Being locked in a cage is a lot more terrifying than I ever could have ever imagined, especially with hungry supernaturals reaching in and trying to grab my sweaty shirt.
Something I noticed about being down here is usually when people are put in pressured situations they're retrieved before they can slip into a panic, but here in the darkness, no one cares. The crying blends in with the screaming, and the screaming blends in with the banging of metal bars, and the hyperventilation is shrouded under the sound of self injury.
That sounds like it should be obvious, but it's not something I noticed until I got too exhausted by pounding and shaking the bars upon arrival.
Although I tend to cry easy, I don't scream anymore; I'm too scared the others will notice me more than they already do. I don't want any more of them screaming and threatening me with bloody murder. But I can't blame them, though- they're hungry.
From what I can understand, the full moon is tonight. It's day time now and I can see the sunlight through the window on the top of the stone wall, but still the night seems so far away. I haven't eaten since being taken by Orgon, but one of his men gave me a plastic water bottle to last me through the last two nights.
We're stacked like boxes against the wall. I don't know where we are or what building we're in, but I know it's the basement of some tucked away warehouse thing outside the city. The only fresh air for the twenty-some of us is from that window that I've been staring at, as well as the light of the room, since the bulb hanging from the ceiling was shattered not long ago. I learned that the hard way when Orgon dragged me in, stripped me of my jacket, shoes, and belt, and I stepped in the glass. It took me an hour to pick it out of my right heel alone.
Luckily the cages were designed as animal kennels, so the right and left walls are sheets of dented metal instead of see through. I'm in the middle box from the floor, so sometimes as I'm pressed against the back wall I see a desperate hand reach from above or below the openings and try to snag anything it can. At one point crimson started dripping from the cage above mine and running down my bars; I stopped getting close.
I'm not separated from the supernaturals like the rest of the humans tend to be, so the howling and hissing buries a migraine behind my eyes every half hour. Why was I put here? If I'm going to be used like the rest of the humans- why am I having to torture the hungry creatures with my presence alone? I'm sure the blood matted on my feet drove the vampires around me into hysteria when I first entered.
Orgon never told me what he was going to use me for. I assume bait or a meal for a supernatural at this point, but he said I was going to walk away from it alive, just like the rest of them, at the end of the night. It's just one night. Working under Orgon for one night.
As long as we all come out of this alive, I don't care what happens to me. Just one night.
Just tonight.
-:*:-
I stepped in the dirty glass again when a man came to retrieve me.
I don't think I've stopped trembling since the time I got here, whether it be from exhaustion or fear, I don't know. Probably both. What I do know is that that man wasn't very happy when my knees buckled from being tucked under me for so long and I fell in the middle of the floor. My jeans stopped the glass and blood from digging into my legs.
Even if I try to ask where he's taking me, I wouldn't be able to get it out. My voice is so quiet and gravelly that it's no longer audible over the cries of caged creatures behind me.
He drags me out of the room and down a concrete hallway, and I'm forced to leave spotty red foot prints trailing behind me. I stumble around two corners and down a few stairs, glancing into every door or window along the way. This place is abandoned, left to rot by the city and hopefully be forgotten. I have a feeling it was shut down suddenly, because there's still posters up about wearing hardhats on the work floor. I'm in a factory.
We walk all the way down another painfully long hall and to what looks to be management quarters. Most of the plaques labeling the offices are dusty, smudged, or cracked, but the one on the end of the tunnel is shattered to jagged pieces on the floor. The cement around where it had once hung on the wall is chipped and scuffed.
I try to step carefully over the beaten metal as the man opens the door, but when he grabs my bicep and yanks me in my right foot lands on one of the stray pieces.
I yelp and shrink down, the stinging in the arch of my foot flaring like fire. I can already feel it starting to bleed.
"Oh- relax Z, give the boy a second. He's not goin' anywhere."
I take a deep breath, swallowing down the sour taste in my mouth. It's lodged in the bottom of my foot, and I don't dare put it back on the floor.
"Jesus, did you pull him through that broken name tag? Come on- help him to the damn chair."
I open my eyes as the man, Z I guess, grabs my elbow and hand, partially dragging and partially lifting me to a chair set up in the center of the room. I'm sitting in front of a wooden desk, polished and just as clean as the person sitting behind it.
Orgon leans forward as Z exits the room, shutting the door behind him and leaving us alone. His eyes shine a brighter red than they did last time.
"So, Leon," he says, looking my dirty frame up and down as I pull my foot onto my lap, "how have you been holding up?"
I shift my eyes up, glaring at him from under my brows. I'm still terrified of him, but I'm tired. I'm tired of being scared; I think it numbed the emotion a bit.
Orgon raises his hands, leaning back in his big chair as he chuckles. "Not a great day, I suppose. How can I help make you more comfortable?"
I open my mouth to speak, but I can only get out a strange wheeze before starting to cough. My throat burns past the dryness of my mouth.
"Ooh, that doesn't sound too good," Orgon says, sliding back slightly and opening a drawer on his desk. He takes out a water bottle before tossing it over to me.
I hesitate before raising my hand, smearing blood on the plastic cap as I twist it open and tip it into my mouth. I didn't realize how dehydrated I got before offered something to drink.
Orgon laughs as water leaks from the corners of my mouth and drips onto my shirt. "Jesus boy, were you that thirsty? I told them to take care of you."
I gasp as I pull the bottle away, shaking my head. It takes a moment for the nausea to fade, closing my eyes to avoid throwing up everything I just drank.
"A cage is how you take care of someone?" I ask, voice deep and rough. I pause; I haven't sounded like this since that time I got bronchitis years ago. I guess hardly drinking or talking for three days straight can do that to a person.
Orgon shrugs, opening one of his other drawers and drawing out a few items. "Well, I can't exactly rent a hotel room for every one of my fighters and their meals. You must understand, this is the most efficient way to keep them all in one place before the big fight."
Orgon looks at me from across the table, taking a moment to study me up and down. I can't read what he's thinking, and frankly, I don't want to know.
"Kick your feet up here, kid," Orgon says, tapping the open space on his desk.
I hesitate, but do as he demands when he glares at me. He doesn't seem to mind as blood starts dripping from the shard lodged in my foot and onto the space in front of him.
"Oh, that's a nasty one." He whistles, picking up a bottle of hydrogen peroxide that he had taken out already. He twists open the dark bottle and turns in his chair, taking a pair of pliers from his desk and dumping a fair amount on the head of the tool. I watch as the clear liquid splashes on the floor, mixing with dust and soot. I'm going to throw up.
"This shouldn't hurt too bad," Orgon says, shaking the excess off before pulling his chair as close as possible. He grabs my foot, pulling it away from the other and gripping tight. Crimson oozes with the pressure.
"Don't bite your tongue," Orgon says casually, making me clench my teeth as he grips onto the metal shard. At least it went straight in and, hopefully, will come straight back out.
"You know, you remind me a lot of my own son," Orgon says, making me hiss and gasp as he slowly draws the metal from my skin. "He tends to be independent and adventurous, always willing to try new things and throw himself in danger."
He throws the bloody shard into the back corner of the room, setting the pliers down and picking up the peroxide. I try to pull my foot back, but he just grips my ankle and holds it against the desk. He has the strength to break my bones, but only keeps me from moving as he dumps the bottle over my open wound.
Rivets of watery blood trail down my skin and onto the wooden desk as I cry out, gripping my chair as a burning numbness swells under my skin. Hopefully the rest of the glass fragments from earlier are being washed out or cleaned with that.
"Relax kid- I bet that'll be least of your worries tonight," Orgon says, using his fingers to pick broken glass from my left foot. It falls silent for a few moments.
"Why you?" he asks finally, tossing the small pieces to the side. His fingers are slick with my blood, and despite being a vampire he doesn't seem fazed by it at all.
I look up, breathing hard through chapped lips as my fingers curl into the seat beneath me. I furrow my eyebrows as he picks up the dark bottle again, hissing as he dumps it on my other foot; it doesn't burn as bad this time.
"Christ, you're dense," Orgon says, huffing out a breath of air as he unravels a bandage wrap and cuts it down the center with his pocket knife. "Why did my fighter choose you? What's so special about someone he picked up on the street?"
I draw in a deep breath as he starts to wrap the bandage tight around my right foot, instantly decorating it with blotches of red. "I, I don't know," I say, hissing through my teeth as he grips my ankle. "I-I never expected him to contact me again, but for some reason he did. I don't know why he trusted me."
"He was desperate, that's why he 'trusted' you," Orgon scoffs, starting to wrap my other foot. "What I don't understand is why the kid wasted six years of vampirism before claiming someone, and then just nipped the neck of some pretty boy he was lucky saved his ass on a failed heist. Explain that to me."
I open my mouth, but am unable to find any words to defend myself with. I don't know what he wants to hear.
"Don't go all dramatic on me," Orgon says sternly, shoving my feet off the desk and making me swivel slightly in my chair, "save that for tonight."
He leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk, making my stomach twist suddenly as he grins and shows off his fangs. "Now, I have some plans for the ring, as I bought a rather large block of time to use at my disposal. We're going to have a show, and your lover there is going to be the star. The thing is, I know he won't work with me without some form of, live encouragement. The torture and bribes just don't work like they used to.
"So," Orgon says, opening his hands, "that's where you come in. You do know a vampire's claim has a very strong influence on them, right?"
I furrow my eyebrows, trying to recall what my grandmother told me before. Orgon waits with a smile on his face as my eyes suddenly widen.
"There it is!" Orgon exclaims, satisfied with my realization.
"You can't-"
"Oh, but I can." He grins widely. "Because even if he won't save himself, he won't have a choice when you're the one thrown in danger. His instincts won't allow him to think of the greater good."
I grip the chair. I don't know what to do- there's nothing I can do.
"Trying to find a way out of your deal isn't going to get you out of here alive," Orgon taunts, tapping the desk with two fingers, "because if you bail, everyone dies or goes back to the good ol' life in the rings. Simple as that."
I look up to his face, watching his red eyes swim with power. Does he even feel emotions anymore?
"That was the deal," Orgon says, "only one night. Just one night, and everyone's free.
"One night."