Meanwhile, in Warehouse 17 at Pier 4, things were pretty awful. This? This was underground Breakball at its worst. Not the shiny, flashy games you see on TV. No, this was where teams like Dust Dogs fought just to stay alive.
People talked about it, everyone knew, but no one said it out loud.
The desperate teams sent their girls to "entertain" the other side. A little fun for the winners, and in return? A lost game on purpose, a fake stumble at the right moment. Just enough to keep the losers from drowning completely.
No papers signed, no cameras rolling. Just sweat, shame, and the empty hope that maybe next time would be different.
And standing there in the room, the Raptors. Big guys, all muscle and mean grins, one of the top-tier teams. They looked around like they were kings, and everyone else? Well, they were just there to kneel.
