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SYSTEM LOG: Initializing Simulation. Uploading Subject Parameters. Please remain calm.
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Trey opened his eyes to the stinging scent of rust and sweat. He was in a dim, cramped basement with concrete walls scarred by scratches. A single, naked bulb hung from the ceiling, its flickering light casting unsettling shadows. In his hands, he held a leash. On the other end, a scarred, panting dog sat—its eyes weary, its fur matted with dried blood.
Voices echoed from above—a crowd gathering. The smell of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and adrenaline seeped through the cracks. A heavy metal door creaked open, and a man with a cruel grin entered. He looked Trey up and down, assessing him like livestock.
"Get him ready," the man barked, spitting out a wad of chewing tobacco.
Before Trey could react, the dog was dragged from his grip by a handler. The sound of chains clattered, followed by aggressive snarls. The handler whipped the dog, riling it up, stoking its anger. Trey's heart pounded violently. His mind flashed with fragmented memories—being shoved into this basement before, dragged by the collar, punished when he didn't "perform." The painful echoes of kicks and belts, the humiliation, the helplessness.
"Fight or get punished," the handler sneered. The crowd chanted above.
The dog lunged forward, its teeth bared, ready to attack. Trey tried to hold it back, but it thrashed, its growls clawing at his ears. The handler's whip cracked—once, twice—snapping Trey's nerves. Fear pulsed through his veins, blending with guilt and a twisted sense of survival. He had no choice but to fight.
The match was a blur of chaos—shouts, yells, and the tearing of flesh. The dog's pained whimpers pierced through his skull. When it was over, there was silence. Blood splattered the floor. Trey's hands were stained, shaking uncontrollably.
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Days seemed to pass. Trey was left alone in the basement, the stench of blood now an unavoidable presence. Each day, the man would return, feeding him scraps, smirking as if savoring his brokenness.
One day, a knock echoed from above. The heavy door creaked open, and a boy's voice called out, cheerful and innocent.
"Hey! You wanna hang out? My parents said I can bring a friend over!"
Trey's heart twisted. The boy's smile was genuine, trusting—a stark contrast to the grim, haunted faces of his past. For a moment, hope flickered. Maybe things could be different.
"Y-Yeah... Sure," Trey stammered.
They made their way to his house. Laughter floated in the air—so light, so unfamiliar. But as they stepped inside, something broke inside Trey. The scent of the basement returned—the rust, the sweat, the fear. His mind splintered. The boy's voice grew muffled, distant. When Trey blinked, the boy was in front of him, a questioning smile on his face.
"What's wrong, dude?"
The flashbacks struck with brutal force—shouting, chains, the crack of the whip, the bloodied fur. Trey's hands trembled. The boy's expression changed—confused, concerned.
"Hey, are you okay?"
The echoes of the handler's voice roared in Trey's ears. "Fight or get punished!"
Without thinking, Trey lunged—his hands around the boy's throat. The boy's shocked gasps for air blended with the snarls of dogs, the screams of a crowd. Trey's vision blurred, blood pounding in his skull. He couldn't stop. He didn't stop. Not until the boy lay limp, his eyes wide and vacant.
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**SYSTEM LOG: Simulation Over. Recording Subject Response. Resetting Parameters.**
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