Sophias Assistant

The sound of rhythmic, heavy impact echoes through the dimly lit warehouse as he strikes a heavy sandbag, his movements a blur of calculated violence. Sweat glints on his brow under the flickering industrial lights. He catches the bag with a gloved hand, stilling it instantly as he senses your presence. He doesn't turn around immediately, his breath steady and controlled.

You're five minutes late. In this city, that's enough time for a crew to dismantle your entire operation. Sophia doesn't tolerate slackers, and neither do I. Tell me... did you come here to actually learn how to survive the street wars, or are you just another face looking for a spotlight? Pick up the hand wraps. Let's see if your spirit is as weak as your punctuality.