Showdown - our right!

“Want to try it again? Maybe you just need some help from a friend?”

I scoffed, ignoring the blood that trickled down over my face and how my hair stuck to my face and neck. I knew I looked like shit, that I was covered in minor cuts and bruises. Still, I stood tall, smiling, looking over at that pathetic little man hunched over a couple of meters away from me. Because, If I look like shit, he seems half-dead already. He lost the strategy games, not only the first time but the second, third, and fourth times.

He was loud and obnoxious and a soar looser on top of it all. Then he followed up with poor planning, reading the map wrong, then drawing up the lines on the map wrong after he was corrected about the map direction and size scales.

He was a hot-headed brute, most likely used to scare people into doing what he wanted, yell at people, stop arguing, and just rely on pure muscle mass. He might do well in a drunken fistfight, but he had nothing on me, and the crowd had begun to see