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Bright lights shone down from the ceiling of an arena, illuminating the floor below much like the sun did for ancient Rome's coliseums. An audience had packed the building to capacity to bear witness to a match between two gladiators of the new millennium. In the center of the arena is a boxing ring, where World Boxing Alliance's two best fighters were going toe-to-toe in a battle for pugilistic supremacy. Round eleven of the twelve-round fight had just concluded and the fighters were returning to their respective corners for a breather. At the press booth, boxing enthusiast and world renowned commentator, TerryHeights, continued his pay-per-view broadcast as the fighters prepared for the final round.

"We are coming to the conclusion of one of the biggest fights in WBA history. Many thought that this one would be a toss-up. Several analysts, myself included, were unable to determine who had a clear edge in the fight. There were claims it would be a match that came down to the final round and end up near the top of the list of greatest of all time. Well, folks, it has lived up to the hype and here we are about to enter that fateful final round. WBA heavyweight champion, Leroy "Comeback" Jack has had his paws full with his challenger. "Mr. O" Ontavio Bayoumi, has been all over him throughout the contest. If I'm scoring this fight, I think Bayoumi is leading and Jack will need another one of his famous comeback knockouts to keep his title. Either way, history will be made in the next three minutes."

Seated in his corner, the incumbent champion, "Comeback" Jack, maintained a steadfast look of determination. A tan furred, southpaw kangaroo hailing from Australia, Jack was known as a fighter with a ton of charisma and a heart that matched his championship gold. His red trunks had the word " COMEBACK" embroidered on the front, serving as a reminder to his opponents of the miraculous victories he had over the years.

Surrounded by his trainers urging him to give it his all for one more round, Jack stared straight ahead at his toughest opponent yet, a dark furred jackal named Ontavio Bayoumi. Ontavio's roughneck style and "big boss" attitude earned him the nickname "Mr. O" and he was one round away from solidifying a legacy in the WBA. As he sat in his corner recuperating for the next round, Ontavio's trainer gave him a pep talk.

"This is it, kid! One more round! Keep gettin' those body shots in and he's done for!"

"I'm ownin' this fight," Ontavio retorted. "This guy's a chump, not a champ."

"Stick to fightin', kid. We don't need no lame puns here. Don't let up and the title's yours."

The ring bell sounded for the final round to begin. As he stood up, Ontavio noticed the distinct body of WBA owner, Kurt Rami, approaching the scorers' table. The short, pudgy middle aged hyena pointed back to the ring before extending out his paw individually to each of the three judges. Ontavio hesitated for a moment, and then shifted his attention back towards his opponent. The official cleared the fighters to begin, and the championship deciding round was under way.

Ontavio immediately came out firing with two jabs straight to the chops of Jack. Living up to his nickname, Jack wasn't ready to go down and came back with a quick right handed jab of his own. Both fighters backed off to reassess the situation. Sensing Ontavio's aggressiveness, Jack feinted left in an attempt to surprise him with a right handed hook, however, Ontavio's instincts caught on and he easily sidestepped the punch and landed an uppercut on Jack's chin, startling him a bit. The roar from the crowd signaled their approval of the brutal competition. Both fighters were masters of this physical chess match, implementing their own strategies and throwing punches with such velocity, the soft leather of their gloves turned to stone. Chants of "Mr. O" collided with yells of "Comeback Jack" creating a symphony of adrenaline-pumping shouts.

Jack's fuel tank was just about on "E" but the noise from the crowd kept his heart pounding. There wasn't much time left for him to make another famous comeback. He steered clear of another haymaker from Ontavio and launched a fist into the jackal's ribs. Bayoumi winced a bit but wasn't completely fazed. He countered with a quick 1-2 combination to his opponent's cheek, causing the kangaroo to back against the ropes. Ontavio pounced at the opportunity to cause serious damage by getting directly in front of Jack and proceeded to throw hooking blows to his body. Unable to avoid the shots, Jack was forced to wrap his arms around the jackal for a clinch. The competitors remained hooked for a few seconds, catching their breath before the official broke them apart.

The ten second warning sounded. It was now or never for Jack. He stepped in towards Ontavio and hurled his left fist as hard as he could, striking the side of the jackal's forearms. He followed up with a right that connected with the other side of Ontavio's Philly Shell defense. Bayoumi turned the second punch away and countered with a wild haymaker of his own that collided with Jack's bicep. The fighters continued their flurry of punches, hoping one would score a knockout and unanimous victory. As the final bell tolled, the audience stood and applauded the contestants. The official stepped between the fighters and sent them to their corners. The winner would have to be determined by judicial decision. As the three judges tallied up their round scores, Heights resumed his commentary.

"What a finish! Championship boxing at its finest! Bayoumi versus Jack gave us 12 rounds of epic fighting fury. Now it's up to the judges to determine the victor. I would have to give a slight majority of the rounds to Bayoumi. He showed he has just as much skill to go along with his attitude, taking less hits, though he landed a lower percentage of punches than Jack. If you throw in the fact that he has a shorter reach than Jack, I would score this fight 116-112 in favor of Bayoumi. Let's see what the judges say."

Ontavio looked on, confident that he had demonstrated the fighting prowess to be crowned the next champion.

The public address announcer's voice blared over the stirring crowd,

"The winner of this match has been declared by judicial decision. Judge Toma scores Jack 116-112. Judge Carroll scores Jack 115-113. Judge Eron scores Jack 115-113. And your winner...by unanimous decision, and STILL WBA World Heavyweight Champiooooon! Leroy "Comeback" Jack!"

"Wow," Heights exclaimed, "the judges must have seen something that I didn't! I felt Bayoumi had done enough to claim the title but it was such a tremendous fight, I guess it could have gone either way!"

The announcement blindsided several audience members as well, leaving a sense of confusion entwined with cheers for the champion. The look on Ontavio's face transitioned from pure shock to rage. He shimmied through the ring ropes and made a beeline towards the scorers' table, shouting the whole way.

"Bullshit! Fuckin' bullshit!"

Before reaching the table, Rami stepped in front of him. The hyena looked him in the eyes and asked in a harsh tone, "Whaddaya think you're doin'?"

"I won dat match and everyone knows it! I saw you talkin' at the scorers' table! You can't take this away from me!"

"What the world you talkin' about boy? The match is done! Ya lost. Deal with it!"

Ontavio was not about to be told what to do. Or be called "boy" for that matter. He cocked his arm back to throw a punch and as he hurled it forward, a grainy voice entered his ear.

"It's nine A.M. on a chilly December day here in Chi-Town!"

Ontavio quickly opened his eyes, awakening in a light sweat, surprised by the spacious room that he now occupied. He sat up and removed satin sheets from over the top of his body, revealing his once all black fur had been tinged with the grey spots of older age. He then leaned over and pounded the off button on the clock radio that had stirred him awake. He looked across the room at a pair of black boxing gloves that were hanging on the wall. Printed across the front of them were the letters " Mr. O".

Damn it, he thought to himself, shaking the remainder of the dream out of his head.

He slid to the edge of the king sized bed he had occupied and put his feet on the soft carpeting below. He walked across the lavish bedroom and donned a black, silk robe and some slippers before proceeding towards the exit. The early morning sunlight shone through several window panes, reflecting off of the black marble floors and lighting the way to Ontavio's destination. He reached a dining area with an oak table that could seat twelve and a large, glistening chandelier that hung above it. He sat in one of the chairs and rubbed a bit more of the sleep out of his eyes. After a few minutes, a slender doe wearing a dark, frilly shirt, a long, black skirt, and black shoes with a slightly heightened heel, entered the room carrying a silver tray with a breakfast platter, some coffee, and a newspaper on it. She approached the middle aged canine and in a soft voice said,

"Good day, Mr. Bayoumi. Here is your breakfast and morning paper. Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Constance, did you set an alarm on my clock?"

Constance recoiled, "Well...I thought maybe it would...be good for you to get up and out of bed before noon today...unlike you have for the last few weeks."

"Constance. Do I pay you to think of what would be 'good' for me"

"Well...no, sir. You have just been acting so - -"

You're lucky ya know how t' poach an egg," Ontavio interrupted before sticking a fork into the white puff on his plate. "Now go away before I decide t' fire yer ass."

"Very well."

Constance left the dining room and walked over to a cordless phone sitting on a desk. She pressed several digits and after a few rings, a female voice answered,

"This is Dirah."

"Hello Ms. Bayoumi. This is Constance, your father's housekeeper."

"What's wrong? Is everything okay?"

"Mr. Bayoumi has been acting awfully strange for the past few weeks. I was wondering if maybe you could stop by and talk to him. It might make him feel better."

"What? Is he sick?" Dirah asked, sounding a bit concerned.

"No, he has just been really...I don't know how to put it. Boring, I guess. He mopes around all day and rarely leaves his quarters. You'd think a multi-billionaire would do something more with his time. He won't mention anything to me."

Dirah sighed, "Sounds like he is depressed about something. I doubt he would ever admit it. Alright, I'll be there during my lunch hour at one."

"Thank you Ms. Bayoumi. See you then."

Meanwhile, Ontavio had returned to his bedroom and began an endless search for something to watch on television, completely oblivious to the phone conversation that had taken place.

Lying in his bed, he pressed the buttons of his remote control as if he were racing to get to the end of the channels.

"Is there anything to watch other than soap operas and melodramatic news reports?"

Frustration began to set in, and he tossed the remote aside. He sat up, maneuvered to the side of his bed, and came to his feet. After exiting the bedroom, he walked past Constance without even glancing in her direction. He opened a cabinet that housed a variety of liquors and pulled out a bottle of scotch before heading to a large glass door that led to a gorgeous wooden patio located at the rear of his estate. He grabbed a pack of cigars that was resting on an end table and opened the door. A cold, harsh wind slapped him across his face. He walked out and sat in one of the wooden, deck chairs as the icy air swirled around him. Looking out across the grey Chicago sky, he felt no better than the day looked. For the next few hours, he stayed and watched the clouds move through the air at a glacier's pace while puffing away on the cigar.

It was shortly after one o'clock when the door bell to the mansion chimed. Ontavio stirred momentarily, surprised that a visitor had come, but returned to his normal position and waited for his housekeeper to greet the guest. Constance opened the front door, and a dark furred, female jackal with a thin pair of glasses over her golden eyes stood before the young doe. She was wearing a long, black coat, dark business slacks, and high heels.

"Ms. Bayoumi," Constance said happily, "I'm so glad you could make it."

Dirah took off her coat and handed it to Constance. "Thank you. Where is Father?"

"He walked out on the patio several hours ago. I believe he's still out there."

Constance led Dirah to the glass door and they saw him seated in the same position he was in when he first went out.

Dirah opened the door. "Daddy, what on Earth are you doing out here in a robe?!?!"

Ontavio stood up and turned around, shocked to see his daughter standing before him.

"Freezin' my ass off but the scotch is helpin'. How's my baby girl doin'? Why you here?"

After a quick embrace, Dirah continued the conversation,

"Wow AND having alcohol for lunch. And here I was worried you weren't taking care of yourself but the scent of liquor and cigar that surrounds you now certainly quells my fears."

Ontavio shrugged at the remark before taking another sip of his booze and setting it on the table next to him.

Dirah persisted, "Well, I hadn't seen you for a while and Constance told me you'd been acting weird. I can definitely agree with that, seeing you in this state. Let's go back inside."

"I don't wanna."

"It's freezing out here and I want to talk to you."

"I'm smokin'."

Dirah yanked the cigar from his jaws, tossed it on the ground, and stomped it out.

Ontavio gave her a rather perplexed look before pulling a box out of his robe pocket to grab another smoke. Dirah saw his lighter resting next to the scotch bottle on the outdoor table and grabbed them both before her father's reflexes kicked in. With that last move, she claimed victory in the battle, and Ontavio had no choice but to concede to her demands.

He let out a sigh and followed his daughter back into the house, taking a seat next to her on a black, leather sofa in the living area.

"So. What's wrong?" Dirah asked.

"What's this some kinda damn intervention? I'm fine," Ontavio replied.

"No you aren't. I can see it all over you. Tell me what's wrong."

"I said I'm fine."

"Dad, don't give me that attitude. You're a freaking billionaire, and from what I hear, you have done nothing but lie in bed for the past month. You should be out enjoying your retirement."

"I was 'til my daughter started lecturin' me."

He glanced over at her. She was giving him the evil eye, unwavering in her attempts to find the truth.

"You ain't gonna leave are ya?" He asked.

"Not until you tell me why you're acting like you're on your deathbed."

"I might as well be."

"Oh, God! Seriously? You are being so dramatic right now!" She paused for a second, before grabbing a throw pillow off of the sofa.

"What's the matter," she said angrily as she swung the pillow into her father's shoulder. "Did you blow a bunch of cash gambling?"

Ontavio quickly turned to her. "What? No!"

Dirah swung the pillow again, "You mad your old boxing buddies don't visit you?"

"No! Stop!"

She struck him again with the pillow, "Some chick reject you? Haven't gotten any lately?"

"What the...HELL NO! If you don't fuckin' stop!"

Dirah scowled. "Well, I had to liven you up somehow."

"You must be a Bayoumi. Always goin' to violence to solve our problems. But I really don't need my daughter knowin' 'bout my sex life."

"Believe me, that is the last thing I need to know about. Now, come on. Tell me what's really bothering you before I use this deadly pillow against you again. I hate seeing you like this."

She dropped her weapon and grabbed his paw, looking straight into his cold grey eyes, hoping to warm them with her golden gaze. Ontavio sighed again and stood up.

"You know I can never resist those eyes, huh?" He said.

Dirah smiled and replied, "It's always worked before."

Ontavio turned towards his bedroom. "Wait here."

He walked into the room and took the black boxing gloves down from the wall. He returned to the living area, carrying the gloves as if they were a precious relic and sat back down next to Dirah.

Depression was written all over his body. Eventually he straightened up and said,

"These gloves are a constant reminder of the goal I'll never be able to achieve. To me, success isn't defined by money, cars, and clothes. It's working hard at something you love, and reaping the benefits of that hard work. 25 years ago, I was on the cusp od doing just that. Fighting was, and still is my passion. I wanted to leave my mark on the fighting world. Become a legend in the business - -"

"I thought you said that you wanted nothing to do with that business after Rami gave you that lifetime ban," Dirah said. "Seems you regret attacking the old fart."

Ontavio laid the gloves down on the coffee table in front of them and stood up. "I regret nothin' but the time I wasted in that crooked organization. That ol' bastard got what he deserved."

Dirah rose to her feet as well. "I remember you saying that he fixed your fight, but you never said why."

"Before the match, there was chatter 'bout how I wasn't a marketable fighter. How I didn't possess a "champion's charisma". Rami was bankin' on havin' that goody two shoes beat me straight up, but when I took over the fight he intervened by bribin' them judges. That match was fixed so that Australian dip-shit could keep rakin' in money. After knocking his jaw off, Rami wanted nothin' more to do with me, so he had me arrested and banned me from the WBA for life."

"What about Darius?" Dirah asked. "He's been trying to break into the professional ranks of boxing for a while. Even though you can't fight, you could still help train him and etch the Bayoumi name into fighting history indirectly."

Ontavio chuckled at the thought. "Rami never said it publicly, but he'd never let another Bayoumi into his organization, no matter how talented your brother may be."

"Hmm. I guess that would explain why he hasn't been able to get through amateurs yet. And here I thought it was because he was crazy."

"Well, I'm sure that is part of the reason too. He can't keep a trainer for more than a month because of his recklessness. Regardless, he definitely should be out of the amateurs by now. Because of Rami, the dream of creating a Bayoumi fighting legacy went straight t' hell and there's no way to fix it."

Dirah searched for a response but to no avail. She now understood the pain that her father was feeling. Having a dream crushed right before your eyes was enough to bring the toughest of individuals to their breaking point.

Ontavio decided to break the silence. "So now you know what's up wit me. I've tried puttin' it behind me for years. Throwin' lavish parties. Bringin' home gorgeous broads - -"

"Dad. Please," Dirah interjected somewhat disgusted.

He shrugged, "But whether it's these cheap ass leather gloves, or the nightmare flashbacks at night, I always have a constant reminder of the legacy I will never fulfill. I'll always be known as the guy who punched out his boss, got locked up for a bit and then got lucky in the stock market. Havin' money, bein' stable...sure it's fine. But as the sayin' goes, that shit don't buy happiness. I ain't have a goal or a ambition that I feel is worth accomplishin' any more."

"But father, you can't just sit here and wait for death," Dirah said, growing tired of all the brooding. "You still have a lot of time ahead of you. Is there no way for you to try to build a new legacy? Your corporation is huge. You could innovate and start something new here. This business - -"

"This business does nothing for me but pay my bills! I don't care about it or what it can do. The only thing I WANT to start is..."

He held still for a few moments. Dirah hesitated, not quite sure what to do. Finally, Ontavio broke out of his trance and turned to Dirah.

"Something new...start something new...start something new."

"Dad? You're scaring me."

"No, no, no," Ontavio said, vigorously shaking his head. "I'm fine. I jus' got a great idea. I could start...a new fighting organization. I could solidify a legacy in the fighting world by creating an entirely new company. Darius could become the fighting champion he's always wanted to be, and I could CRUSH Rami at his own game!"

Dirah's brow became furrowed. "Uhhh...well that is ambitious. Are you sure you can do this? I mean there's a lot that goes into - -"

"Shhhhhhh! All in due time, baby girl. Get ya car warmed up. I need to discuss this wit a few of the execs back at th' office. All this cash is finally goin' to serve a purpose."

He looked around the room for his housekeeper before calling out, "Constance!"

She entered the living area with a feather duster in hand. "Sir?"

"Get the place locked up and take the rest of the afternoon off. I'm headin' out with Dirah."

"Right away, sir!"

He turned back to Dirah and kissed her forehead.

"This dream ain't dead yet," he said and headed towards his bedroom while Dirah stood, mouth agape, still very confused about what had transpired.