3 Really, A Blow Dart?

"Hey, you. Come over here!"

Alongside those words came the cacophony of bottles tinking together and the rustle of various plastic wrappers as the lid to the industrial dumpster slowly lifted to reveal the sleaved right arm of a man.

Witnessing this, the last few lazy hairs on the back of Dean's neck finally stood up as if noticing the peculiarity of the situation.

'The f*ck! Why in god's name is this man sitting in a dumpster with a dying dog no less? Have the homeless in my fair city sunk so low?'

Shaking the useless thought from his mind, he finally decided to take several large steps backward as he kept his attention glued on to this real-life Oscar the Grouch.

Clearing his throat, Dean attempted to speak as calmly as he could as he addressed his new dumpster friend. "Haha, man it's a little dark out here. Anything you want to say to me just say it. I don't see why I have to come over there."

While he was speaking, he was able to get a better look at the man to reveal what could only be described as an average unassuming face that was easily forgettable in a crowd.

If there was anything to note about this man's appearance, it would be the few suspicious stains around the man's mouth and the incessant way he kept sucking his teeth as if he'd had something lodged within them. Oh, and the spaghetti slowly sliding down his head.

Ignoring Dean's words, the man continued to speak to him.

"Didn't you here what I said? I said come over hear. Don't you hear its pained whimpers? Are you someone that only looks out for himself?"

At those words, Dean raised his caution towards the man even higher as he quickly threw out an excuse for his earlier actions. "Of course, I wanted to help, but what can a struggling college student like myself do to help it. I have no idea where the nearest vet is. If I went over there and 'helped', the best I could do would be to send it on its way. And THAT, I will not do."

"Since you won't come over here to help him I'll just bring him to you." The man's patience seemed to have run out as he bent down to rummage in the dumpster for a brief moment before flinging the injured dog towards Dean's feet.

Or, what was left of it.

With another pained whimper, the dog landed with a thump several feet in front of Dean. The dog was worse than he thought as it could barely take weak shallow breaths.

However, what truly shook Dean to his core was the fact that the dog's left leg was missing all of the meat. In fact, if one looked closer one would even see that the dog's meatless left leg appeared to have teeth marks all over the bone.

'No way! This man was eating the dog alive. Is that even a thing one does in this age? I know it's the wrong thing to say, but why are you incessantly sucking your teeth as if you're unsatisfied with the little doggy leg?'

Feeling that the situation was weird enough, Dean turned around to bolt out of the alley before he heard the man make a surprised cry of "Ah, wait".

Ignoring the man, he took several powerful strides towards the salvation that lies at the exit of the alley before he felt a sharp pain in his right arm. Seconds later, it felt as if his limbs were submerged in lead as he stumbled to the ground. Ignoring his skinned knees and hands, he glanced at the source of the sharp pain.

Glancing at his right arm, he noticed a small cylindrical stick poking out of it. 'A blow dart? What the f*ck. Whatever happened to the friendly game of cat and mouse that ensues between a psycho and his victim, where I run and you chase? How shameless.'

Uncaring of Dean's inner thoughts, the man quickly placed the blowgun back into his sleeve as he looked around the surroundings for any potential witnesses. Satisfied with what he saw the man hopped out of the dumpster with practiced ease before taking hurried steps towards Dean as he reached out with his grubby hands to grab him.

Using the last bit of his fading strength, Dean finally attempted to scream for help as he sluggishly crawled away. However, all that left his lips was a hoarse whisper that no one else but him, his fellow victim the dog, and the psychopath could hear.

Seemingly spurred on by Dean's struggle, the man quickened his pace as he breath became ragged from unsuppressed excitement.

Feeling a vicelike grip on his ankle, Dean used whatever strength he had left to stubbornly claw at the ground and once again tried to scream for help. But alas, whatever was on the blowdart was too effective and within seconds that strength too left me.

As despair took over and his consciousness sank ever lower, the last thing he saw was the back of his assailant as he slowly dragged Dean back towards the dumpster that he'd just hopped out of.

'For god's sake man, at least wipe the spaghetti off of yourself. I know you feel it sliding down the back of your neck.'

With that last useless thought, Dean lost consciousness completely.