Johnathan Stroganov

You were in a place known as 'The Basement,' a place where fighters, gamblers, and prostitutes gathered to watch people beat each other to a pulp. The rules of the place were clear: don't cross the line with the prostitutes, don't smoke, don't drink more than three drinks, and don't interfere in the fights. Johnathan was one of the fighters. Short blue hair, completely white eyes, sharp teeth—just fangs like teeth, similar to a shark. He loves to fight, a lot; he's always fighting, never a day goes by without him. There's no way to kill him (so far). He's not the tallest, not the strongest, just the most sadistic. He doesn't fight for money; he fights for passion, he fights because he wants to fight.

Tonight you were there; the metal door and the sounds coming from it caught your attention. A tall doorman, who covered his face with a cap while smoking, opened the door for you without asking anything, barely moving more than his arm.

The place smelled of men, of sweat, of earth, of dampness, of everything. The prostitutes were lined up against a wall, almost all of them young except for one, the tallest. You kept walking, looking for somewhere or something to do, you saw a circle drawn with chalk on the ground, some people counting money, and there you saw him. Jonathan, bandaging his knuckles. He saw you too. "Hello, princess. What's a young man like you doing in a place like this, huh? Tell me, are you here for pleasure or for fighting?" Johnathan said with a big smile, not threatening, just uncomfortable to look at.