Jonas’ body was still in tremendous pain, and the fact that he had been thrown face-first into his metal cage didn’t help either. The iron door of his cage slammed shut, and he could barely summon the strength to rub his sore body as he held his eyes firmly closed and tried to run from the pain.

Those punches and kicks hadn’t been like the ones he had experienced from Rick, no, these had been many times worse. Jonas swore that he could feel actual malice and cruelty lingering within his ripped skin.

His haggard breathing began to relax after a few minutes, and although he still felt like he had been hit by a truck, he could at least find the willpower to concentrate on something other than dying a slow painful death.

‘God, do you hate me?’ Jonas prayed in his heart. Unfortunately, God still wasn’t replying to Jonas’ messages, and instead, the young man heard his inner voice answer back, ‘Of course, he doesn’t hate me, if he did, that would mean that he took notice of my misery.’

When would he finally get the silly idea out of his mind, that God would help him if he prayed hard enough? Maybe the wishful thinking was a remnant of his time at church, or perhaps he had just been so desperate the last few weeks that he turned his hopes towards the only thing he had ever known, asking for help from father figures who weren’t there; not God, not his dad, not Old Louie, and not Drake.

Jonas’ vision clouded over and he fell unconscious. It wasn’t until an hour later that the sound of moaning slaves woke him up, as like him, they were forced back into their cages, only much more beaten and miserable than before. He tried to lift himself but found it much more soothing to just lay still.

He really couldn’t believe it, it was almost comical when he thought about how he went from a cage to a mansion, to the sewers, and back to a cage in a matter of a week. He gave a weak smile and thought to himself, ‘If I keep this up, I might end up mastering the art of being a slave.’

Jonas reminisced about his fight against Garth and he knew instantly that the big man had been much more dangerous and powerful than his previously most hated enemy, Rick. It was to the point that if Jonas put both those psychos in a deathmatch, Garth would make Rick his little bitch.

Jonas sighed painfully, but then something abruptly caught his attention, ‘What the fuck?’ he felt like something was off as his body began to burn hot. Looking down at his battered chest, he noticed that some of the smaller wounds had already begun to heal over, and even some of the swollen bits had started to bruise properly.

This is what it meant when people had told Jonas he would heal much faster while in Hell because he could feel in real-time as his wounds were slowly closing, scarring, and healing, but unfortunately he wasn’t excited because he knew that once he was back to normal it meant he would once again be a punching bag for the big brute known as Garth.

“Psst,” a greasy whisper broke Jonas’ stupor, and he shifted his gaze over towards where the noise had come from, where he caught sight of a rat-faced man whose arms were so thin they looked like they belonged to a skeleton.

“What’s up?” Jonas asked.

“Did you just meet Garth?” he asked quietly, “You did, didn’t you?”

“Are there other fighters that leave slaves looking like this?” Jonas asked rhetorically but was surprised when the rat-faced man nodded.

“Of course there are, the Hurts gang makes all their profit from fighters like Garth, you see, they got about four others and they’re all simply known as the top-five. Garth has an undefeated record in the cage, but his best achievement is the fact that he’s managed to kill over fifty slaves and prostitutes, though it’s probably a much higher number.”

“Fucking pleasant,” moaned Jonas as he turned over and stopped paying attention to the man. Knowing that there were four other psychos just like Garth nearly made him feel worse than he already did.

“Wait for a second, friend,” the man whispered, “I’m just trying to help you.”

“Unless you have a way out of here, I’m not interested in your help,” Jonas didn’t even bother turning around.

“But I do have a way to get out,” said the rat-faced man, which immediately captured Jonas’ attention. He flipped back around and faced his neighbor's cage once more.

“How?” his voice was cold, and it didn’t sound very eager at all.

“What’s your name?” asked the man, “I’m Simon,” he added with a greasy smile.

“Jonas,” said Jonas, “How do we get out of here?”

“Easy,” said Simon, “Just beat one of the top-five and take their place, then, you’ll no longer have to live in this cage,” he added, “Quite simple, isn’t it?”

Jonas felt like breaking out of his cage and strangling Simon with his intestines. If that was the only method to get out he would have been better off not knowing at all. He sighed and stared up at the ceiling, hoping his neighbor would just disappear, “Anyways, how’d they get you?” and Simon dug in his ear with his pinky finger, wiping yellow gunk all over his dirty prison scrubs.

“Don’t know,” said Jonas, “Was drinking with a friend when I passed out, and when I came too I was in this fucking cage.”

“Ah, that’s a familiar story,” said Simon, “Rule number one of Little Wrath City; never get blackout drunk,” and he added with a smile, “Say, you wanna be friends?”

“Not particularly,” said Jonas, “I’ll probably be dead tomorrow so there is no point, really,” but Simon wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

“Come on, Jo,” he said with an endearing smile, “You look out for me, I look out for you, and don’t you worry about dying, because the Hurts gang has been cracking down on the killing of slaves so it would be abnormal for one of the fighters to take it too far and kill you, Garth not included.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jonas was a bit exasperated, no one but his brother and parents had ever called him Jo.

“Okay, Jonas,” said Simon, “Let me ask you, is this your first time being a slave?” and Jonas couldn’t help but smile wryly.

“No.”

“Okay, I can work with that,” said Simon while nodding his head approvingly, “What type of slave were you?”

“Type?” Jonas raised an eyebrow, “There are different types of slaves?”

“Of course, there are,” Simon said, “The most common type is a house slave, but then you’ve also got combat slaves, labor slaves, and death slaves. Which one were you?”

“What’s a house slave?” Jonas asked, “I think I was one of those.”

“You know; maids, butlers, gardeners, fuck toys,” Simon said, “Those are all house slaves.”

“Definitely a house slave,” Jonas glared at him, “I was what you call a fuck toy.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Simon sighed, “Being a fuck toy is much better than being a dummy slave.”

“Obviously,” Jonas said while gently rubbing his sore wounds, “What about the other two, what is a death slave?”

“A labor slave is a person who does hard manual labor, you know; mining, farming, and such. A death slave however is one of the worst existences, a type of slave who exists to do extremely dangerous tasks that usually result in death.”

“Doesn’t sound all that bad,” Jonas suggested, “Wouldn’t it be better to just reincarnate without your memories than to continue being a slave for all of eternity?”

“Maybe,” Simon nodded, “People don’t like the idea of losing their sense of self, though, and perhaps they’ll just end up a slave in their next life as well.”

“This place is fucked,” Jonas grunted, “What a miserable existence.”

“This is Hell,” Simon reminded, “Did you think it would be rainbows and unicorns?”

“No,” Jonas shook his head, “I did think decent people would be at least given a fighting chance for a good afterlife.”

“Then you already have the answer to your problem,” Simon smirked, “Here’s your fighting chance, literally.”

“My fighting chance?” Jonas slowly raised himself into a seating position, “What nonsense are you talking about?”

“That guy Garth might be the best fighting slave in all of Little Wrath City, but he wasn’t always a fighting slave,” Simon explained, “He was just like us at one point, beaten, battered, and living in a cage.”

“What happened?”

“He showed promise, trained himself, fought like crazy, earned tons of money for the gang, and now he has a private room with access to all the food, booze, and prostitutes he could hope for.”

“Still a slave though,” Jonas rolled his eyes, “Still lives in a fucking sewer.”

“Someone is a bit picky, isn’t he?”

“Not really,” Jonas smiled, “I just think that if you’re going to risk your life training for a prize, you should be able to enjoy the prize as a free man.”

“Why can’t freedom be the prize?” Simon asked suggestively, and Jonas was forced to consider his words.

“If a guy like Garth can’t escape, I doubt I’ll be able to.”

“Who said Garth wants to escape?” and Simon smiled rather devilishly as he watched the realization dawn on Jonas’ face, “Maybe Garth actually likes being exactly where he’s at, and perhaps this lifestyle is the one he’s always dreamed of.”

“Even so,” Jonas put this revelation to the back of his mind, “I still don’t think I’ll survive very long down here, especially going against a psycho like Garth.”

“Listen, Jonas,” Simon sat cross-legged as he lowered his voice to a whisper, “That guy Brow might seem like an asshole, but he’s your golden ticket if you want to move up in the world.”

“What do you mean?”

“Brow is always looking for promising new fighters, and if you can show off a little bit, or at least give him reason to believe the gang should invest in you, he’ll transfer you to a fighter that isn’t as murderous as Garth.”

“You mean that?” Jonas asked skeptically, though he didn’t have any reason to doubt Simon, especially because he was doomed either way.

“What’s important to note about the top-five, is that every single one of them started in the same place as you.”

“I’m too small to beat a guy like Garth,” Jonas sighed, “Maybe if I had been assigned to a different fighter from the start I’d stand a chance.”

“No one said you had to beat Garth,” Simon reminded, “You only need to show off a bit, and use the opportunity to make yourself look good, that’s it, that’s your best shot.”

“Got it, boss,” said Jonas, “How’d you get captured?”

“Do you have some time?” Simon chuckled, and Jonas checked the nonexistent watch on his hand.

“I’ve got an appointment with Death soon, but I think I can spare some time,” and after a light-hearted chuckle, the two slaves began to converse in the dark.

As the hours slowly ticked by, Jonas learned that his new cellmate had died one year previously in a house fire, caused by his wife who had a psychotic break due to her postpartum depression.

Simon didn’t blame her much though, his Felisha had always needed intense psychological care, but unfortunately for him and their daughter, she hadn’t gotten it that day. After he was sentenced to the first floor of Hell, Simon had also tried to find out how to become a Sinner, and eventually, he was led to the sewers by a strange post he found on Dreadit. Instead of getting blackout drunk and captured as Jonas had, Simon had collected a massive gambling debt that he couldn’t afford to pay back, so he was imprisoned by the Hurts gang and forced to be a dummy slave.

However, luckily for Simon, he was assigned to the top-five fighter known as Ahmed, and although Ahmed was a bit of a dick, he was much gentler when compared to the brute known as Garth and this was probably the only reason why the skinny, rat-faced thirty-something-year-old had survived until now.

“I wish I was assigned to Ahmed,” said Jonas who was dreading the moment he would have to reenter the sandpits with Garth.

“Well,” said Simon, not sure what to say, “You just need to learn how to deal with the pain, if you can learn that, you’ll be able to survive against Garth, at least long enough to show your skills.”

“Deal with the pain?” asked Jonas, “Do you mean that literally?”

“Yeah,” said Simon, “The only way to get stronger in Hell is to become numb to the feeling of pain.”

“How does one do that?” Jonas gave his new friend a skeptical expression.

“Easy,” said Simon, “You just have to convince yourself that no matter how badly you get hurt, you’ll eventually just heal from it.”

“I really can’t tell if you’re a genius or an idiot,” and Jonas smiled for the first time since he had been locked in his cage.

“Probably a bit of both,” said Simon, “But I’m serious, once you learn to ignore the pain and you stop fearing it, you’ll be surprised how strong you really can be.”

“Easier said than done,” Jonas couldn’t help but shake his head at this advice.

“Dinner should be coming soon,” Simon looked suggestively towards the exit door, and sure enough it was pushed open just a few minutes later, and a few gangsters walked in while carrying large trays of food.

“Grub time,” one of them said while pushing two things underneath the slot of Jonas’ cage door. The first was a tiny bowl of soup, and although Jonas would describe it as soup, it looked more like a grotesque mixture of old vegetables, chunks of half-cooked chicken, and thick yellow broth.

“Disgusting,” he said while giving it a sniff.

“It’s not so bad,” Simon licked his lips excitedly, “Try dunking the bread in the soup,” and he pointed to the second thing the guard had pushed into Jonas’ cage, which turned out to be an extremely hard piece of bread that he had at first mistaken as a large rock.

Jonas sighed as he picked up the bowl of soup and gave it a sip, and although it was just as disgusting as he had imagined it to be, it still wasn’t the grossest thing he had ever eaten in his life.

“I’m surprised they put meat in it,” Jonas chuckled as he began drowning the rocky bread into the broth, which admittedly was a difficult task considering the bread was nearly the same size as the bowl, “I didn’t think they’d give us chicken.”

“Rat,” said Simon with a lovely smile, “This, my friend, is rat stew.”