Your Enemies and Your Demons

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CONTENT WARNING Human pet interactions
NOTES This thread starts in The Crossroads
He'd been made aware of the... Transition, but he still didn't know what to expect. A little gift from the Spades, to remind him that they had a fruitful relationship that was worth keeping — so long as they both kept up their end of the bargain, of course. A man such as Brock was used to gifts of persuasion to keep someone in Brock's good graces, but it was the first time he was experiencing such a thing from the Jabberwockies.

And what a gift it was.

A Level V Infected that was unsuitable for the fighting rings — Brock didn't really know what to expect other than that, but there was a certain thrill over being granted power over the life of another living being. Brock had never had any sort of desire for slaves or human 'pets' before — he was a cruel and callous bastard, but he wouldn't stoop that low, not like some of the rich dicks he knew personally — but then again, an Infected wasn't really a human, now was it? It was just a beast that had only one thing on its mind: its bloodlust. Of course Level V's were something much more special than a common beast. It was like a purebred amongst mongrels, and the thought of that gave the man a dark thrill.

Which is why he currently stood in one of the underground parkings at a Spades' establishment, a large, black van parked behind him. Two equally large men stood on either side of him; a guard detail, not for the Jabberwockies, but rather for the thing they would have with them. Being underground in a hidden 'bunker' of sorts meant lighting was rare to come by, and only barely-functional floodlights provided enough light to see.

Brock had been greeted early by Spades' gang members, but they'd vanished now into a set of double doors on the far side of the parking lot, which no doubt led into one of the many arenas they held infected fights. It left time for the man to stew on his thoughts, of what he planned to do with this Patient Zero. He paced back and forth in front of the ban — patiently, mind you, with arms crossed over his chest as a show of power — his men equally silent at his side.

The parked van was on loan from one of his Military contacts. It was a rare vehicle to find, and even rarer one to own — but Brock barely had to pull strings in order to acquire such a rare treasure. It was one of the vans that Cypher used in the past to bring live Infected back into Stronghold from the outside world. The entire cargo section of the van was decked out with reinforced steel and leather — straps, chains, and all assortments of tools necessary to keep a strong, supernatural creature in quarantine for the ride. Brock didn't know what kind of man this Infected was going to be. Deemed an ill fit for the fighting arenas was an interesting way to put things, but for whatever reason, he hadn't been told much else.

But that didn't matter to Brock.

He was used to putting beasts in their place.

Tag Ryatt

Posted 09-26-2021, 10:07 PM

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"Up, get up!" A single kick to the chain link-like fencing that surrounded the small six foot by five foot cage rattled loudly, making him uncurl from the corner he had chosen. He hadn't been asleep, but it almost seemed like it. Sitting in the far back, legs pulled up and into his chest, arms wrapped around them with his face buried into the tops of his knees; the Level V seemed to be in a world of his own. The handler barked again, "I said get up!" he kicked it again, this time he stood, staring darkly at the man on the other side of the cage. "Thank you." the handler noted sarcastically, reaching behind him and pulling out a dart gun from behind his back and taking aim through the metal links.

The sedation dart came out of the barrel with a quiet pop and sunk right into the Level V's thigh; it's little red indicator feather hovering over the needle. He grunted, the pain making him wince as he reached down quickly and yank it out; throwing it to the side.

"You think he got enough of it?" Another man appeared, hands on his hips. "Yeah, he'll be loopy in a minute or so, if not, we'll shoot'em again." the first handler said to the other, he leaned forwards then, hooking his fingers into the cage. "Cheer up boy, you're getting adopted." he chastised, chuckling to himself.

Inside the cage the Level V swayed back a bit, grabbing the cage wall for support as the world started to get a little dizzy. He groaned and went to move back to his corner, unsure what was going on, or why they were doing what they were doing with him. Soon the gated door opened and the two jabberwockies entered, one reached forwards, grabbing the hair on the back of his head and pulled him back while wrapping a black bandana over his eyes; then securely tied it behind his head. "Can't have you seeing how you get in and out of this place." he mused, "What about his mouth? Think he needs a muzzle?" "What're you scared? Nah. He's too sedated, just don't put your hand in his mouth." the other handler rolled his eyes.

For the Level V things immediately went dark, but he was almost glad they did. The way the world seemed to spin, slowly, methodically, but unevenly and made him feel sick. He went to sink to the floor, but the two handlers yanked him up. Both taking an arm, and guiding him out of the cage. He didn't struggle, other than to find a way to put one foot in front of the other. Around him he heard the growls, hissing, and general groans of the infected all around him. Eventually, those sounds quieted. Were they in the hallway? He wasn't altogether sure.

"Oh, hey, where... where are you takin' him?" a quietly meek voice interrupted the two handlers and their bitching about having to drag the Level V to the parking lot. "To the parking lot, if it's any of your damn business Colt, go feed, before I tell Damascus you're slacking again." The Level V recognized the voice of the leery newcomer, he was a kid most certainly out of his depth that liked to sneak off in the early morning hours. He wasn't sure if too many noticed, but he did.

The three of them continued their trek till there was a struggle with a pair of doors, by that point the Level V could barely make a step and was being dragged, bare feet against the tattered pavement. "Here he is." one of the handlers announced, as they both dropped the V to the ground. "Pretty heavily sedated, if you've got a long way to go, hope you've got something to keep him in check... Any questions?" It had been stressed to the handler that he needed to be the most accommodating as he could be with Mr. O'King, the man had VIP status -- the handler himself hadn't been told why that was exactly, but he was clearly a low card, and only doing as he was told.

Tag Brock O'King

Posted 09-27-2021, 08:31 PM

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They don't keep him long — good.

They know what kind of man they're dealing with. It's the first time Brock's allowed to set eyes on the new pet that was destined to be his, and liking what he saw was a bit of an understatement. A bit of a boyish face perhaps, but still a rugged looking young man, with features that were sure to please the rich bastards that Brock kept as company back home in the Inner Citadel. From first sight, Brock could almost see why such a pliable looking thing wasn't fit for the rugged, brutal fights that went on in the Spades' domain. But then again, he had to remind himself that the thing was still an Infected. Which is probably why they drugged him to high heavens, not even able to properly walk on his own.

The man's eyebrow lifts at that. They better not be giving him damaged goods. Dark eyes twist upwards, away from the Level V, to take in the handler that speaks to him now. He confirms that they'd drugged the man — there's still some suspicion that the creature was on its last limbs and their 'gift' was just a joke — but Brock would deal with that later, should an issue arise. A bark of laughter leaves him at the man's question on whether or not he had something to keep the Infected in check. What did he look like to these men? Of course he did!

"Only the best," Brock replies in a deep baritone voice, snapping his fingers before stretching out a hand towards one of his lackeys. The man quickly pulls open the passenger-side door on the van to fish something out, before returning to his boss to place something in his outstretched hand. It was a collar, made of the finest knife-proof materials known to the Military. Having contacts in the Military sure came in handy, especially when he needed something to help tame a beast.

"This collar is top of the line, Military grade. Used by Cypher to help contain the Infected they use for their experiments. People like you would never be able to get your hands on something like this," the man comments with a lilt of laughter at the end, clearly looking down on mere gangsters that had to use something like sedative to keep Infected in their place. "It's a high voltage shock collar, removable only by fingerprint scanner," he continues, walking forward now until he's only a mere few feet away from the thing.

"Does it have a name?" he questions, even if he's not really all that interested in such a thing. But, better than calling the creature 'it' all the time, right? Brock crouches down in front of the Infected, his face masked of expression as he takes a couple seconds to take the young man in. It isn't long before he suddenly uses his free hand to fist the Infected's hair and yank his head up, just enough so he can get a good look at his face — as well as expose the man's neck. Without hesitation, he uses his other hand to slip the collar on his neck, clamping the back shut with a click!. Brock yanks the young man's neck back even more, so that he can take in and appreciate the O'King insignia blazoned on the front.

"Looks good on you," Brock rumbles in a low voice meant only for the Infected's ears, a rare smile spreading across his face — twisted as it may be, considering what it was he currently took glee in.

Tag Ryatt

Posted 09-29-2021, 08:47 PM

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As soon as the two handlers let go of him, he fell to his knees, arms out in front of him as if they were made of spaghetti. They had not even bothered with tying his wrists together. Whether that was lack of good judgement, over-confidence, or experience remained to be seen; but for now, the Level V seemed content there on the concrete between them. One of the handlers, the one with more leadership qualities, stepped forwards and removed the blind fold. It ruffled his rebelliously wavy locks of hair and left him trying to adjust to the new sights in front of him. Thankfully it was still quite dark, helpful in a similar way to the remedy for a migraine. Complete, or near complete darkness being soothing. The less stimuli the better.

After a moment, the level V looked up, pools of blue stared up at the three in front of him. They weren't gangsters, or not the sort that he was accustomed to being around. The one in the middle reeked of power. Everything about his stance, to the choice in apparel; not to mention the cologne. It was so incredibly rich to the level V that he wrinkled his nose, turning his head to the side as if he might get a whiff of something, anything else. He could barely listen to anything the men were saying, even though he tried to. The sedation didn't allow for it, instead the majority of what they said was gibberish, just as blurry as the world around him.

The two handlers remained on either side of the level V, parallel to Mr. O'King's men. The more brazen of the two that has thus explained about the sedation was now standing there, head on a tilt, as the collar was explained -- then subsequently, thrown in their face that they didn't have access to it. He made a pft noise in the back of his throat, "Aye, that's why we've got good relations with people like you, am I right? Strong.... healthy... relations." he pointedly nodded towards the level V at their feet. Knowing that he would bring this information to Damascus and see if anything might come of it. Who knows, maybe he'd impress his boss for once.

The level v swayed a bit, but followed the boots that steadily got closer towards him; much like a cat but without the ability to attack, just the movement gathering his attention for the brief moment.

At the question, the least confidant handler spoke up, probably glad to be able to offer at least something to their conversation, even if it was very little. "Nah, not this one. Didn't make it---Ow!" the other handler smacked him in the shoulder, signaling him to shut up. "Didn't have a chance too, is what he means. He wasn't too bad of a fighter, won a few matches, up until he mutated. Then he went soft. So he's strong, don't let'em fool ya. We wouldn't give such a good associate of ours a … runt."

Suddenly the boots where obscured and the man was crouched in front of him. The level V reeled back a bit, wrinkling his nose again and turning his face away. Shortly he feels the taunt grip of his hair and a yank that makes him look back and upwards at him. So close he can pick out the details of the other now, something shiny in his nose, and his beard that seemed to consume his face and narrow it in some way.

It's then he feels something wrap around his neck and hears it more than sees it. He can't move his head, but he reaches up and feels with his fingers, with a lackluster attempt and prying his fingers beneath it; he gives up easily, the sedative making him lose focus. The harsher yank that makes him expose his neck further though is now his prime focus and he's about had enough of it. He hisses his lips parting and showing the sharp sets of his fangs as the man mumbles the comment. The threat is empty, since he has no ability to make good on it -- not now anyway, but the sedation...

"It'll wear off in about an hour, maybe less... the sedation. But you seem to have it covered boss. Right, well, we'll leave you to it. If you need anything, just let us know." the handler gives a haphazard salute and nudges his buddy to get him to follow him back through the double doors. It's unclear if the sudden dismissal had anything to do with the level v's reaction, but the two seemed slightly startled anyway. "You didn't have to hit me so hard..." the lesser handler notes to the other after they've walked several yards away, "Ah shit, you know I did." the other replies before they disappear.

Tag Brock O'King

Posted 09-30-2021, 09:31 PM This post was last modified: 09-30-2021, 09:36 PM by Ryatt

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Brock scoffs at how the handlers respond to his comment about the collar, choosing not to say anything to the way they pointedly try to make good with the reminder that this beast was their gift to him. It's true, that such a gift most definitely put the gang in good standings with the arms dealer. He'd make sure they were the first he'd approach about his company's next big prototype. But that was a matter for him and the gang's Ace to discuss, not some lowly Infected handlers.

His eyes lift away from the Infected as one of the men begins to speak, making a comment that is quickly silenced by the other man. A dark look passes over Brock's expression for only a second — he's irritated with the mere idea that they were trying to play him as some fool. But the handler is quick to confirm that the Infected on the ground wasn't some dying specimen they just wanted to pawn off. He nods, pleased with the answer — it would be interesting to see if he could enter in his new pet to future matches, make some money off of it. They seemed to think the creature had gone soft, but Brock knew a good way to make animals fight.

As Brock kneels in front of the Infected and applies the collar to its neck, he notices the way it seems to recoil from his touch — for whatever reason, it brings an eerie grin to his face at the sight. The Infected's fingers wander up to pry at the collar around its neck, but only a finger print touched to the scanner at the back would open it. It was true, that a Level V in its prime would have no trouble ripping the thing off, but this man wasn't exactly in his prime at the moment, now was he?

A bark of laughter rings out from Brock's throat at the thing hisses at him. It's almost adorable, really. He nods and simply waves a hand to dismiss the two men as they announce their departure. He's much too engrossed in his new pet to pay them anymore attention, even though he files a note in his head that the sedation wouldn't last long. It shouldn't take much longer than half an hour to get back to his place in the Inner Citadel, which left him plenty of time to deal with the creature before it began to wake up.

"Here you are, boss," one of his men suddenly speaks up as he approaches Brock, hand held out with something dark in its grasp. Brock immediately takes it from the man, and holds it up so the Infected can see—

It's a muzzle.

Not just any muzzle. The shape and style of the straps makes it obvious it was created for humans, not animals — well, if you even wanted to call Infected humans. Thick leather is made to cover the mouth and nose completely, only a few airholes left to let the occupant breathe. Straps are made to go behind the neck as well as across the skull, framing an Infected's face perfectly, while made to properly contain their jaws and fangs. Yet another gift from his friends in the Military.

"They said you don't have a name, so looks like I'll be giving you one," Brock speaks to the creature with a grin on his face, casually swinging the muzzle back and forth so the young man can see what he's holding. "But that can wait until I get you to your new home, hm? In the meantime—" he pauses for a second to nod to the man that gave him the muzzle, who quickly moves into position to straddle the Infected, "I can't have you biting any of us, so this will be accompanying your collar."

The man on top of the Infected quickly grabs his neck and head to hold him in place as Brock uses his grip on the man's hair to promptly shove his face into the muzzle.

Tag Ryatt

Posted 10-04-2021, 05:36 PM

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Not understanding much of what was going on, nor having the ability to relate to what that meant for his future; the infected, stayed there, in a perpetual state of confusion. Only reacting to what was before him and only as it came. He hadn't the clarity to react beyond that. His instincts dulled because of the drugs in his system, he didn't realize how his path had altered. Not yet. The hiss had come only because of the yank of his hair -- and not even because of the first pull; but the second. Again, he understood very little, but he did recognize when he was being mocked and laughed at. His eyes narrowed at the brute of a man did so. Clearly not finding his warning of any use or concern.

It would be his mistake, or so the infected thought to himself, not in any refined sentence or through actual words; but the feeling. The vengeful feeling was there circulating around his mind and promising to remember that laughter.

Hair still held taunt, neck and throat bared in the arch of direction he was pulled to, the infected zeroed in on the piece of leather brought in front of his face. It swung back and forth like a pendulum, garnering his attention as his eyes went to and fro. It was a hunter's gaze. Decisive and measuring as he focused, but the drugs construed his depth of field. Consequently, he had no idea what it was. The importance was clear, but the meaning wasn't. He hadn't a clue that soon enough it would be leeched onto his face. Maybe if he had he wouldn't of sat there, so quizzically.

The man was speaking again and it broke the infected out of his trance. Home he heard. His head tilts slightly, as much as it can. The familiarity of that word came with mixed feelings. Like something dark and twisted living in the woods, bare trees, dried leaves crunching under foot, the smell of smoke, and the crackling of a fire. In this semblance of a memory, he didn't notice another man coming around behind him. Not until he feels his weight baring down and is fixed in place.

He didn't like that.

A low, throaty growl comes from deep down inside of him; a warning. It does nothing, much like the hiss. He feels the choke hold come around his neck and head, holding him and stopping any attempt at a back stroke. Which was precisely what the infected had planned to do. Thrusting his weight backwards, all he felt was a stone-like façade of a man's chest.

All he knows is he has to get rid of that 'wall' behind him, so he reaches, un-tied hands coming up to the arm around his throat and yanks; trying to get a release. --And when that doesn't happen, he uses what nails he has to dig into the flesh that wouldn't budge. Perhaps his nails are a little longer than usual, clipping them wasn't something the Spades considered essential in upkeep. The guy behind him hisses but its out of pain, as small bits of blood trickle to the top of his skin. The infected immediately scents it and his eyes flash yellow, like embers in a fire pit, and gone out just as quickly.

Everything happens so quickly and soon that strange piece of leather wraps itself around his chin, mouth, and nose like a vice. Immediately that sweet-sweet scent of blood dulls, the muzzle blocking it some and replacing it with fresh leather. The infected grunts, sad to lose the scent as he licks his lips beneath the mask.

He's got a new issue now. His grip on the man's arm releases to come up to the straps that hold the muzzle in place. He wants it off, and tries ripping at it's buckles. The lackey that the brute-like man had brought with him grabs his prominent wrist with his open hand and yanks it around to the side. "You think we should cuff him?" he suggests to his boss, pretending to ignore the streak of blood on his arm from the incident. "Or maybe blindfold? He was calmer before..."

The infected snaps his teeth in objection behind the mask, finding nothing to sink his exposed fangs into --whereas they itched to bite something, anything.

Tag Brock O'King

Posted 10-05-2021, 11:27 AM

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The CEO watches the Infected struggle on the ground in front of him — amusement written plain as day across his face. He didn't see a human in front of him, struggling against the man on top of him, holding him in place so that he can be treated as less than and muzzled like some common stray. No, all he sees is a caged animal growling and raising its hackles, trying to look big and bad when in actuality it no doubt wanted to slink back to its cave with its tail between its legs.

There's a reason Brock doesn't outwardly react to the warning signs. He doesn't hesitate, or even fear the man below him — no. All he saw was an animal that needed to be broken in, and he was happy to do it. So when the man on top of the Infected releases a grunt of pain, nails digging into his fleshy arm and bringing blood welling up to the surface, Brock does nothing more than offer a hearty laugh. He laughs at the fool that wasn't careful enough to prevent himself from getting injured from a relatively incapacitated Infected. There's some interest in Brock's eyes as well, as he notices the momentary flicker in the creature's eyes — its normal color bleeding gold. Ah, what an interesting party thick that would be.

He grins, something awfully toothy with mirth that doesn't reach his eyes. He's intrigued by his new gift, but arrogant enough to believe he had nothing to worry about. Well, he wasn't stupid: there's a reason he brought so much Military gear with him.

Then Infected doesn't seem happy to be muzzled like a dog, fingers trying their best to rip at buckles that, in actuality, were very much like the one keeping his collar together: they were fingerprint activated, and no matter how much he struggled, he wouldn't be able to open them. Maybe if he had his full strength back he could have done something about it, but Brock would see to it he never got that chance. He lets out a hum of barely-recognizable acknowledgement to his man's word, choosing instead to reach out and place a finger underneath the beast's chin now that his arms are once more restrained. A soft but commanding nudge beneath the man's chin, forcing him to look up so that their eyes can meet once more.

"This muzzle looks as good on you as the collar did. It makes you look like nothing more than an animal," he comments to the Infected with a slightly tilted head and a twisted smirk. "You fight now, but at some point you'll learn your lesson of where you belong, now that you are mine. But no matter, I have all the time in the world to break you in." He enunciates the last few words with a punctuated growl, making it very clear what he said was to be taken as a threat. Their eyes stay locked for a couple seconds more before he finally turns his attention back to his two men.

"No blindfold, he won't be able to see much out of the back of his van anyway. No cuffs either — you forget my friends back at Cypher loaned me one of their transportation vehicles," his booming voices fills the empty parking lots as he finally pushes himself to his feet and walks over to where the van still sit quiet. Using a key to unlock the back, he quickly swings open the back doors to reveal the interior — metal encased the walls, ceiling, and floor, much like an armored vehicle used to transport valuables. Chains sat linked to the bottom of the otherwise empty van, with clasps obviously to be used to keep incapacitated Infected secure.

"Strap him in quickly, then we'll head out," Brock ordered the man still pinning the Infected to the ground, moving out of the way so he wouldn't be within attacking distance should the man be stupid enough to let the beast take another swing at someone. While the phrase 'if you want something done right, do it yourself' rang out in Brock's ears, he was a man of power. He didn't need to get his hands dirty himself.

Tag Ryatt

Posted 10-07-2021, 05:52 PM

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In some ways, it was awfully pathetic, his ill attempts at trying to get away from the guard that was holding him down. An infected, and the only bodily harm he was capable of achieving was a scratch on the arm. Of course the drugs were to blame and if that wasn't enough, the lack of blood was another factor. He had been rationed ever since it was clear he was failing as a money-making prized fighter in the pits. There was a great contrast in what his mind implored him to do, versus what his body could physically do; and to a being that still functioned primarily on the merits of it's instincts -- he couldn't understand that failure.

He wanted to bite and rip the man in front of him into shreds, limb from limb, then tear out the vocal chords that allowed the man to laugh, and tease, and mock. The finger that pried his chin up to look the other eye-to-eye... he would bite that clean off if he could. A quiet growl mumbled beneath the leather muzzle, though he stared back, unrelenting and unafraid as he was spoken to. He tried to follow what was being said, but his mind wandered, hearing what sounded like a heart beat pounding rhythmically in his ears. It certainly pumped the sweetest of blood through eager veins. It nearly made his mouth water.

The man produced a growl and the Infected recognized that clearly; giving one back in response, challenging and returning the threat. He stared a moment longer and then, and only then when the man looked away did the Infected shake his head away from what was left of the grasp on his chin. Disrespectfully so, but also to once again measure the strength of the muzzle wrapped around his face. It's removal being his primary focus because it blocked so many of his senses: smell, taste. In contrast, he hardly remembered the collar was still on.

While the guard didn't show it, he was disappointed in not being able to blind fold the infected, nor cuff him then and there. In his thoughts, the creature needed two sets of restraints. Maybe three. He didn't let his boss see that concern though, nodding instead and not suggesting anymore 'ideas' of his that might make Mr. O'King think him incompetent. Both him and the Infected remained there in a deadlock until his boss opened the van and revealed the interior.

When the go-ahead was given, the second body guard moved into the van and prepared the chained straps that would secure the creature. The first guard hoisted the infected to his feet. Keeping a strong hold on him, he walked him towards the van; practically dragging him as he went, then tossed him inside. The infected struggled, but now with two sets of body weight and arms to hold him down, he could barely move. The second guard clicked the cuffs to his wrists, chaining them behind his back, then did the same to those that secured his ankles.

After they were done, the Infected could barely move. He was capable of standing up, but just barely, contained to the same square foot that the ankle chains were attached to the van floor. Of course he did stand, shaking his shoulders and trying to bring his arms around though didn't succeed. The last body guard jumped out of the back and then slammed the doors shut. "We're all good here boss." he noted, them moved towards the front of the van to get into the drivers seat. The other guard nodded and moved back to the secondary vehicle, prepared to follow behind and make sure they securely made it back to Citadel Estates.

Practically in the dark, the Infected took in his surroundings, capable of seeing clearly even though it was near pitch-black inside of the van. He continued testing the chains, the links rattling up through the small metal-grated window from the front seats. As the van's engine roared to life and they began to head out of the underground parking lot, the sudden movement caused the Infected to loose what little balance he had (thanks to the drugs). He slipped and fell, landing on his knees to stop from face planting. This angered him as he growled and pushed back to sit on his ass. He tried again to stand, but the van took a turn and he fell into the van wall he was closest to. He sat down then, resigning to the dizziness that overtook him and threatened to make him puke inside his fancy new headgear. He didn't want that, even if he wouldn't mind ruining it in the process.

"What do you plan on doing with him?" the body guard made small talk as they finally reached the surface streets of Stronghold; glad to be top-side again. He continued driving, taking the most direct route towards the Citadel as possible.

Tag Brock O'King

Posted 10-13-2021, 11:17 AM This post was last modified: 10-13-2021, 11:18 AM by Ryatt

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The Infected was rather... Adorable.

Of course, it took a certain kind of person — like Brock O'King — to come to some kind of conclusion like that, what with the Infected growling and snarling at him, and doing his best to fight the drugs and them. It reminded him a lot of pictures he'd seen of tigers and bears being restrained and trained to obey their masters, and a thrill runs through his body at the thought of being in command of such a powerful and viscous creature. Even if owning such animals was a rare sight in modern times — even amongst the rich — Brock could understand the unadulterated thrill that encouraged people of the past to seek out such beasts as pets.

How he wanted to break his new pet. His eyes stay trained to the Infected's the entire time that he watches the struggle, but eventually he settles in the passenger seat and waits for one of his men to take the wheel and bring them home. The vehicle roars to life as they head out, a satisfying bang coming from the back as the Infected no doubt loses his footing from the sudden movement. There's little to no traffic in the streets of the slums, letting them speed on back home. Brock turns on a screen located on the front panel of the van, which flickers to life after a couple seconds and shows the Infected in the back of the van: a camera, used to spy on their precious cargo. Reinforced steel between the front and the back cut off his vision otherwise, so he needs this to keep an eye on things.

Brock's gaze slides sideways as his henchman asks what he plans to do with his new pet. They should know Brock wasn't one for small talk. He loathed it more than anything, and as far as he was concerned, the man had no need to know what he planned to do with the Infected. But then again, at least to start, he'd probably be there anyway while Brock got the pet situated in his home. He wasn't stupid enough to handle such a creature by himself, at least not to start.

"You ever own a dog?" Brock questions the man with a chuckle, relishing in the fantasies flashing in his head. "Creatures so loyal and dedicated to their owners, but certain breeds require a little rougher handle to get under control. Those are the ones that are quick to bite, and even quicker to kill should they be trained for it. An Infected is no different, and I plan to show this beast exactly who its owner is — no matter what. Like a dog, it'll quickly learn its place," he continues with another chuckle.

Amusing ideology, perhaps, for a man who considered himself owned by his own bird, Lucifeather. She was the only 'woman' in his life he'd ever love, and perhaps the only living being that he'd ever allow to control him.

Silence falls between them now as they reach the gates to the Inner Citadel, which they promptly get through with no issues. The guards recognize him, and they don't even bother to check the back of his van — perks, of being so important to their organization. Within minutes they arrive at the large highrise building that Brock calls home. Or, at least, the pent house at the top. Brock's eager to see how his pet survived the ride, and he exits the vehicle once they park near the express elevator that will bring them directly to his residence with no stops.

"Here, use this in case the drugs have begun to wear off," Brock turns to one of his men now, tossing them a remote that was directly linked to the Infected's collar — when the button is pressed, it would deliver a shock that would be near fatal to a human, but only just enough to incapacitate an Infected. A grin on his face, Brock opens the back doors of the van.

"Welcome to your new home, boy."

Tag Ryatt

Posted 10-16-2021, 04:17 PM

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Gazing up at the rearview mirror out of habit, the guard in the driver's seat sees nothing but the steel bars as he weaves through the empty streets of Stronghold. Brock turns on the camera and the flicker grabs his attention for a moment as he sees the familiar green night vision filter spread across the screen. For a brief second, he's jealous of his bosses reach. The tech he could secure with the snap of his fingers, no questions asked, and sitting high on a penthouse throne. He wasn't so envious of owning an infected, it seemed like a risk and waste of time. But for a man that could have anything, he didn't question the exotic decisions Mr. O'King was making. Was he bored? Or was this a statement? The guard wondered, which ultimately made him throw out his question.

He gets an answer, but it wasn't what he expected. Beneath a chiseled jaw, the guard clenches his teeth. It almost sounded as though Mr. O'King wanted a new body guard. Something more intimidating and loyal. It shook the guards confidence in the job he was doing. "So, you want an attack dog? And you think you can make it loyal?" he casted his doubt, although subtly. Job security. That's what he was attempting to pursue in regards to his comment. "I'm not sure they're even smart enough to be loyal." he mentioned further.

It was about that time the Infected in the back of the van kicked one of the walls holding him inside the moving metal prison. He was laying on his back, his head spinning, even in the dark where there wasn't much to see; he still felt the world turn violently. The kick landed out of frustration, perhaps denting the inside vaguely. It was clear he wanted the vehicle to stop, like he was getting motion sickness. He groaned, listening to the wheels beneath him and feeling the random bump as they ran over crackled concrete on the streets. He had a new focus now, not so much on the muzzle, but the van. Stop. the word came to mind. Stop. Stop. Stop. it repeated.

It did after a moment, but only for a second, as he heard a man on the outside acknowledge the driver and passenger. "Evening Mr. O'King." he heard, and then metal grating against metal. He winced, hearing the sounds of the gate opening, even though it was muted by the van itself. Every sound felt like it was grinding and tormenting him. Then, much to his dismay, the vehicle begins moving again. He kicked the wall again.

It's not much longer, however the few minutes it took for them to get to where they were going seemed like a half an hour to the Infected. His since of time skewered entirely. The van stops, the engine cuts, and he moves on to his side; grateful. Cold metal of the floor presses against his temple and he just lays there, content. But of course that didn't last long.

The doors to the back swing open, casting in light that was intensified due to a lack of it prior. The infected squints as the voice of the man waiting there booms loudly in his ears. He sits up, perhaps a little too fast. He regrets it, instantly, but no one regrets more than the guard that had been driving the outside car that had followed the van. It was he who had received the remote from Mr. O'King, and, being a little started by the sudden movement -- immediately pushes the button that sends the infected into shocked convulsions.

Unknowingly, the remote had been set on it's highest setting. The shock it dealt did more than warn the Infected to pipe down, it rendered him completely incapacitated. After the initial shock, he passed out, laying limp on the van floor.

"Dude! Seriously?!" the guard that had been the van driver glares at the other guard still holding the remote; then shakes his head at him. It was then he realized why Mr. O'King might want to replace them as his guards. Some of them were completely incompetent. The driver heavily smacks the man on the shoulder, nodding towards the remote and signaling for the other guard to pass it over. He clearly didn't need to be in charge of it.

The driver pockets the remote and then moves into the van, undoing the restraints that held the Infected. He then hops out of the van and after dragging it to the edge of the doors, lifts the Infected into his arms and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. All the while, the other guard apologizes profusely to Mr. O'King. "Apologies Sir, I thought he was lunging towards you. I couldn't take the chance that he wasn't. I was unaware it was set on high."

The guard that had driven begins to walk towards the elevator, and then once there, presses the button that opens the doors to enter. At least the ride up to the top floor would be a quiet one, without a cause for concern -- that being three men locked in a small space with a Level V. The driver drops the Infected onto the floor of the elevator once they're all inside, motioning towards it's unconscious body. "You get to bring him inside." he glares again at his partner and crosses his arms.

Posted 10-20-2021, 10:23 AM

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"Anything can be made loyal with a little... Discipline." And that's that. With the curt reply, he makes it clear he won't discuss the matter any further with the driver, as if they were somehow familiar enough with one another for Brock to do that. No, the man worked for him for money and that was the extent of their relationship. He had no further right to stick his nose into his master's business.

Thankfully the rest of the trip goes as planned, right up until the moment when Brock swings the doors open to lay his eyes once more on his new pet. It's exhilarating, the thrill of having dominance over a creature so much stronger than him. A course of adrenaline rushes through his system — but it's gone just as soon as it appears, his eyes widening slightly when the creature suddenly collapses and convulses. It takes all of about one second before he realizes what just happened and rounds on the man he'd — mistakenly, apparently — given the remote to.

It's just as well that the driver's quick to take the remote from the other man, seeing as how Brock was one second away from snatching it away himself. As the driver goes to fetch Brock's new pet, the large man advances on the other guard, even as he babbles away with apologies. But it's not enough for the rich bastard, who's quick to fist a hand in the man's shirt and drag him upwards and close to his face — their height different enough that it brings the man to stand atop his toes.

"You better pray to whatever God you believe in that you didn't damage it, or else you'll be taking its place," he snarls in a low and deadly tone, causing the man to pale out in fear. Considering what Brock had planned for the Infected, he highly doubts the man would last very long before breaking. He keeps his grip up until the driver finally approaches, at which point he releases the guard and gives him a violent shove backwards before he heads for the express elevator — the one that will take them directly into his penthouse. They pile in to the elevator — Brock given a wide berth, causing the other three to pile in uncomfortably close — and ride in silence to the top floor. Brock's gaze remains on the Infected's face for the entire ride, aching to see that fire once more.

The ding of the elevator alerts them of their arrival just a split second before the motion of the elevator draws to a pause. With a grumble — quiet enough that it wasn't meant to be heard by Brock — the non-driver guard grabs the Infected beneath both armpits and drags him into the penthouse, clearly not as strong as the other man. Brock walks past both of them, loosening his tie with one hand while the other makes quick work of taking off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair. The elevator opened right into his large living room — he liked to see it as a sort of power play, showing off he wasn't afraid of the possibility for someone to get into his place so easily. As if anyone would dare.

The hidden guns are safety enough for him.

"Bring him." The command is curt, and he doesn't bother to wait for the two men before he's heading towards his bedroom on the far side of the penthouse. The massive room barely has any furniture in it, but the most noticeable feature was the large cage set in one corner — not tall enough for anyone to stand in. Not that he wanted the Infected standing.

"In there." Brock nods his chin in the direction of the cage, crossing his arms over his chest as he turns back towards the two men finally, his gaze trained to them as they shuffle forward to stuff the Infected's limp body in the cage. Brock doesn't even hide the glimmer in his gaze as a thrill of excitement races down his spine. Ah, what a good pet he will be.

Tag Ryatt

Posted 11-28-2021, 11:46 PM

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One minute he was staring at the three men that had, in what was a delirious dream, taken him away in a van -- and the next losing complete control of his limbs. He felt his legs give way, just a second before everything went black; and had he the moment to think on it, he was glad he wouldn't feel the pain of hitting the floor of the vehicle as hard as he had. It would of left a bruise, perhaps it even had. A brief and temporary darkened mark against his temple, soon to disappear as if it never even blemished his flesh. Granted, this was all second class to the pain of being shocked as his entire body had tightened and froze, like a rod of lightening had shot up his spine.

In the interim, there was nothing but darkness. A dreamless sleep. Nothing but a black void to settle within and become comfortable with it's cold embrace. He wouldn't remember it. In fact the time would subsequently fast forward, or so it would seem.

On the other side, the four of them were exiting the elevator, some faster than others. The driver crossed his arms, watching with a smirk on his face as his fellow guard struggled to bring the creature into the living area. He offered no assistance, finding the difficulty well-earned. The driver took a gander around the expansive room, and though he had been inside of it on several occasions, it never failed to give him feelings of green envy. He bit his tongue though, knowing comments of that nature wouldn't do anyone any good.

They moved into the bedroom and the driver decided to offer his partner a reprieve. Helping him to push the Infecteds' dead weight into the relatively small cage. That wasn't to say it wasn't large, for what it was, but it was short, making the task somewhat more strenuous. After doing so, the driver guard had just finished shutting the door to the cage when the other decided to open his mouth. "How's it suppose to take a piss... wait, do they even piss?" With his head turned away, the driver guard rolled his eyes then shook his head.

"Leave it to you." he muttered, locking the mechanism and apparently, not a moment too soon as the creature began to stir. His fridge blues eyes fluttered a bit, blinking and twitching at the corners before he lifted his head drowsily.

The dark nothingness swelled away from his consciousness, revealing the same three men, only now they were outlined with the bars of a cage. The weariness subsided quickly, now that the drug that had kept him docile had completely worn off, he had almost full control of himself.

And the first thing he re-noticed was the muzzle. Not only did he feel it's constrictions around his face, but he could see it too, there in the peripheral of his eyesight, covering his nose, dulling his senses, and distracting with it's presence. He began digging his fingers into the edges that surrounded his mouth, and yanking. He yanked so hard he shoved his back into the caged wall behind him, putting as much force as he could muster into it's removal. His efforts felt subpar, and so he tried to stand, but hit his head on the top of the cage.

This elicited an angry growling sound.

Suddenly he was much more enticed by the cage that surrounded him. His focus drifting from one piece of information to another like a leaf on the wind. He kicked at the walls of his prison, sitting back down and shoving his feet straight into the bars.

The show was … something to behold, like they'd caught a wild animal that was ready to gnaw it's own leg off in order to get out of a trap. The guard whom had shocked the creature into unconscious stared, wide-eyed, then glanced over at the driver and Mr. O'King. "Well boss, if that's all you need for the day. I'll punch the clock and get out of here." It was clear he wasn't fond of being in the same room with the infected, he refused to consider why his boss would dare want to even sleep in the same room with it.

Tag Brock O'King

Posted 12-07-2021, 10:30 PM

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A withering scowl is thrown in the driver guard's direction as once more the man begins to run his mouth, with questions that Brock simply has no desire in answering. The brute of a man feels no guilt in keeping his mouth shut, arms crossed over his chest in a dominant display as gaze remains trained to the best inside the cage. Slowly it begins to wake up — the way in which it moves makes it clear that the drugs in its system have just about run their course. Brock's expression is one of twisted delight as he gleefully watches the monster begins to realize its situation, fingers claws desperately at the muzzle covering a good portion of his face.

Eyes narrow and gaze darkens, but a smooth, criminal grin makes its way across his lips. He doesn't approach the creature yet, simply watches from afar, as though he were nothing more than a tourist in Africa, watching one of the Big Five roaming about their natural habitat. The growl of the creature goes straight through the human and a rush of excitement floods his system. He chooses to ignore the slightly thrill of fear that races down his spine. He's not made of stone, after all, and those feral eyes that turn on him are enough to evoke a predator prey reaction.

He frowns as the creature takes on new actions now, attempting to slam its feet against the bars and try to mount a prison escape. Brock only barely hears his men informing him of their departure, and he dismisses them with a vague wave of a hand.

Only when the sound of their footsteps fade and the echoing clang of the bars being beaten by the brute's strength fills the room does Brock finally move forward. A hand straddles the top of the cage, taunting the Infected — just barely lingering long enough to hopefully catch his attention before Brock swiftly draws it out of harms way. He's not an idiot, after all. He knows exactly what these creatures are capable of.

"Calm yourself, pet. I would hate to be forced to use more drugs on you already," his deep, vibrating voice fills the room, his gaze trained to those blue, blue eyes staring at him from between silver beams. "Of course, I will if I must. I'll use whatever means necessary until I can break you," he growls out in a throaty hum, emphasizing the last few words with a malicious grin. From a table near the cage, he pulls open a drawer long enough to withdraw its contents — a cattle prod. With a brow raised in curiosity, Brock turns the prod on and smashes it against the metal of the bars to see what would happen — just to prove his point of course.

Tag Ryatt

Posted 01-03-2022, 11:34 PM

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The guards took their leave and the Infected takes notice of their absence. The room itself felt less convoluted, less daunting even. As if the odds were more in his favor now, as it was just him and the bearded man. One-on-one. He liked those chances, even behind strong bars of steel or some other strong metal material... even with a muzzle that kept his strongest asset locked away. Still yet, the tables felt turned, balanced regardless of the handicaps.

He was hungry.

He put on the show however, keeping the man's stare and attention as he bolted about the cage. Testing it's structure for weakness. All it needed was one flaw, just one. The entertainment seemed to be drawing the man in, closer and closer. Immediately the Infected took an appraisal of the hand that pressed against the top of his cage. Like a snack just within reach, he lurched upwards, momentarily forgetting the muzzle covered his fangs -- he smashed into the bars, growling when the hand was removed so quickly and his teeth aching for the bite it missed out on.

The Infected takes the man's words with little concern. Perhaps making it seem as though he didn't even understand a syllable. Of course, he went back to beating his feet against the cage, the sounds rattling and loud; crass in their attempts. He ignored him completely, not even taking enough interest as to watch where his captor was going or doing. If he was anything, anything at all, it was that he was focused.

He still didn't realize the threat until the sparks from the electric prod touched the bars of the cage and sent a jolt through the natural conductivity of the metal. That jolt first made contact with the Infected's bare left foot, where the shock traveled to the first point of connection. His first knee-jerk reaction was to yank his foot back, hissing as the pain was immediate and searing. He quickly brough his foot up to cradle it, but that only lasted a moment until he realized the man was at fault for his discomfort.

He drew a dark, twisted glare as he stared at him and was quiet for the first time un-drugged. He put his foot down, moving into a some-what squatting position, with both feet beneath him -- the only contact he had with the metal bars of the cage at all now. His blue eyes were like ice, cold and unnerved as he tracked the others every move he made. Perhaps fantasizing about ripping out that ink-decorated throat and spilling his blood.

Only after he was devilishly quiet for a solid half a minute, and only when he thought the man had thought that he had won and that he was calmed, did he lurch forward. Throwing himself at the front of the cage and trying to reach out from the bars to reach the man and do just what he fantasized about. He wanted to startle him, make him leery of shocking him again, and to take away even the slightest bit of power the other might feel.

Tag Brock O'King

Posted 01-12-2022, 10:50 PM

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CONTENT WARNING: Violence

Like an animal the beast stares back at him, dark eyes glistening and somehow a contrast to the dark leather of the muzzle binding his jaws. There's a certain thrill that comes from staring death in the face — death, which could come so quick from such a creature. It amuses the man that thrives on such a feeling, and a sick, twisted sort of glee fills him at the howls that chills the air. Though a grin quirks the corners of his mouth upwards, there is very little other emotion on his face as he watches the Infected react to being pierced by the electricity, the tip of the cattle prod hanging threateningly in the air now as Brock withdraws his arm.

There they sit, like two apex predators daring the other to back down. Brock had heard stories of certain Infected being able to walk and talk like a man — had been made to believe he was getting such a creature — but as of yet, he hadn't heard a single word uttered from the man. Perhaps the rumours were not to be true? Perhaps the creature, which looked so human, didn't understand English at all? Well, that would make things a bit more difficult, but Brock could have the patience for that.

He doesn't relax. Not all the way, at least; Brock was a person that always had to be on his toes, lest his enemies surprise him. Therefore it doesn't take much for him to react to the Infected's sudden move, a hand lurching between the bars to viciously grasp at thin air. The way the fingers wiggled and crushed together — it wasn't hard to imagine what the man was envisioning crushing between his fingers.

But that kind of behaviour simply wouldn't do.

Brock grabs the extended wrist, knowing he has but a second to react before he risks being overpowered

"Bad dog," are the only words he snarls before he shoves the end of the cattle prod towards the man's extended arm. If his threat earlier wasn't enough to calm the beast, then he'd have to make sure the man well and truly learned his lesson.

Tag Ryatt

Posted 02-23-2022, 11:37 PM

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