The corridor was narrow and covered in grime, the walls had dark black mossy stains, and the roof was low enough Mark had to keep a low head as he walked. It was a tight space that made walking uncomfortable, forcing anyone stepping into the corridor to walk slightly turned to the side. Above his head flickered a light, and briefly, the young man realized it wasn't a bulb but some sort of shining stone- was this more of the usual bullshit?

"Move," the pokegirl behind him spoke coldly, shoving him to keep walking.

"Does she have to be so persistent?"

Mark turned to the man walking ahead of him, at the mop of black hair and raggedy narrow gait a human that looked as if he'd been dug out of the grave recently, with pale flesh and wild unkempt hair. Just looking at the guy made Mark's skin crawl, and yet every time he would sense something amiss about it, a steadiness to the man's gait and steadiness to his every footstep.

"She's been scrubbed recently, not much to be done there," came a derisive response.

With an affirmative grunt, Mark dusted off his fiery red hair and kept the grumble from being heard. His eyes fixed on the iron door as they reached it, and his shoes almost slipped on the smooth metal floor right before it. The door looked thick and heavy; it screeched loudly as it opened, a sound that rattled the young man to his bones.

His guide spoke a word as soon as the door opened, too softly for Mark to hear. They stepped through and into a room that felt entirely different from the corridor. The walls were smooth, metallic, ashen grey with hints of blue. There were four bright lights, one near each corner. And there was... no one? The sight of the entirely empty room made Mark hesitate; it was devoid of doors or really anything that marked it as having any utility at all.

Behind him, the pokegirl closed the heavy door with ease. "I have finished my tasks," she declared, standing firm.

Normally, Mark would've paid closer attention to her state of undress, to the generous curves of her figure, to the light blond dusted hair, and healthy pink cheeks. But it was her eyes that kept drawing his attention. Unfocused, looking straight ahead, devoid of attention or focus, unthinking. There was a coldness to that expression, a lack of recognition of the world around her that made the look seem as if she were really no more alive than a mannequin.

"You'll get used to it."

"I don't think I want to."

"Not much option in this line of business."

Another shudder ran down Mark's spine, as he watched the pokegirl standing firmly and unmoving.

There was the sound of a 'clank', a shudder that ran through the walls and floor, and the next instant, several things happened practically at the same time. The first of them was the appearance of another woman in the room.

There had been no blink, no sound, no light. One instant she wasn't there, and now she was.

"Brye."

Mark's jaw tightened instantly as he looked up at her. She had hateful golden eyes and hair that was nearly blue under the strange lights in the room, but that Mark knew to be a near obsidian black when under sunlight. He knew the smirk that appeared on her lips quite well, he knew the wretched acrid stench of her cigarette brand, and he knew her lips would taste like cherry no matter how much she smoked. "Good to see you're back. Have a nice stay waiting for me?"

The words caused Mark's shoulder to ache- not that it was hurt, as it'd been healed, like everything else that'd been done to him. "Fuck off."

"I have a job to do first."

Not waiting for confirmation, she reached out to grasp Mark's hand. He couldn't step back fast enough, and the world blinked around him. The metal room became one made of plain gray cement, the lights on the roof were bulbs, and there were doors and others waiting for him. Mark grimaced as he could recognize some of the pokegirls that stood guard, forming a circle around him and Brye.

"No playing with the pureblood, Boss' orders. Wouldn't want him ruffled for his big meeting."

Several of the pokegirls there let out disappointed sounds. Mark only felt the barest sigh of relief go through him, though not really enough to let him relax. He could tell Brye was quite amused, taking a long drag out of her cigarette before tossing it at the ground and stomping onto what was left. She took a deep breath, and the canine ears atop her head stiffened as they aimed themselves at one of the steel doors. Her shoulders followed suit, her back straightening out just as the door swung open.

"Boss."

There was nothing that would've immediately cued Mark in as to the kind of man this guy was. Well-kept black hair that was just barely ruffled, a physique that was leaner than meaner, and a face that would've been so mediocre and unassuming it would've become lost in a crowd. But it was easy to notice the other aspects that made him stand out. The eyepatch over his right eye was one, the other the way he moved, steps that were succinct and to the point, and the final one was a gaze that discarded that which didn't interest him, but focused like a laser on that which did.

This man reminded Mark of his teacher.

"It's good to see you changed your mind, Mark." He smiled a friendly grin that felt intimidating as it did not reach his eyes. "I know the girls call me 'Boss', but you can call me Stevan."

"...sure."

"Don't worry too much over the details, we'll handle that. Wouldn't want the big man getting all huffy at his toy getting nicked." Turning around, the man gestured for Mark to follow. It was only then that the young man noticed the slight stain of blood on Stevan's knuckles.

Quietly, he complied, following the older man and keeping his focus shifted between the pokegirls that were now trailing behind both of them, and the man who seemed too focused to look over his shoulder to confirm if the others were going along or not. Perhaps he didn't need to; the sound Mark's shoes squeaking against the polished concrete was probably a strong give-away.

"You can consider this a small... confirmation, but you're certain you want to take a more active role in our little enterprise?"

The question caused his lips to thin. "Better than living in a cage."

"The accommodations would've gotten an upgrade once you got sent north, over to Metropolis proper." A soft chuckle. "Pure humans like you aren't exactly common. Pretty sure you'd be living in better conditions even than me."

"I don't give a fuck."

"I've been told my girls had to get a bit... aggressive in their sample collection."

Rather than answer, Mark felt his hands clench.

"No matter, things have changed, I'm sure I can work some rewards." Stevan laughed as he opened the door he'd gone through, leading to another corridor. Mark noted the pokegirls were following and were doing so closely. "We do have a little test for you."

"No one told me about a test."

Stevan laughed. "We never do, otherwise it wouldn't be a surprise. Trust me, it's very simple, you only need to do a little toss and press a little button."

A shudder went through the younger man upon hearing these words; he felt there was that much more of a reason not to like what was coming, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice. Gazing over his shoulder, his eyes were met by Brye's, the Pokegirl showing ample amusement and a smirk. The pokegirls behind her seemed equally entertained by the human's nervousness as he followed Stevan down the greyish corridor all the way to another heavy looking steel door.

More and more, Mark felt like he was locked in a bunker that'd been remodelled into something that was now closer to a prison.

The moment the door had opened, a choked voice rang out; the sound made Mark's blood freeze as he stepped into another greyish cement room that appeared entirely devoid of purpose other than to exist as a room. Except this one had something that caught Mark's attention instantly, or rather, someone.

Hanging from the centre of the room were a set of chains, ending in manacles. From these manacles, there was a naked man hanging from his wrists. Bloodied and bruised, the man sobbed quietly, head turned downwards. The blood was dry, small streams that ran down a swollen face and his neck. He appeared to be almost nearing his forties, grey hair peeking out from the dark brown, and his face was too contorted by the swelling to properly make out what it would've normally looked like.

"Catch."

Something red and white and plastic bumped off of Mark's chest; the young man only turned his focus a fraction of a second too late to notice it was a Pokeball. He caught it before it hit the floor, hearing an appreciative whistling sound behind him.

"I didn't quite believe there was a pure human until now," Brye spoke with a chuckle.

"It's hard to swallow isn't it?" Stevan chuckled, moving a step away from Mark as Brye placed herself slightly between the two.

The young human had to frown, and looked down at the device. A sphere the size of his fist, half white and half red, it didn't look any different than any of the many other pokeballs he'd seen being used.

"That's a loveball," Stevan said. "It will turn a human into a pokegirl."

No sooner had he spoken the words than the chained man suddenly recovered his strength, thrashing against the chains. "Please don't! Please!"

"Do shut up."

The command was given, and one of the other pokegirl stepped forward and slapped the man twice, the impact hard enough the sound felt like a gunshot. The battered and bruised human went limp, the pleas becoming quiet as he began to sob.

"What the fuck do I need this for?"

"Well, you have a loveball, there's a rat, and we want a pokegirl." Stevan pointed at the crying man that appeared to regain his will to fight against the chains up until he was slapped again.

"Why the fuck would you want to make him a pokegirl? He'll become stronger that way."

The silence that followed appeared to even have the chained man appear startled. Mark could only look around in confusion at the various expressions sent his way, his attention returning to Stevan as the man broke into laughter. Immediately following this, several of the other pokegirls laughed along; most of them did, except Brye, the vulpine pokegirl appearing only marginally amused.

"Oh, that's because, once loveballed, 'she' will get scrubbed."

Mark blinked, feeling his grip on the device tighten as a chill ran down his spine, and his eyes widened as he thought back to the pokegirl that had been following him ever since he was let out of his cage. The blank empty eyes, the distant unthinking stare... The young man shuddered, and through his mind, he saw someone laying on the forest floor, limp, dead- the expression not very different at all.

"You have your first order, Mark, get this over with and we'll get to show you how the procedure works."

"Please don't," the man whimpered, a soft sob escaping him even if he didn't fight against the chains anymore. "Please, I'm married, I have..." A loud gulp. "I have a daughter, please."

Looking at the man, and then at the sphere in his hand, Mark turned at Stevan. "What... did he do?"

"He had plans to rat out some good friends of mine."

"That's... it? You're going to kill him because of it?"

Stevan scoffed at the words. "It's not death, he's going to become the dirty rat he really is inside."

"Please."

"So do it."

"Please..."

"Unless you want to go back to your room."

"I beg of you."

Mark's grip tightened, his eyes glancing at the kneeling man, tears running down his face, mixing with the dry blood and his trembling lip.

"I have a family."

There was the smell of sweat and fear, thick in the air, a rusty taste in the young man's lips.

"Please."

Mark thought back to the room: the tight brick walls, the scratchy bed, the tight shackle on his left wrist, but above all, the predatory smile every one of the pokegirls would show upon entering. Of their presence being the only way to measure the time as the hours bled by.

"I... I..."

Whatever the man had been about to say, it was cut short by the pokeball softly bouncing against his chest.

There was an intense flash of red, and the man shrieked and wailed, his body lighting up as if burning itself to a crisp. But there was no heat, no smoke, only a searing red light that blinded anyone looking too closely, followed by darkness and the sound of the capture device hitting the floor.

A weight settled around Mark's heart like a set of chains; his breath grew short and his whole body tensed.

The only sound was a soft clap from Stevan. "Well done, welcome to the team." He approached the pokeball on the floor, flipping out his phone and taking a picture. There was a beep. "Ah, a Vampyr, so not quite a rat but a flying rat, close enough I guess." Mark swallowed hard as Stevan picked it up and dropped it in Mark's hands.

The spherical device felt like it burned into the young man's hands, weighing as if filled with lead. He barely felt the hand patting his shoulder.

"Now that you've loveballed someone, you'll have to remember the league will execute you if they ever catch you. Though I guess they might just lock you up until you die since you're pureblood." Stevan laughed, tugging at the numb red-head and leading him out of the room. "But worry not, we protect our own, you'll see that soon enough. Let's take a little tour of the place and go for the second part of your application."

Mark's eyes were on the Pokeball as he held onto it between his hands, feeling as the device pulled downwards like a chain. The heaviness within the young man's chest tightened with every step he took. The words Stevan spoke while holding his shoulder were no better than water running down a window; Mark's mind did not register any of them.

Because the Pokeball between his hands pulled him down, threatening to pull him down, down, and down, down all the way through the floor.

"Here we are, the scrubbing room."

The slap on Mark's shoulder caused him to glance upwards and around himself. This room was less well kept than the ones he'd seen so far. The concrete was cracked, there was a scent of humidity, and there was the sound of a drip. There were a dozen or so racks of pokeballs on one wall, upon which hung a single sign. "To Sell".

On the opposite wall in the room there was another different rack, mostly empty, but with its own sign. "To Scrub".

Between the two walls stood four metal boxes, with battered and dented copper platings, each one a meter across and half that in height and width. Two of the boxes rumbled with the sound of static and whirring metal, a scratchiness as the lights flickered on the display on top of it. There was a sense of dread that came from them, something about the whirrs- it was like screams.

Mark paused, looking down at the Pokeball in his hands and then at Stevan.

"This is the scrubbing room. Really simple stuff." Stevan snatched the Pokeball from Mark's hand, approaching one of the boxes that currently appeared to not be doing anything. "You plop the Pokeball in, push the button, wait a couple of hours, and poof, scrubbed, loyal empty head ready to obey."

"If the thing complains, just push the button again," Brye spoke up with a roll of her eyes.

"See? Simple." Stevan gestured at the two walls. "You take the ball from the 'To Scrub' rack, put it through, and once done toss it on over to the 'To Sell' rack. Then our friends up top take the girls and get a pretty penny out of it, you get a paycheck, I get a paycheck, everyone wins. Really simple work."

"That's..." Mark felt knots forming inside his gut as he couldn't help but glare at the two machines already working. "Is... that all?"

"For now? That's most of what we expect out of you." The man laughed. "We'll get you up to snuff on the other things before we can consider sending you off to do actual work."

"You mean to say you don't trust me."

"You're very valuable to us, Mark, the Big Man made that very clear. But he was curious about how far you could go in our little enterprise. He's a big fan of the whole idea in fact." Stevan chuckled. "You should expect you'll have a guardian or two to make sure nothing bad happens to you."

More like to avoid him from running away.

Nodding with a brief stiffness, the young redhead had been about to ask something when Stevan flicked the Pokeball he'd taken from Mark, releasing the contents. The instant he'd done this, four of the pokegirls jumped forward. Mark only had a fraction of a second to look upon the midnight long hair and purple confused eyes before the young woman was slammed and pinned against the floor.

It was only upon impact that she spoke, realizing what was happening, and her hair laid wildly about her head as she desperately fought against the four pokegirls keeping her still. It was a fruitless fight. "Let me go!" She spoke with a shrill scream that was a half roar and half cry. It was hard to believe the fragile feminine frame had enough strength to cause the pokegirls pinning her to groan and tighten their hold.

"No can do, little Hector, I just had to see you one last time before we let you go."

"Fuck you, fuck every one of you!"

"I'm sure you will get plenty of fucking from now on, don't worry too much over it," Stevan chuckled. "You're about to get put into a level 5, I've heard it feels fantastic, some people say it's very pleasant." That knocked the fight right out of her- fear and panic crossed her face, but only for a fraction of a second, because the next one she'd turned into red light, getting pulled back into the Pokeball. "And goodbye."

Stevan placed the ball into the machine and clicked the button.

The whirring screams of the machine began, the lights on the display blinking.

"And that's that."

Mark stood there, stock-still, looking at the machine and then at Stevan, feeling the chill of dread going down his back.

"I'll go report to the Big Man we've got a new recruit and we'll want some nice obedient girl to be his starter." A chuckle left him, and he glanced at Mark for a second. "Ah, right, a handler. Brye, I think you'll do well."

"You're joking. You're assigning me as the babysitter?"

"Do you have better things to do?" Brye looked at the man and lowered her head slightly, earning a nod from him. "That'll do, then. I'll have your room prepared, you should be getting your own girl to play with come tomorrow or the day after."

That was it- just like that, Stevan and his entourage save for Brye left the room. The sound of the door closing felt like a prison cell being locked into place. Mark flinched, as what came after the screech of metal was the whirring screams of the 'scrubbers'. The human felt his jaw tighten as he forced himself to look the other way, away from the boxes, or specifically, from the box that contained the now woman with long black hair.

"This fucking stinks." Brye kicked at the chair, growling. "I'm his best and he sends me to babysit a kit."

Mark frowned at this, jaw tightening as he looked at the vulpine pokegirl. "Fuck you."

"What?"

"Fuck you, you whiny bitch." At the words, Brye stepped closer, frowning. Mark didn't move. Everything he'd been feeling exploded outwards in a wave of heat and fire inside himself, pushing him past the nervousness and fear. "Hit me, let's find out how happy your Boss will be at that when he finds out."

The words caused her to hesitate, eyes narrowing. "What, you think you suddenly have all the cards because you've been 'accepted' into this shit?"

"No, I just figure Stevan wants to show me off to whoever his boss is, and you roughing me up would not help him."

"Hm... true, I guess." Brye vanished from where she was standing, appearing right next to Mark, and her fist connected with his gut before he could react. The air was knocked out of his lungs, causing the human to fall down to his knees in a coughing fit. "Then again, I don't need to leave you all scraped up when you run off your mouth."

"Fuck you."

"Seriously?" The vulpine pokegirl pulled a cigarette out of her coat; a single finger lit up and ignited the end. "Whatever, you're not worth the effort."

She disappeared.

Coughing and holding his stomach, Mark groaned and heaved for air, struggling to recover his breath, working to stand, and feeling anger flaring hotter. He growled and glowered- any sound to drown out the whirring screams. He glared at the machines, the 'scrubbers', the things that would turn anyone put into them into the same blank unfocused dead eyes of a corpse.

Mark held back the scream as he kicked one of them with everything he had. The second scream came out as a whimper, not out of anger but from pain. The machines were bolted to the ground, and his shoe had not been in the best of states. The young human wanted to scream; he'd escaped the cage, and now he was in a new one.

Fuck.

BEEP

The sound was different, loud, insistent, and annoying. Mark's eyes turned towards the machine he'd kicked, a sense of dread growing as the consideration of whether he broke it or not ran through him like a bucket of ice. His eyes sought the screen, and he saw upon it the answer. "ERROR: Cycle interrupted, press to restart."

Mark read the words again, and once more- the cycle had stopped? The cycle for the black-haired woman? No, it...

What would happen when Brye came back? Or one of Stefan's henchgirls? They'd check the screen and restart it, and the girl would... The image caused Mark's stomach to revolt, to twist into knots and creep up all the way into his throat. No, he couldn't.

Mark's eyes fell onto the wall to his right. "To Sell".

They'd been scrubbed already, hadn't they? Would this even work? Mark looked around the room, confirming he was alone. His hand moved to the Pokeball and... touched it. Immediately the device popped out of the machine. Mark felt the beat of his heart all the way in his throat. Fingers trembled as he clutched at the Pokeball, and he gulped. Would they ever find out? Could they? What if this was a test?

His mind went to the prison cell, the manacle, and Brye's smirk. He imagined the black-haired woman with blank dead eyes, and the decision was made there and then.

Nearly tripping over himself, Mark moved to the shelves with the pokeballs meant to be sold. He picked one at random, replacing it with the one he'd gotten out of the machine, rushing back to the machine, plopping the new Pokeball in, and... hitting restart. His heart was beating like a drum; suddenly he was short of breath and barely able to calm down.

Again he looked around the room. Any second now Brye would show up and laugh, and Stevan would step into the room and have him dragged back into the cell. Probably beaten up for good measure.

A loud gulp.

Nothing.

Nothing happened.

Taking deep breaths to calm down, he went to stand away from the machines, trying to figure out how he might best convince someone he'd not done anything at all. His mind raced and his pulse kept hammering away. It would not be until he found the right words to express the burning inside his chest that he found a way to calm down.

"Fuck them."

His jaw tightened, and his brow furrowed, as the words gave the emotion something to focus onto.

"Fuck them."

If they were going to keep him locked up? Use him? Fine.

Mark growled- he'd make them regret it.

 

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Dex Entry of the day: Dex Entry

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