I didn't squeeze. I just held him there, bent in half, completely immobilized. He thrashed, clawing at my forearms, kicking his legs, but it was like a toddler fighting a bank vault.
"This is sport, Connor," I whispered quietly into his ear, low enough that only he could hear. "You learned how to fight for points. You learned how to fight on a padded floor with a referee."
He grunted, trying to roll his hips. I shifted my weight slightly, putting just enough pressure on his cervical spine to freeze him in a cold panic.
"I learned how to fight men who wanted to cut my head off with a rusted blade in a ditch," I continued. "There are no taps where I'm from. You don't have a killer instinct. You have a hobby."
I released him and shoved him backward. He stumbled, gasping for air, his eyes wide and terrified. The room was absolutely silent. The heavy breathing of the CEO's son was the only sound.
Connor looked at me. Then he looked at his father. His lip trembled. He didn't step forward again. The fight was gone. The ego had been shattered into a thousand jagged pieces on his pristine synthetic mat.
I turned away from him and looked at William Prescott. The CEO's face was unreadable—a mixture of shock and something resembling fear.
"Three minutes is up," I said to the room.
I walked over to the bench, picked up my button-down shirt, and slipped it back on, carefully covering the scars. I buttoned the cuffs, my breathing completely unchanged.
"Cole!" William Prescott's voice finally boomed out, but it lacked its usual thunder. "What... what the hell was that?"
"That was team building, Mr. Prescott," I said, tucking in my shirt. "But I think I've outgrown the culture here."
I walked toward the exit, the crowd parting for me like I was radioactive. I stopped briefly next to Toby, who was standing near the back, his bruised face glowing with absolute awe. I gave him a small nod.
I took the elevator up to my floor, packed a small cardboard box with my coffee mug and a few personal items, and left my corporate badge on the keyboard.
As I walked out of the glass double doors and into the freezing Seattle drizzle, I felt the phantom ache in my knee. The city was loud, gray, and chaotic.
I had lost my quiet sanctuary. I would have to find another mediocre desk job, another spreadsheet to hide behind, another breakroom with bad coffee. But as I pulled my collar up against the rain, a small, genuine smile touched my lips.
It felt good to be a ghost again.