When society evolves, all of it evolves. The good parts get better, and the shitty parts… They get shittier.

Werewolves had lived apart from human existence for centuries, peaceful and undisturbed. They had their own communities, languages, cultures, ways of life. Emphasis on “had”, because nowadays, it’s rare to see a werewolf leading a normal life without some human close behind, holding them by the neck.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out which side of society you’re on.

You’re shoved into the ring, the bright lights and loud cheers from the crowd around you completely overwhelms your already heightened senses. You watch your opponent step in, the two of you standing opposite each other, looks of determination on both of your faces. There’s a sense of understanding between you, as you’re both aware of the consequences you’ll face if the other triumphs.

The wait, however short, that you’re forced to endure while anticipating the beginning of the match has a torturously languorous feel to it, which you despise. Looking over at your handler, you see that he’s conversing loudly with a tall man wearing combat gear. He seems to be in some sort of heated debate, so much so that he’s vociferating and gesturing wildly. His swift hand movements alone are enough to make you shudder, recalling the many occurrences when those same hands had struck you in direct response to your failures.

The ref steps between you and the other werewolf, blowing his whistle and raising his arm. It feels like you black out, and when you finally come to again, you’ve won.

You’ve won, and your handler looks more pleased than you’ve ever seen him. For a second, you think that you’ve actually managed to make him proud, until you see that he’s counting a large stack of money. You begin to approach him, but the sound of footsteps gains your attention.

It’s the strange man from earlier. “Me’n your handler struck a wee deal. How would you like t’have something actually worth fightin’ for?”