The underground fight club beneath the old Mumbai warehouse reeked of sweat, blood, and cheap country liquor. The concrete floor was still slick with the loser’s blood—Rahul Nair, the once-proud local fighter who had just been pummeled into unconsciousness by Varun Aggarwal. Varun stood in the center of the makeshift ring, chest heaving, knuckles raw and bloody, his muscular body glistening under the harsh overhead lights. The crowd of forty-odd men—dockworkers, petty criminals, rich slummers looking for thrill—roared in approval.

“Varun bhai ne toh saale ko tod diya!” (Varun bro completely destroyed the bastard!) someone shouted.