The Discarded

The Reject Chapter 1 - 3

Candy wormed through the crowd behind Rocky, coming up to the guy's side with a mercenary gleam in her eye. "I knew you'd be worth a few bucks."

Rocky's hand slid around the young girl, cupping her ass with a bruising squeeze. It was the way a man touches his car. With no thought to its feelings or wants, like something bought and paid for.

"The Governor wants to talk to him. You can keep me company outside while I give you the winnings," Rocky said, leering down at the girl he groped. She met the man's leer with a lascivious smile of her own, but those wasteland eyes never changed.

Rocky lead the way through the crowd with Candy tucked into his body, one hand holding tight to her ass. The crowd parted for the big man, but they scattered at the sight of the black wolf stalking at Cesare's side. It didn't matter if they wanted to clap him on the back or spit in his face; the wolf was enough to push them back.

Beyond the crowd and cancerous fluorescent suns, dirty deals were done. Rutting men and woman taking the time for a suck or a bend over. Baggies changing hands in darkened alcoves along with sweat soaked green. In this space of need and sacrifice, tucked behind mirrored windows, a small office stood. Opening the door, Rocky motioned for Cesare to go inside.

Whatever the room had been, they'd birthed it into a command center. Dozens of monitors lit the room in a dizzying landscape of carnage. Along a control desk, technicians worked to catch the best shots of the fights, whispers filling the room with a quiet susurration. The Asian man stood behind them, directing the pageant with a sure hand.

"Keep that camera tight. I don't want a wide screen view; we want them to feel the blood against their faces." The man's quiet words were taken as gospel even as he turned to face Cesare. "I was surprised Candy showed up with a fighter. She's not the kind of fluffer to work that angle."

Cesare shrugged at the man's words. "Not sure what you mean."

Nodding in understanding, the man motioned to the camera feeds. "This is more than a flesh circus selling tickets to watch freaks and geeks." His smile was gleaming teeth and naked greed. "Although we make a killing off the hyper reality of the fights. We broadcast live, capitalizing on a network of bookies across the globe. Fights like yours, are uploaded onto video sites as bait to draw viewers into the paid fights. But it's nothing without new meat."

Making his way to the mirrored windows, the man looked out over the howling crowd. "We hire fluffers to get us new meat. Candy is a puppy mill, it's all about quantity with her." Dark eyes bored into Cesare, his soft words filling the room. "And yet, here you stand."

Cesare let the silence setttle; in no hurry to rush the man who hadn't paid him yet. "We have three leagues. They aren't based on weight, they're set on where a performer fits in the program. You fought in Slap and Tickle. Shit stinking homeless guys fighting it out for nothing but scraps. Never fails to get the crowd hard. Usually the fights are a lot like the men, dirty, disgusting, and pointless. Then you came in."

Taking out a billfold, the man counted off the money into Cesare's hand. "One, two, three, four, and finally, five hundred. For five fights won in spectacular fashion. Now that we got that out of the way, let's talk about you entering the ranks of the Young Blood."

Holding the five hundred, Cesare thought it over. He needed money, and he'd be stupid not to weigh that into any choice he made. But what was pulling at his skin with barbed hooks was the barbarous joy he'd felt. He'd liked fighting, enjoyed the spray of blood and screams of pain. It wasn't pretty or nice, it just was, and Cesare lived in the world of is, not wish.

"What are they?" Cesare's quiet question sparked a victorious gleam in the man's eyes. Turning away, the man hid the smile that tugged at his lips.

"They're actual fighters, not rotting meat off the streets. It's our underage weight class, no one older than twenty-one. Some come from boxing or MMA gyms, looking to make easy money. The rest are a mixed bag, brawlers, troublemakers, bullies, desperate kids trying to feed a fix. You never know what you'll get in the Cock Fight. We pay out two hundred for every win." The man fixed Cesare with a weighing stare. "You interested?"