!"

You do not talk about fight club.

"Third rule!"

"Fourth rule!"

"Fifth rule!"

Everyone responded as if they were enchanted robots, so caught up in this man's magic.

"Sixth rule!"

No shirts, no shoes.


Fights go as long as needed.

"And last, but not least…" He crossed his arms and gave a knowing smile to several faces throughout the crowd.

If this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight.

And that's what Justine was counting on.