this may hurt [semi hiatus]

All Mac is left to do is growl, a low rumble from deep inside his chest. Even separated by the entire width of the pool, the injured man flinches.

The paramedics flinch, too. They are working with nervous, hasty hands, gloves covered in blood, obviously sweating. Not because of the heat.

Because of Glen, carefully towering over the scene, making sure their patient won't leave.

That call, too, is for Mac's owner to make.

Finally, the whirring of helicopter blades swallows the echo of the man's labored breathing.

Before

Mac knows he's not supposed to take breaks his training regimen, he's meant to focus on his fitness and on getting ever stronger. But he's won his last training fight with ultimate ease, his comrades look up to Mac's impressive physique, and Jack actually does allow his Fighters some narrow lenience, when they perform well and aren't currently on protection duty.

Mac has been undefeated for weeks. And he's not on duty.

So he allows himself to step back from the weight bench and glance out of the window facing the deck around Jack's huge pool.

The auburn-haired Romantic is laying on a sunbed there, the pet that has been called Blanca once, but is Bacardi now. The pet who was kind to him once, and fears him now.

Refurb. She's done something bad, and now she's forgotten who she was and has been made good again.

Mac has seen her naked body before, and he's seen the new scars it features now. He knows what the refurb training entailed. Good, to Jack's taste, means scared.

And she is. Even though she doesn't act the part now, even though she buries all of it under a brave, sweet face. She plays the role Mac heard Jack order her in the morning, for one of his sickening games of play pretend. She's supposed to be a rich socialite, lounging by the pool, a little drunk and a little bored, so that Jack can watch her on his security camera feed and 'built up the tension' until he comes home.

Jack likes his scenes to start out domestic. They never stay that way.

But it will be a while before Jack comes home, and even though it fills Mac's heart with aberrant feelings that make him want to claw at his own skin, he stays at the window. Blanca - that's what he still calls her, that's who he met before - pretends to read a fashion magazine, carefully considering each page, even though everyone knows Romantics can't make sense of letters. She's wearing sunglasses, a big hat, pearls around her neck and a pristine white sundress. Jack chooses the dresses himself, as carefully as he picks the outfits for his Guards. The Guards' gear is meant to be both visually impressive and functional. The Romantic's dresses are meant to tear easily at the right places.

Mac clenches his teeth and because he knows she can't do it herself, he'll just do it for her - he daydreams that, right now, without Jack, without anyone there, she can be at peace.

That's when he notices the man.

Now

Jack embarks from the helicopter, striding towards the scene with large steps and a bellowing laugh. "Oh, Maccy-Mac, big boy, what have you *done*?"

Before as much as looking at the injured man, he bows down to Mac, slowly runs a finger across Mac's blood stained lip, down the titanium canine. Light red blood coats his fingertips, sparkling like rubies.

"That thing is a monster," the bloody mess of a man croaks, his words punctured by pained groans. It's a wonder he's still strong enough to speak. "It's not contained. I'll report you. That. I'll have it killed."

"No, Marty." Cowboy heels slowly click on the tiles, when Mac's owner gets up and strolls over to the stretcher. He's leaving bloody footprints in his wake. "You will not. I could get your ass for trespassing, you know that."

Before

Mac has seen the man before. He's a neighbour, an acquaintance of Jack. Marty. Tall, handsome, otherwise unassuming. Weak. Not a threat.

The fact that he's here, that far into Jack's grounds, means he's been vetted and checked. Probably here to borrow the big lawn mower. Glen is on perimeter duty; and even though they're all meant to act the same, they all know that Glen is the most thorough of them all.

Still. There's someone wrong. About the way the man pauses on his way to the shed. About the way he looks at Blanca.

Mac's lips pull back on instinct, teeth bared. He scans the area around the pool. None of his comrades are there. Nobody is on alert.

Well. One is. He can see Blanca's shoulders tense. Her fingers curl up in the magazine. She barely keeps up the appearance.

To any predator, Blanca is designed to look like prey.

Mac is a predator.

And it seems that the neighbor is as well. He kicks aside a pebble as he stalks towards Blanca.

Inside, Mac carefully picks one of the dumbbells.

The neighbor sits down on the sunbed next to Blanca. He says something that Mac can't hear. It doesn't matter. He knows what's coming, frame for frame.

Blanca replies, inching back from the stranger. His arm shoots forward, grabs her, wrestles her down. He swings a leg over her.

Teeth bared, Mac is over him, before Blanca even begins to scream.

It's the neighbor, who screams instead.

Now

Marty's voice falters. His face has turned an unnatural white. "No, Jack, you... you said I could-"

"Shhh," says Jack. "200k should cover for your trouble." Is not a suggestion. Whatever Jack says is either an order, or a threat.

The young man shivers, silent. Stays silent, when Jack's fingers roam his neck. Lets out a garbled scream, when they prod at the deep gash torn into his shoulder. Then again nothing. He's fainted from blood loss.

"Sir," one of the paramedics urges.

"Yeah. That's a good boy." Jack ignores her. He is talking to the unconscious man, tracing the dressing of another wound. "Beautiful."

With a contented smile, he nods at the paramedic and gives two quick raps on the side of the stretcher.

Glen folds his hands and steps back.

Everyone seems to hold their breath, as the paramedics hurry off.

"Now," says Jack and jovially claps his hands. "Get off of Mac, guys. And where's the seductive little thing that's incined this spectacle?"

The weight on Mac's back shifts, air streaming back into his lungs, as his comrades retreat. Instinctively he pushes himself into respect position. His forehead presses into slick wetness.

"Sir." It's Jim Beam's voice, and next to it Mac can hear Blanca's shivering gasp, her feet scurrying on the floor. "She's here."

"Good. Sit up, Mac. Look at her. Look at the perfect little thing you've clawed from the hands of that intruder."

He does, automatically stretching his neck muscles as he sits on his heels.

Blanca's usually light grey eyes are almost black, pupils blown with panic. Her hair is messy. There's a bruise on her arm, where Mac has pulled her away from the man. She's horrified.

She's just how Jack wants her.

"Sir," she whispers. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Settling himself on a sunchair, Jack leans back, one hand already fiddling with the buckle of his belt. Blanca follows, falls to her knees in front of him, desperately, silently begging for him to not follow through with whatever he's planning.

Jack clicks his tongue. "Of course you wanted to, manipulative little whore. I watched the feed. You got these horny guys to fight over you. And I guess we all know, who won." The wide grin on his face is sickening. Mac wants his owner to be pleased. He also wants him to be gone.

"Ah. Not now, pet." Jack lazily kicks out at Blanca, before he reaches into his pants and starts stroking himself. "I think, this once, I'll enjoy to just watch." He snaps the fingers of his free hand. "Mac."

"Sir," replies Mac, and the word is supposed to mean so much - a refusal, a plea, a demand, a cry of despair - but everyone else hears it for what it truly is.

Acknowledgement.

It tastes like blood.

Between the two men, Blanca scrambles backwards.

Nobody bothers. She won't get far. All of them know.

"Go on with the scene, Mac." Jack's white teeth shine bright in the sunlight. "Take her right there. Right where you defeated your opponent." He points at the scarlet puddle. "You look stunning, covered in blood. She will, too."

Mac steps forward to reach out for Blanca's arm and drag her up. His hand leaves bloody marks on her skin.

"Please," Blanca whispers tonelessly.

He avoids her gaze.

Jack wants her to fight. Not for show. For fear of her life.

Mac knows she will.

And they all know her resistance won't matter at all.

His heart is breaking.

"Go." Impatiently, Jack snaps his fingers.

Mac obeys.

The men were right.

they figure that this is probably way too much all at once and that whumpee needs much smaller steps. so caretaker orders them to say 'stop' to their face, watching whumpee tense up in horror. but they say it. blurted out at first but steadily getting more secure as they learn that they won't be punished. then caretaker (very slowly) walks towards whumpee, and orders them to say 'stop' before they can get close enough to touch. whumpee doesn't understand, like a deer in the headlights they freeze in place, eyes squeezed shut and knees buckling as caretaker walks directly at them.

whumpee can't even speak (the impossible choice ringing horribly in their head), not knowing if the defiance of staying silent or telling caretaker to stop would be worse. there are tears in their eyes. so caretaker reaches whumpee, seeing them tremble up close, pain stabbing at their chest in sympathy. immediately followed by numbing cold anger at whumper. but no matter how painful, this has to be done. whumpee had to learn that caretaker will listen. that their words have weight again. they try to keep the emotion out of their voice while telling them that, hey. it's ok. we can try again. it's ok if you don't get it right immediately, I can see that you're trying and that's really good! you're doing so good. can you try again for me?

it doesn't work, not at first, whumpee can't bring themself to say the word and it haunts them the entire night. they barely sleep at all, will they be punished if they keep failing? or will they be punished for succeeding and it was all just a test to teach whumpee their place. who are they to tell their new master 'no'. the thought makes them want to throw up. but caretaker keeps dragging them back to the practice room, slowly walking up to whumpee over and over and over again. they start to wonder if this is worth it, what if their efforts do nothing and traumatize whumpee all over again? so when they hear the tiny, almost inaudible 'stop' after what feels like ages(!) it makes caretaker stop dead in their tracks.

a beaming smile spreads across their face and they almost run to bury whumpee in the proudest, most affectionate hug of their life when they remember that moving now and ignoring the 'stop' would set them back to the beginning. so they breathe out deeply and tell whumpee that they're proud of them. that they did really well and that caretaker will make their favourite food as a reward. and hot chocolate. whumpee is still starting at the floor though, confused and terrified and in disbelief.