I love a good challenge. The stronger the opponent, the happier I am to bury them in the dust. I would be happy to offer them the option of death. My thirst for blood began on that day. It was the day I had defeated an entire legion of foreigners that tried to attack my people and the temple that forced us to sacrifice so much to protect it. Using all of my strength and with the help of the gods that watched over me on that day, I killed them all.
That's just history now.
I have met no one that I could not handle; that I could not tame with my own hands. Entering the King of Iron Fist Tournament 6 would be a test of that. I have no doubt that I can beat every opponent, make my way up, and uncover the mystery that is the Apocalypse.
"Prepare to meet your match," I say, looking at the roster of contestants and their first match. Scrolling my finger down on the posted list, I find my name and trace my finger across the horizontal dotted line, "Christie Monteiro."

Behind me people wait impatiently to see who they will be facing. A blonde woman sneers at me when I turn and a younger man with goggles atop his head tells me to 'Move the fuck along' or something of that nature. I can't wait until I feel his blood on my fists and then be the one to tell him, once I am done kicking around his prideful ass like a rag-doll to "Move the fuck along".
I leave slowly just to annoy the impatient competition, especially the foul-mouthed Asian
For a second, I want to do what the people call, "flipping the bird" but that would probably be taking it too far.

Once I am a safe distance from the line of angered people, I look around for who I think might be Christie Monteiro. I was looking for a girl obviously, and from the sound of her last name, someone of Spanish or Brazilian decent. I glance around, first seeing a white woman with short, brown hair and an overly seductive outfit. Probably not her. Then I see a crowd of men and a few Asian girls. No one who fits the description yet. Finally, I see a girl with a tight ponytail and sequined pants, her bra-like top barely covered what they were designed to, her skin is a light brown and her hair was light brown as well.
Finally found you, Christie.
She didn't look like too much of a challenge. If she's Brazilian, no doubt she is skilled in the Martial art Capoeira. If she is a Spaniard, she could be skilled in Eskrima. Either way, I was confident in the fact that this would be an easy win.
I look at her, studying her one more time. She's talking with a man, sporting a purple suit and shades.
Prepare for elimination, girl.
I smirk at her, pitying her as I do. Everyone participates in this competition for a reason, some more dire than others. Something about her just screamed at me, "This competition is the end-all-be-all for her! Show mercy!"
I ignored that feeling and walked across the street for tea and then a meditation session before our match.