14.

The slaughterhouse was dimly lit and dirty, with rusty metal walls and concrete floors stained with blood. The ample open space was filled with stainless steel tables and equipment, and the animals were hung from the ceiling by their legs, their throats already slit.

In the middle of the room was a huge fat man with a round face and a greasy apron. He was the Butcher and looked like he had been doing this job too long. His eyes were small and beady, and his hands were big and meaty.

As he was taking care of another carcass, the doors opened, and a figure appeared. It was Fox, dressed in all black, pulling an unconscious body behind her. She dragged the body over to a drain grate and left it there. She took out a garden hose spray gun and turned it on, drenching the body with water.

After what seemed like an eternity, Sett began to stir. He groaned softly and lifted his head, blinking in the harsh fluorescent light of the room. His eyes were swollen and puffy, and his face was a mass of bruises and cuts. But despite his injuries, there was a fire in his eyes.

Sett's eyes darted around the room, taking in the stainless steel tables and equipment. He noticed the carcasses hanging from the ceiling, still dripping blood onto the floor. The constant noise of machinery and animals made his head pound. The smell of blood, guts, and animal waste was overpowering, and he felt sick.

He looked over at Fox, standing with her arms crossed, watching him intently. Sett rubbed his head and closed his eyes to ease the dizziness. He took a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes.

He tried to stand up and stumbled forward as the Butcher pushed a carcass towards him, hanging from a hook on the ceiling. The smell of blood and death was overwhelming, making his stomach churn. He shook his head to clear the dizziness and sidestep the swinging meat as it moved past him on a rail.

The Butcher grunted and grabbed another carcass, his meaty arms flexing as he hefted it onto a nearby table. Fox watched warily from the corner, still holding the garden hose spray gun.

Sett's mind was foggy, and he struggled to understand what had happened. The repairman had beaten him, and everything went dark. He could feel his body ache with pain as he leaned on the cold metal pillar. His head throbbed, and he could see stars dancing in front of his eyes. He couldn't remember how he had ended up in this place, with the smell of blood and death permeating his nostrils.

The Butcher's eyes glinted with admiration and approval of The Repairman's work as he surveyed the battered body of Sett. With a grunt, he hoisted up his massive frame and turned to Fox, his hands still clutching a bloodied butcher knife.

"Tell me, my dear, how many punches did that repairman throw before he counted sheep?" he asked a hint of curiosity in his gruff voice.

Fox's response was met with a low whistle from the Butcher, who couldn't help but admire the resilience of the young man standing before him.

"This one's a fighter, eh?" he remarked grimly.

"Well, I'm more used to giving a beating than taking it," Sett said.

The Butcher stepped forward, his shadow falling over Sett like a dark cloud.

"Did you spend a lot of time with knives?" he asked, his voice low and threatening. Sett knew it was a rhetorical question, but he couldn't help but answer.

"Breakfast, lunch, and dinner," he said.

The Butcher didn't seem impressed and swung his knife towards Sett's face, striking him with a blunt side. Sett stumbled back, and Butcher walked towards him. Sett stood up slowly, his face throbbing from the blow. He looked at the Butcher with defiance. The man towered over him, holding his knife menacingly. Sett knew he was in trouble but stood his ground, his eyes never leaving the Butcher's face. Despite the throbbing pain in his cheek from the earlier blow, he refused to show any signs of weakness.

"That was a rhetorical question," said the Butcher, pointing his knife at Sett and swinging his blade, aiming for his chest.

Sett barely dodged it, stumbling back and tripping over a hanging carcass. He tried to regain his balance, but the Butcher was already walking towards him, his knife glinting in the harsh light.

Sett stood there, trapped between the cold, hanging carcass and the imposing figure of the Butcher. His heart pounded in his chest as he tried to steady himself, but the dizziness from the blow made it difficult to focus.

He knew he was at the mercy of the Butcher, a man who didn't seem to have any. The air was thick with the smell of blood and death, and Sett couldn't help but feel that he was following. The man's dark intentions were palpable, and Sett felt like he was staring into the eyes of death itself. The Butcher's voice was cold and calculating as he spoke, his words like icicles piercing Sett's soul.

"If you dare interrupt me again, I'll make sure to use the other side of this blade," growled the Butcher, his face twisted into a cruel grin as he pointed the sharp knife menacingly at Sett's bruised and bloodied face.

The cold metal glinted in the harsh light, sending shivers down Sett's spine. "There's something you need to understand," said the Butcher in a low, menacing voice. "Knives are easy to hide."

With a flick of his wrist, he made the knife in his hand disappear, leaving Sett to wonder where else the man had hidden his weapons.

"Knives are easy to hide, never jam, and never run out of ammo." He suddenly lunged at Sett, the blade's sharp point aiming straight for his throat.

Sett's breath was taken away as he tried to stand still and didn't move, knowing that his life could end with the slightest movement.

"They come in handy when you need some close contact work," the Butcher said with a sinister grin. He then moved the knife from Sett's throat to his heart and began to trace a menacing pattern with the blade.

At this moment, Sett moved fast, pushed the knife away from his body, and took a few steps away from the Butcher to create space between them. As Sett pushed the knife away from his body, his heart was pounding in his chest. He couldn't believe how close he had come to being another lifeless carcass hanging from the ceiling.

The Butcher's voice had a twisted approval like he was proud of Sett's quick reflexes. But The Butcher was still far from the finish. He stepped closer, his hand resting on his belt, where a collection of blades hung. Sett knew he had to be careful; one wrong move and he would be carved up like the animals surrounding him.

The sound of the beer can opening echoed in the room, making the eerie silence that had settled between them. Both Butcher and Sett turned to look at Fox as she calmly took a swig from the can.

Butcher's eyes then shifted back to Sett, a sly grin forming on his lips. "What was I?" He scratched his chin. "Ah, right."

Suddenly, in a move too fast for Sett to register, Butcher took a knife from behind his belt and handed it over to Sett. Sett's eyes widened in shock as he held the cold metal in his hand, feeling its weight.

"We're gonna have some fun," Butcher said with a sinister chuckle, taking out his knife and twirling it around in his hand.

Sett wasn't someone to hesitate. Imidetly he rushed forward and tried to stab this fat bastard. But when the knife blade was almost in reach to penetrate that fat fuck stomach, he moved with a fluid motion and disarmed Sett with just one move. In the same movement, his hand holding a knife was slashed over.

Sett stumbled back, feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He couldn't believe how effortlessly the Butcher had disarmed him. His hand was stinging from the deep cut inflicted by the blade.

The sound of the knife hitting the floor echoed through the room. Sett was now weaponless and at the mercy of the Butcher. Now covered in blood, the knife was only a few inches away from Sett's face.

The Butcher's eyes narrowed as he leaned in closer. "You're not as good as you think you are," he said with a sinister smile.

Butcher slowly bent down and picked up the knife, pointing it towards Sett. Sett hesitated for a moment before taking it from him.

Butcher stood up and said in a low, dangerous voice, "Once again."

Sett knew he had no choice but to fight. He raised the knife and prepared for another attack. Butcher stood his ground, observing Sett's movements. The tension in the air was palpable as they were ready to engage in a deadly dance.

Sett made the first move, lunging forward with the knife. Butcher dodged easily, sidestepping the attack and countering with a kick to Sett's stomach.

Sett doubled over, and again the knife clattered to the ground. With lightning-fast reflexes, the Butcher spun around and landed a vicious backhand blow across Sett's face, causing him to see stars. But Sett was not one to give up easily. Despite the pain and dizziness, he regained his footing and launched himself at the Butcher again with his fists. The two men exchanged blows, their grunts, and labored breaths filling the air. It was like watching two beasts in a brutal fight for dominance.

Butcher observed Sett as he fought with bare hands. A smirk formed on his face as he said, "I see that you are more comfortable with fighting with your fists. But if you're not fighting with knives, you must learn to fight against them." His tone was cold and menacing.

Sett's heart sank as he realized he was up against a formidable opponent with years of knife experience. He knew that he had to be careful if he wanted to survive.

Butcher continued, "You never know when you'll have to defend yourself. And when that time comes, you better be prepared to use any means necessary to survive." His words sent shivers down Sett's spine.

Sett received bloodied slashes all over his body. His strength left him, and he had a problem standing. But his eyes were still hard and declining to lose to that man.

Sett's vision started to blur as he staggered, his body aching from the cuts and gashes inflicted by the Butcher's knife. Butcher's savage attacks were relentless, and Sett struggled to keep up with the pace. Each time the blade touched his flesh, he winced in pain but refused to give up. With a burst of adrenaline, Sett charged forward, throwing his weight behind a punch. But it was too little, too late. The Butcher's knife plunged into Sett's chest, and he fell to the ground, gasping for air.

Sett fell to the ground, bloodied and in pain. Butcher loomed over him, knife in hand. "You're not as tough as you thought," he sneered. "But don't worry, I'll make you tough."

The last thing he saw before everything went black was the cold, unfeeling eyes of the Butcher, staring down at him with satisfaction.