Two figures composed of nothing but skin and bone, looking as though an errant breeze would knock them over, scrambled in different directions as they frantically snatched something anything to help them in the fight to come. Knocking aside items deemed worthless such as emptied bottles and razor sharp opened cans until eventually each of them found an item that would suffice.
The women's skin a blotchy tan covered in both pulsating sores and the scarred remains of said aliment. Running up her arms and even dotting her face in such a way that hid away any amount of beauty that might be present behind those hollowed cheeks and heavily sunken eyes. Age hidden behind that the proof of a rough life. Her gnarled fingers snatched up a rather hefty black tool, like a flattened stick curved in a slight slope with a singular smooth point at one end. She even swung around a few times to test the varsity of such a weapon, her stumbling steps told the world all it needed to know.
If the tire iron's apparent unwieldiness was a problem, she didn't let that stop her and to prove her point even leveraged onto one bony shoulder.
While in stark comparison, her male counterpart was a bit larger than the two. But given how malnourished they were, that wasn't much an achievement. His skin was equally as pockmarked but probably more covered in scars than his companion, some long faded under the endless march of time. Shaggy brown that looked as greasy as a fast food spot who didn't make it a habit to change their fryer's oil, drooped over his face as he desperately dug through the multitude of makeshift weapons. Until finally, scarred fingers raked around a rather long tool. A wooden handle with enough length to come up to his hip, topped off with a rusted spade that looked as though someone has taken the time to sharpen it's edges to a razor point.
"Now that both participants have chosen their weapons," The announcer crackled over the speakers, glee, akin to a child in a candy shop, evident in their voice. And from the murmuring from around the balcony, many others were also on the edge of their metaphorical seats. While a majority of the patrons were nearly chomping at the bit, Albert couldn't help but notice exactly how uncomfortable some of the waiting staff looked. Sure, maybe it could be from their charges roaming hands or the clothing they were obviously forced to wear but their gaze was purposefully anywhere but at the make-shift arena. Even Jason wasn't spared from this phenomenon, his face turning visibly green as he clenched his eyes shut. Before the investigator could even try to drum up someway to inquire on what he knew, that question was quickly shunted to the back of his mind at what happened next. "Let us start the festivities! For this first round, we'll begin with something simple! We call this 'The Hound Waves'. These two must fight off and survive three total waves of pit-fighting dogs, with each wave doubling the amount of dogs we send their way! But The Circuit is nothing but fair, so we'll start off with just one for now!"
From one side of the arena, a door opened and out came an incredibly large man pushing forward a massive metal cage with a degree of caution that would normally be considered humorous but from the beast inside, it was warranted. Hell, it might even be considered lacking. Behind those bars, a behemoth snarled and snapped against the world itself. Composed of nothing but pulsating muscles, fur, teeth and maddening hatred, a hound unlike anything he'd seen in any of his lives. It was stocky, like a human bumped full of steroids. Standing tall enough to reach the man's waist, way too big for anyone that wasn't a giant. With short black fur that was, even now, falling out in thick clumps on the cement floor. Leaving behind patches of veiny flesh. A short snout filled to brim with razor sharp teeth and oozing a thick foamy drool. Both of it's short, triangular ears had visible marks of being ripped apart. Whether by human hands or others of it's kind, he didn't know. But what Albert did know was this; there was no amount of money that would ever convince him to stay in the same room as a creature like that.
"This beast is a mean one! The pit we bought him from called him Man-Killer! Having fought in a total of fifty different dog fights and coming out on top a total of forty times, this one's the real deal! Weighing well over one hundred and twenty pounds, this monster is a danger to any man walking the streets! As for why he's called Man-Killer? It's because he has personally attacked five of his previous owners and severely wounded three and killed two! That's right! This puppy has a body count!"
If anything, knowing a creature capable of inflicting severe physical harm to anyone in that building didn't instill the attendees with the wariness it deserved. Instead their previous excitement seemed pale in comparison to the pure ecstasy on display. Even those that were more interested in their flesh dolls forgot about them and leaned in for the carnage.
"Why hasn't it been put down yet?" Dog might be man's best-friend, but that was usually up until they attacked someone. Depending on the severity of the attack and who they attacked, the creature would usually be euthanized by animal control if they were deemed a danger to the populace. Even on the shadier side, a good fighting dog would only be worth it's weight in gold until it decided to turn on their owner. After that, they became a liability. Thus taking the hound out bag. But for Man-Killer to have no only attacked five of it's previous owners but also killed two, it really didn't make much sense as to why no one had reenacted Old Yeller.
"This is probably them putting it down." Willow spoke up from besides him, her dark eyes locked down at the frothing beast rampaging in it's cage. Hand clenched into a skin whitening grip. "This is most likely going to be it's last fight, one way of another...With the amount of steroids they have it on, it's not going to last much longer...I wonder if they upped the dosage especially for tonight? How about it, Jason?"
"Huh?" The man jumped in surprise at being called upon, even going as far as to look behind him just to make sure. Fidgeting in step, his gaze fell to the floor and in that ridiculous get-up they forced him to wear, it only made him even more ridiculous to look upon. "I'm not really allowed to say...but they did...by a lot. Cleaning up behind Man-Killer was a complete nightmare.."
With knowing eyes, Albert looked down at the two malnourished people cast out as a literal sacrifice. While they did have the numerical advantage, this canine was obviously going to a lot more than just makeshift weapons to take it down. He was tempted to just leave, to turn to his escort and walk away from this place. No one could blame him for it either, he hadn't come to see a slaughter…but leaving would also mean tossing aside one of the few leads pointing to the mysterious ring leader of the Circuit. Sure, there could be other opportunities but with his luck, it wasn't likely. Besides, this venture had already bloomed some fruit.
Just knowing the faces of everyone here was already big enough and if he could take a few discreet photos…
But for now, he wouldn't listen to that little voice in his head screaming at him to flee from this den of depravity...at least until it all became too much for him, then he'll be out of there no matter what happens. Maybe then he could take some time to snap a few photos of a few license plates.
Drawing himself out his own internal spiral, something that alluded his attention made itself known.
'Where is the barking?'
From how massive Man-Killer was, it would be expected that it would possess a massive pair of lungs capable of booming out it's displeasure. It should've been loud enough to hear above the chatter, the distance meaning nothing but instead, all he saw through that frothing maw were peeled back lips and flashing teeth. The beast going through the motions of barking but no sound was coming out.
"Shouldn't he be barking up a storm by now?" It didn't make much sense to him. From being forced into a cage a size too small, the fear and anxiety, to the concoction of drugs running through it's bloodstream; all he should hear was barking. Chest thundering barking that'll rattle bones and stir up that primal fear within him.
"Most dog fighting organization removes the voice box," His escort answered casually, like it wasn't a horrific thing for any reasonably well adjust person to hear. "They do it to keep things hidden, you could have an entire ring right to next door to you and you would never know."
Meaning it was probably done well before The Circuit got their hands on Man-Killer.
"Hey!" A far off voice called, and looking down, it seemed it was the women waving her free arm at the crowd with a distinctly panicked look on her face. "This wasn't part of the agreement! You shitheads only said we had to fight a few dogs! Not whatever the fuck this thing is!"
"Our dear contestant," The announcer coo'd at her like they were consoling a child that didn't quite didn't understand the concept of money. Their tone dripping with equal parts sweetness and disdain. "You will be fighting a 'few' dogs! And despite how Man-Killer looks, he's still a pupper in the end! Now, why don't you apologize to him? He's got a heart of gold and you're gonna hurt his feelings."
"Fu-"
"Anyway!" The voice spoke over whatever response she was going to spew into the air and continued. "Contestants ready yourselves! You will have until the count!"
If before the pair looked uncertain, now they had the expressions of those that had only now begun to realize exactly how far they'd fallen but were far too gone to pull themselves up and out. With an unsteady shared gaze, they nodded and took a few spaces away from each other. Forming a triangle like shape between them and their foe. One stood with their sharped spade out like a spear, while the other stood crouched in a ready position with arms slightly raised to balance that unwieldy weapon.
"Ten...Zero!"
It was a cruel thing to do, and everyone knew it. The cards were already stacked against them and now they were off balanced from the 'countdown'. But the crowd loved it, savored, relished the inhuman action.
Each of these people that looked down on the general populace and claimed themselves to be 'better', were now cheering like a group of medieval peasants watching a public execution. Leaning forward, shadows blanketed over their countenance making those bloodthirsty eyes nearly shine. Looking as though monsters had shed their human appearance like yesterdays' laundry.
Above the clamor, the sound of metal rattling to a concrete floor rose to the forefront. A large blur charged forward, massive muscles bulging and twitching in effort as clawed paws scratched across the ground. Even now, it was uncanny to see such a massive canine run forward with not even a peep leaving that slathering maw.
Man-Killer was probably once an innocent dog at one point. Probably some doppy pup clinging to his mother's teet and to whatever human would give it the most amount of attention. But each scar running down it's patchy side spoke of untold stories of abuse. Each lost, each triumph and each kill left an indelible mark on the creature's spirit. It was like Albert could see each of those marks as snapshots; from a mewling newborn, to an excitingly pup, to a confused and terrified dog, to the very beast that earned it's moniker.
Man-Killer might've innocent once, but that dog had been morphed and twisted into the mirror image of those that created him. A monster. One that needed to be put down for the well-being of others.
In a flash, the steroid infused mutt snapped it's jaws silently in the direction of a sharped spade. A steady trail of thin fur falling to the wayside. With a yelp, the man slashed his weapon down with every bit of strength he could muster. Slicing cleanly through flesh, breaking through sick skin, parting overdeveloped muscles and shattering bone. Falling to the side with a near fatal wound, it's final moments looking up at the crowd of chanting monsters before it's vision faded with an ever growing point of hot, sticky blood. An end that wouldn't even be reported on. No fliers, and no loving family out there looking for their lost family member.
At least...that's what should have happened. What should've happened if the contestants weren't set upon flat footed, if they were given actual weapons, if they were properly nourished, if they weren't facing a creature that had slain two of their own and countless many of it's own.
Instead, the sharped edge left a skin deep laceration letting loose a steady stream of blood as the beast moved with animistic agility and dipped it's shoulder under the blow. Hitting the ground with a metallic ring, it's blade breaking off and leaving him with nothing but a splintered haft, the man's expression was frozen in place. Shock present, stilling him for just a moment but in a fight like this, a moment hesitation was all it took. He had no time to react with anything but a hoarse scream loud enough that all could hear the slight crack in it, as that massive snout closed around his forearm.
Blood went everywhere as the two went tumbling to the ground, the man trying and failing to shake off that iron clamp. Panicked fists after fists hammered...more like slapped against the beasts head, as he screamed his head off with unintelligible words. But no matter what he did, Man-Killer ignored his pitiful flailing and only adjusted it's grip, tearing deeper into flesh.
"Get the fuck off of him!"
The women, having shaken off her stupor charged forward at the two, taking a few hurried steps before letting that massive tool come swinging down off her shoulder and smashing directly into the hound's side. An audible snap could heard, even above the crowd's exhalations, as metal collided with flesh. Jaws loosening for just a moment, a feral gleam entered the dog's air. A maddening promise to the world. And with what might've once been a vindictive howl, but was instead an airy rasp, those fangs snapped forward, it's aim for the man's throat.
Desperation fueled panic was all that save the man from having his throat torn out, as he swung his uninjured hand in place. More blood splashed onto the ground as he let out yet another howl of agony. Fueling his body to move forward, to do something, anything, deadened slick fingers scrabbled at the dusty floor. A single arm up to struggle against the beast as it's claws dug disgusting furrows through thin clothing and flesh.
The woman wasn't idle during all this, struggling to sling the tool back onto her shoulder she let it fall all over again. Metal thumped against flesh again and again, sweat pooling down her back and turning her hair further into a greasy, matted mess. Not stopping in the slightest, desperation fueled her movements, operating more like a steam powered machine. Each thump sending a shiver of pain up the beast's spine, which only further fueled it's wrath and the struggle continued to escalate.
Even from so far above, Albert felt his stomach churn at the sight. It felt as though the remnants of his chicken and rice dinner was punching back up through his esophagus, that acidic burn more familiar than he ever wanted. Sweat rolled down his face, probably taking with it some portions of his disguise but as this point, he was beyond caring.
'Was this how those people fought that night?'
But he knew that was false, these two people at least had the tools to fight back. What could all those other people do against a creature that could tear through concrete and just ignore bullets? How did those people feel in the face of that massive predator, knowing that even fleeing wouldn't he-
"Hey." A low voice spoke up from right besides his ear, a hand gently placed on his shoulder. Glancing over his shoulder, Willow was leaning just close enough to keep their conversation just between the two of them. He didn't know if that concerned look was real or just there to put him at ease but either way it did wonders to snap him back into place. "Are you alright? Remember, we can leave at anytime. You just gotta say the word."
"No-I'm fine." He replied, a lie even to his hearing. Closing his eyes for just a moment, he took in a deep breathe. Letting the stale air fill his lungs and calm his rapidly beating heart. He knew this life wasn't going to be easy on him...and it seemed forcing down the memories of that night was causing him more harm as time went on. They weren't fighting the memory of a bygone age but a man made monster in the form of a hound. Roided up not, they were not the same. Opening his eyes, he tried to send a reassuring smile but even he could tell it more came out as a grimace. "I'm fine, I just needed a moment...but thank you."
"As long as you say so…"
Stepping back, the tall bodyguard turned her gaze back to the 'fight' below and reluctantly, he did as well. From that short moment of inattention, things hadn't changed overly much. The man was still on the ground with a massive dog trying it's best to get through his arm and to the vulgar, while his companion repeatedly slammed that metal tire iron into it's side. It was clear the trio had lost a majority of their steam and that the combat had become a contest of endurance.
The women's movements had become sluggish as she slowly slung that weapon back into position, it's tip gleaming with the same blood splattered across her clothes. Even Man-Killer's movements seemed halfhearted at this point but still, it would not let go of it's goal. A vindictive animal is often the most dangerous. With just a single slip up, everything would end.
But, it seemed there was a reason why humans reigned supreme. Some say it's because of their minds, other's their endurance but in this moment, it was thumbs that saved the day. The man, covered in a mixture of his blood and the creatures, mewling quietly with tears streaming down his cheeks, gripped an item that come into reach as they scooted across the ground. And without even looking at it, he swung with all his arm's remaining strength, directly into the demon's neck.
Man-Killer froze in place, muscles loosening all at once as brain matter and skull fragments oozed onto the floor. Jaws lost their vindictive biting force and the man didn't hesitate to push the corpse away from him. Off to the side, that broken of spade was shoved nearly halfway through heavily corded muscles, most certainly severing the spinal cord in one go. It should've been cause for celebration, they'd fought a monster and lived to tell the tale. But looking down, all the man could do was let out a mewling sob.
The whole front of chest and stomach was covered in scratched, caked in blood that most assuredly was his own. Minor injuries that could do with some light bandages and antibiotics just in case the wounds got infected. His arms...his arms were a different story. On one arm, a massive bite mark could seen with two massive canines easily distinguishable. Again, treatable with a few extra steps and more antibiotics to help with the already swelling wound. His other arm not so much.
From the elbow down, large chunks of flesh hung off the bone. Barely hanging through hopes and dreams. Fingers shaking, he tried to hold the strands of meat in place. Openly crying as tears mixed with snot. His companion stood over him, saying something unheard through the massive gulf. Her hands tearing off pieces of fiber to wrap around his injury the best way she could.
Albert had to swallow back the bile welling up in the back of his throat, taking a step back away from the balcony, he felt his world begin to spin as the announcer spoke up over the clamoring voices.
"Look at this!" They didn't sound like the gore bothered them in the slightest, in fact it was clear for all to hear that the voice actually sounded more excited. Deep and husky, like they were receiving some sort of sexual gratification from all this. "Our contestants successfully took down Man-Killer! Back in medieval times, I sure they would've been hailed as heroes and knighted by their lord! While we aren't lords, we can make sure our survivors are properly compensated!"
From the side door, a large man came lumbering out with a small grocery plastic bag filled with wads of cash in one hand and a tiny baggy filled with a simple syringe.
"Just as we promised, five hundred dollars for getting through the first round and a single shot of that good stuff, heroin!" The majority of the crowd clapped but looking around, the teen found that he wasn't alone in his discomfort. Many looked just as green as he felt and were just moments away from getting the hell out of dodge. The pair below, previously worried about the grievous wounds, now eyed the prizes with a sort of greedy hunger. "As mentioned before, they will have the opportunity to leave if the so choose. Take their meager winnings and blow through it in a single night...or they could risk it all by going through the second round! Not only will The Circuit supply a week's worth of heroin to satisfy even the most addicted, but we'll also add a thousand dollars to the prize pools-"
"Make it two!" A portly man from the crowd interrupted, his face red either from exertion or pleasure. Holding up a fat roll of cash, his teeth gleamed in the other head lights. "You duggies keep on going and I'll add another thousand to the prize pool!"
"Make it three thousand!"
Another person, this one a women stepped forward with another cry. And just like that, the floodgates were opened. More and more money was added to the hook, trying to lure these two into yet another life and death struggle.
"We have fifteen thousand and eight hundred dollars!" The announcer sounded more than ecstatic, probably frothing at the mouth. "Is that not enough to tempt you? What more could you want? Besides...it's only dogs! Right?!"
"I don't know ab-"
"Didn't you say you wanted to change our lives?" The women harshly interrupted her companion, eyes glazed over at the amount. "I won't need to suck dick for a dose anymore! We can get as much as we want and no one could ever say otherwise! We could even get out of that shitty apartment! And-and we could even pay for your arm to get fixed!"
It sounded like that last bit was tacked on at the end, as if she only now noticed the life changing injury. His face twisted up in mixtures of grief and pain.
"You bitch!" If his arms weren't out of commission, it looked like maybe he would've been reigning blows down on her. "You cheating whore! I knew you been sucking the dealer's dick! What else did you do? Use your flat ass as well?!"
"It got us what we needed!" She had no injuries stopping her slap that snaked out with the force to force him to the ground. "I didn't see you complaining where I got the stuff! Maybe if you got a fucking job, I wouldn't have to! But no! You're a 'free spirit'!"
"Fuck you!" The man spat off to the side, a fat glob of bloody spit mixing with the steady pool of lifeblood. His eyes glaring a hole into the large man still holding their prizes. "If you want to stay here and die, then go the fuck head! You ain't do shit when I was getting attacks so that money and dose are mine!"
"Don't come crawling back to me when you spend it all in a few days!" If anything, the women didn't even look concerned in the slightest. After all, what was single dosage and five hundred dollars worth in comparison to all that money up for the grab? "And I better not see you back at the apartment! My pussy paid for that and since you're being ungrateful, you can find your own place!"
"Fine!" Stumbling to his feet, he reached his less injured hand out and snatched the bags up in a white knuckled grip. Snarling, he stalked passed the man and out the door. Leaving her alone in the middle of an absolute gore scene.
"I'll do it!" It was a bit funny, in a sick and twisted way. In the beginning it was the she who decried the trick The Circuit played on them but now, that concern was thrown to the back of her mind. "I didn't need that cowardly fuck anyway!"
"Aren't you eager!" The announcer giggled. Yes, a deep voice giggled with the same energy as a school girl. "It seems our contestants are down to one! But she has decided to continue on with the next round! Whether or not she'll regret not taking her money and leaving, we'll all see in real time!"
As the orator spoke, the large man that held their prizes previously quickly got himself out of the ring, taking great strides not to appear as though he was running but it was near thing. The first sign of things to come. Just as he escaped, two large cages were wheeled out through the same door. Their exterior rattling from the repeated attempts by the twin monsters inside.
Black night, the dogs were nowhere near as bulky as Man-Killer. More lean and long-limbed, with pointed snouts and visible claws scrabbling against the cage. They both looked nearly identical, from the bit of brown fur making them look like they were wearing socks to the dark eyes that oozed feral intent. The only difference that could be spotted was the slight coloring in those triangular ears, one ending with fur so light it was alright to call blonde.
"We have the twin terror before you! One the righ-"
"Let's go." Albert was done, he'd pushed himself enough but all this was too much. All he wanted to do now was curl up into a ball somewhere and try to scrub this from his memories. Willow didn't say anything and only nodded once before making a way for their retreat, her expression blank as the announcer droned on in the background. Maybe seeing them sparked a catalyst or something as more people begun to leave with a greenish tint to their skin. But that this point, he was beyond listening, trying his best to block out the screams that echoed through his ears.
Maybe in the beginning, this was just suppose to be another job. Another case to further feed into his own development...but after what he saw tonight, things had changed. One way or another, the puppet-master needed to be brought to light. They needed to be judged and ridiculed for putting something like this together.
'Don't be an idiot Malcolm.'