As if the horrible realization wasn’t enough for him. As if the foreign, alien sounds of this place didn’t interrupt his sleep and peace. Early in the morning, they came for him. Barging into his cell, barking orders for him, forcing him to his knees as a black suffocating bag was stuffed overtop of his head.

   He was hauled out, dragged by his feet across concrete. Mac struggled but was only ever met with a blow to his legs or sides that sent him lurching down to the ground. He had no idea where he was going. But he could tell that he’d must have passed through other cell blocks. Full blocks.

   The stench reeked as they passed, combinations of human and alien smells, overwhelming as shouts, jeers, and screams sounded out, cage bars rattled and shook, as Mac was dragged along through winding hallways and checkpoints, until at last, there was silence. He was shoved down into a chair forcefully upon entering a quiet room.

   The door shut, bootsteps vanished, and Mac was left alone. Or, what he thought was alone, until the metal clink of a lighter went off. A voice, familiar to him in its cold business like nature, greeted him.

“I’m going to give you a chance. And only one. Honesty is appreciated here.”

Mac was partially delirious, and partially tired.

“I don’t know…….what I can say that……..I already haven’t.”

Smoke wafted near Mac’s nose as the woman exhaled.

“I don’t buy it. Nobody just happens to find our drops.”

“I swear……please. I didn’t even open it. It just looked like a normal crate. Just….let me go. I won’t say a word.”

Silence filled the room as the woman exhaled a few more times. A lighter clinked as she sighed.

“No. We’re going to do something different.”

Chair legs scratched on the floor as the woman stood up. A door creaked open, followed by boot steps, before Mac was promptly hauled up to his feet forcefully. He was dragged around again, this time, listening to a conversation he couldn’t understand between the woman and apparently other men.

   Sound returned in the distance. Shouting. Cheering. Jeering. A mixed bag of human and alien voices. There was a pause as the group stopped, the shouts of various humans and aliens having grown close now, becoming almost deafening.  Something pierced Mac’s arm, a needle, causing him to gasp suddenly. The woman spoke in English once more, shouting over the apparent noise and commotion.

“Okay sweetie! This here is Rumble drug. If it doesn’t stop your heart, it’ll give you a boost. Now. If you’re a spook, or military, you’ll know how to do things. And, unless you’re absolutely loyal to your front….well, than I guess you’re just meat!”

The woman laughed. A cell door creaked. A deafening, cheering roar resounded from the crowds somewhere close. A rifle butt found itself in Mac’s backside, as he was forced forwards, the black bag over his head ripped free.

For a few brief seconds of delirium, disorientation, and panic.

Mac understood where he was. He understood what was going to happen to him.

And then the drugs in his veins reached his brain.

Noise dulled and blurred in his ears, an incomprehensible tidal wave of shouts above him, on the upper levels of the cell block. His vision blurred under the blinding, hanging lamps from the ceiling of the block. Somewhere in the distance a high powered megaphone went off.

   Mac’s heart pumped, almost painfully in his chest as he stumbled forwards into the long cell block. A long, vacant hallway for only a few seconds before his eyes registered movement. Fear spiked to something inconceivable, as somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew what he was looking at.

Grunts.

Roughly five of the stout aliens, spiny, dark toned, and thickly armoured under an extremely tough skin. All five of them were scrambling towards Mac from the other end of the cell block. Dark blotches covered their forearms, looking almost like barnacles threatening to overgrow the alien.

   The aliens screamed in high pitched methane laced voices, their ugly mouths splayed wide open due to lack of a mask, instead, bearing a tube stuffed into their nasal passages, hooked up to a rudimentary propane tank strapped on each of their backs.

The Grunts barreled down the cell block, looking decrepit and sickly.

Starving.

   Fear surged all through Mac’s veins, until his heart spiked painfully in one illuminating surge. Survival instinct kicked in, and he found himself screaming back at the charging aliens, something primal and ancient from darker days.

   Mac surged into action, moving. His eyes looked around the cell block, hunting. His heart pounded and inexplicable rage and hatred of the oncoming stocky aliens burned in his veins, but he knew he couldn’t do it alone. The cell block was battered and broken, scarred from numerous fights.

   Finding a broken down cell wall, Mac acted on instinct, grabbing the nearest chunk of rebar, and pulling. He was a dock worker. Stocky and strong. But the drugs in his system pushed him to his absolute limit. Concrete strained as he worked the rebar back and forth, the old grey stone breaking apart into dust and chunks.

   Turning back down the block, Mac was barreled into and had the wind knocked out of him as the wall of rabid aliens found him. He felt pain. Across his face as a thickly armoured hand, like sandpaper, ripped across it. Fire exploded into Mac’s head as he reached out for the attacker, going for the ugly face that was screaming spittle at him, finding the two small red orbs for eyes and squeezing with his thumbs.

   The alien on top of him screamed in some high pitch fashion, distant in Mac’s ears as his hand found the rebar wire sprawled out on the floor. The metal rod came up to his defense in one immense swing as another of the rabid aliens tried to clamber overtop of him, impacting into the thick skull of the creature and denting it, sending the grunt reeling back.

   Mac managed to slide up to his feet as the aliens were now in disarray, one howling at the top of its lungs, clutching at what was left of its eyes, a second, stumbling on short stocky feet, leaving splashes of blue blood on the ground.

   Three of the starving, rabid aliens had backed off, uncompromising red eyes focused on him as they bared mouths full of ugly misshapen teeth at him as they crouched on all fours. The rage in his veins coursed through him, as Mac clutched the rebar in both hands.

   One alien teetered near him, clutching its face, and without any sense of thought, Mac raised the rebar up, swinging it like a golf club down onto the Grunt. The alien collapsed onto the floor in a heap, as the next swing impacted its carapace like skin, cracking it and breaking it open.

Bits of bone and blue blood splashed across concrete, and the alien stopped moving.

Mac stared at the three aliens encircling him, his heart pumping.

Something primal escaped him as he charged forwards.