Getting Out Of The Frying Pan Is An Ordeal In Itself...
Tarik
June 15, 10:47 pm, Paris, France
"In here," said the boy, rattling the handle of the door. A large padlock held it shut. He struggled with it for a little while, before Tarik motioned for him to step aside.
From the arena, Elodie led them down a set of stairs. It was only then that Tarik remembered the "secret rooms" the Gaspard had set up years ago, for some of their more private clients. He felt a little sick remembering the sorts of things those clients left behind in these rooms, especially after some of the more...competitive...auctions.
There had been a reason why Tarik hadn't been all that disturbed by monster bodies. Casual human cruelty could often create things much more disturbing.
The rooms themselves weren't that special: they were just a small, black room with a large TV screen showing a live feed of the arena. Tarik had noticed that the seats seemed a lot more comfortable than they had been the last time he'd been here.