Sharon's Turmoil - Prologue

**DISCLAIMER, READ BEFORE PROCEEDING**

This is my first writing experiment. I understand that it might not be perfect. It might even be horrendous. And proceeding to write about a specific niche immediately might backfire.

This story is based on a roleplay I am currently having with other Redditors. I was also encouraged to put this in writing by a prominent member of this community. If you recognize yourself, you have my full acknowledgement of the contributions you made towards this story seeing the light. To this end, any constructive feedback will be appreciated, with the hope that it be incorporated in future writings.

I'll try to keep the uploads coming as regularly as possible. But due to intense work schedules, I might not have the free time required to process chapters regularly.

The series revolves around (mostly) organized catfighting. All characters in this story are at least 21 years old and are willingly consenting to all this.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this series are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

--Prologue

It's never easy to move to the big city in pursuit of your dreams. It's even harder to live in your friends' shadow. This was the reality of Sharon.

Sharon was your typical stereotype of the collegiate third wheel. With an average height and an unassuming figure, she doesn't strike as anything special. Her chestnut-brown hair cascaded in straight strands, reaching just below her shoulders. Her facial features possessed a natural simplicity, characterized by a soft, rounded face and fuller curves. Her brownish nipples laid on breasts firmly in the B cup size, breasts that her male classmates wouldn't mind peeking at whenever she happened to lean when wearing a looser shirt, before she corrected herself. Her butt was plump only because she wanted to hide all the takeout she usually had. Squats were about the most athletic feat of hers.

She prioritized her comfort when it came to her attire, rebuking the fashion trends her peers were fawning on. She was very comfortable with her hoodies, sweatpants and casual jeans. Of course, she wasn't afraid of dressing up. She just does as a last resort. Partying and athletics weren't really her things, and she was at best an average student. Nothing remarkable, really. And the third-wheel stereotype fully materializes once surrounded by her roommates and best friends, Amy and Isabella. Opposites often had a knack to attract each other in college, and this was no different.

Amy exuded a unique blend of strength and grace. Half-Asian, she came to this side of the globe to further her studies in Communications, seeing as she preferred not to dedicate her days creating propaganda at home. When she wasn't busy attending class or doing other collegiate girl stuff, she was honing her craft at the gym. For you see, Amy held her college's weight class' title in mixed martial arts (MMA) for 2 years already.

With a (literally) striking presence, Amy stood at an athletic height, her physique embodying the results of rigorous training and discipline. Her heritage shone through in her features. Amy's dark, almond-shaped eyes are framed by expressive eyebrows. Her complexion showcased a flawless and sun-kissed olive tone. Her hair was dyed blonde, hinting at her desire to stand out in a crowd. She carried herself with an aura of confidence, yet with such grace that left her peers in awe, and her opponents in fear. For you see, Amy had the knack of switching from a bubbly, outgoing woman outside of the cage to a ruthless machine inside.

If Amy could kill with her physicality, Isabella could match that with her looks. If Amy could hit hard, puberty certainly hit Isabella even harder. The fair-skinned brunette was the prime example of looks being able to kill. Her gaze could make any man's knees buckle. We could expand further on Isabella's features, but all this could be summarized with the fact that she was physically perfect, down to the last minute detail.

Isabella was at the core of collegiate life. Any party's legitimacy was contingent on her attendance alone. Everyone jostled to have her by their side. After all, who wouldn't? She remains the youngest student to captain the college's dance team, and was the life and soul of every event. She, however, would always prioritize her friends, Amy and Sharon.

Her dancing background gave her body all the grace and athleticism she needed. Her stint on the school's dance team granted her greater access to tap into college life. Not only was she pretty, she also was popular.

Sharon was very supportive of her friends. You could see her watching Amy defend her belt, screaming at the top her lungs in support. You could also find her being the first to bring a bouquet to Isabella after the dance shows. But deep down, she wanted her own thing. She knew it couldn't be in college, but she desperately craved recognition. Deep down, she felt she needed this to be an equal to her friends. Granted, Amy and Isabella made sure Sharon would never feel out of place when all three were hanging out or on the occasional outing... But she was itching to feel special, you know.

Sharon was heading home after a relatively abysmal day. A random taxi splashed her legs in the morning, she had forgotten to return a book she borrowed 2 weeks prior, and as if that wasn't enough, she tripped over herself while leaving class. Her nemesis, Taylor, was kind enough to publicize the incident by recording and uploading it. If that wasn't enough, all this happened in front of Thomas, Sharon's secret crush since freshman, before Taylor swooped him away into her clutches. Sharon never stood her guts, but couldn't do much about it. The cheerleader was more athletic, well-connected, and certainly more ruthless. "Another month of being the laughing stock, I suppose", Sharon muttered to herself. At least, she could console herself with her favorite chocolate bar.

Sharon got out of the store, clutching a king-size chocolate bar with hazelnuts. She was busy salvaging her day with the sweet, when something attracted her attention. Sharon had the knack of being seduced by inconspicuous stuff. This happened to be a torn piece of paper on the ground. There was something conspicuous about this one, in particular. It seemed to be a piece of flyer, designed to look torn. It just had to be, for one could make out the advertisement easily. The text was cut off in such a way that it left no room to one's imagination "tfight Club", and there was an address in tiny font.

"Hmmmmm", Sharon pondered. Whatever that club was, it was located in the seedier parts of town. Not the best of ideas to wander there, as a lonely girl. She did the math. It would take her around 20 minutes to get there. If she'd skip the elevator when dropping her stuff on the couch back home, she had a good chance of being back early. Better yet, she knew Amy and Isabella would be at the big frat party that she was certainly not invited to (not that Isabella didn't try to vouch for her). So she would definitely return before them. This way, the secret could hold. With renewed vigor, Sharon grabs the onion bag they desperately needed for dinner that night, and raced to her students house. She climbed the stairs 3 at a time, fumbled with her keys, tossed the onion and her satchel bag haphazardly onto the couch, and was out on the street in no time.