What an unpleasant day that had been.

He still remembered, in vivid detail, how the gang had looked when they burst into his house, hoods pulled up to shadow their eyes. He'd transformed and fought back, as best as a man who'd just been jumpscared in the middle of his afternoon tea could have fought. But in the end it was pointless, and as he later found out, transforming was exactly what the men had wanted him to do.

While he was busy raking his claws through the unresisting flesh of one, another had snuck up behind him and caught him mid-strike with an unknown magic spell that instantly knocked him to the ground, his brain suddenly feeling like it was full of water.

On the brink of unconsciousness, he had remained vaguely aware as the gang tied him up and carried him away to the van they'd left idling on the curb outside. The chill night air gnawed at him, but it was nothing compared to the fear clenching around his heart.

(Continued...)

As they threw his limp body into the back of their van and drove off, he summoned the strength to lift his head, then a front leg, then the rest of his body, until he managed to drag himself upright. Even with his ankles bound, he could move enough to stagger over to the van doors. Unfocused eyes inspected them blearily. The doors were locked, just as he'd expected. There was nothing to do except wait for his kidnappers to open them and hope that, perhaps, he could fight his way past them to freedom.

Mason crouched down, considering his situation. Three men had broken into his house. They had subdued him, bound him, and were now taking him to some unknown place. He did not recognise the individuals, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he already knew who they were anyway - and it gave him a sinking feeling of dread.

After all, how many times in the past year had he heard rumours of werewolves disappearing from their homes in the dead of night, never to be seen again?

(Continued...)

There was no official explanation for these disappearances, but in the dark and seedy parts of town, rumours spread like a plague. There were stories of gangs who kidnapped werewolves and cursed them so they were unable to shift back from their beast forms, then threw them into illegal 'dogfights' against each other. The 'owners' of these werewolves gambled huge amounts of money on every fight. Small fortunes were exchanged, wagered on the survival abilities of a creature being made to fight against its will.

The rumours were horrific, but no-one truly knew if these illegal fights existed, and certainly the city police had not managed to find any proof of them yet.

Mason whined quietly, raking his claws across the floor of the van as it rolled and shook beneath him. How had he allowed himself to become a part of those horror stories? He had known werewolves were disappearing. He should have taken precautions, been more careful. It was too late now.

(Continued...)

Eventually, exhaustion and the effects of the magic caught up with him, and he spent the rest of the journey sleeping fitfully.

--------

Mason's ears snapped back as he was jolted awake by a stick poking him in the side. An involuntary snarl twisted his face and he almost lunged for the stick before controlling himself; blind anger and reckless lashings-out did not suit him. He would not lose his cool, regardlesss of how this all played out.

Instead, he eased himself upright and looked around. He was sitting in what appeared to be... a huge cage? The floor was covered with dry sand, and above him, metal bars gleamed in the sickening flicker of dim LED lights. From the looks of it, he was inside a warehouse. The walls seemed to be made of corrugated metal and there was no furniture except for a few ratty chairs and tables. About fifteen equally ratty-looking people were sitting around his cage, watching him greedily.

'A pureborn?' one gruff-voiced, bearded man asked.

(Continued...)

A scrawny man wearing a grey hooded jacket nodded. With a jolt, Mason recognised this man as one of his kidnappers.

'Found 'im las' night. Wasn't sure if 'e really was a pureborn at first, so I ran all the tests while 'e was knocked out. He is one.'

'Hmm.' The bearded man smiled briefly, showing a flash of yellow teeth. 'Well, I guess we'll just have to see how he stands up against my animal, won't we?'

A grinding of metal bars jerked Mason's attention away from the two men and towards the far side of his cage. A door had been opened, and to his horror, a hulking dark shape had been shoved inside with him. It positively reeked of blood, dirt and sweat, nearly making him retch as he stumbled backwards, trying to clear his head. His gaze travelled over the newcomer with a look of desperation. To his relief, the hulking creature was not another werewolf. Instead it was a large dog, probably a German Shepherd mix. Regardless, the creature was clearly worked up to fight.

(Continued...)

Mason backed himself against the wall of the arena, as far away from the dog as he could get. He only stopped when he felt the metal bars pressing into his spine. There was something deeply unsettling about this dog, and he didn't even care that everyone outside the cage was snickering, jeering, calling him a coward, knowing he could understand every word. The dog's eyes held no intelligence. They were clouded by rage, its mind numb from a lifetime of being forced to fight. Completely indifferent. It didn't care whether it lived or died, won or lost; nothing mattered anymore except the enemy in front of it.

The dog advanced, goaded forth by its owner. Its drooling jaws snapped open an instant before it lunged at Mason. Belatedly, he realised that the dog was female and he should probably stop calling her 'it'; that was just rude. Then all such thoughts fled his mind as he yelped, frantically backpedalling and trying to keep the dog's teeth out of his neck and face.

(Continued...)

Off in the sidelines, he heard a yell that he recognised as Grey Hoodie's voice. At the same time, a wooden stick came slinking through the bars to poke him viciously in the shoulder, leaving a throbbing pain. The man holding the stick shoved him forwards, forcing him to meet the dog's attack head-on.

//I am not going to kill a dog so that these barbarians can wager money on our blood!//

But he had to fight her. These people were not going to call off the fight until one of them was defeated. And Mason, though disgusted by the whole affair, had no intention of losing his life to a German Shepherd.

The fight did not last long. When pushed to violence, a werewolf completely outmatches a common dog, and within seconds he had slashed open her left ear, knocked her down and secured a grip on her neck with his teeth, all in quick succession. A muted cheer and growls of approval came from the crowd as someone opened the cage door and threw a chain around Mason's neck.

(Continued...)

He was roughly dragged backwards so that the bloodied German Shepherd could be extracted from the cage. He watched her being carted off, having her wounds treated so she could fight again another day. He hadn't killed her. //No matter what beasts they pit me against, I will not kill anyone. Not for something as shameful as this.//

A moment later, most of the spectators dispersed. All that was left was Grey Hoodie, who shoved a bowl of dry dog food pellets and a bowl of water into the cage. 'Well done,' he said sarcastically. 'You beat a dog. Be careful, because next time it'll be a werewolf.'

Mason eyed the dry pellets disdainfully, but the stab of nausea in his stomach had nothing to do with the nasty-looking food.

//A werewolf.// He did not know if he could bring himself to hurt one of his own kind - a sentient being - in the name of this horrifying sport. He would rather refuse to fight and let his kidnappers punish him however they would.

(Continued...)

In short, he would rather die. But what if they didn't kill him? What if they simply kept pushing him to fight? Would he be able to resist forever, when the alternative might be so much easier in the long run? He could not bear the thought of killing other werewolves for sport, but if it were a choice between his life and theirs, was he really selfless enough to make the right choice?

More to the point, could ANY choice be considered 'right' in a place like this?

His mind was reeling. He wanted out. This cage was too small, and smelled horrific.

Grey Hoodie walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Little did he know that, although rescue would eventually come, it wouldn't come for a long time. And the next four months were going to be long, hard, and painful for him, not to mention something he would reflect upon in vivid detail for the rest of his life.

(End)

sadness all around

let the man drink his tea in peace, sheesh! >:[

"oh god"

-me when he was indeed kidnapped by the werewolf fighting d.ouchebags

this was a fun read, i enjoyed it a fair bit, makes me feel bad for mason and everyone he has to fight :^((