Victor pulled out the tablet he had been carrying, his expression unreadable as he swiped through a few screens.
Damon, standing beside him, looked on in confusion, unsure of what Victor was about to show him.
Finally, Victor opened up a video. "Watch this," he said, passing the tablet over to Damon.
Damon took the tablet and pressed play. The screen lit up with the familiar scene of an arena, a fight was about to start.
As he watched the footage, it dawned on him that this was a UFA match, but it seemed a bit older, like something from a past generation.
He waited as the match intro played, curious about what Victor wanted him to see.
Damon pressed play and leaned closer to the screen as the grainy footage began.
The arena was packed, the crowd buzzing with excitement.
The camera panned around the octagon, focusing on two fighters standing in their respective corners.
One wore blue shorts, the other green. Their faces weren't clearly visible due to the pixelation, but the tension in the air was palpable.
The commentators' voices crackled through the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the UFA Light Heavyweight Championship match, and we've got two top-tier fighters here tonight! In the blue corner, we've got the undefeated powerhouse, Victor Steele, known for his relentless aggression and knockout power.
And in the green corner, we have the submission expert, The Champion Raul 'The Constrictor' Ramirez, a man who can wrap you up like a boa constrictor and squeeze the fight right out of you!"
Damon's interest piqued. A light heavyweight championship? He didn't expect this.
'Victor Steele? Is this him? No way right, guy looks nothing like Vic'
The referee signaled the start of the match, and the two fighters approached each other cautiously.
The crowd's roar was barely contained as the fighters began to exchange jabs, each testing the other's defenses.
Victor, the man in blue, immediately took control of the center of the octagon, his movements precise and confident.
His striking was sharp, landing crisp jabs and hard low kicks that echoed through the arena.
"Steele is looking sharp tonight!" one of the commentators said, excitement building in his voice. "He's keeping the pressure on Ramirez, not letting him get comfortable in the early moments of the fight."
Damon watched as the fighter in green struggled to find his rhythm.
Raul attempted to close the distance, hoping to engage in a clinch or shoot for a takedown, but every time he tried, Victor countered with a stiff jab or a well-placed kick to the body.
Damon was impressed. The way Victor moved, the way he dominated the fight, it was clear he was in control.
"Look at Steele's footwork," the second commentator chimed in. "He's staying light on his feet, keeping Ramirez guessing, and those body shots are adding up."
As the first round wore on, Victor landed a clean overhand right that stunned Raul.
Victor grimaced, trying to free himself, but Raul's grip was iron-tight.
He twisted Victor's leg at an unnatural angle, cranking on it with all his might.
Victor's face contorted in pain, but he refused to tap. Damon could see the struggle in every fiber of his body.
"Steele is in trouble! He needs to tap!" the second commentator screamed.
But Victor didn't tap. He gritted his teeth, his hands clawing at Raul's body, trying to pry himself free.
The crowd held its breath as Victor's leg bent further and further.
"Tap, Steele! Tap before it's too late!"
Then, in an instant, it happened. A sickening crack echoed through the arena, followed by Victor's agonized scream.
His leg broke, swinging grotesquely as the referee rushed in to stop the fight.
"Oh my God! His leg is broken! His leg is shattered!" the commentator yelled, his voice filled with shock and horror.
The camera zoomed in on the scene, the gruesome image of Victor's leg hanging unnaturally.
The referee waved off the fight as medical personnel rushed into the octagon, trying to stabilize the injury.
The commentator's voice was frantic. "Victor Steele's leg is broken! This is a disaster! What a tragic end to a championship fight!"
Damon's heart pounded in his chest as the camera zoomed in on Victor's face.
Despite the poor quality of the footage, Damon could see the pain etched in his expression.
But there was something else that struck him. The man on the screen, the fighter whose leg had just been shattered, it looked like Victor.
He froze, the tablet trembling slightly in his hands.
'Bu-ut how? This is'
The commentator's voice confirmed what he had feared. "Victor Steele's leg is broken, and the fight is over!"
Damon looked up at Victor, standing by the lake, calm and quiet.
The realization hit him hard. He hadn't known that Victor had fought, let alone that he had suffered such a career-ending injury.
Victor met his gaze, his eyes hard but not unkind. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling smoke as he looked out at the water.
As he had lit another cig.
"Now you know," Victor said quietly. "That was my last fight."