Self-pity and loud cries of pain were commonplace in the slave room, but it was the first time that Jonas had participated. He wasn't the type of person to complain about the pain he was in, but this time was different because the body part that had been damaged was so useful to him. Someone should have reminded Jonas that he had once almost lost his head.

“Look at my fucking hand!” Jonas groaned loudly as he sat in his cage. The flesh had taken on the same color and appearance as raw beef. He was unable to stretch open his fingers, and they looked crooked like they had been placed under a hydraulic press and smashed multiple times.

“They’ll heal, don't you worry,” said Simon as he sipped his rat soup, a bit too energetically. He had been in a very good mood ever since Jonas had returned safely.

“Fuck,” said Jonas as he tried to pour a beer with his left hand, his voice cracked, “Heal? I'll be lucky if I'm ever able to wipe my ass again."

“Oh come on, I’m eating,” Simon moaned as he spat out a bit of rat tail that they left in his stew.

“You haven’t showered in half a year and yet my words gross you out?” Jonas was cranky as he said, “Pathetic,” but Simon took no offense as he wasn't going to bite the hand that fed him, literally.

“So, pretty much, you beat up that Pete guy, and then Wolf crushed your hand,” Simon summarized, “Was that all?”

“Basically,” said Jonas as he sipped his beer, “It’s not over though, that Wolf has it out for me.”

“Why?”

“Wolf is owned by Thomas, Thomas hates Brow, Brow manages me. Remember?”

“That does ring a bell,” said Simon as he clinked wooden cups with Jonas and they both sipped their beer.

“This ain’t bad,” Jonas said, “I mean it could be better, but it could also be a lot worse.”

“What are you on about?”

“Beating up bad guys, eating rat soup, and drinking beers with my best bud.”

“You’re also in an iron cage, have a useless right hand, and will probably be brutally killed by a grown man who calls himself Wolf,” said Simon, “But I’m glad you’re enjoying the here and now."

“Here, here,” said Jonas and he clinked cups with Simon once again.

“Oh for fucks sake, get a room you two!” an angry voice shouted out. He had tried his best to hold his tongue, but Johnson had finally had enough of their bragging. His cage was next to Simon's, so every story they told was heard by him, and every meal they shared and shit they took was smelled by him. This time, they had gone too far. Drinking beer and eating huge portions in front of the other slaves was one thing, but being so casually optimistic about the situation had pushed Johnson passed the breaking point.

“Fuck you, Johnson,” said Jonas, “You’re lucky Garth didn’t make you suck his big fat cock,” and Johnson went a nasty shade of green as he recalled the not-so-distance memory of him on his knees and Garth’s manliness centimeters from his open mouth. It was a haunting memory that gave him many sleepless nights.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t have done the same,” said Johnson angrily, “Anyone would have given a quick blowjob to save themselves from endless torture and a brutal death.”

“I don’t know,” said Simon in a sing-song voice, “It’s okay if you enjoyed it, we won’t judge you… Johnson,” and he put a lot of emphasis on Johnson's name.

“Fuck you, Simon, you fucking asshole. You aren’t shit without Jonas, just a leach who’s reaping the benefits and hard work of someone else.”

“No matter,” said Simon who wasn’t offended at all, but Jonas wouldn't stand for that.

“Johnson, if it wasn’t for Simon starving himself and giving me his meals, I never would have had the energy or power to win my bet against Ahmed.”

“Oh don’t try to reason with me, Jonas. If it wasn’t for you none of this would have happened anyway,” and Jonas nearly spat out his beer in protest.

“The fuck you mean, my fault?” and he stared indignantly at the iron cage just two sections over, “You think I fucking asked to have my skull crushed by that god damn ape? I'm only eighteen!"

“At least you didn’t have his cock in your face!”

“Yeah, cause when he asked me to suck his dick I told him to fuck off!”

“Well good for you!” screamed Johnson

“You’re lucky I’m in this fucking cage!” yelled Jonas who was furious, “I’d come over there and whoop your skinny little ass!”

“Skinny?” Johnson’s voice cracked as an offended expression was slapped across his face, “How the fuck am I supposed to put on weight when I don’t have a little friend feeding me like a fucking baby bird?"

“Maybe if you were nicer you could have a friend to feed you,” said Jonas whose voice had gone rigid, “But you’re a fucking a cocksucker, who enjoys getting beat down!”

"Mother fucker!"

“So much for optimism,” Simon sighed as he sipped his beer and listened to the two slaves bicker and threaten each other for hours, up until the gang guards got so annoyed from hearing their voices that they threatened to beat them half to death with iron clubs if they didn’t shut up. Both quickly became quiet, but they couldn’t help but send threatening stares at each other, like angry caged tigers.

“Hey, Jonas,” Johnson whispered. It had been some time since their argument had started and the slaves were starting to fall asleep.

“What?” Jonas replied rather harshly.

“You’re a little bitch,” and he snickered from his cage. Jonas had to bite the insides of his gums to prevent himself from laughing. He wasn't sure why, but he imagined that the feeling he had at that moment was how his older brother Drake had felt whenever Jonas had yelled at him or called him names. Looking back at his behavior, he had been wrong, it wasn't right for him to insult or tease Johnson for nearly being sexually assaulted.

“Johnson,” said Jonas.

“What?”

“Have a beer, on me,” Jonas passed a wooden cup filled with the last of the warm Swamp Ale to Simon, who held it towards Johnson. For a moment, Johnson thought it was a prank, but he sniffed at it like a dog and came to the conclusion that it was a bonafide glass of warm beer. He didn't drink it though, instead, he looked at Jonas rather skeptically.

“Why?” he asked rather stiffly.

“I shouldn't have made fun of you, I know that sexual assault isn't a joke, and I'm sorry. The beer is meant to be a peace treaty. You might be a bit of an unlikeable asshole, but you didn't deserve what happened to you, and you're right, it was my fault."

"Johnson meet Jonas, Jonas meet Johnson," Simon decided to play mediator, "I'm also sorry for teasing you. Hell has a sick way of killing your empathy bone."

Johnson slumped back against the bars of his cage and he held the beer in his hands. For the next few minutes, there were only the sounds of snoring and slurping that broke the deafening silence. He didn’t say anything, but as he lifted the cup and finished the remaining dregs of foam, Johnson couldn’t help but feel hot tears leak down his face as he tried to recall the last time someone had ever shown him a bit of kindness. The beer had tasted like ass, but it was the first gift he had ever received in Hell. It was also the first time anyone had ever apologized for wronging him.

“Thanks,” his voice choked, as he wiped the tears with his shirt.

“Go to bed, we'll talk tomorrow," Jonas whispered, and with that, the only sounds heard were that of slaves moaning in pain, snoring in their sleep, or crying over a cup of crappy Swamp Ale.

When the morning came, Jonas' heart felt a lot lighter, and he had slept rather peacefully. His hand was completely healed and ready to be used for sparring, and when breakfast came, Jonas split his with Simon but had an extra portion passed over to Johnson who immediately tried to refuse.

"I can't take this," Johnson said, "You earned it, and I'm a dick."

"Nah," Jonas laughed, "Consider it an apology. I'm going to have Brow transfer you to Ahmed. You'll be able to spar with us, we needed a fourth person," Johnson didn't believe the promise at first, but true to his word, Jonas began haggling with Brow as soon as the eagle-eyed gangster had walked into the slave room.

"Oh, another little friend?" Brow looked mockingly over at Jonas, "I'm not giving you more rations just so you can feed more useless animals."

"I don't need you to," Jonas rolled his eyes, "Just let Johnson train with us from now on, he's my friend," and Johnson's face beneath all his hair had turned red. Brow narrowed his eyes, and his brain was calculating all the reasons he should decline Jonas' request.

"Why should I?"

"I beat Pete, an actual fighter. This would be my reward," and Brow nodded his head as he considered the words.

"Here I thought you were going to negotiate with me for extra rations, or more beer. Fine, this slug can train with you and Ahmed from now on. Don't ask for anything else," Johnson had an expression of disbelief on his face. Beer, extra food, a new friend, and on top of all that, he no longer had to be beaten black and blue by cruel fighters. Brow shook his head disapprovingly as he unlocked the three cages.

“Thank you,” Johnson said, "I owe you, big time."

“No biggy,” said Jonas, and the three of them made their way to greet Ahmed in the fighting pit, “I just figured that training with us would be better than that guy Brow assigned you to after the Garth incident.”

“Way better,” said Johnson, and he pushed his long brown hair out of his face revealing a thin but relatively young complexion, a messy beard, and two thick brows, “That asshole Gage thought it was funny to kick me in the crotch. I pissed blood all night when I was first assigned to him.”

“How old are you?” Jonas looked shocked as he stared at Johnson's youthful face.

“Twenty-three,” he asked curiously, “Why?”

“Jesus fucking Christ I thought you were fifty. Have you ever heard of a haircut?”

“Where the fuck am I going to get a haircut at?” Johnson complained, “I can barely get toilet paper.”

“Quiet!” Ahmed had just about enough of their pointless bickering, and he wished just for a second that he possessed one of those iron rods that the gang members used to beat the slaves with. “Who’s this?” he asked while directing his attention to the skinny and messy-looking newest member.

“Johnson,” said Jonas, “He’s that guy that Garth was picking on, remember?” and Ahmed's mouth fell open in shock.

“I swear you were an old man," although he was red-faced from being made fun of by a top-five fighter, Johnson was not going to argue with or insult Ahmed. “Well, since there are four of us, we might as well split into pairs for sparring. Jonas, you’re with me,” and this was quite obvious as neither Simon nor Johnson was a match for the two fighters.

Ahmed and Jonas’ fight seemed much more dangerous when compared to the two skinny slaves who looked like two homeless men fighting over a cup of change. Jonas and Ahmed dodged and weaved around each other's attacks, threw crippling kicks, bone-crushing elbows, and flying superman punches.

Eventually, Jonas was put on his ass as he heaved deep painful breaths. He winced in pain as his collar bone had snapped in two when Ahmed karate chopped it. Much later after the sparring had ended, Johnson and Simon went back to the slave room, while Jonas and Ahmed headed towards the gym for some weight lifting.

“Don’t be surprised if Brow sets you up for a real cage match soon,” said Ahmed who was watching Jonas load weights onto the bar.

“You think?” asked Jonas, “I feel like it would be a bit soon, no?”

“You beat Pete,” said Ahmed, “And Pete has one win, two losses, I believe.”

“Wait,” Jonas looked a bit shocked, “Pete already had three cage fights?”

“I thought you knew that,” said Ahmed, “You can’t be called a fighter til you have a match set up for you, right?” and Jonas nodded his head in agreement.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he asked a bit excitedly, “How do you think I’d do?” Ahmed examined him for a moment as he watched Jonas’ muscles inflate as he began hitting the bench press.

“It wouldn’t be the main event,” said Ahmed, “You’d be fighting guys who are relatively the same strength level as you and Pete.”

“Of course. Could you add some more weight please?” asked Jonas, “This feels a bit light,” Ahmed nearly choked as he realized it was the same weight limit they had been doing the previous night.