Mastim's Curse

Chapter 29

 The cage is driven to the same place yesterday's event took place, bringing up horrible memories at the sight of it. And to think that all the suffering and death was for the sick pleasure of others. The depth of human depravity is truly amazing and blatantly disgusting. But then, who am I to judge. If mankind is a rotten apple, I am the dark core.

The driver turns us around and backs up to a gate in the tall fence right next to the large, blue Clubhouse. There sure are a lot people milling around the area; some with guns that give me steely looks, some with cameras that seem as if they are on vacation, and some working franticly to make last minute preparations. My gaze is set on the enigma of the tented windows of the Clubhouse. There's a good chance that, behind those dark windows, looking down at me right now, are the people responsible all of this. The thought of those shits drinking and laughing as they wait for the fun to begin fills me with a deep loathing and anger. Griping the cage bars, I imagine my hands are warped around their necks squeezing hard.

An ugly man with a scar across his check interrupts my orgy of disgust when he walks up to me and carefully pushes a heavy vest through the bars of my cage. In a thick Mexican accent, he tells me to put it on or he'll shoot me in the face with his stun gun. He pats the holster on his belt and points at the vest as if to make his point.

"Fuck you," is my response.

He takes out the stunner and points it at my left eye. I don't move. But then... his face breaks into the smile of someone about to do a cruel act he'll enjoy. Like a bully pulling the wings off a fly. He's not bluffing.

I pick up the vest for a better look. It's bulky with a bunch of wires that run from what must be photosensitive panels on the front, back, and side to thick pockets that line the inside of the vest. The pockets contain what appears to be explosives. How lovely. Well, I don't have a lot of options right now, so it's with a great deal of reluctance that I slip my arms into the vest and fasten the straps. Now the hand of death is wrapped securely around me as I wait in my cage contemplating how, in a short while, my life may end.

With a look of satisfaction, the ugly man that brought me the vest moves off leaving me alone to my gloomy thoughts.

To distract myself, I watch the men and women that are doing a bit of painting here, placing a new banner there. Obviously they're doing what they can to make the place more appealing for the viewers. Interesting enough, the fenced in area has a new part that's been sectioned off. There's a wooden wall painted white that extends out from the fence to make a square arena. It reminds me of a paintball field because there are lots of obstacles to hide behind. What doesn't make sense at all are the light poles that have been posted in the ground at precise locations. There are four with green lights on top, one in each corner. And one in the middle with a red light on it instead of green. Those lights weren't mentioned in the description for this event. What the hell are those for? Not knowing adds to my already screaming anxiety level.

The lights are still a mystery when the sound of another cage being driven into the clearing distracts me. In the cage is Kyle Harper dressed in burnt orange athletic gear. He greets me with a wicked grin as they lock his cage into position about fifty feet from me.

"Hay Nicolette." He raises his voice so everyone in the area can hear him. "There's nowhere to run this time. I'm going to fucking blow you into a million pieces, and then I'm going to fuck that bitch Aleale in ways that'll give people something to talk about for a long time."

My eyes are pure acid as we stare at each other. Our test of wills comes to an end when the ugly man approaches Kyle with his vest. A small smile creeps onto my face once the vest of death is on him.

Bryan Rockwood and his entourage appear out of the blue Clubhouse and head straight for me. Makeup doesn't quite hide the fresh bruise on the side of Bryan's face once he's standing next to my cage. His bloodshot eyes and fake smile tell me more than words could. He's been resisting. As the cameramen position themselves for just the right angle, I give him the slightest of nods.