He leans in close until we’re almost nose to nose. I move away from him to give myself space. His eyes darken, and his voice lowers to an even more threatening octave than before. “Then, you better win.”
I gulp.
Master follows the doctor’s movements with his eyes until he’s out of the room. Then, he fishes into his back pocket and pulls out a small glass bottle and needle.
I whimper. I hate needles.
“Hold still. You’ll thank me for this later.” He fills the syringe with a bottle of bluish green liquid. Then, he slides it back to his pocket. “Which arm? Right or left?”
It only takes me a second to roll up my left arm sleeve. I shut my eyes tightly, bracing myself for what’s to come.
He cleans the spot and counts down. “Ready? One, two...” He injects the fluid.
It pinches, but it doesn’t hurt. There’s a weird taste in my mouth almost immediately.
“There.” He dislodges the needle, tossing it in a bin. “See? Easy.”
I smile at his praise.
He hooks his hands under my arms and lifts me off the table. Once I’m on the floor, he bends down, so he’s face to face with me. “Now, give me your best growl.”
I hesitate but manage a small roar.
Unimpressed, he says, “Ah, come on. You can do better than that. Let’s hear you roar!”
I’ve never been on a team before.
I roar as loud as I can. And he does the same.
“Yeah! That’s my girl! Now let’s go out there and win!”
And I’m determined to do just that.
***
Same day
Shortly after my checkup, I’m chained to the metal crash cart. Master says it’s just for show.
“Like a prop?” I ask him.
“Yeah.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Like a prop.”
He and others are carting me through a tunnel. There’s a light at the end and a rusted gate drawn to the top.
“Ladies and gentleman,” the man on the loudspeaker says, “tonight is the night you’ve all been waiting for.”
From my cage on top of the cart, I notice the arena is sphere-like, with stands circling upwards. Under the moon, without a ceiling, the starry night sky is the closest I’ve seen to the outside world since...
My chest tightens.
The cart comes to a stop. The thousands of audience members in the stands are hushed at the announcer’s signal. A boy with chocolate-colored eyes and matching hair, buzzed in rough patches, appears from the tunnel, unchained. Shirtless, he has more muscles than I’d expect a seemingly twelve-year-old to have.
I tell myself at least he looks fed, but the relief dies fast when I remember why my Master feeds me.
This pup could be a champion. How many have they forced him to kill? How long has he been a prisoner?
The only person I feel sorry for now is him. I may be suffering the same fate, but he’s been through it longer. The things he must have seen...
