Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

The Lord's Prayer. Dominic couldn't remember the last time he recited it. He figured he had to be have been a kid the last time. Couldn't have been much older.

Church was never a priority in the Chambers household, sans the nights dear old Dad saw fit to worship at the neon cathedral. It was easier to forget those nights. Even easier after the old man bit the dust; beaten to a pulp in a back alley over a gambling debt a couple weeks after Dominic's twentieth birthday, and no longer did he have to see the miserable bastard when he visited his mother.

Yet, for some inexplicable reason the only thought that crossed his mind as he snapped back to reality and locked eyes with the half-dressed woman standing in front of him, who just a few seconds prior he'd been balls deep in, was The Lord's Prayer. He didn't know her name, or if he did, he forgot it real quick.

The night air felt colder than usual, as did her hand when she pushed her way by him in a speedwalking rush to get back inside.

Dominic fell arms first into the side of the building, covering his face with his hands. This wasn't the first time, nor, did he figure, that it would be the last. He turned, putting his back against the brick wall and glanced out to the entrance to the alleyway, illuminated by the glow of one of the lewd neon signs on the front of the building.

He pushed himself off the wall, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm the thumping in his chest. He squinted, made his hands into fists, and growled before turning back to the wall and exploding in a fit of rage, pounding his fists against brick.

When he finished he looked down at his hands. His knuckles were bloody, and he guessed he broke at least one of his hands. He still couldn't shake the racing his chest.

Then he felt his phone vibrate against his leg. Instinctively, he shot one of his sore hands into his pocket, gritting his teeth as he pulled out the ringing phone. He flipped it open and pressed it to his ear, where he heard the frantic, panicky voice of his partner Marion, accompanied by static.

"Dom?"

"Yeah?"

"It's Liza… Gone... " were all Dominic could hear over the static.

"Gone?"

"Into labor…"

Another burst of static erupted as Dom's jaw dropped and his eyes went wide, staring blankly at the street at the end of the alley. He lowered the phone to his side and tried to gather himself. He could still hear the blaring static and bits and pieces of words from Marion, but it was all just noise. He swore he could hear everything right then; all the sounds in the world. He felt like the world was piling things on top of him, sound after sound, stimuli after stimuli to go with the news of his wife going into labor six weeks early. His heart thumped louder and angrier. He couldn't feel the throbbing pain in his hands.

He took a deep breath and placed the phone back to his ear.

"Can hardly hear ya. Too much damn static. Let me call ya back."

Then he hung up the phone and walked out of the alley.

5 Years Later // Present Day

Dirty Frank's was a bar that definitely lived up to its name. The floor looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years, the booze was cheap and left its drinkers more hydrated than they were before, and the whole building felt like it could collapse at any moment.

Saturday nights were the best. That was fight night, when so-called tough guys squared off against other so-called tough guys for bragging rights and in most cases, profit. Gambling, fighting, and drinking all night until the crack of dawn.

Dominic was a regular, and this Saturday night was no different.

The rules were simple, and recited at the start every week. Ripped straight from the pages of Fight Club with one alteration: Do not talk to the cops about Fight Night. Dominic always got a chuckle out of that one.

It wasn't until the rules were announced and the first fight of the night began that Dominic saw the man, but once he did he couldn't help but stare. In a room full of men who'd already taken off their shirts in giddy anticipation for their turn to shove their fist through some asshole's face, this man was dressed to the nines in a sharp black three piece suit. He could hear the cheers, the jeers, the screams, the sound of flesh striking flesh but all he could focus on was this man, who wasn't even aware he existed.

Twenty seconds later, one of the two assholes won after punching the other asshole's cheekbones into the back of his skull. Dominic, cocky grin on his face slapped a hand down on the man's shoulder and chuckled.

"You. Me. Next."

The man chuckled nervously.

"Oh no, I'm not here to--"

"I wasn't askin' ya."

The man sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Okay, fine."

Dominic pushed his way through the circle of testosterone and took his place in the center, followed by the man, who fumbled with taking off his tie, shirt, and jacket, then kicked off his shoes, handing everything to Frank before turning to face his smiling opponent.

Frank, still holding onto the man's clothes, cleared his throat and shouted: "Fight!"

The man stood, still as a statue, watching Dominic as he approached. Dominic's eyes looked glazed over, his facial expression empty. Vacant. His arms at his side, almost daring his opponent to swing. The man swallowed a mouthful of saliva and stepped forward, pulling his whole body to his right before unleashing a huge uppercut that surely would've knocked Dominic out if it moved fast enough to hit him. However, Dominic caught his arm and twisted it backward, forcing the man lower to the ground, before sweeping his legs out from under him and grabbing him by the hair.

He dropped punch after punch on the poor sap's face. Each struck tenderized flesh with a louder impact than the last. The man went limp after three. He didn't stop until Frank and another well built gentleman pulled him off after six.

Dominic spent the rest of the night in silence, standing on the outskirts of the circle, bottle of cheap beer in hand, half interested in the proceedings.

A few hours later, when the first rays of sunlight poked out over the horizon and the whole group scattered back to their day-to-day lives, Dominic stood just outside the bar, leaning against the old brick wall, lighting a cigarette. This time, the man approached him. The right side of his face was bruised and a noticeable cut ran along his cheekbone.

"You're an asshole, you know that?" the man asked with a slight chuckle.

Dominic, taking a drag of the cigarette, nodded.

"I don't know a whole lot, but I do know that."

"Hit like a truck though, what do you do for a living?"

"Used to be a detective."

"Used to be?"

Dominic sighed and placed the cigarette between his fingers.

"Yeah, used to be. Homicide. Things happened, and I ain't no more."

The man squinted at him.

"And what do you do now?"

"Bit of this, bit of that. Just shit to make ends meet, ya know?"

"Yeah, I do know. Say, I work for a company that can always make use of a man with your, talents."

"What talents? Beatin' up guys in suits?"

"Occasionally."

The man reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and handed Dominic a card.

"Just give that a call sometime."

With that, and nothing else the man tipped an imaginary hit to Dominic and strolled down the street, into the rising sun. Dominic glanced at the card before sliding it into the back pocket of his jeans and muttering under his breath.

"Weirdo."