Title: Confinement Part II: Mania
Featuring: Chainz
Date: Post Colossus
Location: Rev 245

Confinement Part II: Mania

His Fight

It was a hot and humid day made worse so by the bright sun. Sweat poured down Michael Sloan's body and drenched his shirt as it clung to his flesh like a heavy second skin. He collapsed to his knees under the strain of it all as his parched throat screamed for water. That, coupled with the relentless fists crashing down on his face, made for a very bad day.

The man in front of him, Frank, fought relentlessly for his life. Michael steadied himself and tried to catch a breath. All around him people cheered at the sight of his blood and suffering. The rite of passage was a true treat for the savage prison dogs who would otherwise have to spend the afternoon wallowing in the heat. A diversion from their daily sorrows they cheered as another hard blow found its mark.

Suffering defeat at the chessboard earlier, El Padre now smiled as Michael Sloan struggled to breath. The hot, humid air was tough to swallow and a hard kick to the ribs made it that much more difficult. Feeling surprisingly confident, Frank raised his hands and got a standing ovation from the crowd.

Michael smiled at the opening and pounced with great speed onto his opponent. With staggering skill he wrapped his arm around the neck of Frank and locked in a particularly rough sleeper hold. Frank gagged and struggled to free himself of the hold going so far as to fling his head backwards. It connected with the crown of Michael's nose and allowed for Frank to free himself. As Michael staggered back he saw stars. Still recovering from the torture at the hands of Christian Daniels and Angelus Von Kelsig he was Frank’s mercy.

Coughing and panicking Frank lunged forward to try and finish his opponent off, but left an opening for Michael to exploit. The stiff jab stunned Frank and the subsequent knee knocked him onto his back. Now he was at the mercy of Michael Sloan.

Michael took the opportunity to catch his breath and clear his head. Around him a circle had formed making escape impossible. With the prison already filled to capacity this was simply a way of life, survival of the fittest in its purest of forms. The guards and other interested spectators cheered above from the guard posts and offices. Far away removed from the blood and dirt they sipped on beers as they laughed and told stories knowing the fight had reached its intended end.

El Padre stepped forward from the crowd, "You know the rules Mr. Chainz.” He smiled, “This is a fight to the death.”

Michael glared at him with death in his eyes.

“You’re more than welcome to take his place if that’s what you wish.”

“No thanks,” he said as he rolled his eyes.

Slowly Michael sauntered over to Frank’s motionless body and sat on his chest. The weight alone was enough to drive the air from the weaker man’s lungs. A large rock lay nearby, but there was no sport in that. Grasping the man’s neck in his large hands Michael began to squeeze. His veins bulged as his fingers dug their way into the supple flesh of Frank’s neck. He thrashed like a fish out of water trying to free himself, but Michael’s hold was true. As quickly as the fight had begun it was over. Frank lay motionless on the dirt ground all life gone from his body. His wide eyes stared forward. Just another victim in an ever growing list.

As quickly as they had gathered the crowd dispersed, back to seeking shade and cover from the blistering midday sun. The body remained in the middle of the courtyard and had already begun to smell. Michael had been around enough death to know the body would not last long in the heat. It would only be a matter of time before the insects came and decomposition would set in. The stench of death was forever engrained in his nostrils and this sack of flesh wouldn’t help. He could already tell it would be a great inconvenience.

His lingering gaze caught the attention of Sancho. The little man had been in the crowd cheering with the rest of the animals. It must have been quite a show for everyone not involved.

“First time?”

"Hardly."

Sancho looked down at the body, "Last time it took them three days to remove the body. I feel like I’ll never get that smell off my skin."

"You get used to it over time," He knelt next to the body, “Enough time goes by you start to like it more and more.”

Sancho frowned and gave his new strange friend a weird look. Before he could respond a group of guards walked over, "Come on, Maria wants you cleaned up. Don’t want you getting sick and dying on us."

They chuckled as they led Michael towards the infirmary. Behind him, Sancho stared at the body and shook his head. He was such a small man, would be so easy to miss him.

Her Fight

Yelling horrifically the crazed woman launched herself at Tracy. The slender blond shrieked in fright as she was toppled. In a flash she was on her back, the knife she had so securely held now skidding down into the basement.

“St… stop it, please, I mean you no harm!”

Tracy begged with the woman as she protected herself from the woman’s dirt encrusted nails, now mere inches from her eyes.

The words fell flat as the woman continued the assault, constantly yelling and screaming. Her ordeal was clear on her body; dried blood covered her face and body, scratches ruined what once was a beautiful face, and crazed eyes told of a mind long lost. Her mind gone, like a rabid dog, she scratched at Tracy trying to disfigure the pretty blond.

Summoning a courage she thought long lost, she thrust her hips forward and knocked the attacking woman off of her. Both scrambled to their feet and before Tracy could get her bearings she was once again seized by the woman who grabbed her hair and began pulling as hard as she could.

Her yells pierced the otherwise quiet night, but the secluded location offered no hope of salvation. Just hours ago she had contemplated taking her own life, but now, presented with a life or death struggle she knew she wanted to live.

Tracy’s hand brushed against a flower vase and before she knew what she was doing it was broken on the head of her attacker. The woman stumbled backwards, but wouldn’t go down. It was time for Tracy to press the attack.

She charged at the woman and pushed her backwards onto a coffee table. The sturdy wood held as both women flailed at each other, neither wanted to fall victim to the other. Tracy pressed the woman’s hands down and mounted her for a brief second, “Please, let’s talk about this.”

Her position of power lasted but a mere second as she was promptly thrown off without an answer. The crazed woman ran into the kitchen and reached for the back door and as Tracy sighed in relief her mind began to wander.

Who was this woman and what fantastical tales would she tell the police? What if she accused Tracy of kidnapping? What if she accused her of worse?

She’d heard Michael speak about his prison days with a sort of glee only a madman could posses, but she wouldn’t survive. Suddenly she could of nothing but to save her own skin.

Grabbing the woman from behind she threw her to the ground once again begging to reason with her, “I can’t let you go, but I don’t want to hurt you-“

Both their eyes locked on the set of kitchen knives within reach of the other.

“-If we just relax and discuss this like women I’m sure-“

The knives made too tempting a target as both reached out at the same time. Instead, they locked and embraced in a struggle of slaps and fists as they rolled out of the kitchen and back into the living room. The struggle continued until they were right in front of the open doorway to the basement.

“Oh shit!”

Tracy could only yell out in fright as she slipped down the stairs and into the basement. With her hands full of the woman’s hair she was joined by her attacker who took a nasty bump and lay prone at the bottom of the stairs.

Tracy cried out as her head burned and ached, a concussion perhaps. The fall had been bad, but the landing much worse. Now, with her eyes adjusted, she could see why the woman was so anxious to get out of the dark basement.

A single light bulb dangled from the ceiling of the square room. It was just enough light to illuminate the windowless box. The floor was simple concrete with mud and traces of blood strewn about; it had definitely not seen a woman’s care for a quite some time. A single, stained mattress rested in a corner with a pair of dishes set nearby. Both were empty.

A metal chain lay casually in the center of the room, obviously a leash or bind of sorts that had previously kept the woman tied up. The only other thing present in the room was a large mural of her husband, a smiling, triumphant Michael Sloan. Blood and feces covered a large portion of the picture, but she could still make out his ear-to-ear grin.

A few strategically placed cameras finished off the dungeon. Or so she thought-

The clink of the steel chain was all she heard as the cold steel wrapped around her slender neck. In her shock she had forgotten the crazed woman who just moments ago appeared dead.

The links began to dig into Tracy’s soft neck as her lungs cried out for air. Her vision began to blur as air become scarcer. As she collapsed to the ground she noticed her knife lying tantalizingly close by. Mustering the last bits of her energy she crawled on hands and knees for the saving blade. Reaching it, she lashed out behind her hoping to loosen the hold she was in and suddenly she felt heat run down her back.

As air entered her body the chain collapsed to the ground beneath her and then a sickening thud told the rest of the story. As she looked over she could now see the woman’s lifeless eyes watching and pleading at her. An eternal sadness was painted in them like the tragic work of a depressed artist. A crimson gash covering the distance of her neck continued spilling her life.

She cried as she sat dejectedly on the concrete. Looking through her tears at the now still corpse she was once again marveled at how beautiful this woman must have been. She could only imagine the pain and suffering her husband must have given her.

“Damnit, why wouldn’t you just talk to me?”

Then she noticed something that sank her heart into darkness; the stub where the woman’s tongue should have been.

To Be Continued
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