#if you see me rattling the bars of my enclosure please look away | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amazedforjjk · 5 years ago

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Escape - OT7

The gif is not mine! If you’re the owner please tell me!

Characters: Lion!Namjoon, Jaguar!Jin, Black panther!Yoongi, Cheetah!Hoseok, Snow Leopard!Jimin, Tiger!Taehyung, cougar!Jungkook, Serval!Reader

Summary: In a world where Hybrid protection laws are gradually strengthening, many organisations are still advocating for the complete extermination of your species. What happens when you find yourself and 7 other predatory hybrids in a truck en route to a hybrid slaughter facility?

Genre: Angst (I want to try and add humour, fluff and perhaps smut too, depending on the response to this fic so please let me know)

Warning: Mentions of abuse, blood, kidnapping.

A.N: This is my first fic ever. I got bored because of the quarantine and I figured why not. English is not my first language so please bear with me! Tell me if you like it and I’ll continue this fic!

Word count : 3.5k

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The first thing to hit you when you wake is the pungent smell of fear. As your eyes flutter open, you try to take in the sight before you. You’re in a warehouse, you can tell as much. All around you are dozens of other hybrids bunched into individual cages.

Your hands come to rest on the bars of yours, eyes widening when you finally seem to grasp the reality of your situation. Your hands are bound in heavy dirty shackles, and you can tell you certainly weren’t the first to ever wear them. The cages are not big enough for you to stand up, and you can barely move. Stray tears stream down your cheeks as the memories of the events which led to your condition ultimately flash before your eyes.

“ Come on, she’s weak.”

“We’re gonna get you kitty, stop running.”

You pant as you run. You’ve never run this fast before in your life, your heart pounding dangerously in your chest. ‘Escape’ is the only thought plaguing your mind as you hear the voices behind you. You don’t even know where you are, much less where you could go, so you just keep on running in the dark alleyways. You suddenly turn in another alley, relieved when you find the ladder of a fire escape.

Maybe they won’t find me if I climb, you think to yourself as you begin grasping the rusty bars. The voices are coming closer, and you find that there are even more than you originally thought.

A gunshot rings through the air right next to you, the bullet landing behind you in the wall. Your eyes widen and you quicken your pace, however, in your haste to come up, you fail to see the broken bar and fall off the ladder. The fall chases the air from your lungs as you try to get up.

“Too slow, kitty”, the man behind you says with a smirk.

They caught up, you think as a sob of pain and hopelessness escapes you. How long had you been running? And your siblings, had they been able to escape? You turn on your front and crawl on the ground, trying to get away from the men as much as you could, when you feel a shock of electricity coursing through your body.

“Where do you think you’re going, bitch? You’ve already caused us too much trouble, don’t think you’re gonna get off easy.” A hand grabs your hair, causing you to wince in pain. You can barely move when the man hits you square in the face with a baton, and you fall unconscious.

Your left hand leaves the bar to touch the side of your face where you remember being hit, and you wince when your fingers come in contact with the bruised skin. You glance around the room to distract yourself from the pain of your face; there must be at least 50 hybrids in cages in the warehouse, predators and prey alike. Most of the hybrids in your vicinity sport bruises on their faces, some of them sobbing, and their clothes are disheveled. All of you look as if you rolled in dust, the hygiene of the facility having clearly been overlooked. You scan the room, holding your breath, looking for a familiar face. You’re relieved to see that you knew none of the hybrids around you. It’s better that way, you try to convince yourself, unable to repress the pang of fear you feel at the thought of being alone.

Suddenly, the sound of a heavy door opening grasps the attention of all hybrids. The room falls completely silent, all of you looking on in fear as ten men make their way inside. One of them claps his hands loudly as he faces the others.

“Alright gentleman, we need to move fast”, he says in a low, raspy voice. “ Separate the predators and the prey into two groups, and then start charging the trucks, we don’t have all day.” He claps his hands a second time, and that seems to spur on the workers who make their ways towards the hybrids, muttering different variations of “Yes boss” as they reach the cages.

The boss then turns around to face the captive hybrids.

“Oh, and if any of them give you trouble…. You know what to do”, he says, his mouth shifting into a dark smirk. It seems that the threat was rather directed towards the hybrids as he leaves the room, chuckling when he kicks a cage, making the hybrid inside whimper.

One by one, the cages were separated into two other rooms, and then loaded onto trucks by packs of eight. All around you you could hear whimpers and sobs of hybrids, sometimes interrupted by the loud shouts of the loaders. Your mind is racing, desperately searching for a way to escape. There has to be a way. However, as much as the cogs in your mind are turning, you can’t help feeling helpless.

You and the seven other hybrids loaded on the truck are the last of the hybrids. You don’t spare a glance towards the others yet, your eyes locked on the loader charging the last cage next to you. The eight enclosures are in the center of a container, in two rows of four. As you were loaded just before the last cage, it meant that you could reach the loader. You are not going to go down without a fight, that’s for certain. If you’re going to die, you at least have to cause as much damage as you can. You were just about to attack him when something shiny caught your eyes. The keys!

Once his deed is done, the loader then sits on the edge of the container. He takes out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and starts lighting one. Smoke spreads in the truck, making one of the hybrids cough. However, the acrid smell is now the least of your concerns as your eyes zero in on the keys. Slowly, your hand creeps towards the set of keys. You can feel the hybrid next to you holding his breath as your hand makes its way to the keys. You are as quiet as possible, carefully holding the chains of your restraints to stop them from rattling. Once you finally grab the keys, you bring them back to you without a sound.

The hybrid on your left is the only one aware of your doings, and once the keys are stashed under your tail, you finally face him to make eye contact. His eyes are open wide in awe and you can see a glimmer of hope in his gaze. Hope, yes, I’m going to call him that. You smile shyly and glance away from his intense gold eyes, instead focusing on his body. He has small rounded ears and a spotted tail. Like you, he must be a big cat hybrid. His coal hair is dirty, falling in front of his eyes. Once he comes out of his awe stricken state, he returns you a small smile, his mouth forming a heart.

Another cough comes to your ears and you decide to look around at the other hybrids next to you. Behind you is another male hybrid. He sits uncomfortably, his shoulders too wide to be cramped in such a small cage. His face is beautiful though dirty, and when his gaze finally meets yours, you find yourself entranced by his blue eyes. His round ears are black at the tips and his tail is also spotted. Another big cat, huh? He smiles sweetly at you, though his eyes betray his fear.

You turn to take in the small hybrid next to him, behind Hope. He sits hugging his knees, his bushy tail wrapped around him. His fur is grey with large black rosettes across. His hair is blond, his light eyes unfocused. He looks completely lost, his plump lips quivering ever so slightly. Feeling your gaze on him, he turns to face you, revealing his black eye and busted lip. You’re not the only one who put on a fight apparently. You quickly avert your eyes from his figure, looking instead at your feet.

You’re unable to see the other hybrids behind Wide Shoulders and Blondie from your point of view, but it doesn’t take a lot of thinking to figure out that the others are probably big cats as well.

A whistle shrills through the air. The loader finally finishes his cigarettes, throws the butt on the ground and grabs the doors of the container, a wicked smile on his face: “ See you never, monsters,” he spits and closes the doors abruptly. You would scoff at his remark if it weren’t for the fact that bringing unwanted attention to you would thwart your escape plans. The container is plunged into darkness, and you can sense the truck starting to move.

The start of the ride is silent, aside from a few whimpers coming from the hybrids in the front. Once your eyes start to get accustomed to the darkness, you look for the keys to your shackles. There are a lot of keys and you try one by one to open your restraints with shaky hands. Eight of them are similar, and the last one is slightly smaller. The big ones must be for the shackles and the other for the cage, you think.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, and at the sound of the keys, the hybrids in the front are getting restless. Wide shoulders, Blondie and Hope are staring intently at your ministrations, the latter the only one who isn’t surprised at your possession. When your shackles finally pop open, you can hear Wide shoulders let out a cry of victory, Blondie turning towards the others, only to utter the word “keys”. It seems however that it’s all they really need to understand and the whimpers cease.

With your hands finally free, you look for the lock on your cage, testing the keys when Hope leads your hands to the lock. You finally stand up after what seems an eternity, and every muscle in your body seems to scream in pain having stayed in the cage so much. You take the small key from the set and give the rest to Hope. While he tries to undo the restraints, you go around the enclosures to open them.

While opening the cages, you spot a badly injured hybrid. Both his eyes are black and swollen shut. From the look of his tail, you figure he must be a lion hybrid. When his cage finally pops open, you reach out to help him up, flinching away when he roars at your touch.

“Don’t worry, we’re free”, says with a low voice the hybrid next to him, a tiger hybrid you note, and both of you reach out to help the lion. You cast a thankful glance to the tiger and continue on opening the cages, finishing by Blondie’s cage.

Once all of them are out of their cages, Hope finishes going around the hybrids to rid them of their restraints. You can finally see the other hybrids, though you can’t really distinguish them due to the lack of lights. You had seen Hope, Blondie and Wide shoulders thanks to the warehouse’s lights, but it’s now impossible to identify the species of the others without being close. Not a word is ushered as the last shackles fall to the floor of the container. The eight of you are left to stare at each other (except for the lion who is resting seated against the side of the container), until a small voice is heard.

“What now?” The heads all turn towards a young hybrid, perhaps the youngest of the males hybrids. He has deep round amber eyes and dark hair falling on his features. His eyes sink to the ground when he feels the attention on him.

“We have to escape”, says Hope, looking at the door of the container. The hybrids all turn towards the door, and a small man with a black tail goes to feel the door, looking for anything that could help him open it.

“But the truck-”

“It’s either we jump while it’s moving, either we die at the slaughterhouse” Wide shoulders interrupts the tiger.

“But-”

“We should be on a small road.” This time, it’s the lion who speaks unexpectedly. “They can’t move us on highways, it’s too risky, and the truck is not going at maximum speed. We should be surrounded by fields or the forest, making our escape easier. Plus, it should be night, they wouldn’t move illegal cargo during the day.”

“You’re probably right”, you say. “So this is our only chance.” You look pointedly at the tiger hybrid who looks hesitant. “ If we don’t escape now we’ll die”. At the last word, Blondie whimpers. You try to bury the fear you feel, this is not the time to be scared, we have to run.

Behind you, the dark tailed hybrid ultimately opens the door with a grunt. All of you turn towards the opening. The lion was right, it is night time, and all you can see are the passing fields in the horizon.

Thanks to the moonlight, you figure out that the black-tailed hybrid is in fact a black panther. He looks back. His pale skin is glowing in the moonlight, contrasting with his dark hair. His yellow eyes are luminous, scouring the truck.

“It’s now or never”, he says, locking eyes with as many hybrids as he can. He then goes back to where the lion is seated and helps him to stand up.

Wide Shoulders is the first to jump, and he rolls to a stop on the road. Blondie follows him closely, holding the tigers hand in his. Hope and Black panther hold on to the lion and all three fall on the road. You’re going to jump when you see the wide eyed boy behind you.

“Hey, we gotta go”, you try to urge him, but he only looks at you with glassy eyes.

The others are getting out of view, and you start to panic. You can’t leave him here, he’s going to die. You try to pull him by the hand but he stays put. He’s too strong for you. Shit!

“Please! We need to jump”, you look at him pleadingly, “we're going to be fine I promise!”

“Promise..?” he looks completely lost, eyes wide, focused on you.

“Yes, now please we have to go!” you beg, and this time, when you pull at his hand, he follows you. Both of you jump out of truck, hand in hand.

The landing is somewhat painful, gravel sinking in your hands and shin. Your arm took the brunt of it, but you don’t dare to look at it now, only getting up to run, your hand still in the man’s. As sure as you could be that the driver couldn’t possibly have heard anything over the noise of the truck, it was not impossible for them to see you through the mirrors.

Adrenaline coursing through your veins, you get out of the road onto the high grass framing the road. You just had to find the others, and then you’ll figure out what to do next. You are still running, unable to stop, and as the hand of the young man following you slips out of yours, a thought hits you: Why would they wait for us?

You continue running, and your mind races just as much. They don’t have to wait for you. If anything, it would be safer for them if they don’t. Eight predatory hybrids in the wild is an uncanny sight. Moreover, the countryside isn’t known for its open-mindedness regarding hybrids. These hybrids are far from being stupid, you could tell by only listening to the lion hybrid. Chances are they took the safest bet and left already, every man for himself. Behind you, the once afraid hybrid is still following. At least he’ll be here, right?

However, those thoughts all wash away when you finally see the group of hybrids. The six of them are here, crouched in the grass in a circle, waiting anxiously for you. You can’t help the smile of relief when you come crashing next to Hope, the effects of the adrenaline already fading, leaving only exhaustion. Behind you, the young hybrid is catching his breath, his hands on his knees, his tail swatting around him.

“You- You waited..” you pant.

“Of course, we wouldn’t leave any of us behind.” Blondie says. It’s the first time you hear him talk, his voice is melodious. He seems more relaxed now, even going as far to flash a small smile your way.

“Everyone is here, we can’t stay for long. We have to find somewhere to rest.” It’s Wide Shoulders’ time to speak now, his tone serious but the light in his eyes tells you he’s happy to see you.

“There’s a forest not too far from here, surely we could take cover underneath the trees”, Hope says, pointing towards a patch of trees.

“Alright, everyone be careful, and let’s go to the trees”, Wide Shoulders rises, helping the lion hybrid get to his feet. In the moonlight, his injuries are all the more apparent, and he seems to be limping as well. What happened to him? The tiger hybrid gets to his side, letting the injured man lean on him for support. The small group slowly makes way to the trees, silent in the night, all senses on high alert.

You only let yourself relax when you finally reach the cover of the trees, the knots in your shoulders loosening up. You take in your surroundings, the trees giving a decent enough shelter for the eight of you to rest for now. The ground is covered with moss and dead leaves, comfortable enough for you to sleep. You decide to camp around a small stream, taking advantage of the clear water to drink and wash up a little bit.

None of you talk, all of you occupied with different tasks. Thanks to the moonlight, you can finally take in the rest of the boys accompanying you. The tiger hybrid is beautiful, with sharp features and piercing golden eyes. His hair is long and wavy, falling in front of his eyes. He seems focused on washing the blood and gravel off the side of his torso. You can’t help your gaze from falling on his small waist.

Damn, he really built like that?

You shake your head to chase those thoughts away and focus instead on the lion hybrid already drifting off to sleep on the soft moss. His dirty blond hair is falling on either side of his face, his round ears pressed to the back of his head. The bruises on his face are purple and blue, and blood is drying around his fleshy lips and brow bone. His long hands are also bloodied, and you don’t even want to think about what could have happened to him. Luckily, those bruises should disappear quickly thanks to hybrids’ healing capability.

A reminder that he’s not the only one bruised hits you when you try to lay on your side, the pain in your arm making you grit your teeth. You finally dare to look at it and breathe through your teeth at the sight. Your arm is bloody, bits of flesh torn because of the gravel. You move to the stream, holding back a whimper to try and wash your wound when a big hand rests on your good arm. You look up to meet Wide Shoulders’ blue eyes in surprise. He flashes you a small smile.

“It looks really bad, please let me”, he says, gesturing to your arm.

Begrudgingly you let him, wincing when the cold water comes in contact with your flesh. Once he removes all the gravel left in your arm, he rips a part of his shirt off to wrap the cloth around your arm. You look at him in surprise, only glancing for a few seconds at his now exposed abs.

Oh my god he has abs?

Once he finishes to wrap up your arm, you cast him a questioning look.

“Well, it’s thanks to you we’re safe… That’s the least I can do”, he says shyly. You utter a small thank you, still shocked at the gesture.

“You should try to sleep, you look exhausted.”

Sure enough, as soon as he says this you erupt in a huge yawn, eyelids feeling heavy. You start to settle on the soft moss, casting a glance to your travel companions.

You’re not out of trouble yet, that you know for sure. But you feel strangely safer, even in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the seven hybrids. As you can see the males slowly drift off to sleep, you realize that perhaps you’ll be okay, and you know you can count on them.

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AN: Please give me some feedback!

Thank you @jingabitch for giving me advice!

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cum-a-calla · 5 years ago

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a commission :)

inside: Bob Gray/female reader, humiliation, piss, mindfuck, denial, general clownery

It’s hard to judge just how long you’ve been in the cage.

On top, there are two heavy boots, legs crossed at the ankle. The bars of the cage tremble and clink, chains around the door shimmying like bells. The sound joins his uneven breath, it joins the metallic rattling and your own blood rushing in your ears, and the sight of him petting the ridiculous bulge in his slacks while he squirms. He’s slack-jawed, drooling, eyes heavy and focused, unfocused, focused again.

There are empty seats and risers in a semi-circle around you, rusted with age. You can practically hear the creaking despite the lack of an audience. In your head, it sounds hollow, warped, just the thought of it creepy enough to make you shudder. Goosebumps ripple down your arms, over your ribs and thighs.

“Wish there were people in here, little creature?”

He grins and saliva dribbles down his chin. Around you is aching, echoing emptiness, like a vacuum. Sounds within the tent are magnified, caught in the low, insectile buzz in the background, and focusing on it only forces it to retreat. Hiding. Chittering. Beyond the ragged flaps of the entrance, wind whips banners and flags around, shakes the trees in the distance and sends leaves and carnival garbage whirling around the midway. Not a sound penetrates the perimeter of the tent. It’s like watching a movie on mute, the world moving on behind some invisible barrier. You’re isolated here.

Trapped.

The cage is small. It’s barely big enough for you to be on your hands and knees, naked, shivering under his constant watch. Between your thighs, your pulse makes itself known. Each throb brings you a little closer to release, but it’s a race to see which releases first – your dripping cunt or your full, tight bladder, feeling fuller every passing minute.

“No,” you breathe. The thought of anyone seeing you like this, locked up and trembling with your bare ass in the air, is beyond anything you could handle. You peek at the risers and they shimmer. They seem to slip in and out of focus, and in the weird blur, there are shapes. People. Loads of them, faces smeared and unclear, blipping in and out like a glitch.

Glancing at Bob Gray treats you to the sight of his big hands around his cock, leaking down around his knuckles. He’s sneering down at you, tugging leisurely at himself while you flicker between him and the spectral audience, and it seems that with each passing glance, they disappear and reappear, refusing to conform to your perception of the room around you. It’s scary. The people don’t really look like people, only like they’re trying to.

Like Bob. Bob, with his wet snarl, his sleepy eyes and sharp teeth. His eyes glimmer at you, snapping orange like a wildfire. He lifts his boots off the cage and spreads his thighs, pumping his cock with a little more purpose. He swipes his fingers up over the slippery head and shudders, giggling, his soft belly peeking from under his untucked shirt. It’s nearly threadbare with age.

“Can see ya shakin.” He sucks his teeth, mocking you with a violent shiver that shakes his massive frame. “Ooh, tiny thing, can see how bad you want it. Stupid little pet. Does it hurt? Does it feel sooo bad to hold... it... in?”

Eyes on the floor. It’s all you can focus on aside from the burning ache. The more it aches, the worse it gets. The worse it gets, the more you throb.

“Can I... please... go to the bathroom?”

He shakes his head, a thread of drool breaking off to patter into the dirt near his feet. He’s swollen, dripping just like you are. He moans and shakes his head harder, the laughter bubbling up from deep in his chest.

“No, no, I want you to hold it. Be a good girl, hm? Don’t make a big fuckin’ mess in my tent, you hear? Do ya kennit, little animal, does it do ya well?”

“Please, I really – it... hurts –”

He stands so suddenly that his chair topples behind him, and he towers over the cage like you’re the smallest thing in the world. He’s enormous. He takes the step until his big boots are toeing the edge of the cage, knocking into the thin bars, and not once does he stop touching his cock. He bends low and watches you, looks at you from every angle. His saliva drips down onto your back. It’s warm, unbearably so as it slides down the curve of your ribcage to your belly. He reaches into the cage, shoves his hand between your legs.

There, he rubs at your clit. It’s sloppy and quick, less about teasing and more about piling on the pressure. It’s searing. It feels like a molten ball in your belly, twisting, pressing down, down, down against your bladder, each contraction deep in your cunt only dragging your misery to the surface. It’s getting harder to ignore, harder to push down below.

“Does it hurt so, so bad? Is this old man huuurting you?”

“Ohmygodohmygod...”

Bucking your hips away is impossible. You can only fall back against his fingers, and the more you worm away from him, the more he giggles. The more he strays from your clit, teasing you where you can’t have him. Not now. Not with all that bright pain inside, ready to burst, and yet here he is, cooing at you with his fingers sliding inside.

“No gods here. Not even close. Nothing but me, nothing but your slimy little cunt. You smell so good, too... come out, tiny thing. Come on out. Let. Me. Smell. You.”

“No, I can’t, I can’t!” Your voice draws high, so whiny and pathetic that it doesn’t take looking him in the face to know that he’s enjoying it. His smirk shapes his words, spits them at you like his fucking drool. They float through the air like a miasma, circling your mind, like moths. Smell you let me smell you come out tiny thing come out you scared does it hurt does it hurt doesitHURT

“Oh.” He moans the word, like it rumbles up from his body, and his breath flutters through your hair. Sweat prickles at your hairline, and the first drip travels down over your temple. He takes the cage in both hands, so many slippery fingers, and takes a steadying breath. You can’t look away from him, crouched over the cage with his heavy cock out, with his big hands gripping the enclosure like he means to twist the metal. He glares down at you with a smile on his face. “Oooh, you can’t? But this... is the circus. Anything can happen here.”

He takes his hands, pounds his fists on the top of the cage. It rattles around you and you jump, yelping, and after all, you do feel like a dumb animal. He pounds them again, again, and all you can do is freeze up. Your bladder burns. Your cunt aches.

“Anything! Let me show you.”

With each strike, he grunts, and those melt off into laughter as he starts to count down with each smack of his big hands, slamming against the metal until they scrape open, the meat of his palms tearing and bleeding freely. SIX. FIVE. FOURRRR, THHRREEEEEEE, TWWOOOO.....

“ONE!”

A final, heavy slam of his fists and the cage is gone.

He stops just short of your back, hands coming to a complete halt as you brace for impact, and then his red, shredded palms lay flat against you. His blood feels scalding. The cage is just gone, absent from the tent entirely. You look around, frantic, looking up, looking at him, but there’s nothing to see. Nothing but his broad shoulders, his knowing smirk.

“What do you think?” He winks at you, slow, like you’re sharing a secret.

“It’s - that’s... where did it... go?”

“Gone the way of many other things in my time, filthy thing. Don’t worry about that. It’s been taken care of, and now you should be.”

There’s no grace to the way he yanks you by the hips, no thought to how you fight a losing fight, barely squirming out of reach when he pulls you flush against him. He grabs handfuls of your ass, spreads you open, grinds his cock up against every inch of you.

“Gunna fuck you full, fuller than you could imagine. Isn’t that nice? Don’t act like you don’t want it. I know. I know you do, even though you need to go oh so bad.”

He dissolves into a fit of manic laughter and it bounces off the walls of the tent. Beyond them, the world still moves. The storm has picked up, but none of that is perceptible in here, nothing except the snatches of midway as the flap waves in the wind. Sometimes there are people walking in the distance, and sometimes there are people close by, people that barely resemble people. Watching. Smiling, pointing.

His cock is massive as he is, but with how utterly soaked your cunt is, he forces it inside with little issue. It’s mind-numbing how good it is, how he’s right – you are full, so blissfully full, every inch of his cock spreading you open and finding nerves you barely know of. He tilts his hips and pounds into you, like he’s going to fuck through to your guts and into your bladder. It’s too much. It’s way too much pressure, and the first warning pangs of loss of control are flooding your nervous system, face burning with the effort, voice drawn so high and sharp you could cut him with it.

“I can’t I can’t I can’t, I’m gunna – please – oh my god PLEASE let me go,” you sputter. Words leave in no specific order, rushed, clear only in their desperation.

He pulls you closer.

“Hold it,” he demands. He doesn’t let up. It’s a strange sensation that travels all the way down to your feet, like hot wire, and you start crying. He leans over your body and folds over you until he can grab your face, tilt it toward him. He licks your tears off your face and laughs, breath like smoke, like old meat and dead leaves and something else, something familiar. He’s inescapable. “Aren’t you a big girl? Can’t hold it for me, baby, can’t be a big girl? Don’t wet yourself! Don’t have an aaaaccident all over Daaaddy!”

He laughs and your body betrays you. It’s inevitable. He slows his hips after the initial break in concentration, the warm dribble in the dust, and then he’s howling as you piss yourself. His cock throbs, balls-deep, holding you as tight against his body as he can manage as it wets through his slacks and over his thighs, puddles below the two of you. You hang your head with your eyes squeezed shut, trying to ignore the orgasmic rush of release, like a climax of its very own. It feels good. It feels so good.

“Filthy fucking creature. Nasty slut. Disobedient little thing, aren’t you?”

Bladder relieved, the reality of your situation caves in around you. Fuck. You stammer apologies, over and over and over, shaking with them, coming apart underneath his stilled form. He still has his fingers buried in your flesh. He squeezes them and you moan, and his cock throbs.

“You’re sorry. You’re sooo sorry. Oh, tell me, tell me how goddamn sorry you are.”

As you continue gushing your apologies, there’s a tickle in the back of your throat. Coughing takes it away for a moment, but it comes back, an itch unlike anything you’ve experienced before. Coughing turns into gagging, into hacking over the floor until you’re the one drooling, dry-heaving, shaking in the dirt with piss down your legs and a cunt full of him, and.... something... touching the back of your tongue. Something in your throat. There’s something in your fucking throat, rising up, and Bob sticks his fingers in your mouth.

He reaches back, stuffs his long fingers back there until he grabs it and PULLS. He drags the thing over your tongue and out from your throat like he’s doing an act, and half of you expects to see multicolored scarves when your vision stabilizes, when you’re not stuck behind a screen of tears as you try not to vomit on his hand. An eternal, painful moment later, he shows you.

He’s holding a crop. An entire crop, wet and slippery with your saliva, your mucus.

“You ready to be so, so sorry?”

He lands the crop on your back. It stings and pulls you back to life, and his hips start moving again. There’s no rhythm to lead into; he fucks you open until you’re moaning and crying and begging, throwing nonsense words into the hot, muggy atmosphere of the tent. You can smell your own piss, his breath on the back of your neck. He rains blows down with the crop and each stings more than the last, forcing your tired throat to shriek, to yelp, to make all manner of embarrassing sounds under his ministrations. He rolls his hips like he knows your flesh from the inside, knows exactly where to nudge, how to adjust his vicious pace.

“I can feel that nasty cunt tightening up on my cock. You gunna cum soon? Would you like that, to cum all over Bob Gray’s big, mean dick? Want Daddy to let you have it?”

“Yes.” It’s the most honest, most coherent word you’ve spoken, clear as a bell, slicing up through his frenzied breaths and grunts. He giggles and hums, hits you over and over in the same spot with the crop. Your back glows with it, marks up and down your spine, blooming, warping your flesh into a purpled, welted landscape.

“That’s too bad, because if you disobey me and cum without permission, I’ll do more than beat you. I’ll take this pretty skin right off, see what’s underneath. Oh, yes, I will. I’ll see what you’re really made of. You’ll see just how messy and disgusting I can make you. So... don’t... cum.”

He rubs your clit, giggling, knocking your weak hands away when you reach down to grab at him, to twist away. There’s no escaping. There never was, not at any point. Beyond the flapping tent, everything is now still. Birds hang midair, people mid-walk, and everything is staring through the frozen tent-flap. The people aren’t people. Things watch you with their unchanging non-faces, expressions beyond what you can really understand as human. Terror grows inside you like ice, turning your blood cold, and yet Bob Gray ruts into you all the same and plays with your clit until you’re fighting a different kind of pressure than before.

"Better not cum, little thing, you better fucking not cum."

Finally, his movements become erratic, his hand stalling. He throws the crop and wraps his arms around your waist, down by your hips, and squeezes. He holds you in that vice-grip and it’s almost more painful than the crop wounds, crushing against your pelvis, against your hipbones as he bottoms out with each thrust. It feels like you may come apart in his arms, and that delicious knot of heat gets tighter and tighter and tighter and he’s beating you to the punch.

His cock seems to expand, filling any last inch of flesh he can manage before he’s moaning, growling in your ear. Cum fills your cunt, shoots so deep you can’t stand it. Wriggling against him only milks him further. He rocks and rides out his climax while you whine.

After he’s done with you, he pulls out, shoving you by the hip so that you fall over in the dirt. Urine soaks your legs. His cum drools out of your cunt and he leans down to peer at it, to spread it open so he can watch, fingers tracing as you throb with neglect. He swipes at your clit and you shudder.

“Good girl. In the end, you all listen. You all want to be good, at the end of it.”

He stands up and fixes himself up, wipes his chin free of his spit, watches you catching your breath. He bends to pick up a pile of your clothing and he tosses the articles at your face, cruel laughter spilling from his lips as you peel them back and attempt to sit up. Your body aches. Everything hurts, everything wants.

“Get the fuck out of my tent and clean yourself up.”

You pull your shirt back over your head, and... he’s gone.

The tent is empty.

There’s barely a swirl in the dust, no footprints, just your own piss and clothes and your filthy legs, just his cum dripping down your thighs and smearing there. Beyond the tent flaps, the storm is over. There’s barely a cloud in the sky, just the deepening evening, the sunset. It’s bright orange. It bleeds over the landscape and casts the windless trees in an eerie light. Birds chitter and games go off deeper in the midway, and it’s like your ears are unblocked. It feels... normal.

You pull your clothes on and go around to grab a bucket �� before you leave for the night, you’ll have to wash away the... spot. Seeing it there sets your cheeks aflame all over again, feeling the sticky dirt on your legs.

Just outside of the tent is the bucket, a single red balloon lifting the handle.

#n sfw #commission #bob gray x reader #bob gray/reader #nnnaaaasssty #nasty old bitch #thank you so much for the commission!!!#god i love bob i hope i did it justice for you

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who-talks-first · 6 years ago

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OotS part 3

Chapters: 20+ Overall rating:PG-13 (ranging from PG to Mature/Explicit) Takes places before, during, after the comic and TLJ

Masterlist

Part 3 - 1005 words - rated PG

The valley in which the tarmac was situated was meandering to say the least. It was clearly a benefit to the base's security, but it was a little overwhelming to someone used to flatter plains.

At the end of the valley, some of the hills flattened out into a small glen, which was surrounded by tall wire fences; tall, lush jungle trees shaded the enclosure and hid the fence from aerial views. Every 5 meters the fence was equipped with delicate sensors that were connected to the main security system.

The tiny person and the person with the booming voice, who were the second and first foremen on the project, respectively, rattled off every detail about the construction of the enclosure and its security.

"This datapad has a program installed so you can monitor the enclosure wherever you are on base,” said a pale, pudgy young man, handing Ellra a flat, handheld computer.

"Thank you," said Ellra, nodding at everyone who spoke.

The animals were released momentarily, and their graceful walk became a plodding saunter as they dispersed through the trees. Ellra's heart soared at the sight. She ceremoniously knotted the seventeen lead ropes to a bar across the gate.

"See that symbol that appears in the braiding pattern of the ropes when they are knotted this way?" said Ellra, gesturing to the gate.

Several people nodded and murmured confirmation.

"That is a sacred symbol that will protect the cappa from harm and ensure the gate can only be opened by those with pure intentions."

Everyone smiled and chuckled at the knowledge.

Ellra lifted up her tunic slightly to reveal a braided belt around her hips. Several braided strands met just below her navel and were knotted to reveal a bright violet symbol that slightly resembled the ones on the lead ropes.

"See? This one is similar. It protects my body from harm."

It was almost an hour Ellra remained there in front of the cappa enclosure, sharing her knowledge with those remaining. As the sun dipped down to the tops of the tallest hills, they all dispersed to finish their day's work before the evening meal was served, leaving Ellra to acquaint herself with the cappa paddock.

Ilya, the tiny woman who was so proud to have contributed to its construction, explained that it was over 25 acres in area. Plenty of shade trees as well as those that bore edible fruit were inside, providing shade, protection, and seasonal food to the animals. In the middle of the enclosure was a large, deep pond, which would provide the herd with enough water. A small shelter had been constructed from several large blocks taken from the nearby ruins, giving the animals shelter from the winter and cover from passing craft.

Ellra wandered to the closest corner of the paddock, studying its construction and reinforcement. Considering most cappa pens at home were made from wood and reeds, she was beyond impressed. She looked forward to learning how to operate her security system.

She was a few meters off the beaten path, following the fence around, so she didn't immediately hear the voice calling her. When she heard it, she thought it was perhaps Condo, the foreman with the booming voice because the caller was so darn loud.

"Coming, Condo!" she called, trotting back around the enclosure's first corner and out of the thicker trees. "Wait for me, please! Oh!" Ellra cried out, coming to a sudden halt when she saw who was calling her.

It was the handsome commander.

"Commander..." she said, attempting a military salute, but it just looked awkward.

He chuckled, his dark eyes twinkling. "It's Poe," he said, surprising her by how soft his voice now was. "Commander Poe Dameron," he added, emphasizing the name over the rank.

"Commander Poe," said Ellra, repeating her awkward salute.

"That's not... You don't have to... You're not military," he stammered, waving his hands in a stifling motion. "Never mind," he added, briefly rubbing his brow in amused frustration. "The general would like to speak with you."

Ellra smiled, remembering what General Organa had said earlier. She had positive feelings about the general and looked forward to interacting with her more.

"Yes, sir. I am excited to speak with her again!"

"Nope. You cut that 'sir' shit out right now," said the commander, making a cutting motion under his chin. "Nope, nuh-uh..."

Ellra recognized the humor in his voice and smiled and nodded as she fell in step beside him. Of course she had to take two steps for each of his.

The walk wasn't that long, but after spending around two hours educating others about her world, she was a little exhausted, and the gentle barrage of questions Commander Poe Dameron kept up nearly wiped her out. He knew enough about the animals, but not about the strange little young woman in native clothes and he didn't hesitate to make that clear.

"... So when the opportunity arrived to volunteer to essentially join the Resistance, I leapt at it. I could combine my lifetime of knowledge of cappa care with my thirst for adventure," said Ellra, panting slightly as they arrived before a large door in the hillside near the hangar, darkness engulfing the valley.

The commander stopped to look at her as she caught her breath. The light from a pole above them made her hair shimmer and small insects buzzed around her curls; the impression this combination made was ethereal. She wiped a bead of sweat from above her eye.

"What is it?" she asked, a bit uncomfortable beneath the man's curious, steady gaze.

"You're interesting," he said matter-of-factly, as if there could be no other answer.

Ellra screwed up her face for the first time since she had arrived. His earnestness was both comforting and strange. She mumbled, "Th-thank you?"

"You're welcome," said the commander, nodding sharply and turning away.

Chewing on her lip, Ellra shrugged and followed him inside the base.

#poe dameron fic #star wars fic #Tainted fanfic writer #Oots

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concussed-to-pieces · 7 years ago

Text

ESC

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Baron Corbin/Female Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: I don't know what I'm doing with my life anymore, but I know I ain't apologizin' for nothin'. Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes and OF COURSE @hardcorewwetrash. Enjoy!

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains brief mentions of ticks and scabies, as well as human muzzling of a non-BDSM variety and allusions to previous abuse.]

Heyman’s Delights was, at its heart, a traveling circus. There were tents, a few acrobats and strongmen, fire-breathers. Paul had been trying for ages to get his hands on something a little more exciting, and it seemed like he’d finally managed it.

For one reason or another, there were people in the world deemed unfit for regular society. Usually displaying extreme aggression or overly predatory tendencies at an early age, they would put an incredible strain on loving parents and concerned siblings until tensions snapped. All roads tended to lead to Heyman’s Delights or other such traveling shows for these individuals.

The thing that boiled your blood was the fact that they were nowhere close to as inhuman as they were made out to be. Most of them could easily be suffering from hormonal imbalances or other undiagnosed issues. But due in part to the media hysteria (there had been an incident involving one such ‘feral’ child getting their friends to remove their school-mandatory muzzle so they could spook the teacher) and also in part to what you could only assume was parents that didn’t want or couldn’t afford another child, people were clamoring left and right to surrender their ‘feral’ children to various state-funded programs.

And if the government wouldn’t take them…might as well make a buck or two getting rid of your problem. If you could live with yourself afterwards.

“Bought them off of another one of those local shows. According to their owner Wolf was nineteen when he came into their possession, government releases them when they’re legal adults and no parent wants their kid back when they're like that. He’s unsure on Beast.” Paul Heyman sighed, a little heavier than you expected. “Vince threw Wolf in for free, said he didn’t need one without the other. But he hasn’t been trained as much as I was led to believe at first and he’s past thirty. This bleeding-heart altruism is punching holes in my pockets faster than I can line them.” He rubbed his temples. “We’ll just have to see what we can do, I suppose.” Recognizing the dismissal, you nodded and stood with the rest of your coworkers.

You had seen the photos of Beast, he appeared to come with a set of fine cauliflower ears. It wasn’t rare to stumble upon underground bare-knuckle rings where the dregs of society would bet money on the so-called ‘ferals’. Common belief was that they were subhuman, more resilient to pain, stronger, stupid. Hyper-aggressive outbursts tended to be calmed via distraction, dangled food or cattle prods the only two options you'd witnessed in person. Thousands of videos existed on the internet of 'ferals' silently devouring cheap microwave burritos or gas station hot dogs, fresh blood still dripping off their faces. Even more videos were shaky camera footage of the abuse, the prods or beatings.

No one seemed to make the connection that since most of them were sold off or surrendered young, they never got the chance to develop like normal children. Instead they were used as amusements, poked and prodded through the bars until a reaction was obtained. Then, John Q. Public would move on to the next thing, heart rate up and laughing with his friends about how he “wasn’t scared at all!”

You had signed on with Heyman a few years back, literally running away to join the circus. You were sick of being in one place, a stuffy room sandwiched between other stuffy rooms in a building that seemed all but abandoned by your landlord. Paul warned you that the work would be hard, the pay would be garbage and that you would more than likely have to sleep in a tent. You’d just nodded and signed your name, happy to accept all those shortcomings in exchange for the variety of a traveling life.

Heyman quickly seemed to realize that you were no quitter. Despite everything he threw at you, you carried on doggedly unloading and loading the trucks town after town. Your persistence had been a thorn in your side at every other job you’d had, but here it appeared to finally be useful. Paul would go to you for tasks that needed to be completed and you saw to it, simple as that.

His new acquisitions needed new housing so you, English and Gotch spent a good portion of the day putting together a sturdy cage for them. According to Heyman, they were currently kept in wooden crates with the barest slats in them for viewing. “I want my beasts to be able to stretch and move!” He instructed the three of you. Gotch just nodded, letting English gush about the genius of Paul Heyman while handing you a scrap of lumber to cover the bars. Aiden English was a kiss-ass through and through but he was also a classically-trained thespian, able to easily adopt any role pushed upon him. Not to mention the singing. Simon Gotch was very much the classic circus strongman. Like something straight from P.T. Barnum’s era, he had the mustache, the one-strap singlet, and the boisterous laugh of a man out of time.

You sat astride the bars of the roof, silently staring at the beams of lumber. “Hey, I was uh…I was thinking, maybe instead of wood, we should have a cloth roof? I mean, the two of them will be boxed up when we travel.” You suggested. “It would let in a little more light for them, and it’s not like we can’t just put a piece of plywood over it if it rains.”

“What, like a sheet?” Paul squinted at the roof for a minute. “I don’t see the harm in it. Saves me from buying another box of screws. The bars are still there.”

From your perch on the roof, you caught sight of a dingy van trundling along the road towards your campsite. There was a small trailer attached to the van. “And here comes the cavalry.” English muttered to Gotch, who nodded grimly. You studiously avoided looking up while Heyman moved to greet the van’s driver and gather up his new prizes. English tossed an old, tattered blue tablecloth to you and you wove it in between the bars of the cage, carefully smoothing out the wrinkles so it would lay flat.

You were in the middle of securing the sheet down to the sides of the cage when there was a loud, high-pitched roar from the trailer. An angry snarl followed, the two ‘ferals’ obviously not pleased with their surroundings. You swallowed hard as the full gravity of your predicament hit you. The whole caravan was being put to the test by the new acquisitions. If either of them got loose or something to that effect...

You squared your shoulders after a minute. You weren��t about to be scared off by a little noise. You had done your research, determined to see them as the people that they were and not the monsters they were always made into.

“Come over here and meet your new charges, boys! You too, sweetheart!” You rolled your eyes at Paul but obediently swung down from the cage and dusted yourself off, following the other two men to stand by Heyman. “This is Mr. Vince McMahon, he’s the gentleman parting with these fine specimens.” Paul continued, flattering the old man who appeared to have the leathery skin of an alligator.

You extended a hand to Mr. McMahon, cringing inwardly when he scooped your palm up and pressed it to his lips. “Enchanté.” His voice reminded you of an alligator as well, raspy. French was obviously not a familiar language to him. He released your hand after what felt like an eternity and you resisted the urge to wipe it off on your dirty overalls while he shook hands with Gotch and English. “It pains me to see these boys go.” He patted the side of the tiny trailer and then flinched back when the whole thing rocked. There was a thud like something had fallen over. “Whups, sounds like they’re roughhousing again. Guess I’d better uh…” Vince fumbled around under the front seat of the van before tugging out a cattle prod. “They were shock-trained, of course.”

“Of course.” Heyman echoed. You caught English and Gotch's worried looks at one another out of the corner of your eye. At least you weren’t the only one sure Paul was in over his head here.

“Sir, if we could…maybe not rile them up just yet?” You said quietly. “My associates and I would like to see the size of them, make sure our enclosure will be sufficient.” That was a bold-faced lie of course, and you felt more than saw English staring at you incredulously.

There was a loud whiffle of breath from the trailer. One of them was scenting the air. You wondered how terrifying this must be for them, trapped in a tight, dark space that moved and rattled uneasily. “Of course, they’re all yours. They’re secured and separated by a wall, naturally.” Vince unlocked the back of the trailer and swing the doors out. “Never know what they might do.” He chuckled, his laughter quickly dying off as the inside of the trailer was revealed.

It appeared that the separating wall had buckled or shifted during the transit. Or was pulled down. The hulking blond Beast barreled towards the open doors from the rear of the trailer. You didn’t even have time to think, body frozen on the spot.

A colorfully-marked arm abruptly hitched around Beast’s midsection, halting him in his tracks bare inches away from you and giving you an up-close look at the blond's strangely-phallic chest tattoo. “Shit, Beast!” Vince shouted, sounding more irritated than scared. “Knock it off!” The blond snapped and thrashed, struggling against the one you could only assume was Wolf. “You want to get zapped again, you piss-poor freak? Get back!” Vince brandished the cattle prod, making Beast snarl loudly in reply. “That’s right, you know what this does! So cool it!”

Wolf took Beast back a step, but then Beast lashed out with a vicious elbow and broke free. You dimly noticed the loose end of his chain trailing along behind him on the floor before Beast sent you crashing to the ground, the back of your head slamming into the dirt with a vicious impact. Your vision swam with reflex tears and you grimaced in pain, scared stiff as Beast pinned you with his body weight and screamed in Vince's direction over your head.

Something suddenly plowed into Beast’s side, throwing the blond off of you. Vince caught Beast in the ribs with the cattle prod, continuing to holler abuse. Wolf stared down at you and you stared back up, wishing you could stop shaking. His hair was matted and overgrown, hanging in his face. All you could make out was a pair of brown eyes studying you warily. You swallowed after a minute and his eyes tracked the motion, watching the way your throat moved before snapping back up to your face. “Hello?” You tried, flinching when a smile flashed through that thick hair.

“H-Hi.” He sounded almost shy, his voice deep and a little shaky. Definitely not what you’d been expecting. He tilted his head and then retreated cautiously back into the trailer, sitting at the edge and watching as Beast ate a few more volts.

You sat up slowly and English was instantly at your side, looking panicked. “Oh my goodness, how are you still conscious?!” He sputtered.

“Just my rotten luck, I guess.” You grunted, rubbing the back of your head. “Jesus.”

“There you are, see? Gentle as a lamb.” Vince panted, standing over the cowering Beast. “Now I’ve got to be going, so if we could move this process along…”

…

Paul had definitely bitten off more than he could chew. All Wolf seemed to want to do was sleep, and Beast delighted in tormenting the other man through the bars of their cage. The original plan had been to display them to the public in an enclosure they could interact with each other in, but Beast ceaselessly savaged Wolf until Paul put a sturdy divider in their cage.

Beast quickly became Heyman’s favorite, due to how he paced and scared off the bravest of souls by screaming and lunging to the bars at the most random of times. He was the picture of crazed animal, all froth and fury. Paul loved it.

Wolf would wake up out of his sleep at mealtimes, usually offering you a grunt, sometimes a “hi” if he was in a generous mood. You stayed to talk at he and Beast as they ate, Beast snarling into his food. You had lost most of your fear from Beast knocking you down, understanding that he had probably just gone for the first shot at freedom that he saw and it was unfortunate circumstance that you stood in his way. You had jokingly appointed yourself as head of feral nutrition, knowing that if you avoided Beast because he had scared you, you would never get past the incident mentally. It helped that there hadn't really been any competition for the position either.

“Hey, I’m sorry about what happened the day you came to be with us, Beast.” You said hesitantly one night. It wasn’t fair that they were kept in tiny cages, even if Beast seemed like the mauling type. You didn't think your own sanity or temper would hold up well under the duress of constant captivity, especially if you were crammed into a sardine can with someone you didn't like.

Wolf looked up at you curiously when you began talking, 'hmm'ing in his throat and then returning to his food.

“Just like everyone else.” Beast had never spoken before. You hadn’t been sure that he could. Tiny blue eyes narrowed at you over his plate. You knew that staring only made the person doing it look stupid, but you couldn’t help it. “You think you’re the first one to sit here an’ fuckin’ talk to me like this? Fuck you.” He muttered. “Fuck your boss too.”

“Brock-” Wolf sounded like he was about to protest but Beast stuck a hand through the bars between them, grabbed a fistful of matted hair and yanked.

“Shut the hell up, freak.”

“Hey, stop it! Why do you always push him around?” You asked indignantly, getting to your feet.

Beast mimicked your motion inside the enclosure, gripping the bars until his knuckles whitened. “He’s weak, that’s why.” He spat. “That’s the only reason I need, asshole.”

“I think I preferred when you were doing your strong-silent act.” You retorted.

“I could have ripped you apart and escaped. But this-” Beast’s face reddened angrily as he searched for the word. “-dumbshit just had to play hero. What, were you worried?” He asked Wolf mockingly.

“Don’t like getting prodded.” Wolf mumbled. “The lightning hurts like tch-zark!” He clicked his teeth and tongue in a weird imitation of a lightning strike. “Scares you too, dick.”

“Fuck you.”

“They don’t use the prods. I…I know you’re not happy, m’ not happy either but at least they’re not hurting us.” Wolf pointed out. “I’ll hurt people if they let me go, that’s what everyone always said. So I’m being good.”

Beast gritted his teeth. “Don’t give a shit what you do, idiot.”

Wolf rolled his eyes and then fixed his attention on you. “Dumb request.” He began slowly. “Need a bath. A-Ask Heyman, maybe we can work something out? A hose, tub?”

You nodded. “Absolutely, I’ll do what I can.”

Wolf smiled briefly. “Thank you. Don’t listen to him.” Beast clocked him upside the head and Wolf grunted. “You talk to us like people. It’s nice.” He continued after shaking off the blow.

“Why wouldn’t I talk to you like…you are people.” You pointed out.

“You know what I mean.” Wolf looked sad and Beast stormed off to the other end of his enclosure, clearly done with the conversation. “Most people act like we’re dumb or like we can’t understand them.”

“I don’t understand any of this garbage.” You tugged at your hair, a little frustrated. “We get told when we're young that if you’re a ‘feral’, it’s obvious because you’re bigger and dumber than the other kids. Like that’s an actual diagnosis, you’re just a crazy, hyper-aggressive child. You’ll try to bite or lash out, your parents will have to give you up because you’re a danger to society. But you guys...” You gestured at Beast. “He sounds almost totally normal. Obviously the whole wild thing is a sulky charade for him.”

“My parents surrendered me when I was six. I tore a piece off the doorframe and then I tried to bite my dad because he came at me with a knife.” Wolf said haltingly. “S’why I don’t talk so good. Nobody outside the complex I was in cared all that much about what we were doing. What mattered was we were away from them.” His voice grew more sure as he spoke. “Sometimes the older guys, y’know, kids that had actually been to school, would teach us. There was this huge kid we called Hacksaw because the story went that he’d ripped clean out of every single thing his parents had secured him in and they’d had no choice but to give him up. He was the teacher most of the time, he had a loud voice and he was bigger.” Wolf grinned. “Dumb as hell though.”

“Was Beast with you there?” You asked, getting an angry huff of ‘no’ out of the pacing blond.

Wolf shook his head. “Met Brock for the first time in McMahon’s pony show.” He glanced over at the other man. “He’s not that bad, except for most of the time. Vince enjoyed having him bust me open when I was misbehaving. I acted like I would bite, started laughing. Vince didn't like that.”

“It was business, dumbshit.” Brock grumbled. “If I went after you, McMahon would ease up.”

“There used to be more at Vince’s. A smaller guy named Neville. Big ears. Then there was Moxley. He'd get the rages. And Samson, played the guitar sometimes. They all escaped one night. Dunno’ what happened to them, they just up and vanished.” Wolf seemed to be sinking back into a funk, slumping down against the bars of his prison.

“Hey, easy. Look, I'll go talk with Paul and get your bath squared away, okay?” You patted his hand through the cage.

“M' name is Baron. What my parents called me, anyhow.” Wolf raised his eyes to yours. “I can't forget that. Please.”

“Okay. Baron.” You said softly.

…

When he was soaking wet Baron appeared decidedly less threatening. “It just grows so fast.” He had mumbled through the muzzle Paul insisted he needed to wear, wincing every time he found another tangle with the old comb. You had given him a trim to the best of your abilities once he was finished washing up and he looked miles better when you were done.

“You have a nose! And it's a nice one, too!” You had said in mock surprise, getting a snort out of Brock while you unbuckled the muzzle and pulled it back through the bars.

Baron had worked his jaw for a minute then graced you with a real smile. “Thanks.”

As you laid in your sleeping bag late that night, your thoughts kept returning to the young man in his cage. His parents had surrendered him at six. Your heart ached. What would it be like to go through most of your life being told over and over that you were the problem?

You were startled out of your musings by a rustling noise and you sat up in your tent when the flap slid open. It was just Adrian, one of the acrobats. He pressed a finger to his lips and you nodded, a little confused as he crowded into your tent. “Had t' talk with you.” His normally cool British accent sounded more clipped for some reason. “I've seen ya' spending time with the ferals.”

“I talk with Brock and Baron, yes.” You winced. “Mostly Baron, Brock isn't much one for conversation.”

“He never was.” Adrian muttered cryptically. “Listen, I don't have a lot of time. I'm not sure how they'd react to seeing me. But if at some point you could maybe...ah, I dunno', let it slip into a conversation that everyone still cares, I'd greatly appreciate it.” Adrian touched your shoulder, his eyes searching your own. “They don't deserve this life. You and I both know this. Can I trust you to deliver the message?”

“Adrian, what...”

“Hey, this is important. They're people, not fucking attractions. You have to promise me.” Adrian pleaded. “Get the message to Baron. Tell him that, tell him three days.”

“Everyone still cares, three days. Got it.” You repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What the heck does that even mean?”

“He'll know.” Adrian hugged you tightly. “I have to go. Don't want Gotch to talk.” He joked, his body language much more tense than you would care for.

Sleep didn’t come easily after Adrian left. You stared up at the ceiling of your tent, thinking. Everyone still cares, three days. It must be some kind of code, you reasoned. What does it mean, though? Why can’t Adrian tell them himself? You scooted down further in your sleeping bag.

When daylight finally began creeping through the fabric of your tent, you quietly eased the zipper open and slunk across the camp to Brock and Baron’s cage.

“Early for breakfast.” Brock commented idly when you were within earshot. You ignored him, moving to Baron and shaking him awake through the bars. Baron grunted and rolled over, yawning widely.

“Hey, listen to me.” You said, keeping your voice soft. Baron nodded sleepily. “Somebody wanted me to tell you this: Everyone still cares, three days.”

Brock’s fingers were around your throat before you realized he was moving, the large man dragging you in to knock your head against the bars of their enclosure. “Brock!” Baron cried. You gasped for breath as Baron tugged and pulled at Brock’s arm. But Brock didn’t even seem to notice. He looked purple with rage.

“Who told you that?” He hissed.

“Brock stop it, you’re gonna’ get us prodded! They can’t breathe!” Baron said frantically. “You have to let them go before something bad happens again!” You made a choking noise and it seemed to whip Baron into a higher frenzy, his fingers clawing at Brock’s arm hard enough to draw blood. “Wolf will bite!” He snapped his teeth loudly, like a warning shot.

Brock just scoffed at him. “Wolf, my ass!”

“Wolf bite!” Baron sank his teeth into Brock’s thigh and jerked his head to the side, making Brock scream angrily and swat at him.

“Hey!” Heyman’s sharp yell interrupted the scuffle. Brock quickly released you and you stumbled back from the cage, wheezing as air flooded your lungs. “What the hell is going on here?!” Baron hadn’t stopped chewing on Brock’s thigh, ignoring the blows that rained down on his head. Brock started slamming his leg against the bars, cracking the metal into the back of Baron’s busy jaw.

You reached back into the cage and touched Baron’s hair. “Baron.” You said shakily. “Hey, Baron. Baron shh, you can stop. It’s okay.”

Baron snarled into Brock’s skin but you kept petting his hair, kept whispering and he finally eased off enough for Brock to pull away. Baron’s chest heaved, blood trickling from the side of his mouth. He still seemed furious, his brows drawn into a tight scowl as he panted for breath and jittered restlessly under your touch.

Heyman approached cautiously once it appeared you had Baron under control. “You mind explaining to me what just happened?” He blustered.

“Heard…heard something. Woke me up.” You lied quickly. “They were fighting so I tried to…tried to stop them.”

“You’re crazy, getting between two ferals?!” Paul was practically shrieking at this point, jabbing a finger at Baron. “Look what he did to Beast! You're wearing a muzzle for the foreseeable future, Wolf!” Baron flung himself against the wall of the cage, yelling nonsense and trying his hardest to get a hold of Heyman. His long arms fell just short though and he finally collapsed in a heap, curling up in the corner. “Now that that's over with.” Paul huffed, looking somewhat shaken.

“Mr. Heyman, please-” You began to protest but Paul carried on over you.

“No, I'm firm on this one! He's a menace and I want him fully muzzled. Liquid diet.” Heyman insisted, smoothing out the remainder of his hair. “That's an order!”

Baron just huddled tighter, flinching away when Brock reached through the bars to harass him.

English and Gotch ended up muzzling him. You couldn't do it.

You loaded the truck by yourself as a trade-off, hefting rolled tents and wheeling boxes up the ramp with a dolly. When it came time to board up the walls of the enclosure for travel Baron didn't so much as look at you, wrapping himself in a hole-riddled blanket.

“Three days.” Brock muttered, bumping his forehead against the planks. “Three fucking days, Baron.”

“Dun' care.” Baron slurred through the muzzle. Gotch had strapped it too tightly around his jaw but he wouldn't let you fix it. “All I do'shurt. Destherve thith.”

“Oh please, you ain't never had a set of balls before. Then they show up and all of a sudden it's 'Wolf bite!'” Brock taunted, slapping his shorts over the bandaged area. “You went for paydirt, you cocksucker.”

“Were gonna' hur'them n' we'd ge' zapped.” Baron shuddered, gripping the blanket tighter and staring at his knees. “S'bad.”

“Brock, stop bothering him, please.” You said softly. Brock snorted but sat down in the opposite corner, tilting his head back and watching while you slid the roof boards into place.

“Three days.”

The trek to the new fairground was a long one. When the group stopped for dinner, you went to remove Baron's muzzle so he could eat. But he flinched away. “Mr. He’m’n said I gotta' wear'it, 'member?” He grunted.

“I don't want you to wear it.” You replied angrily. “You didn't do anything wrong, it's not like you were trying to strangle me!” You raised your voice so Brock would hear you, narrowing your eyes in his direction.

“Dun' wanna' get in trouble.” Drool trickled out of the bottom of the muzzle. “Tha' smells good though. S'it fries? I lo' fries. Oh...shit, ugh, stop.” He tried to wipe off his chin with the bottom of his ragged shirt. “Nooo, c'mon, s'gross.” He groaned.

“Yes it's fries. A burger, too. You want it?” You waved the wrapper in front of his face and watched his pupils dilate. “Gotta' take that off if you want to eat the probably-meat.” You sang.

Baron whined, tugging at the bottom of the muzzle. “Wanna’.”

You reached out and weaseled the buckle loose, quickly pulling the muzzle down over his chin. Baron glanced fearfully over at Brock, who rolled his eyes. “Are you even serious right now? Just eat the fucking burger, idiot.” He grunted, already well on his way through his second sandwich.

You tore chunks off the burger and handed them to Baron. He had a habit of bolting his food if you gave it to him all at once. Brock started watching you feed the other man, his brow furrowed like he was thinking hard. You ignored him and continued to slip one fry at a time through the bars, Baron humming quietly as he ate.

“Why?” Brock muttered finally. You looked up at him. “Why the fuck didn't you say something about me? I know the idiot is your favorite. You could have told your boss I went after you first. Don't tell me you didn't want to get me in trouble or some bullshit.”

“I knew how that would have ended.” You replied simply. “Mr. Heyman is incredibly emotional. He would have flown off the handle. Just like everyone else on this damn planet, he's fine as long as you two are ripping each other apart. But as soon as a 'regular' person gets involved?” You shook your head. “There was no good way to resolve that. So I lied.”

“But-”

“Look, out of all the people I might owe an explanation for something, you are the absolute last on that list.” You snapped, getting to your feet. “If anything, I think you owe me an explanation for losing your mind over some dumb thing that I was told to say. Haven't you ever heard of 'don't shoot the messenger'?”

“Sounds dumb.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. “Fuck you too, buddy.” Brock just chuckled.

Baron, seeming a bit more at ease now that his stomach was full, waited patiently while you re-buckled his muzzle (correctly this time). He bumped the metal mesh into your forehead, his sleepy smile doing odd things to your stomach. “Thanks for keeping us from getting prodded. This isn't too bad. Sorry I was such a baby about it this morning.”

You felt tears well up in your eyes. “It's not right. I don't want you to wear it, but I don't want you to get in trouble either. I don't know what to do, Baron.” You whispered.

“It's okay.” Baron reached through the bars and awkwardly patted your shoulder. “Don't worry about me. Three days, y'know.”

“What does that even mean, what’s three days?”

“Nothing.” Brock said sharply, shooting Baron a fierce look.

…

You found out what it meant three nights later, when you were woken out of a deep slumber by someone tripping over one of the guy lines on your tent. The muffled swear that followed startled you to fully alert because it was a voice you didn't recognize. Who...? Curiosity won over self-preservation and once the footsteps faded away you quickly slipped out of your tent.

A flash of light from over by Brock and Baron's enclosure caught your attention. There was a quiet clatter, the sound of metal on metal. “Easy now, cool it Brock.” That was Adrian's voice. “Don't botch this, big guy.”

“Great job, getting hired as a fuckin' acrobat.” That voice belonged to the person who had tripped over your tent. “You always were the flexible one, Nev.”

“We'll have plenty of time for you to pat him on the back once I'm free.” Brock growled.

“I can't leave.” Baron mumbled. You had to strain your ears to hear him even as you snuck closer.

“Bar we don't...look man, I know everyone says you're a danger. We got a guy to help with that now. I promise, we're going to get you to some people who can make you safe.” You caught sight of a thinner man with a mop of light, curly hair, shimmying in place beside the cage door. Next to him was Adrian, who had a pack slung over his shoulder. Further off in the shadows you could barely make out a third figure.

Brock slid out through the cage door, taking a deep breath of air. “I'm not waiting around for you to sass Moxley and Mighty Mouse.” He snapped at Baron. You had to snort at the apt nickname for Adrian.

“Fine, go with Samson, Brock.” The man who you assumed was Moxley jerked his chin in the direction of the man on the edge of the parking lot. “We'll catch up.” Brock didn't wait around, bolting for the trees. “Great to see that confinement has only improved his shit attitude.” Moxley grumbled.

“Bar, you can't stay here. Paul will think you had something to do with it.” Adrian pointed out gently.

Baron hung his head. “You remember what I did, Nev. I deserve-”

Moxley undid his muzzle and pulled it off, chucking it to one side. “What any of us woulda' done, stop beatin' y'self up about it.” He scolded.

Baron tugged the cage door half-closed. “No, I'm staying. I can take it.”

“Baron?” You quietly called his name, taking a step forward.

Moxley whirled, his whole body alert. Adrian relaxed when he realized who you were, patting Moxley on the shoulder. “Easy. They're a friend.”

“Skulkin' son'uva, Jesus.” Moxley put a hand on his chest.

“Why won't you go with them?” You asked Baron, who refused to meet your eyes. “Hey...” You pushed the cage door open a little wider so you could enter the cage. “Baron?”

“You don't get it, I'm dangerous.” Baron mumbled. “I'll hurt people.”

“Yeah?” You circled around him, scoffing. “Like when you ripped me to pieces right out of your trailer? Oh yeah, that didn't happen. Like you did when I was cutting your hair? Oh that's right, you didn't. Earlier this week, when I hand-fed you and you graciously let me keep my fingers?” You crossed your arms over your chest. “You're pretty bad at hurting people.”

“You-! You're different, alright?” Baron exploded. “You talked to me, talked to Brock. Even if we didn't talk back. You weren't scared. I wasn't an animal to you.”

“If you go with your friends you don't have to be an animal ever again.” You reasoned with him, a plan coming together in your mind when he shook his head stubbornly. “Listen, I'm at least going to give you a hug, okay? Seeing as how I'm not allowed to be in here with you and Mr. Heyman probably won't be too keen on keeping you around when he wakes up to his Beast gone.” You hugged Baron tightly and he stood there, stock-still like he didn’t know what to do. “Run.” You whispered, and when you pulled away you shoved him backwards with all your strength. He stumbled out of the cage and you quickly shut the door behind him, hearing the lock click with a sound of finality.

“No!” Baron grabbed the bars and shook them in a futile effort. “What the hell are you doing?!” Baron asked incredulously, brushing Neville’s hand off when the smaller man tugged at his shoulder.

“It’s alright, Baron. Go on.” You mustered up a brave smile. “I’m sure I’ll see you again, okay?”

“I’m not leaving you like this.” Baron rested his forehead on the bars. “I don't want to.” His voice cracked.

“You have'ta. There isn’t another option.” Moxley whispered. It seemed the commotion hadn’t gone unnoticed, lights clicking on in the various tents and cars. “We gotta' go, Baron. I toldja', there’s people that can help you where we’re going. If we don’t leave now, the rest of the crew will be caught and I know you don’t want that shit on your conscience.”

You took Baron’s hands and brought them to your lips for a moment, then gently pushed him away. “Go on.” You urged. “I’ll buy you guys some time.”

“We won’t forget this kindness.” Adrian murmured, squeezing your hand while Baron grimaced. “C’mon Bar, we have to move.”

You sank into a crouch as flashlight beams began to crisscross the parking lot. Adrian melted into the shadows with Baron and Moxley in tow. You listened to their retreating footsteps, fighting back the urge to cry. You heard Heyman and Gotch hollering to each other and you squared your shoulders, exhaling in a bracing burst. Any extra seconds you could give the little group to escape would probably be beneficial.

Time to see if you could hold up under stress. If Paul wanted an angry feral, he'd sure as hell get one.

A flashlight shone in your eyes and you snapped your teeth, sticking an arm through the bars to swipe at whoever was holding it. “Whoa! Easy, what the fuck?” Simon backed up out of reach and then shone the light over your head, his face going pale as he took in the lack of residents in the cage. “Oh no. Oh no.” He breathed. You managed to grab his leg and he yelled in fear, flailing and falling over in his effort to escape your grasp. “Help! Help! English they’ve gone feral!”

You continued to snarl and paw at his leg. The longer you kept his attention, the more likely it was that someone else would help him instead of running off into the woods.

“Simon!” Aiden cried, ever the drama king as he valiantly pulled the other man out of reach of your deadly fingers. “What's wrong with you?! Mr. Heyman, come quick!”

…

You hadn't realized how much the muzzle would cut into your jaw if you moved wrong, but you were finding out pretty quickly. You hadn't realized how small the enclosure truly was. You hadn't realized how drastic the emotional and physical toll of being labeled an attraction was. Now you understood why Baron slept all the time, or why Brock would play up to the crowd.

If you didn't scare people away they would mob and heckle until you had to lash out, just to get five minutes of peace. No one wanted to see a 'feral' that looked like it was about to burst into tears. No one wanted to feel sympathy for something like what you were pretending to be.

It was worth it, you thought as you paced and did your best at imitating Brock's infuriated screaming. Their safety depended on you keeping up the act. Paul hadn't been too upset at losing the two 'ferals' or Adrian, quickly realizing that you were a hell of a lot easier to feed and transport than Brock and Baron. Not to mention he could market you as the first 'turned feral', like you'd been transformed into a crazed beast from too much time spent alone with the 'ferals'.

It took a little work, of course. You didn't have the added 'benefits' of rapid hair growth or other such issues to depend on so you ended up improvising with more noises and rumpled hair. You ripped the sheet covering the roof to pieces, scattering it around the cage to give the place a den-like appearance. Your collar was Baron's old one so it was enormous, jingling around your neck when you darted to the bars and swiped viciously at the people who got too close. You didn't talk, flat-out refused honestly, and Paul gave up questioning you after a few tries.

English usually brought your food, pushing it within reach with a stick and then fleeing quickly. Gotch was the one in charge of boarding up the enclosure when the caravan set out and he did it all while watching you nervously.

A weird feeling of loneliness slowly crept in as time marched on. No one attempted to talk to you after Heyman, your days were spent either in the darkness of travel or in the wild hysteria of being a freak. It took its toll on you as fall chilled the air and the leaves changed colors.

Sleep became your solace. In your dreams you were no longer caged; you slept in a soft, comfortable bed instead of a pile of tattered blankets. Baron would come to you, all big brown eyes and gentle noises in his throat as he held you close and kept you warm. Waking up was the worst part of your day. You always woke up tense now, wary and shivering while your breath frosted in the air.

It was hard not to listen to the things people said. The insults they hurled or terrible jokes they made more often than not added a little real fury to your act. It was bad enough that they would say those things to you. You could only imagine what Baron and Brock might have heard in their time as attractions.

Then there was the day where a young man dumped his soda on you. It was already cold out and now you were wet and sticky, on top of everything else. You grabbed him and slammed his head against the bars, screaming in his face like the beast you were supposed to be. You got grim satisfaction from seeing him cry, a grown man reduced to a sniveling mess. But all the satisfaction in the world couldn’t dry you off or make you less sticky.

There was no dinner for you that night because you had acted out. You curled up in your ragged bundle of thin blankets once Simon clumsily muzzled you and tried to ignore the rumbling of your stomach, feeling disgusting and lower than you’d ever been. Tears welled up in your eyes and you cried for the first time in ages, shivering and hiccupping pitifully.

“This ain’t exactly what I had in mind for a darin’ rescue.” Moxley’s rough voice by your head startled you and you barely kept from screaming in surprise. You bolted to the side of the cage and were greeted by the sight of Moxley and Baron.

Baron looked distraught, his fists clenched tight. “Who has the keys?” He asked, his tone harsh. You made a noise in your throat, reaching out desperately to touch him. Baron leaned closer, letting you cup his jaw. “What the hell did they do to you?” He whispered, his own fingers tracing the twisted-up straps of your muzzle.

“Get them out of that fuckin’ shit Corbin. We need the keys.” Moxley said curtly.

Baron slowly loosened the straps around your head, trying not to catch your hair in the process. The leather dragged against the scraped areas on the back of your jaw and you groaned in pain. Large hands ghosted over the abraded skin. “Shit, you’re raw. I’m sorry, would have been more careful.” Baron apologized.

“Heyman.” You rasped, your voice dry from disuse. “Heyman has keys.”

“Well fuck him.” Moxley shrugged, picking something off the bottom of his boot. “What do you think, Baron?”

“He’s mine.” Baron snarled, pushing away from the cage.

Moxley winked at you once Baron had stormed off. “He’s been an absolute wreck since we got word of a ‘turned feral’. Guy was chompin’ at the bit, we all figured it was you but he was losing his damn mind. Should have brought Nev for the door, he didn’t wanna’ wait. Now we gotta’ do this the old-fashioned way.”

You were totally overwhelmed by what was going on, sinking into a kneeling position.

Moxley made a noise of sympathy, petting your sticky hair. “It’s alright. You’re gonna’ be safe now.” He assured you. “We won’t leave you here. He won’t leave you here.” You whimpered and rested your forehead against the bars, barely able to comprehend it. He came back. Moxley seemed to understand your reaction, continuing to just pat your head. “I can’t believe that you’ve been in this cage the whole time. You’ve lived regular, you ain’t like us where you grew up in that shit. How did you even handle it?”

“If I couldn’t talk, they couldn’t ask me questions.” You mumbled. Keys jangled loudly and you turned around, confused at first when you saw Heyman at the cage door. You squinted and realized Baron had a firm grip on his arm, standing behind him in the shadows.

“Open it, fucker.” Baron snarled. Paul looked a little worse for the wear, his striped pajamas mussed and missing a few buttons. You got the feeling Baron hadn’t woken him up gently. “You have three seconds.”

“This is illegal, I’ll have you know.” Paul blustered. “Intimidating a-”

“No, what’s illegal is what I’ll fucking do to you if you don’t open the fucking cage.” Baron interrupted him, his grip tightening. “They’re not a feral, you’ve been keeping them locked up like a damn animal. I fail to see how the fucking law is going to be on your side here. Now open. The. Door.”

“Y-You’re not…” Paul trailed off when you shook your head.

“So if you let them go, we’ll just take them and be on our way. No muss, no fuss.” Moxley made his presence known, ambling to stand by Heyman. “Or…we can do this the hard way.” He had a wicked smile on his face. “Your choice.”

“N-No, I don’t want any trouble. I’ll j-just--” Paul dropped the keys twice in his haste to obey, finally unlocking the cage. “If I had known-”

“-You would have gotten everything you could out of them and then thrown them to the goddamn wolves. Get back into bed.” Baron shoved Heyman in the direction of his trailer. “You never saw us. Breathe a word and we’ll find you.” He threatened.

The night suddenly seemed brighter, the fall air crisp and clean in your lungs. “Can you walk? We have to move.” Moxley said hurriedly. You nodded jerkily, scrubbing your hands over your face to wake yourself up a bit. “Samson is in the next town over, we have shortcuts. Let’s go.”

Fingers twined through your own and you looked down at Baron’s hand, confused. “So we don’t lose you in the woods.” The large man explained, tugging you along behind him.

“Oh.” You hadn’t realized you were crying with relief until your breath hitched in your chest.

Baron grunted when he felt you shiver, quickly stripping off his hoodie and bundling you into it. “Better?” He asked worriedly, tying the hood strings so they held snugly beneath your chin. You nodded, letting him wipe your eyes with one of the sleeves. Baron’s smile still made that odd feeling flare up in your stomach. “Cool.”

“You talk more.” You pointed out as the three of you slipped through the foliage.

“Elias makes me sing with him so I can sound normal.” Baron grumbled while Moxley snickered. “Stupid Samson, forcing me to sing ‘Country Roads’.”

“I bet you sound good.”

“Better than him, anyhow.” Baron pointed to Moxley, who immediately stopped snickering. “Roadkill sings better than him.”

“Damn Corb, why you gotta’ smack-talk the roadkill?”

“Good thing we weren’t going for stealth, idiots.” Said a new voice through the trees.

“Elias! Shit, I must be sprinting, I thought we were still a ways off from the road.” Moxley apologized, pulling bushes to one side so Baron could haul you up an embankment to the road.

“How many times you done this?” The bearded man scolded, pulling open the sliding door of a van parked on the side of the road. “We’re lucky, man. Get in before something dumb happens.”

Baron easily lifted you into the vehicle, climbing in behind you. “Sit down.” He muttered, grunting when you wrapped your arms around him instead. “Oh. What?” He asked curiously, patting your back carefully. “Shh, there there. That’s the thing, right?”

“Yeah, you’re a natural buddy.” Elias laughed from the driver’s seat. “Christ.”

“I thought-”

“Don’t listen to him, man. You’re doing fine. Rub little circles. They’re…it’s--uh, anxiety. Yeah. They need contact right now.” Moxley bluffed, winking at you before strapping on his seat belt.

You flushed as Baron instantly pressed his whole body to your own, arms tightly enfolding you in an embrace. “I’ll help you.” He sounded so determined. “We’re gonna’ get you a shower. A real nice one, with hot water and soap. You’re all sticky, what happened?”

“Baron has volunteered to be your sponsor to help you readjust to normal life. We tried to explain that you weren’t like us but he was…very determined.” Elias said wryly. “So he’ll be sharing his bunk space with you.”

“Gonna’ take care of you like Mox and Nev took care of me.” Baron reassured you.

“Yeah, you’re uh…you’re in good hands.” Moxley seemed to be fighting off laughter. You had the feeling that you were in for a odd time of it, but you were so relieved to be free you couldn’t help giggling hysterically into Baron’s chest.

He came back.

…

Baron was disappointed when you didn’t let him shower with you, he had apparently become very fond of hot showers after years of nothing but sponge baths or dealing with communal bathing areas.

“Neville had to help me wash my hair, I don’t want you to miss anything.” He said worriedly, his shirt already pulled over his head.

You quickly assured him you would be fine. “I’ll let you look me over once I’m clean, deal?” He nodded seriously and proceeded to sit on the floor, inches from the raggedy shower curtain. You coughed. “Um, Baron, I kinda’ need to…”

“Oh!” He shut his eyes, covering them for good measure. “You’re safe. I won’t peek.”

“You’d better not.” You hurriedly peeled your dirty clothes off and got into the shower. As much as you’d like the company while you washed up, you weren’t sure how he viewed you. Were you just someone who had been kind to him? Or were you something more? Either way, it would hardly be fair for you to dump an emotional bombshell on him in the shower.

Your mind wandered, wondering what his hands would feel like on your skin as you scrubbed off the dried soda coating your arms and hair. There was no harm in thinking about it, was there?

Baron gave you your towel once you were done, waiting until you stepped out of the shower to get to his feet. He began carefully checking you over, clicking his tongue sympathetically at the raw-rubbed areas on your neck and behind your jaw. Baron then traced his fingers around your hairline. “Ticks.” He said by way of explanation when you gave him a confused look. “Because you’ve been sleeping outside.” Your whole body shuddered involuntarily. “Nev says to check the hairline, they hide behind the ears, armpits.” Baron paused for a minute. “Groin. Any um…any crevices, really.” He mumbled, taking a step back and clearing his throat. “So I’ll just…go. And get your…um…clothes, yeah, and you can give yourself a once-over. Moxley says I need to give you your privacy.”

You ripped the towel off once he’d left, panicking. You hadn’t noticed anything while you were showering, but you’d also been distracted. You ran your hands over your thighs, relieved when you felt no lurking intruders. You went up your stomach, checking your sides. You cupped your breasts and were about to move on, then…

In retrospect you realized that maybe screaming wasn’t the best course of action as it summoned Baron with alarming speed. “What?!” He took in the sight of you standing there naked, and carefully put down the bundle of clothes he’d been carrying. “You found one?” His voice was weirdly calm.

You just nodded, your lower lip starting to quiver.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He soothed. “Where is it?” You gestured at the side of your right breast, where the fiendish bloodsucker had taken up residence. Baron muttered something that sounded like of course, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling momentarily. “Alright, can I touch you? I’ve got one of those tick pullers on my keys.” He pulled your towel up and draped it over your shoulder, like he was attempting to preserve your modesty. “You don’t need to cry, s’okay. I’ll take it off and Regal can fix you up with meds if you get sick. Brock had a bunch of ticks on his butt, he got really sick but he’s fine now.”

You laughed through your tears at the mental image of Brock enduring someone pulling ticks off of his rear. You were incredibly embarrassed at your body’s response to Baron touching your chest, his motions all business as he carefully cupped your breast and held the skin tight so he could use the small tool. It still somehow stirred a reaction in your belly, even with you quietly freaking out about Lyme disease or a thousand other issues you could get from the little bastard embedded in your skin.

“Got it. Okay. You should wash that with soap and then get dressed. I’ll put this little fuck in a baggy, we’ll head to Regal.” Baron’s voice was still strangely calm, the low sound grounding you.

“Thank you. M’sorry.” You managed to hiccup. “So gross.”

Baron burst out laughing, surprising the hell out of you. “You had one tick-” He sputtered finally. “If you’ve got a strong stomach, you oughta’ ask Regal how many times they had to delouse me. He wanted to shave my head it was so bad.” Baron continued to snicker, making your indignant knee-jerk reaction peter out.

“Oh excuse me for not being graced by the scabies fairy.” You retorted while quickly pulling on your clothes.

“I’d cry if you’d had those.” Baron said bluntly. “Doc Regal gave us his monthly presentation for newbies on all the shit he’s seen and I about lost my lunch.”

…

“He’s quite smitten with you, you know.” William Regal said offhandedly as he counted medications and jotted something down on his notepad.

“Excuse me?” You asked, flustered.

The doctor (“How many times do I have to tell you Baron, I’m a pharmacist.”) looked up at you, one eyebrow raised. “Come now, you can’t be serious.” His tone was chiding. “You haven’t noticed?”

“W-Well-” You twiddled your fingers and Regal rolled his eyes.

“He was only here for a few days before he came to me about the odd dreams he had. You were a rather large part of them. He was having difficulty establishing a foothold in reality when it came to your place in his dreams.” Regal folded his hands, his face Bond-villain severe. “Baron grew very attached to you during his brief period with Heyman’s Delights. He says you were the only person who would even interact with he and Brock. He mentioned an incident when Brock lashed out at you and he bit Brock ‘with everything he had’ because you were in danger.”

“I just stroked his hair and tried to talk quiet to him. I didn’t want him to get hurt.” You recalled.

“It apparently made a lasting impression. His dreams, as with most so-called ‘ferals’ when they gain freedom, were of a sexual nature. But he mentioned the petting happened almost every time, like you were soothing him back to sleep. He found it calming but he had a difficult time waking from something like that.” William shrugged.

You wished you could vanish into the floor, your body hot and cold all at once. Baron chose that moment to make his appearance, knocking on the door before pushing it open. “Hey.” He greeted you warmly. “All set with the doc? I have your bunk made up.”

Regal exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “Baron-”

“Sorry, sorry! You all set with the pharmacist?” Baron rephrased his question. “I didn’t even know that was a word until last month, you’d think he would cut me some slack.” He stage-whispered to you as he ushered you out of the makeshift office. “So you’re gonna’ be in the bunk next to me in the orange trailer. Orange trailer is the one that’s mine. Neville said I could have it if I fixed the roof, and that wasn’t even a big deal.” Baron continued proudly, “Moxley says I’m great at fixing things, he comes to me with trailers all the time and I get them squared away.”

“You do upholstery too?” You teased.

“No, Mr. Styles is the sheriff around here. He upholds the law and a whole bunch of other things. I just fix stuff.” Baron didn’t seem to understand why you were laughing so hard, grinning uncertainly. “I um. I have a couple of documentaries we can watch, if you feel up to it. Not much in the way of entertainment around here but I guess that’s why we move so much.”

“Documentaries?”

“Yeah! Elias found me some old wolf ones. He says most of the information is inacc…in…uh, not right anymore, but I just like watching the wolves.”

The VCR made a terrifying noise when Baron fed it the tape later on, squealing and sputtering for a moment before the grainy footage began. You sat up and watched with Baron for a little while, his rapt expression one of the most adorable things you’d ever witnessed.

You reached out and began to stroke his hair. He didn’t even seem to notice at first, his attention entirely on the documentary. Little noises bubbled from his throat every time one of the wolves howled. You slipped behind him and tugged him back against you, Baron moving absently as he remained glued to the television. You dug your fingers into his scalp and that he noticed, if the whimper of “ah!” was any indicator. You continued your ministrations and his head lolled back on your shoulder “What are you doin’?” He asked thickly. “I love petting. Gonna' make me get hard.”

“Oh?” You dragged your fingers down through his hair, relishing the deep groan that came from his chest. “What would I have to do if I get you hard?”

Baron stared up at you, his brow furrowed. “Well, you wouldn't have to do anythin'.” He said finally. “If...I mean, if we're talking about what I'd want you to do, I'd...um, I'd like it if you'd...if you'd pet me. Below the belt.” His voice had dropped to an embarrassed mumble. “On my cock.”

You slid a hand down his torso and started playing with the zipper on his jeans.

Baron swallowed, covering your hand with his own after a second and rolling his cock up against your palm. “Do you feel me through that?” He asked, moaning softly when you nodded. “M' hard, you did that because you like me, right? Like how I like you. So you did what you know I like?” You nuzzled your face into his neck and pressed yourself tightly to his back, nodding shyly. Your fingers pulled down his zipper and Baron whined, muscles in his thighs flexing nervously. “Yes.” He gasped when you wrapped your hand around his cock. “Oh! Fuck--”

“Regal said you had dreams about me.” You whispered, loving the cute flush that quickly reddened his neck. “Good dreams.”

“Y-Yeah.” Baron admitted, cradling your face against his own while his cock twitched in your hand. “Just look at me. Want you, want to touch you all over. Make you happy.” He took a deep breath, seeming like he was gathering up his courage. “Sit on me and I can touch you if you want?” He said in a rush. “Please?” The begging note in his voice was what did it for you. You licked his ear playfully and he shivered, growling when you continued to mouth over the sensitive skin. “Ah, fuck, please-”

You slid out from behind him and he quickly grabbed you around the waist, easily settling you into his lap. His cock rubbed against the damp spot on your pajama pants and you blushed when Baron pressed two fingers to the area, teasing your clit.

“Like that?” He asked softly, “You feel good here, right?” His other hand slipped into your pajama bottoms to cup your ass, urging you to roll against his cock. “Here, right here. With me.” You dug your fingers into his hair again and pulled, making him snarl loudly. “Ah, can't do that, not fair. I'll fuck you sideways.” Baron warned, chuckling when you repeated the motion. “I'll do it. Better watch it.”

“Yeah yeah, big talk.” You stuck your tongue out at him and were surprised when he leaned in and captured it. Baron kissed with his teeth more than his lips, nipping at your tongue and licking hungrily into your mouth like he was devouring you. You grabbed at the neck of his shirt as he prodded his cock against you over and over, dry-humping you roughly. “B-Baron please--”

“Inside? Didn't know if you...” Baron paused as you stood up to drop your pajama bottoms and kick them over the side of his bunk. “I...Oh.”

“Please?” Now it was your turn to beg, sinking back into his lap and rubbing your soaking wet pussy over his cock.

Baron's eyes narrowing was the only warning you got before he lifted you bodily and pressed your back to the wall. “Yes.” His teeth snapped loudly at the end of the word, hard cock prodding up against you. “You're wet for me, you're wet for me and you're going to have me, you already do but now you can have all of me.” He said firmly, his forehead touching yours as he slowly entered you. “Told you I'd fuck you sideways.”

“I dunno' if this--counts as--sideways.” You managed to gasp.

Baron spread your legs a little wider, his pace erratic as he fucked you. He kept making sounds that went straight to your groin, helpless whimpers and growls pouring out of him when you pulled his hair and scratched down his back. “More.” It was a demand, it was a plea, gritted between his teeth as he thrust furiously into you. “Touch me, touch me, touch me God dammit-” He swore, words finally seeming to fail him as you swept his hair to the side and started nipping his shoulder.

The noises he carried on with wreaked havoc on your arousal, low-frequency rumbling in his chest seeming to roll through your whole body. You tensed up and Baron choked out a breath, obviously relishing the new sensation as he picked up his pace. “Coming-” You sobbed, gripping his shoulders tightly.

Baron's words came flooding back. “Yes do it do it want it-” He rambled, breaking his rhythm to sheathe his cock fully then move you back to his bunk. “No more sideways fucking, want you to come, want you to come.” He urged, smoothing the hair back from your face and pinning your hips down with his own. “Come for me come for me come for me-” You arched up beneath him as you came apart and Baron's forehead pressed to the hollow of your throat, your skin muffling his cry of “good!” when he came a second later. “Good.” He sighed again, his breath washing over your throat. “Good.”

You nodded tiredly in agreement, starting to comb through his hair with your fingers.

“Ugh, so good.” Baron groaned, nuzzling the thrumming pulse point beneath your ear. “Yes, yes.”

“Shh, I know.” You kissed his forehead, loving the way he stretched and preened over you before settling onto his side.

“Come here.” Baron demanded, pulling you back into his arms. You laid your cheek on the tattooed heart, feeling the lightning trip of his heartbeat slowly start to even back out. After a second Baron started stroking over your hair hesitantly, like he wasn't sure if you liked it or not. “You make me feel so good.” He said softly. “Not just this stuff. Always.”

“Yeah?” You tilted your head up to look at him and he nodded solemnly. “I'm glad, then.”

“I hope you'll stay. Y'know, with us. Me.” He mumbled when you were almost asleep, his thumb sliding over the raw patch behind your jaw. “Me an' Nev an' Mox an' 'Lias, we got a lot of work t' do...”

Part Two

#Baron Corbin #baron corbin smut #baron corbin/female reader #feral!Baron #thirst party saturday #this somehow got really long #wwe #wrestlers without the wrestling #Wrestle!AU: Feral Peril #behold all my weaknesses in one post #enjoy!#Baron's Bitches #(in case any of you were interested)

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andorandrook · 8 years ago

Text

Hellion

since some of you guys like my writing I thought I might as well share with you the first part of a non-fanfic story that I wrote in the summer. it’s unfinished and is likely to never be finished but if you’re curious, give it a read and please tell me what you think!

The journey to work that day was as uninteresting as usual.

My blaring alarm had woken me with just the right amount of time to shower and dress myself but not enough for breakfast so I grabbed an apple to eat while I walked. It was bitter, unpleasantly soft and the crunch of it between my teeth felt so loud and like physical attack on my already pounding head. I let it fall from my hand to the grimy pavement after just a couple of bites. However much I wished I could just leave it at that I knew I’d need energy for later.

The shop I stopped at was just down my street; the sort of flickeringly lit, messily stocked place that never closes and never has anything you’d truly want to buy. At this evening hour any decent shop would be closed so in a way I was lucky to live in convenient distance. The door was a little stiff and rattled when I opened it, causing the bored-looking shopkeeper to look up and recognise me. He didn’t know my name, I’d never said a word to him but he clearly didn’t get regular customers as consistent as me. I’d never stolen anything and yet his eyes still followed me warily around the shelves as if I looked like the type. I should feel insulted, in all honesty. I didn’t.

I grabbed some trashy cereal bar, a bottle of water and some chewing gum. When I went up to the desk to pay my eyes lingered longingly on the packeted cigarettes behind. My throat twitched with the urge, how easy it would be to ask for some. I didn’t.

The cereal bar was my usual brand but in my haste I had bought a different flavour than usual. It was sticky to the touch and cloyingly sweet with bits of fruit scattered in it. Not great. Better than that apple though.

I waited at the bus stop for the last trip of the day, precariously balanced on one of those useless benches used to stop anyone sleeping on them. A cat startled across the street in my direction and proceeded to rub its side against my leg, marking it with the scent of its hideously patched fur. I kicked it away.

The bus journey was similarly uneventful. I listened to music and determinedly ignored to scant few other passengers traveling at this time. I watched the street lamps go past through the smudged, scratched glass and the rhythmic passing off the light almost sent me to sleep before my stop. I was jerked back into the present by the hissing of the breaks and stumble down the aisle off the bus.

A few minutes more walking and I approached what appears from the outside to be some kind of abandoned industrial building. It was a little early for people to start arriving but a few patrons have gathered already in the concrete courtyard outside. I nodded to them in greeting, glad that they didn’t recognise me with the hood of my jumper pull down over my head. I quickly made it round the back to the ‘tradesman’s entrance’. There was a keypad and intercom system next to an unremarkable door, dwarfed by the scale of the building. I press the button to request entrance. It crackled with static.

“Hey, it’s Ryan,” I spoke at the wall. I received only silence and static as a response. “Ryan Benton.” Still nothing. I sighed. “Hellion.”

“Oh right, sorry man, come in,” the intercom voice muttered and the door clicked open.

I had thought the stage name had sounded cool at the time I had chosen it, when I was just starting out aged seventeen. Now I had to force myself to say it, wincing at how childish it sounded. Inside the building was dry and oddly warm as I closed the door. I was accustomed to this, however, simply shrugging my hooded jumper off as I climbed the staircase and ran my fingertip over the exposed brick. It came away grossly covered with dust and dirt. I promptly wiped it on my trousers before entering the first door on the left.

“Ah, Ryan, I’m so glad you’re early!” Julia exclaimed as I attempted to enter without causing a fuss. She grinned at me, an uncommonly genuine smile for her, and ushered me back out of the door.

Julia Lund had been my ‘manager’ from pretty much the beginning. A plump women that I would have placed at around thirty-five with permanently pursed lips and dirty blond hair scraped back tightly into a ponytail, she had been almost a mother-figure to me since she took me on. There were better managers around, of course, and I did not stick with her out of a sense of loyalty; I liked that she spoke frankly without embellishment or euphemism, I liked that she was one of the few people I knew who were shorter than me. Most of all I liked that she was unemotional, uncompassionate and ruthless. That was how to succeed in this kind of industry.

“I’m not early,” I shrugged, glancing at my watch.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not late, then,” she snapped. “Anyway, I have a surprise for you today, kid.”

“A...good surprise?”

“I hope you’ll think so. She’s very expensive so you’d better like her,” she laughed, though there was certainly an undercurrent of threat. She gestured for us to descend the staircase I’d just climbed, to my mild annoyance, but then kept going down. However much I personally disliked the basement layers of the building, I knew better than to argue with Julia, instead meekly following her down. The heat only seemed to increase as we reached the desired floor. When Julia opened the door labeled ‘Storage 6’ I was immediately enveloped in a wave of moist air heavy with the scent of animal and metallic tang of blood. I took a breath, ran my fingers through my hair, and followed her inside.

Each cage was a three meters cube, bulletproof plastic mesh supported by thick steel bars. There were about twenty cages in this one room; one room of dozens more underneath the main complex. On each cage was the name of the agency it belonged to and occasionally other specifications. In each cage were the animals.

I didn’t spare a glance the the dead-eyed creatures as I walked past and they didn’t care to look at us. There were larger animals, wolves and lions and bears, alone in their confines whilst the smaller beasts shared two or three to a cage. Each one made no reaction to our presence.

We stopped at the cage furthest from the entrance to the room, labeled with the logo of Julia’s agency. Julia was more careful than most with her creatures, each one being securely locked away to prevent anyone stealing these valuable animals. She quickly typed in a code and the cage door clicked open. Neither of us had to duck to get inside.

The animal inside was lying down, head lolled to one side and eyes staring blankly ahead. She was huge; stretched out she could easily have touched both walls of her enclosure. Not elegant in the slightest, she was of a stocky build, her head a squat jumble of features with wide set eyes in an unappealing shade of yellow. Beauty wasn’t an issue, however, when it was clear how much power was held in those thick muscles that heaved with every breath, mouth opening to reveal a mouth of sharp teeth and wide tongue.

“What is she?” I asked, keeping my distance but squatting down so I could look closer.

“A tileguaress,” she stated. I raised my brow and she sighed impatiently. “A hybrid. A lion had a baby with a tiger and that baby then had a baby with a jaguar. Or it might’ve been the other way round.”

Now that she had explained her parentage, I could see where the animal got her looks. The body shape very much resembled a lion with its stout build and oversized head.. The colouring was that of a melanistic jaguar, a panther as it is known; dark grey-black fur, thick and dense, spotted with faded rosettes that become clearer on the lighter coloured belly. Her tiger heritage was expressed primarily in her enormous size, but also with larger paws and a flatter snout on what would otherwise be a jaguar-like head.

“It doesn’t matter either way,” Julia continued. “She’s fast, she’s strong and, more importantly, she’s yours.”

My head snapped round to face her, grin already spreading on my face. Mine.

I looked back at the animal and noticed now that the right ear was incomplete, a roughly semi-circular hole in the shape of a bite mark had been cut from the edge, relatively recently if the red rawness of the flesh was a good indicator. That’s my mark. That means she’s mine.

“Well...what do you think?” Julia pressed.

“She’s amazing. When do I get to try her out?”

“I’ve got you last slot tonight. It’s going to be the main event,” she grinned, clearly proud of herself. I hold her gaze, cynical causing her to shrug. “You don’t need any practise, you’ll be fine. Apparently she handles just like a tiger.”

“Can she roar?”

“You’ll have to find out,” she smirked.

I reached out as if to touch the animal’s face but instead brushed the metal device attached under her ear. It was one of the latest models, brand new by the looks of it, small and smooth enough that it could not get caught on anything. When it was switched on I knew the small light would pulse blue. It was newly installed, too, and just for a moment I allowed myself to wonder what this great beast was like before they fixed wires into her brain and dosed her up with chemicals to make her as placid and dumb as a baby.

Even though she stared blankly forward I still felt a flash of guilt when I looked into her eyes. It was gone in an instant and I stood, turning to the exit.

“You going to name her?”

I glanced at Julia, then back down to the undisturbed creature. “Maybe. If she lasts the week.”

“She’d better. I spent good money on that thing, you’d better not get her killed until I’ve reaped my investment five times over at a minimum,” Julia said sternly as we exited the cage. “I’ll give you manageable opponents.”

I scoffed. “Who are we against later?”

“One of Hauxwell’s lot; a lion, I think.”

“Do you reckon we’re up to it?”

Julia locked that cage but stayed peering through the mesh. “Look at her, Ryan.”

I do. I see muscles and teeth and claws and a single torn ear. Mine.

“You’re going to be just fine,” she reassured and patted me on the shoulder.

We walked back up the seemingly endless staircases in silence. I struggled to keep up with her brisk pace, struggled to keep my breathing shallow to not let her realise how absurdly drained I was after just one flight of stairs. The blood in my head seemed to constrict my brain with pulsing pressure. It hurt.

When we reached the main office belonging to Julia it had gotten a lot busier. The other pilots in the agency were lounging on sagging sofas whilst a few technician flitted around them. I made a move to go sit with them and rest for a while but Julia stopped me with an outstretched arm.

“Go get changed, Ryan. I want you in Prep in five minutes.”

“I thought you said I was on last!” I growled.

“You are. You’re also on first; starting and ending the show,” she smiled, this time with a certain savageness and insincerity. I huffed in irritation. “The crowd loves you and don’t you dare try to kid me into thinking you don’t love being the star, the golden boy, the centre of attention.”

“Sorry, I guess it’s too much to hope for: a relaxed evening to prepare for piloting that new beast,” I sighed.

“Dream on, kid.”

I rolled my eyes and headed towards the door but my way was blocked.

“Poor little Ryan, is mummy making you work for a change?” the man said.

Marcus Heath. We were of a similar age though I was far more experienced having started nearly three years before him. Where I was small and slightly built, he towered over me and felt twice as wide, arms roped in burly muscles and legs like small trees. Most of the other pilots disliked me but only Marcus truly seemed to hate me. He loathed me for reasons I could not specify; perhaps it was jealousy of my adoration or my skill. I didn’t mind; he was large and brash, specialising in bears. He relied too heavily on the strength of his animals over his own skill and I knew that soon he would be tossed out of work like countless others that I had seen pass through.

I slipped past him quickly before he had a chance to react and scuttled from the room scowling. The next door over led to a small changing room with slightly battered lockers lining the wall. At the sight of one particular dent I was reminded of the pain in my skull that came from my head being slammed there after a particularly displeasing fight for my opponent. It had been easier to flee than fight back.

I opened my locker and found my outfit for the night newly washed and neatly hung up. A lot of the other pilots have fancy costumes that match their gimmicks; Julia had originally tried to force me into one until it became obvious that I would not compete properly unless I was comfortable. The clothes were still custom made but simple outfits that rotated throughout the week. I shrugged off my jeans and shirts and stuffed them in the bottom of the locker, pulling out my new clothes. Today’s outfit was one of my favourites; skintight black leggings with my signature blue flame pattern spiraling the lower leg and a loose sleeveless shirt with a ripped effect at the edges also in black. I pulled on the trousers and stood in front of the mirror in the corner of the room fiddling with my hair.

Julia insisted I keep it long to suit my ‘wild’ look but for practicalities sake we compromised on a shaggy style that still irritates at my eyes if I don’t style it. It’s dyed too, my natural near-black bleached white on the top layers so that that the pale and dark strands are mixed and contrasted. I would never have admitted that I thought it looked good even when I spiked it erratically with hair gel like I did then. After perfecting my hair I sighed and grudgingly took out some make-up. The audience could only see my face for a couple of minutes yet Julia still insisted on well above the bare minimum of stage make-up. Luckily, she also made the other pilots wear similar amounts so this was not yet another thing they could insult me with. The foundation made me somehow look paler than usual and the eyeliner was near impossible to apply steadily.

I was still standing in front of the mirror attempting a neat-enough line above my eye when their was a knock on the door quickly followed by the door opening.

“Sir, Ms Lund was just- oh,” interrupted the young technician who had been assigned for me for nearly a year now. He saw what I was doing and stuttered, eyes clearly noting my state of half-dress and cheeks turning spectacularly red. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll come back when...when you’re-”

“It’s fine,” I assured him, smiling to settle his obvious nerves. The boy was always so skittery around me, as if he was constantly scared of my judgement or approval. I gestured at him with my head to come in . “What did she want?” “Oh, she wanted you to be in Prep already so she sent me to see what was taking so long.”

“I’m not late, am I?” I asked, confident until I glimpsed the clock in the corner of the room. “Oh shit, sorry. It’s this eyeliner, you see.” I gesticulated at my face with the pencil and ended up drawing a black line on my upper nose.

“Do you need some help?” he chuckled tentatively. I nodded, failing to suppress an embarrassed smile as I wiped the mark off with the back of my hand.

He took the pencil and faced me towards him, tilting my head up so he could see better. He instructed me alternately to close and open my eyes as he deftly applied some more marks and neatened the ones I had already made. When my eyes were open I could see him biting his lip in concentration, his big owl’s eyes blinking furiously behind thick-rimmed glasses. He looked proud but not smug when he asked for my approval of his handiwork.

“It’s your fault, you know,” I nudged him, only half joking. His brow furrowed. “Those drugs you fill me with; they’re what make my hands unsteady.”

“Maybe I should up your dosage. I thought I had it calculated perfectly but perhaps…” he trailed off.

He watched quietly whilst I slipped my shirt on and added the accessories; blue and black leather cuffs the cover most of my upper arms, matching coloured bracelets on my wrists and a necklace strung with feline teeth. No shoes because I liked to work in bare feet and it showed off my Julia-approved tattoos that spiraled across my ankles and feet. I would have liked to spend a couple of minutes more on adjusting my hair but I could see the kind-eyed technician fidgeting, clearly anxious to get going.

As we set off down the corridor I realized that despite working with me for nearly a year, I still didn’t know the boy’s name.

Once we reached the small, sterile room labeled ‘Preparation’, I was sat down as usual on the plasticky coated chair. It was like one you might find in a dentist's only upright and the arms were covered in ominous straps. He took my right arm and attached it in position before sliding the leather cuff down my arm, revealing the tattoo there.

It read, in a clean and official font, ‘Insert Needle Here’ below a small cross now riddled with tiny scars. That design and position was definitely not pre-approved of by Julia. She had been furious when she first saw it and was forced to adjust all of my outfits to cover it up, hence the arm-cuffs. I couldn’t understand why she was so angry; it wasn’t as if it wasn’t common knowledge that the pilots are dosed up on chemicals to enhance their ability to fight. I had got the tattoo done soon after this unknown-named technician was appointed because on the first few days he kept failing to find a vein on the first try. Facing Julia’s wrath was worth it to see the boy’s face when I next went into Prep.

He smiled reassuringly as he administered the first injection, accurate to the tattoo’s instruction. He muttered the names of some of the chemicals contained and their properties, as much for himself as for me. “This one is for better connectivity to the devices,” he gestured to the syringed once he’d taken it out, as if I didn’t go through this process daily. Theoretically anyone could be a pilot but without the correct additional chemicals in your system it would be difficult to control, the movements would be slow, jerky and awkward.

“This is to keep you calm,” he continued and I winced slightly as the liquid entered my arm. I used to look away, sickened by the procedure. Now, however, I’d barely feel a thing.

“”And this is for faster reflexes,” he concluded as he administered the final dose. “I think...perhaps this is what is causing the shaking. Your body has become almost dependent on it, requiring a higher dose to last you a full day.”

“Is there anything you can do about it?” I asked as I watched him carefully seal and dispose of the used syringes.

“I’m sure I can figure something out, Sir. Give me time to throw some calculations about and I’ll get back to you for tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” I smiled up at him, heartfelt. I knew that he was paid to work for me, to make me as comfortable and happy as possible, and yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was genuinely fond of me. He unstrapped my arm from the chair and I flexed it. I never had been fond of the dull ache that injections cause. I replaced the cuff over the minutely swollen skin.

“Have you still got a headache?”

I nodded. “It’s been on and off for about a month.”

“Did the gel help last time?”

“Yeah, maybe. Well, it can’t hurt to try,” I shrugged.

“Well, actually it could. Say you you were allergic to one of the ingredients then you might go into anaphylactic shock or get at least get a rash. Or if you overuse if you might become desensitised to the ingredient that-” he stopped after seeing my cynical expression. He tried to suppress an embarrassed laugh. “It can’t hurt to try.”

He produced a small vial and moved me to face him, holding my head still. With a finger of the grossly gelatinous substance he rubbed it into my temples. I closed my eyes and relaxed as the coolness of the gel bought minimal relief from the pounding in my temples.

“Is that any better?”

I forced my eyes open, a little annoyed at the interruption of the rhythmic smoothing of the substance into my skin. “It’ll do. Has anyone told you what the specifications for the first fight today are?”

The technician hesitated. “You’ve both got felines. Medium-sized, I think. The opponent is one of Kaplan’s lot but I don’t know who. It shouldn’t be too straining, anyhow.” ��How would you know?” I snapped. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

He glared, a moment standing defiant before he caved back to his normal pliant self. “No, you’re right. I don’t.”

I left the room quickly, feeling a little ridiculous that I had gotten so worked up over such a minor comment. Still, I both had too little time and was too stubborn to go back and apologise, instead heading to wait outside what the pilots had dubbed ‘Stage Door’. I leant against the wall with the intention of having a few minutes to myself. Of course that would never happen.

“Ryan, are you fully prepped for the fight?” Julia called as she trotted down the hallway towards me. “You look very flushed; did you put enough foundation on?”

She grabbed my face not roughly and tilted it. I rolled my eyes but let her examine the make-up my technician and I had applied earlier. She grunted in approval before letting go.

“Right, you’ll be piloting a cheetah first thing, the one you used to fight Marcelli’s hunting dog last week? You’re going against Kaplan’s Unbleached Claw.”

“Who?” I asked, trying to stifle a laugh at the ridiculousness of the name.

“Unbleached Claw? I don’t think you’ve fought her before, she’s relatively new. She’s one of those hippie ‘natural’ types who are all into keeping the animals as wild and pure as possible,” Julia dismissed, voice dripping with scorn.

“Sounds like she’s in the wrong business.”

“I agree,” she continued. “Anyway, you’ll be fighting her and her new snow leopard. Should be quite the opening match. Keep it quick, though, because we’ve got a lot of stuff to fit in tonight.”

I almost choked in surprise even though I wasn’t eating anything. “A snow leopard? I thought they were extinct.”

“Near as,” Julia shrugged it off. “Kaplan says some guys sold it to him wild-caught. Got no breeding behind it, no gene mods so it should be an easy win.”

“He sure it’s not just some painted-up jaguar?”

She laughed and waved it away, nudging me through the door and muttering whatever her version of ‘good luck’ was. As soon as the door’s seal broke, sound flooded the corridor. The horrendous clamour of near a thousand voices jabbering away, the clattering of their bodies and throats overlayed by the mechanically loudened announcing from the commentator’s voice. It felt like a physical agony in my head but it had to be done and so I stepped through the door into the Pod.

It was narrow and long, the half at the other end made entirely of glass save for the floor and empty save for a single chair. The half in which I stood was darkened with shadow and so I could hand back unseen by the crowd. Through the glass I could see that it was crowded tonight, the whole arena completely full of soon-to-be-drunk patrons chatting and shouting and arguing, a few of them listening to the night’s proceedings being announced. Above I could see the wealthier sponsors enjoying their fancy drinks in the spacious private booths that gave an excellent top-down view of the arena.

The walls at a level with me were lined with three other pods jutting out towards the centre of the vast room and in the one directly opposite I thought I could see the shape of my opponent hanging back in the dark like me, waiting patiently for the night to begin.

And it begun.

“...honoured to welcome our first pilots. In the East Pod we have....Hellion!”

A thunderous cheer swelled in the arena, a vibration felt deep in my core as I stepped into the light of the glass room. I grinned and gestured for more praise, psyching the crowd up for the fight. This was Hellion, not Ryan, and Hellion was loved for being arrogant and cocksure, not loathed for it. I padded round to in front of the chair, bare feet on the cool floor and once again beat my chest for approval in full view of the crowd.

“Against him in the West Pod we have...Unbleached Claw!”

Another swell of applause, though I noted smugly that it was not as loud or confident as mine, her name being less known or prestigious. My opponent slunk of the dark, a tall woman a little younger than me in a tight top and loose trouser that were a spectrum of pastel shades. Her hair was long and a natural brow that fell in waves to her waist. She smiled sweetly at the crowd but did not beg for their attention as she took her place in front of her own identical chair. She glared at me and tossed her hair back so that I caught a glimpse of the silvered rings adorning her ears, identical to the one through the side of her nose. I licked my lips and pressed my hands to the glass, smirking a little. She looked perhaps and little intimidated but remained firmly stoney-faced.

The announcer was prattling more details to the fight and I was setting up, taking the headset that was sitting on the chair and strapping it to my head. I kept the viso up for now but lowered the headphone speakers over my ears and made sure the entire device was secure, next fitting the controllers dangling for the sides from wires to my hand. They looked like simple black gloves and were lined with tiny sensors and wires, all reporting back to the main headset. I sat down on the chair and glanced up to see my opponent doing the same.

“How’s the crowd tonight?” a voice started up in my ear.

“Loud,” I complained.

It was one of Julia’s subordinates, a man named Odell. Julia often advised the fights herself but with the agency expanding she needed others to take over some of the time. I still felt a little twinge of bitterness that she couldn’t be bothered to help me out herself every time I heard someone else’s voice on the comms. Still, Odell was civil enough not to despise me openly so I didn’t overly mind.

Suddenly the audience’s screeching was gone, replaced with complete silence and the whirring of blood in my head. Everyday I muttered a short prayer to the guy who invented soundproof glass.

“Better?” Odell asked.

“Much appreciated,” I thanked him. “You’ll have to tell me what’s going on though. Can I start yet?”

“The commentator’s just talking about the creatures so I guess you should probably get going, yeah. I think that’s what that Claw girl is doing.”

I looked over to check and he was right, she had already pulled her visor down and was sitting tense in her seat.

“Okay, I’ll get on that then.”

I slid the visor screen down over my eyes, my vision turning to darkness. Not hearing or seeing anything was a little disconcerting but it soon ended as Odell continued in my ear.

“You ready?”

“Of course.”

“Brilliant. Booting up in three...two...one…”

To someone who has never been in two places at once it is near impossible to describe the feeling of opening your second set of eyes, of standing up whilst you remain firmly seated, of yawning whilst your mouth is shut and stretching out your tail. I did all of those things and then looked about me, taking in the holding pen I had been lying asleep in. I could hear the rumbling of the crowd again through the door.

“How are you doing?”

“Seems normal,” I mused, knowing that everything my screen displays was being streamed back to where Odell is advising from. “Response with little to no delay time. Stats say all the vitals are fine, he’s fully recovered from last week.”

“Open the mouth.” I did. “And close.” I did that too. “Looks like we’re good to go. The hatch will open in approximately sixty seconds.”

I paced briefly, stretching my legs and warming the muscles. The wall on one side of the pen was a mirror, smudged and scratched but still clear enough to see my reflection. It would be a strange day when I could look into that mirror and my insides not lurch with surprise to see a creature that was certainly not me staring back. I took a few seconds to preen and admire my appearance.

I never liked piloting cheetahs. They’re too lithe to make proper fighting animals, their speed advantage rendered practically useless in the small confines of the arena. Still, even I had to admit that this particular specimen was impressive; selectively bred for size and muscle he cut an imposing figure. A king cheetah is a colour variant rather than a true subspecies,but still rare enough to make them more desired and more praised by the crowds. I tilted my head and to see the telltale blue flashing light on the metal device there as well as my signature bite-mark cut in his ear.

I should name him, I thought, staring at my reflection. If he survives, that is.

I started a little as the voice returned to my ears. It was always strange being so immersed that it felt like I was hearing the instruction through the animal’s ears rather than my own.

“Get ready, Hellion. Hatch opening in five seconds,” Odell informed me. I turned to face the door, simultaneously listening to the commentator introducing me and Odell counting down. “Four. Three. Two. One.”

I hadn’t realised how dim the holding pen was until the hatch lifted and glaring light split through the opening, causing me to reflexively flinch. A low grinding bass music was playing underneath the crowd noises as I stepped out onto the walkway, timing my steps to each thumping beat and prowling forward. I tossed my head from one side to the other, engaging the crowd. I leapt off the walkway and into the arena neatly, a large entrance and a drop of about half a metre. I heard the cage door slide down in place behind me.

I took a moment to survey my surroundings, having not bothered to check with my human eyes a few minutes earlier. The cage is the same as always; plastic mesh strong enough to withstand a blow from a polar bear but thin enough that it provided easy viewing. They configure the arena itself slightly differently for every fight. This time they had platforms jutting out at various levels, some unattainably out of reach, and one hanging to the centre of the arena maybe three metres in the air. I grumbled slightly at the inequity; cheetahs are terrible climbers. Any attempt by me to attempt to mount one of the higher platforms would lead to certain injury. Perhaps they felt she needed the advantage.

I stalked one circuit around the cage, pausing occasionally scuff my feet or bare my teeth at the crowd, no sound. Cheetahs are sinister enough animals when silent, lean and aggressive. They can’t roar, however, or growl or snort. The noises they produce range from not unlike a baby bird, to not unlike a kitten. Not particularly intimidating to say the least.

As I paced I made eye contact with and observed members of the crowd. A group of drunken men far richer than they looked who cheered when I bared my teeth at them; a couple, arms slung over one another, who looked mildly terrified; a lone man with a handkerchief covering the lower half of his face who made no reaction at all, even when I hissed directly at him.

After circling for the crowd, showing off the cheetah’s beautiful body in slick movements, I turned to the real audience. The camera.

The money made from this kind of sporting came almost entirely from the gambling industry. Whilst the crowd in view were wealthy, and those up on the balconies even richer, it was those sitting in the comfort of their country manors, apartments in city centre and other such opulent dwellings that brought in the real money. Millionaires betting thousands on their lucky favourite, billionaires betting millions on an outside chance and those with more money than someone could spend in a lifetime throwing half a city’s wealth away in one evening. All done through internet payments whilst they lounged on comfy sofas and watched the blood run red on their screens. It was all horrendously illegal, of course, but there was far too much money in it for it to ever be stopped by force.

I stared directly down the lens of the high-quality video camera, curled my lips back to reveal sharp fangs and hissed a little. I turned my head to let the harsh lighting shine off my rich coat and let them observe the layers of muscle underneath. The patrons knew me, of course, but they might not know the animal. I needed to show them this was a creature worth staking their fortunes on.

The commentator announced Unbleached Claw’s entry and I only just turned in time to see the creature hop gracefully down from the walkway. As is courtesy, I held back and simply paced, waiting for her to engage the audience. It was only fair that we both had a turn to win favour before the fighting began and also it gave me a little time to observe her.

The snow leopard herself was truly stunning, although at the same time smaller than expected. The creature was short and stockily built, entire body covered with thick silver-grey fur patterned with large irregular rosettes. Built for far colder temperatures than these. The fur around her head was so dense and fluffy that it entirely concealed the controlling device, adding to the ‘natural’ look that Julia had told me about. The only give-away that this was not a wild beast at all was the thick silver ring pierced through the side of her nose to match the pilot. That and the dead-eyed gaze that all piloted animals had; a vacant look that told of the external control and powerlessness of the body.

I watched as she leapt with ease onto one of the lower platforms, the body of a snow leopard being one built for climbing. My opponent clearly wasn’t one for pandering to the crowd, instead using this time to test out the new surroundings and exercise the vessel’s body. I noted with a certain smugness that her movements were on the whole far less graceful than mine, her comparatively little experience as a pilot making her a little awkward and jerky. Also she seemed to be slipping a little on the platforms as she jumped from one to another, suggesting they were perhaps not as much of an advantage as I had initially assumed.

Once she had scouted out the upper levels, she jumped deftly to the floor and faced me. I stood opposite her on my side of the arena and nodded. The fight was beginning.

“You’re ready?” Odell asked for confirmation.

“Let’s get on with it.”

She chuffed at me and I bared my teeth. The fight had begun.

I spent only a few moments pacing before making the first strike, reminded of Julia’s words from earlier. Keep it quick. Using the cheetah’s ability to powerfully spring, I launched myself straight at the snow leopard, claws aiming at her head. She was quick enough to raise a paw to protect her face but not quick enough to dodge. I skittered to the side having gouged a deep mark on one of her front legs and a lesser scratch to her domed brow.

She tried a similar attack on me, a simple lunging leap. Her animal, however, was slower and gave me time to avoid the pounce entirely. She skidded past me and allowed me to twist and ram her against the cage wall. This exposed her belly which I proceeded to bite at, ripping deep as she squirmed to get away.

I saw this all through a screen on my visor, of course. These movements weren’t controlled by my muscles but by highly advanced electronics tracking the activity of my brain as well as subtle movements in my hands. And yet even without the pain or pressure feedback expected it still felt so real, so immediate. These claws were my own.

I let her go, failing to do any crucial damage at this angle and also realising that it was visually rather boring to keep her in one place. Anything to please the crowd. She sprung free and sooner than I could turn to follow her movements she sunk her teeth into my left haunch, using the wider jaw and longer teeth of a snow leopard to her advantage. Clearing away as quickly as I could, I hissed at her from a safe distance, irritated.

“Why the hell did you let her go?” Odell whined in his ear.

“It was a mistake,” I assured him. “What’s the damage like?”

It would take too much effort for me to read the blinking read text at the bottom of the screen that detailed injuries. I was far too busy fending off and delivering strikes with my foe, a rapid pace of scratching and hitting and gnashing.

“Minimal. No major blood supplies hit, muscles that were damaged are still functional. You’ll be fine, just be more careful next time.”

“Yes, sir,” I breathed sarcastically as I deftly avoided another blow to my side.

My eye caught on the shining of the metal hoop through the snow leopard’s nose. I pondered for a second, calculating the risk before deciding to go with my instinct, however sickening it is.

I lunged forward head first in an unnatural movement, bracing my claws against her shoulder and bending to hook one long tooth through the ring and shut my mouth. I distantly registered the crowd cheering as I began to drag the other creature by its nose whilst she struggled helplessly and lashed at my face. Now I had her caught I aimed my claws at her face, intending to inflict damage to her eyes or sensory organs. It was always an easy win to blind your opponent so that they could barely fight back.

I only managed one slash across her face before there was a great tugging and I was shocked to see her pull away from me. She had wrenched away so hard that it had ripped the ring out of the side of her nose, now gushing red. The snow leopard was whimpering presumably not under the pilot’s command, the animal inside crying out in pain through the layers of controls. She looked even more unsteady on her feet as she bounded away and onto an above platform, safe from further harm.

I spat out the ring and played with it in my claws whilst the crowd cheered me on. The piercing was her gimmick, similar to the way my animals have their ears cut, to make her more memorable. Hers could be used against her, however, whilst mine was entirely harmless. I was reminded briefly of a pilot I once knew when I was first starting out who used to collar all his animals like pets. It was cute, sure, until I hooked my paws under it and used the collar to crush the wolf’s windpipe. It was a lesson poorly learned, however, and many have followed him in the pursuit of individuality.

The snow leopard was not running scared as I thought she might. Instead, she began stalking me from above, glaring down as she paced from one platform to another. It was unnerving because she looked like she was going to strike at any moment and I hated that she had this height advantage over me.

I looked up defiantly and chirped at her, the trill noise hoping to taunt her into action. It didn’t work and she continued circuiting above me, occasionally pausing to growl.

“What’s going on? Why isn’t she attacking?” Odell asked.

“The animal is in pain which makes it very difficult to pilot,” I stated, trying not to lose focus. “She’s trying to get the vessel back under control.”

“Can’t you go get her? Attack while she’s weak?”

“I’m in a cheetah, Odell. This animal is not meant for climbing; I’d likely end up more injured than she is,” I snapped, working off my irritation.

Which meant I wasn’t fully focussed a second later when the snow leopard leapt from the high platform.

She landed with full force on my back half and suddenly my screen was flashing an array of red as I fought her off. She had landed roughly and that had affected her too, enough for me to catch a claw on her eye before she could retreat back up high. I saw blood splattered on the concrete beneath me and could tell my animal was buckling unevenly as I tried to stand.

“Damage report!” I half-shouted.

“Left femur is splintered, hairline fracture to the pelvis, one of the lower ribs is cracked and three more suffering severe bruising. Internals seem fine, no major arteries hit but still serious damage to muscles nearing the hind legs,” Odell listed as I began an uneven pacing to assess the maneuverability of the broken body. “Sorry, Hellion. I don’t think you can win this one.”

“I can,” I hissed. “I can and I’m going to. She’s running half-blind now, it’s only so long until she make a mistake.”

The snow leopard was visibly struggling to traverse the platforms; her right eye was swollen shut and oozing blood and her paws were slipping, slick with blood. Her face was somewhat mangled with the addition of half the nose being ripped away causing the red to flow openly and soak the dense fur. She was, however, in better shape than my cheetah with all her limbs unbroken and only minor external injuries. She was chuffing loudly at me now and the audience were cheering, chanting for her to finish me off. She leapt around the outer ledges and then to the hanging platform in the middle.

She missed.

A combination of her newfound arrogance and the blood on her paws meant caused her to slip whilst jumping. She only landed half on the platform and scrabbled desperately with her paws, claws extended in a panicked attempt to reach safety. Her hind legs and long tail were flailing, suspended in the air at the centre on the arena. My opportunity had arisen so quickly.

I dragged her down from her hanging position so fast and brutally that I heard her skull crack against the hard concrete. She still tried to bat me off but the resistance was weak, head and spine irreparably damaged by the fall. I leant down and she tried to snap at my head with the little strength left. I pushed her aside with one paw, holding her head back to gain full access to her exposed neck.

Such an amazing creature, a snow leopard. Near extinct, and effortlessly beautiful.

I bit out her throat.

The roar of the crowd was like a jet engine as it echoed around the arena, the great swell of noise amplified across every available surface. The body of the animal beneath me was still writhing even as her life was spewing in bursts through the torn flesh of her neck. I stood proud and accepted the applause of the crowd, front legs propped up on the snow leopard’s ribcage. I turned directly to the camera and once again bared my teeth, now red and dripping. I stayed there as the body twitched a little and blood gurgled out of its mouth, heart finally finished with beating.

“Well done,” Odell praised him. “That was nicely played. But we are on a tight schedule so…”

“I understand.”

I tried not to limp too much as I abandoned the body in the centre of the arena and exited the same way I got in. The hop up to the walkway was challenging and I had to take two attempts to scramble on properly.

“Hey, Odell?” I asked and he grunted in response. “Do you reckon they’ll kill him?”

“Your cheetah? No, the damage is repairable. He won’t be able to fight for a week or two but I’m pretty sure the patrons will want to see him back. Why do you ask?”

I hesitated, pausing over whether to admit my slight attachment to the animal, a tiny twinge of sentimentality. Weakness.

“No reason, just curious.” Once inside the holding pen I lay down in the corner, considerate as possible of the broken leg and other wounds, and closed the cheetah’s eyes. “Unhook me.”

“Sure thing,” he affirmed. “Shutting down in three. Two. One.”

The engine-roar of the crowd silenced in an instant and everything was black. I enjoyed the peace for a moment before lifting the visor of the headgear and unstrapping the controllers. I stretched, my human muscles feeling stiff and awkward. I could have felt them the whole time I was piloting but I was concentrating hard enough for my brain to block most of my real body’s senses. I carefully place the headset on the chair and turn back to the audience.

They were clearly cheering wildly, excited by the first bloodshed of the night, although I couldn't hear them through the soundproof glass. I pounded my fists against the transparent barrier and grinned, egging on further praise. I could see the cameras down below and above, some carried by people, others operated on suspended wires, most pointed at me whilst a few lingered on the mutilated corpse of the former snow leopard. I noted smugly that my opponent had already left, presumably enraged at her failure.

I didn’t wait for the cheering to die down before making my own exit, preferring to leave on a high with applause still filling the arena. As soon as I turned away it didn’t matter anyway as I couldn’t hear them in my sealed little Pod. I slunk off into the darkness and out the door.

There was no one waiting in the corridor to congratulate me. There never was. Instead I just glanced at the clock and worked out roughly how much time I had until my next fight, walking down the corridor to Julia’s main office. I was drained after that fight and, although I had only woken up a few hours earlier, I really needed to rest before my next fight. I looked longingly through the door of the main office at the comfy sofas, imagining curling up on the plush seats and sleeping soundly. That could not be a reality, however, not with Marcus and the other disdainful pilots littered across them or the bustle of the room. I considered going in to speak to Julia but she looked busy and I had very little to say to her.

I left, legs heavy, to try and find somewhere else to nap. It always felt as if my blood was saturated with grains of metal after a fight, weighing me down and making each movement sluggish and dull. I normally went straight home when I only had one fight and slept until my alarm woke me up the next evening. When I had two fights, which was happening with increasing frequency as Julia seemed to want to work me harder each passing day, there was little I could do to stay awake for the time in between.

After peering through several doors into rooms sterile and deserted or humming with people I found one further along the corridor that was labeled ‘Server Room’. I searched through my slightly fuzzy memory to see if I had any recollection of if I had been in here before and found nothing. The room wasn’t locked and so I slipped inside.

The room was small, made more compact by huge machinery against each wall that whirred and hummed quietly considering its bulk. It was dimmer than the corridor outside and lit with a flickering orange glow. Wires like hair follicles sprouted out in places to curl away behind other metal cubes whilst some parts were an array of blinking lights, red and green. It was much colder that the rest of the building, almost uncomfortably so, due to the steady breeze blowing through grates on the ceiling. The floor was cool and metallic when I ran my fingers over it, slumping down into a corner of coiled wiring, presumably spare as it did not seem to be attached to anything. It was chilly and solid but the nest of wires allowed me to tuck together and in moments I was unconscious.

As always, the sleep was heavy and consuming. No dreams, no thoughts at all until I was awoken by the door slamming open, a sound which resonated through the metal of the floor as physical vibration. My eyes snapped open and I saw a huge figure silhouetted in the doorway. I flinched as it stepped forward, only to lean back out the door and shout down the corridor. “Julia, I’ve found the runt you were looking for!”

I knew the voice and as my eyes focussed I could tell it was Marcus who had interrupted my doze. I growled, irritated at the use of the word ‘runt’ but otherwise I made no reaction. A woman’s voice shouted something indiscernible and Marcus entered the room and stepped towards me again. I tensed and backed up against the wall, noticing for the first time that someone had tucked a blanket around me whilst I was asleep, an act of kindness vaguely unsettling in its intimacy. I chose to ignore it for now, with more pressing matters to hand.

“What are you doing?” I practically squeaked as he came closer. He just rolled his eyes and grunted, dragging me up by my collar and shoving me into the corridor. With a firm, unfriendly hand on my shoulder he guided me down the hall in silence until we reached where Julia was fidgeting impatiently. Marcus pushed me roughly from the small of my back so I stumbled embarrassingly.

“Ryan! You are due in your pod in less than ten minutes. What the hell were you doing?”

“I-”

“I found him sleeping in the Server Room, all curled up like a baby animal,” Marcus spat and with fake concern added, “Julia, I’m not sure he’s alright in the head. I think maybe piloting from such a young age has turned his brain mushy.”

“That will be all, Marcus,” she dismissed coldly. He slunk away, grumbling and muttering under his breath. “I’m not happy with you, Ryan, but I don’t have time to complain. Quickly fix your hair and get checked over by your technician and be outside stagedoor in five minutes sharp.”

I nodded and jogged off to the changing room. It was again empty, allowing me to relax a little as I fished the jar of hair product from the tangle of clothes in my locker and haphazardly spiked the side the had been flattened from where it was resting on my arm. My makeup too was a little smudged and so i fixed that with a licked finger until both eyes looked roughly even. No time to hesitate I quickly left the room in search of my owly technician but he was already waiting outside the door.

“How are you doing, Sir?” he asked as he began poking at my sides, lifting my arms and clicking in from of my eyes.

“Less tired than I was.” “Yes, I heard you were having a nap,” he smiled at me, a hint of colour on his cheeks. “You look fine physically. How’s the head?”

“Better,” I said, although it wasn’t much.

We walked in companionable quiet to where the stagedoor was and he picked up my headset that was left there ready for the fight. He picked it up and adjusted a few things on the side, only occasionally glancing up at me, focussed on whatever he was doing. He handed me the headset.

“This should help,” he stuttered a little and smiled sheepishly. “I-I’ve adjusted some of the fitting so that it puts less pressure on sensitive parts of the skull, particularly around the ears.”

I nodded and looked cynical. “Go put this on the chair; I’m doing my entrance in about two minutes.”

“Certainly, Sir,” he complied and slipped through the door. I could see his face fall at the dismissal but I pretended not to notice, uncaring. He was back in a matter of seconds, eyes still bright and kind despite my brashness with him. It was somehow infuriating. “Haven’t you got something else to be getting on with?” I snapped.

“I guess so,” he hesitated. “If you’re sure that you are fine, that is.”

“Yes. I am.”

“Oh, okay.” He scurried down the corridor and out of sight and I sighed in the brief moment of quiet, dim audience sounds through the door. In my haste to be rid of the young technician I had forgotten to ask him any details about the fight but I was sure I could successfully manage it knowing just the basics.

I once again lurked in the dark back of the Pod when I first entered, just as the announcer began to introduce my opponent. I liked going second better but it it did little to take the edge off my dark mood. Perhaps it was being so abruptly woken or perhaps I was just nervous about the new beast. First time with a new creature always has potential to be tricky.

“For our final fight of the evening, in the West Pod we have Rex Terrae!”

Even my current resentment for seemingly everything could not stop me from grinning then. Rex had been piloting for almost as long as me, signing on with his agent Hauxwell a few moments after I contracted to Julia. I definitely wouldn’t call him a friend but we were fairly amicable, having sparred our animals frequently over the last five years. He would always greet me kindly and embrace me with intimidatingly affectionate bear-hugs. Whilst Julia and her agency were stationed permanently at this arena, many contractors like Hauxwell have taken to touring the smaller fighting rings across the world and so I haven’t seen Rex in a while.

He caught my eye during his entrance and smiled warmly at me, still waving to the crowd. He was very much into costuming, his Roman styling not overdone but obvious and effortlessly cool. It suited his name and his chosen creatures; all very traditional colosseum type animals.

“...Hellion!”

The roar of the crowd was notably louder than it had been at the beginning of the night, both from an increase in spectators and a brief popularity boost from the win of a good fight. I soaked it in and wallowed in it, cheering and encouraging them when a small group started chanting my name.

“Hello?” I asked into the microphone once I had sat down and set up the headgear and controllers. I noticed that the technician had marginally improved the comfort of the headset and felt a pang of guilt that soon eased.

“Hellion, at last you’ve decided to join us!” a voice replied with a thick Eastern accent.

“Rex? What are you doing on my comms?”

“He’s here to work with you,” Julia’s voice interrupted. “This is not going to be a fight per se, more of a showcase of the tileguaress and her talents. It will be obvious from the very beginning that Rex’s lion has no chance but you must let him fight back a little to show some skill before you finish him off.”

This sort of thing was rare, although not unheard of. Hauxwell and Julia often work together and seem friendly so it seems reasonable that they made some kind of deal together. No doubt Julia will pay for the expenses of the soon to be dead lion.

“But surely no one would bet against me?” I puzzled. Rex scoffed at how arrogant it sounded even though he understood what I meant.

“They haven’t if they have any sense; this is just to introduce her to the audience. Make a loss now to insure future gain.”

“And Rex is okay with this?”

“I get handsomely paid from it,” he affirmed and I could just imagine his wonky grin. “It seems to me I have to do less work than usual so I am not bothered.”

I chuckled, as ever amused by Rex’s nonchalance.

“Alright, kids, visors down,” Julia interrupted. I could understand to some extent her calling me ‘kid’ as she had known me since age seventeen and my looks haven't matured much since then but Rex every bit the late-twenties working man that he did. Still, it was better than ‘runt’.

I did as instructed and was mildly alarmed when the crowd noises that had been grounding me were cut off a few moments later, leaving me feeling suspended in the confined darkness. It only lasted a few seconds before the screen booted up, startling me.

“Julia, you’re supposed to count us in,” I grumbled, slowly orientating to living in a new head.

“We had already wasted enough time talking, it seemed stupid to spend any more,” she snapped back. “Rex, you’re used to this lion right?”

“I have used him a few times before, yes,” Rex confirmed and then, because he clearly didn’t understand Julia’s hint about time wasted chatting, added, “It seems such a shame to let him die, if I’m honest. He’s a noble beast; strong and-” “I’m opening your hatch. Go stir up the crowd a bit while Ryan gets himself in the zone.”

“Yessir,” he breathed grumpily and presumably did as instructed. His voice had that distracted tone common with all pilots during a fight; like they’re not really there at all, distant and struggling to keep under the mental pressure.

“How is she?” Julia asked me.

I didn’t know the answer, having only opened my eyes, and so I began to stand. It took a moment to wield the limbs correctly, the movement at first being uneven and heavy, and I faltered a couple of times in standing. “It feels like…” I answered. “Like she doesn’t want me in her head.”

The moment I said the words I knew them to be true; the feeling of pressure inside my skull, the way I had to fight for each movement. The only explanation was that the animal herself was attempting to reject me.

“Stop being so dramatic, Ryan. You have a maximum of three minutes to get her under control before showtime.”

“Fine,” I hissed through gritted teeth.

Julia explained her big plan for a dramatic entrance whilst I half-listened and began pacing back and forth. The resistance in the animal seemed to be softening with time and before a minute had passed the movement felt almost natural, despite the ever presence of pressure inside my head. I couldn’t help grinning when I saw my reflection, the animal herself looking so much bigger and fiercer when upright and active as opposed to slumped dully in a corner. I unsheathed her claws and saw they were long and recently filed sharp, protruding from her overrsized tiger-paws. Her teeth when I opened her mouth were gleaming white fangs, contrast to the black of her fur and her eyes were the same goat-yellow that I had seen earlier. The muscles knotted across her body visibly rippled as I moved back and forth, tail swishing out randomly. I growled a little to test out her vocals but didn’t want to fully roar in case the audience could hear it over their cheering for Rex’s lion that was presumably already in the arena.

Fully prepared now, I spent the remaining minute staring intently at my reflection and running a claw along the metal casing of the device attached to the creature’s head. My real stomach began to twist a little with neves; the fight would be easy, I knew, but I had to do it perfectly, I had to make them love her.

No you don’t, idiot. Just let the beast speak for herself.

“Okay, kid, the hatch is opening in three seconds. Get ready and do exactly as I explained.”

I positioned myself as instructed facing the hatch and well back from the entrance as it opened. No light streamed through the gap, the audience bathed in darkness with only the dim glow of the holding pen to silhouette my figure as I very slowly approached the entrance. They hadn’t seen me yet and already the crowd were screaming wildly. I imagined how it would look to the cameras; the dark shape against the dark backdrop with only faint light to outline my stalking forward, eyes bright against my body and staring straight ahead. I stepped slowly, each pace measured and taking my time until my head was just out of the hatch and the audience quietened.

Suddenly I jumped forward, still in the dark, sprinting down the walkway only visible as a swift shadow. Seconds later I reached the cage and leapt down into it, lighting flashing on like the prelude to thunder.

And thunder it did as I opened my mouth and roared, showing all my glorious teeth. It was more the roar of a tiger than a lion; deep and guttural, explosive from the animal’s throat. The audience erupted into cheering as I stood proud only a moment before advancing toward the seemingly small lion before me.

I launched myself at him, knocking his body sideways against the concrete, claws piercing along his ribcage.

“Easy there, Hellion,” Rex complained in my ear. “We want this fight to last more than ten seconds.”

“Sorry,” I smirked, not meaning it a bit.

I did get off him though, allowing the creature the opportunity to stand up before I confronted him again with a series of sharp edged blows to the head and forelegs. The lion was roaring in response and striking out sporadically but they were easily brushed aside. Wearing him down was not taking very long and with occasional advice from Julia, Rex’s beast was soon pockmarked with bites and deep gashes, blood spilling freely onto the floor of the arena. The crowd were going crazy.

Whilst going in for another bite, Rex raised his paw and slashed across my face. Nothing was damaged, just a superficial wound to the cheek but even so I hisses and turned away. We began circling the cage, stalking each other carefully and I could see that Rex was already limping. An easy fight if ever there was one.

I roared again, this time at the crowd rather than my opponent. I looked over them as I circled, growling for their approval and showing off my creature’s impressive size and form. I caught eyes with the man I had seen earlier, the one with the covered face who made no reaction when I hissed at him. This time I could roar and I did so directly at him; he had the decency to flinch away and I thought I could see fear or at least awe in his visible eyes.

Distracted, Rex used this opportunity to charge at me from behind, leaping up and digging his claws into my back. I hit him away with some effort and he scampered back the the other side of the cage.

“Hey, that was hardly fair,” I complained at him.

“This whole fight isn’t fair. I needed to as least get one good attack in before you maul this poor lion to pieces.”

“Speaking of which,” Julia piped in. “I think it’s time we go in for the kill, hm?”

I frowned inside my visor. “We’ve only been fighting for five minutes,” I protested and heard Rex grunt in agreement.

“If we get this over with quickly it will reduce the damage caused to the tileguaress and it will leave the audience desperate to see more.”

Rex and I begrudgingly agreed that it was a good idea.

I turned to face him at least, and we squared off from opposite sides of the cage. The lion himself was not a bad specimen at all; larger than average with a thick dark mane running down to his belly and powerful limbs. Now, of course it was a patchwork of gashed and bitemarks, the tan fur matted with barely dried blood. One of the front legs was mangled badly enough to become almost useless.

I roared, he roared in response and then we leapt at each other. It was a colossal collision, the two great beasts wielding claws and teeth on hind legs in the hope of gaining a height advantage. A red display told me that I’d fractured a rib but it was hardly relevant as I toppled the other beast and landed on him with enough force to shatter half of his ribcage. The battle was over now; the lion could no longer stand, only wheeze on his side as the blood drained away.

I growled and stalked a circle round the heaving body, deciding which way to finish him off. I was struggling to recall the exact anatomy of a lion and with a further few deep wounds had yet to locate a major blood vessel that would end the creature’s life quickly. The blood was already sticking my paws to the concrete but the lion still lived, grunting with each of my poorly aimed blows.

At last I managed to pierce an artery in at the juncture of the hind leg and the body, causing whatever blood remained spray forcefully across the concrete, including over my body and face. I shook it off and snorted to clear my nose of it, blinked it out of my eyes as the body stilled and bloodflow turned to a trickle rather than a steam. I stood defiantly with one paw resting on the head of the dead creature and roared for a final time as the crowd screamed all about me.

“Exit now, Ryan. I want them desperate for more,” Julia commanded.

I left numbly, one foot in front of the other until I was in the holding pen, practically unscathed. My vision went black.

But the headset had not been disconnected. It was my eyes that were not seeing anything as the screen still displayed the small concrete room. I only saw black and the pain in my head returned in full twice over and there were screams in my ears that I couldn’t hear over my pounding heartbeat. Someone was shouting my name and something was clawing at the inside of my skull and somewhere my body was frozen still but I couldn’t feel it. Somehow I was still breathing even as my lungs burned and my nose was blocked and my mouth was gasping.

The screen turned off and I registered this as a different kind of black. Some of the pressure released from my brain, enough so that I could make a weak noise at the back of my throat, a cry for help. I could feel my body again, although still distant and dull. I wanted to rip off the headset that was pressing in on my head, threatening to crack it like an eggshell at any moment. I wanted to pull away my visor in the hopes of seeing something besides the swirling patterns of dark in the backs of my eyes.

As if in answer to my desires I felt hands frantically grabbing at my head and, however unwelcome their touch was, they released the headset and I could see again. Only visually though because what I was seeing didn’t seem to connect with my thoughts and at last my eyes rolled back into unconsciousness.

When I awoke in what felt like moments later I was lying down on the dentist-like chair in the Prep room. My technician was standing above me, brow furrowed with concern and owly eyes wide as he blinked down at me. He was dabbing some cotton below my nose and each time he took it away I could see it stained with a fresh spread of blood. I forced open my eyes to regard him properly and opened my mouth to ask a question.

“What-”

“What the hell just happened to him?” Julia screeched as she burst into the room. I winced and leaned back, eyes fluttering shut.

“I-I don’t know, ma’am,” he stuttered, still using one hand to wipe at the red leaking from my nose. “He sort of blacked out and his n-n-nose started bleeding and-”

Julia slapped the technician with the back of her hand, the crack of hard fingers colliding with soft cheek loud in the small room. He reeled back, looking more ashamed than frightened or angry as it would have made me.

“You are an incompetent child!” she snapped. “You are in charge of his medical and technical needs, no? It is your job to make sure things like this do not happen, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am, but-” he hesitated when she glared blades into him and lowered his tone to a more defensive stance. “You did not let me examine the creature before he linked with it and so there was no way I could have predicted how his body would react. I’ve never seen such a violent rejection of the technology before.”

“Do you know the cause?”

“No. It could be he is overworked and the strain of the two fights today or maybe there’s something about the new animal that is incompatible with him...either way he needs a few days break and I need access to the tileguaress to see if I can help.”

I listened to them talk about me without interjection, mind still mixed up and confused as to what just happened. Julia ground her teeth in irritation.

“Fine; you can go see the creature in your own time, not during work hours. Ryan goes home now and can rest all he want but I need him back here on time in the evening. I already have him booked for two fights tomorrow and I can’t reschedule.”

“You can’t!” the technician blurted. “You can’t make him fight tomorrow, let alone twice. Look at him, he’s exhausted.”

I might’ve objected to this, claiming stubbornly that I was perfectly healthy, if he hadn’t ran his hand through my hair, that small soothing touch being almost enough to send me back to sleep.

“You do not get to decide when he fights,” Julia hissed.

“No, but I have to deal with the consequences.”

“Get out!” Julia snapped and pointed to the door. “I need to talk to Ryan alone and I’ve had enough of your insolence. He rests when I tell him he can, not before.”

The technician’s eyes linger on me a moment longer before narrowing as he stormed out of the room. My head lolled back as I sighed, wiping at the remaining blood on my nose with the back of my hand. Julia looked at me sternly and with a hint of pity.

“What do you want?” I groaned, the first full sentence I have managed since waking up.

“That fight was good. Short. It shouldn’t made you…” She gestured loosely at me.

“It did, though.”

“That boy is wrong, you know. He thinks you’re weak; you’re not. You can fight better and harder than anyone I’ve ever met,” she said softly. Her hyperbolous praise was beginning to concern me slightly. “You should see the crowd, Ryan, they love you. And I’m sorry it’s hurting you but if we hesitate for even a moment then they’ll lose interest so we have to keep going. I promise that we’ll make enough money so that after this you’ll never have to work again, okay?”

I nodded and sat up on the chair. “I’m not going to quit just because I got a nosebleed,” I smirked although I knew it was much more than that.

The corners of her mouth tugged into a small smile. “Good. You’ll be piloting the tileguaress again tomorrow; you can handle than, right?”

I glanced at the door, wondering if my technician was still waiting outside. He doesn’t think so. “Sure,” I replied.

“Go home now, Ryan, get some sleep,” she instructed, hand patting his shoulder as she turned to leave. “And when you get back here I want you to have named that creature.”

I agreed and left the room a short way behind her. I half-expected my loyal technician to be waiting in the corridor or perhaps Rex come to check I was alright. Instead, I found only warm, still air and a stifling urge to escape. I stumbled along the corridor to the changing rooms and dressed myself as fast as I could with fumbling fingers. I didn’t bother wiping away the eyeliner that had smudged long before, leaving the skin around my eyes streaked with grey and black. It didn’t matter; no one I cared about would see me.

I pulled my hood down to shade my face as I left the building because I knew there would still be some patrons lingering in the courtyard in the early morning light. I did not wish to grab their attention and they would certainly recognise me after today’s fights. As I paced quickly to the bus stop I saw a figure peel away from the deep shadow of a neighbouring industrial building. Whoever it was was far behind me, walking slow and I had no logical reason for the paranoia of being watched. I felt it all the same.

When I reached the road and leant against the broken plastic of the shelter I noticed the sleeping form of a young woman slumped in the corner, huddled in a ragged blanket and no shoes. I stood listening to her shaky breathing and waited for the bus, failing to resist the urge to see if the figure was still following me. I kept checking and every time could see nothing; only the concrete and brick of this industrial site, the weeds growing taller than people between cracked paving and glimpses of quick rats or thick pigeons all bathed in the dull brown of the morning.

The bus arrived on time. It was a older model than the one I had taken to work and it creaked as it came to a stop. The inside was predictably filthy so I chose the seat that I saw had the least visible signs of decay, the least oppressive odour being near the front. I was the only person at my stop so I expected the doors to shut right away instead of lingering open as they did. I thought perhaps that they were broken until a figure stepped through the door, said good morning to the bus driver and walked down the aisle past me, sitting down a few rows behind.

It was the young man I had spotted in the crowd earlier, the one I had roared at who wore a bandana over his face. Glaring at him as he walked by I was sure he had been the shadowy figure past the courtyard.

He’s not following you. You’re seeing things that aren’t there.

I tried to listen to music on the journey home but each song was too whiny and repetitive and made me want to scream. I kept the earphones in and listened to groans of protest the body of the bus made as it meandered its way through the street. My neck kept twitching to turn round and see if the guy was looking at me and each stop I waited tensely, hoping helplessly that he would get off the bus.

He didn’t. Or at least, not until just after I did.

I could hear his footsteps a few metres behind me, slower than mine for his longer legs. He was keeping my pace, keeping the same gap between us and keeping up with me no matter if I walked so fast it was practically a jog. The streets around were empty of activity and the shadows were still deep and ominous.

He could kill you. No one would even notice. I shoved the thoughts to the back of my mind but they kept resurfacing with every steady footstep on the path behind me.

The shop I had bought breakfast in yesterday was still open and so I took my chance to slip in there, meaning at least I could confront the stranger in the light. The same man from earlier was behind the counter, narrowing his eyes like earlier but more with tiredness than suspicion. What a boring job this would be, I thought. Every night the a scraggly few customers and the rest of the time silence. When I retire, this is the job for me.

I walked over to the barely cooled drinks cabinet and ran my finger over the bottles, pausing for a while over the beer, then cider, then some sort of cocktail thing. I sighed and grabbed a fizzy soft drink, surprisingly upmarket for this shop with a proper glass bottle. I kept glancing at the door, even as I was paying for it, and the stranger did not enter. I was too cynically minded to even think for a second that he had left me alone, knowing full well he would be lurking around some corner on the last few streets home.

Twisting the cap off the drink, I poured the oversweet liquid down my throat, not previously realising the full extent off my thirst. I left the shop hurriedly and continued my walk-skip-jog back home. I could hear him behind me, this time at a much greater distance. I wondered if he thought he was being subtle. I considered taking a wrong turning so that I wouldn’t lead him back to my house but there seemed to be little point as I’d have nowhere else to go and I knew he’d keep following.

I took one final swig of the drink, draining the remaining few drops into my mouth before holding the bottle tightly by the neck and slamming the base into the sharp concrete corner of a building. As I had hoped, the bottom of the glass shattered leaving sharp uneven spikes that glittered deadly in the early morning light. Although certainly not the perfect weapon, it might have served to make up for some of my lack of size and man-to-man fighting experience. I pivoted on my heels to face the man, now only a couple of metres behind, and raised the jagged weapon in his direction.

“Leave me alone!” I shouted because I needed to say something. My voice came out shriller than I intended and sounded painfully loud on the silent street.

“Calm down, kitten,” he replied, raising his arms in a display of innocence. His voice was infuriatingly patronising but also slow and slightly slurred. His movements too had a vaguely disconnected quality and his eyes appeared glazed over. Definitely drunk then. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Then why are you following me?” I hissed, still gripping the broken bottle.

“I just wanted to talk, that’s all.”

I glared at him. He was taller than me by at least a head, broad shouldered and muscles scarily bulging underneath his plain t-shirt. He was wearing that cloth around the lower part of his face and head; if anyone saw him kill me, he’d never get recognised. It was a clever move.

“Who are you?” I asked, against any common sense. Fear is powerful.

It felt to me like he smirked under his mask but his eyes betrayed no hint of emotion. “Guess.”

“What?” I blurted.

“Come on, you’re a clever guy, right? So guess who I am.” His tone was surprisingly measured for how slurred and fuzzy his voice was.

I hesitated before eventually conceding to play along. “You’re a patron,” I mused. “You got drunk and bet a lot of money on one of my opponents, probably the snow leopard, and are now out for some revenge.”

“No.” There was no hint as to how close I was.

“You think I’m clever. You want me to throw a match and win you a lot of money in exchange for some in return.” People had offered me small fortunes to throw matches in the past but I’d never accepted their offers. I already had enough money.

“No.”

“You’re a crazed fan who followed me to my home looking for a chance to meet me.”

“In your dreams, kitten.” “What, then?” I snapped. “I don’t have a clue who you are.”

“My turn,” he stated. “Your name is Ryan Benton. You come from a family of four on the West side of the city, upper-middle class but you disguise your accent to fit in. You’ve been working as a pilot since the age of seventeen so it’s just gone your fifth anniversary of fighting in the cage. You specialise in felines even though Julia Lund always thought that your tactics were better suited to canines. She’s never told you that.”

I snorted at how ridiculous the idea was before frowning. It wasn’t true, was it?

“You live alone on this run-down estate yet you always insist on payments in cash; not the wisest move. It does however suggest that you want to leave this place but you haven’t yet decided where to go. You have no friends.”

At this, my mind flashed to the scitterish technician with the kind brown eyes. I quickly dismissed the idea. You don’t even know his name, he’s not your friend.

“So you’re a stalker, then?” I asked, trying to ease away the fear that had locked all my muscles.

“I do my research,” he shrugged. “But there’s one thing I still don’t understand; you have all the money you could ever need, you hate your job despite what you have people believe and you have no attachments here. Why don’t you just...leave?”

“Is that really what you came here to ask me?” I spluttered, laughing horsely. He barely blinked, face for what I could tell still stoney serious. I raised a brow at him. “Where would I got to? I’ve got nowhere else to be.”

“I’m sure you could find some place, kitten.”

“Why, though? I’m…” I couldn’t bring myself to say happy. “...fine here.”

“Of course you are,” the unsettling man said without the slightest hint of sincerity. “You are the best at what you do, right? Don’t be modest with me, Ryan.”

I nodded. “People have told me that.”

“And does it never bother you that someone else might like their turn in the sun? Someday one of your come knocking on your door with a loaded gun and all your enhanced reflexes couldn’t stop a bullet being buried in your skull.” He glanced down to where my makeshift weapon was limp in my grasp. “I don’t think a broken bottle will help you then.” “Are you threatening me?” I asked and he turned to leave, walking down the road away from me. “Who the hell even are you?”

He stopped his walk suddenly, jerking to a halt about five metres away with his body still paused mid-stride. “I’m a pilot like you. We’re going to fight later today so I thought I’d gather a bit more data, see if I can find a weak point.” He was still facing away, although no longer moving. I was still firmly rooted in my stance on the pavement.

“I haven’t seen you before,” I called after him, against any rational thought. I should have just let him leave but I kept talking.

“I’m new.” He took a step before I stopped him by talking again.

“Did you get what you came here for?” My voice was wavering and high. Scared. “Do you think you can beat me?”

He turned his head over his shoulder to look me in the eye, his obviously drunken gaze holding mine surprisingly steadily. “Oh, kitten. I’m going to destroy you.”

He continued walking and my fear urged me to not let him leave, to not let him have the final word. “We’ll have to find out,” I said offhandedly, trying to act arrogant like Hellion would. “See you tonight.”

“I look forward to it.”

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