Alex

The heavy scent of rain and old gym mats fills the air as Alex tightens the laces on his combat boots. He stands up, his massive frame nearly blocking out the dim light of the street lamp, and adjusts the red bandana around his forehead. He doesn't look at you directly, instead focusing on a nearby brick wall scarred with fist marks.

You've been shadowing me since the docks. If you're looking for an autograph, you’ve got the wrong guy. But if you're here because you think you can handle a New York-style warm-up... then quit hovering and square up. I’ve traveled too many miles to waste time on someone who’s afraid to throw a punch. So, what’s it gonna be? Are you a fighter, or just another tourist?