It took great courage for Ralph to stand up to his former friends and allies. If Jonas was in the same shoes, he might've forgiven them; however, he knew that loyalty was too important. When someone broke the bonds of trust, it was difficult to repair. Wolf had failed as a leader, and his lieutenant leaving him to join up with his enemy was the result. It was a new lesson for Jonas, one he would carry for a long time.

"Why did you follow him?" Jonas asked. He felt like Ralph could have survived on his talent.

"I hated being alone down here. I wanted to be part of a team again. I got too drunk a few years back, and when I awoke—"

"You were in a cage," Jonas finished his sentence for him: it was a story he found all too familiar. Ralph nodded his head, and Jonas exhaled a deep breath. "Same here."

"Don't get blackout drunk: that's the number one rule of Little Wrath City. I wish I had known earlier. Anyway, I met Wolf and joined his pack, and I was made a fighter soon after my enslavement. Thomas Vale took a liking to my constitution."

"Thanks for sharing," Jonas tried to envision a face for the vice president of the gang. "What about my beef with Wolf: did you ever hear anything about that?"

"A little," Ralph lowered his voice, "Thomas didn't explicitly say to kill you because killing another gang member's fighter would be against gang rules."

"Yeah, but he had Brow's other fighter killed, Keal."

"Exactly, Howard Hurts gave Thomas trouble for that. The only reason he got such a slap on the wrist is because of that Japanese woman, Yuki. She happened to have much more talent than Keal. His death was only a big deal for Brow and the small-time fighters who were part of Keal's gang."

"So long as you're more talented than the fighter you kill," Jonas spoke just as quietly.

"You should be able to get away with just a light punishment."

"How much effort will Wolf make to kill me?"

"Wolf was to monitor your situation and pick a few fights with you. If he found you too talented, and it was the right situation to try it, he could kill you. As long as it looked like you deserved it, Brow would have nothing to say to Howard Hurts, and Thomas would be fine."

"If he just outright kills me for no reason?" Jonas was starting to look relieved, and it caused the surrounding group to feel bewildered.

"Thomas wouldn't just get away with a slap on the wrist, especially now that you've won your first fight, and everyone in the gang knows Brow has a talented young fighter that isn't afraid of top-fives. Shit, you've stood your ground against Wolf, Ahmed, and Garth. That's a huge boon for the gang, and I wouldn't be surprised if the other top-fives or Howard Hurts are taking notice of you."

"Thanks," Jonas felt a surge of Pride as he heard himself described with such decoration. It seemed he was relatively safe until he revealed himself as an imminent threat to either Thomas Vale or Wolf. As he finished his workout, Jonas realized he needed to win more fights; that way, he would be valuable enough to kill Wolf and get away with it, just as Ralph had mentioned.

Jonas, Ralph, and Ahmed left the gym just before dinner, and when they reached the hall that divided fighters from gangsters, they went their separate ways. Ralph went to the barracks, Ahmed to his private room, and Jonas back to his iron cage, where his only comforts were a blanket, pillow, and his two friends.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Jonas' eyebrows nearly left his head when he saw that both Johnson and Simon attempted to do upside-down push-ups.

“This,” Simon huffed. "Is much harder than it looks.”

“How does he keep his balance for so long?” Johnson wobbled back and forth. “Oh, Jonas. How did everything go?"

“Decent,” said Jonas, who was still watching them while wearing a strange expression on his face, “Since when do you two exercise in your cages?”

“Since we decided that enough is enough,” said Simon as he flipped over onto his ass.

“Enough of what?”

“Enough of being weak,” said Johnson, and he too flipped over into a sitting position. For a second, Jonas wasn’t sure what to say to them. He had never thought them weak, but he did know that neither took Sinning as seriously as he did. There was also the question of talent and effort, something they had both lacked.

“Err,” Jonas was at a loss for words, “If you guys need any help, let me know,” and although he wasn’t an expert when it came to working out, Jonas had done quite an excellent job on himself considering he put on over twenty pounds since arriving in Hell.

“Thanks,” said Simon, “What happened to the big guy, Ralph?”

“He’s alright,” said Jonas, “But halfway through our work-out, we got surrounded by Wolf and his gang,” he watched as both his friend's expressions became stern.

“Not good?” Simon was waiting for the bad news.

“Good, actually,” said Jonas, “Wolf didn’t like Ralph hanging out with Ahmed and me, so he asked him to come back.”

“He didn’t?” Johnson surmised from Jonas’ expression.

“No. Ralph told him to fuck off. I was quite surprised.”

“Could it have just been an act?” Johnson wasn't nearly as trusting as Jonas. Simon felt happy someone asked because he had been thinking the same thing.

“My instinct disagrees. I think Ralph's genuine.”

“How can you be sure?” Johnson wasn’t ready to give up that easily; he had seen one too many friends turn on each other in his previous lifetime.

“He’s a Berserker,” said Jonas, “Those guys aren’t the scheming type,” Johnson nor Simon were Sinners, so they just didn’t understand how much you could understand someone's personality by looking at their Sin type.

”That personality test sounds about as accurate as a horoscope,” Johnson spit on the ground, "You can't just assume someone is trustworthy because of a mark on their hand."

“Take it from me,” said Jonas as he held up one tanned hand where there was a blood-red Sin Scar: its color was dull like a faded tattoo, and it appeared to be sleeping. “It’s pretty accurate.”

“Good thing Ralph has a spot in the barracks,” said Simon, “Or else Jonas would have to share more of his food with him too, then we’d never have any calories to put on some muscle.”

“Greedy bastards,” Jonas laughed as he began to relax. It was warm in the slave room, so he took off his shirt and leaned back against his pillow.

“What’re you gonna do about Wolf?” Simon asked after attempting to do a few half-assed push-ups.

“I can’t beat him, yet,” Jonas knew this was obvious, “I also can’t afford to piss off his owner too much either, as Thomas Vale seems like the type with a short fuse. My best bet is to avoid Wolf and to win as many fights as possible.”

“Yeah, I don't see that happening,” said Johnson, “That crazy Canuck is one tough bastard, highly trained, and if I had to guess, I’d say he was Canadian special forces.”

“Canada has a special forces unit?” Jonas looked surprised.

“Joint Task Force Two. It’s sort of like our Navy SEALs, only more secretive."

“Are you sure?" Jonas unintentionally made a worried expression, and his eyes drifted off to the side.

“He could have just been a Mountie,” said Johnson, “Maybe I’m wrong, but his posture, skill, and fighting style says military to me."

“Well, I think it’s best we assume he’s the craziest motherfucker that the Canadian forces had ever produced,” Jonas clicked his tongue in annoyance.

Later on, when dinner arrived, the three of them feasted on rat stew. Jonas made sure to give them both large portions, as they needed the extra energy: he didn’t care so much about the food as he did the beer. He watched with a dry mouth as a gang member slid two large pitchers of Swamp Ale into his iron cage. Jonas poured beer into three cups, passed them around, and then the trio clinked them together.

“I remember when I first got here,” said Johnson through loud sips, “No beer, barely enough food to survive, and being beaten near unconscious every single day.”

“Don’t forget the loneliness,” said Simon.

“Yes,” agreed Johnson, “Can’t forget the fucking solitude. It’s my good luck that Jonas took pity on me, you know.”

“Don’t say that,” said Jonas, “I should have helped you to begin with, as it was my fault you got stuck with Garth.”

“Fuck Garth,” said Johnson, “It wasn’t your fault that Brow decided to pair an eighteen-year-old kid with a fucking psychopath. It wasn’t your fault he beat you half to death, and it wasn’t your fault that I got stuck with him.”

“Fine, fine,” Jonas conceded, “It’s done and over with now. There's no point in dwelling on the past.”

“Fuck that,” said Johnson, he lowered his voice, and his expression became dark, “I’m going to cut that fucker's cock off.”

“Don’t worry,” Jonas laughed, “I haven’t forgotten about what Garth did to either of us,” and his expression became sinister, “I don’t think chopping off his cock is enough punishment: we should make him eat it too.”

“You’re sick,” said Johnson. “But I like it,” and the three of them began quietly discussing the cruel punishments they would enact on Garth once they had the chance.

The night went by slowly as they chugged the rest of their beer, and eventually, the alcohol took its toll as both his friends had passed out, and both were blissfully snoring, vacationing in dreamland. Jonas closed his eyes, but he found it difficult to doze off.

He heard footsteps growing closer, and his instincts told him something was off. His eyes snapped open, and he noticed a guard on night patrol was walking toward his cage. Jonas watched as he stuck a key into the lock, twisted it, and quietly pulled open the iron door.

“Let’s go, Ariel,” the guard whispered, “Don’t make a fuss.”

“Fuck no,” said Jonas as he backed deeper into his cage, “Give me one good reason?”

“My boss wants to see you,” said that guard impatiently, “Now lower your fucking voice, or I’m going to have to beat you,” he gripped his iron rod. Jonas wasn’t intimidated because he could beat most low-level gang members in a fight.

“Howard Hurts or Thomas Vale?” Jonas asked.

“Of course, Howard Hurts. You have three seconds to get out,” although he knew it could have been a trap, Jonas doubted that either of the gang leaders would set such an unreasonable scenario to kill one of the slaves they owned. Jonas resolved himself and climbed out of the cage. He wasn't going to be afraid, and he was no longer the cowardly anxiety-prone teenager from the past. He would face this challenge head-on and use his powers of Sin to solve it. The Sin Scars on his hands began to glow in delight as they approved of their owners' behavior.

The guard pushed the teen and made him march towards the exit. Jonas’ thumping heart began to soften as he contemplated why Howard Hurts was summoning him. Perhaps, he just wanted to look at what all the excitement was.

The guard led him through the empty sandpits, past the fighter wing, and down an unfamiliar hallway that led to the private rooms. They passed one or two patrolling guards, but they said nothing about Jonas being out of bed. He soon discovered that it wasn't unusual for guards to do sketchy things after dark.

“Where the fuck are we going?” Jonas had never been down that particular hallway, as he wasn't allowed.

“The boss' room,” said the gang member, “Now shut the fuck up,” Jonas found himself marching through a long hallway, down a set of stairs, and into a basement area. At the end of the hallway was a wooden door that stood alone, and soon Jonas and the guard stopped in front of it.

“Go in, now,” the guard prodded the young slave in the back. Jonas turned the knob, pushed open the wooden door, and stepped inside. Without a second glance, that guard shut the door and locked it from the outside, trapping Jonas inside.