FSE

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"'Aight, bro. You up."

Lil' Gilly stretched, rubbing the back of his head and staring at himself in the mirror. This was wrong. Fucked up. His mother taught him better than this. Fuck, why did he go along with this? He could feel his hands trembling, and he affirmed his grip on the edge of the dingy sink, staring deep into his own violet pupils. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose and straightened, turning on the top and running his black-furred hands under the water. He dipped his head and splashed it across his face, wetting his equally dark fur. He tentatively reached up and stroked a finger down the single white-patterned streak along his cheek. A 'scar', his friends called it.

He turned, facing his homie and friend for life, Alphonse, known by many as Al. The hyena shot him a toothy grin, his wild, bloodshot eyes and fidgeting hands a clear sign of his withdrawal kicking in. It wasn't just his own life that was on the life. Gilly needed to help his friend, too.

"C'mon, bro, I'm fucking goin' feverish here." The hyena encouraged and tugged the canine forwards, leading him back through a cramped, tiny room and out into the main warehouse floor.

A quiet sob cut through the air as Gilly padded across the room, Al in tow. At the far back, under harsh lighting, sat a length couch with a scaled figure draped across it. The hood obscured most of his face, but his protruding crocodile snout, baggy clothes and the gun in his hand was a clear indication of who was boss. Gilly knew him, of course: many referred to him as Jaws, but he knew him as J.J., his brother's wife's cousin.

"Gilly," The man spoke low and quiet. "You ready to be accepted into our fold? Into this little tribe we got? We'll make you feel right at home here-- all the dope and the cash you could ever want, homie. Just gotta give me some o' that 'undying loyalty' that I so crave, you know what I'm saying?"

J.J. wasn't like this when he first met him. He was kind and supportive, a little teasing but otherwise nice. It was only when Gilly learn of his operation and began being accepted into the fold that his personality changed. There wasn't any family between them now; it was business. Pure, unabashed business.

Between them sat a hunched feline, quietly mewling and trembling against the floor. His clothes had been stripped and he sat curled up in the nude, his body marked with cuts and scraped, with purple bruises under delicate grey fur. He was hiding his face, but Gilly didn't need to see his eyes to know the man was afraid. Just the mere sight of him almost made Gilly feel sick. He'd never gotten into a fight in his life. Hell, he'd only ever seen blood a few times. This was quite a leap from his humble beginnings.

It was started out simple. He'd met J.J. through his brother, who had married the love of his life. Neither he nor his wife were interested in the kind of thing that J.J. ran, and now that Gilly knew about it, he was convinced that they didn't even know about it. But J.J. ran a tight ship: here, he was only known as Jaws. Gilly had been tempted by the thought of money. Drugs never interested him, but he was eyeing college. He was only 18, and the tuition was dauting. Jaws had known that, and used that to draw him in. 'You can have all the money you want', he had said. 'You just need to help me'.

"I'm ready," Gilly nervously replied, glancing from the sobbing figure back up to his potentially new boss. "What, uh, what do I have to do?"

"Hmm..." Jaws hummed in thought, gesturing with his empty hand to someone who stood nearby. "You're a faggot, aren't you Gilly?"

"Uh...sure." It was no secret that Gilly was gay, or at least into men. He cast his gaze to the man who stood nearby who, upon Jaws' gesture, approached. He had in his hands a wooden bat, and he knocked it experimentally against the floor.

"I'll give you a choice then," The crocodile chuckled. "This guy: Rape 'im or kill 'im."

At the man's words, the figure between them wailed out in utter horror, curling himself up tighter.

"I'll pay! Please, I'll pay! Just don't kill me, please...please..." The man deteriorated into a fit of horrific sobs. Gilly wasn't an idiot: he knew that, either way, he was committing a horrible act, but Jaws wanted him to put his loyalty for his boss above his own morals. It was a coming of age ceremony that would change his life forever. He had a feeling this was coming when he came tonight-- he'd heard the man's cries of pain and terror as soon as he had entered. Despite all that, however, he was overcome with a deep and profound shock.

He didn't have a choice in the matter. If he agreed, whichever it was, it would likely haunt him forever. If he refused, then there was probably a worse fate in store for him: he knew too much about them now for them to so easily let him go. He'd walked into the lion's den unarmed, and the gates had metaphorically shut behind him.

Torn between one horrific act and the other, Gilly was faced with a dilemma. One involved not killing the man, but traumatising not only the man, but himself, with an act of sheer depravity. The other, one the other hand, weirdly didn't feel as violent, but it was still killing someone. Murdering them, in cold blood. Gilly had no way of telling what they'd do the man if he committed the first act, and regardless, the thought of raping the defenceless man seemed...almost too cruel.

With a shaky hand, Gilly reached out for the wooden bat. The man didn't know what he was about to do, but he'd soon realise the extent that Gilly was willing to do. The canine gripped the bat in both hands as his heart began to pound. His breathing grew heavy and he resisted the urge to vomit. He knew he was falling into a state of panic. He wanted nothing more than to scream and run away. He didn't want to do this. He couldn't go back from this if he continued. This would change him. Forever.

He raised the bat above his head and didn't hesitate, for fear he might chicken out. The bat met with the feline's skull with a sickening crack that echoed along the warehouse walls, and the canine cried out, attempting to drown out both the sound and his guilt. He could feel the tears stinging his eyes and he didn't bother to try and wipe them away. He raised the bat again and slammed it down a second time. He had enough strength to kill a man. Of that, he was sure: his P.E lessons in school had paid off. The third blow connected with the man's skull in quick succession and blood spurted from the open wound, splattering across the canine's white shirt and along his contrasting black fur. His mouth hung open as the scent of blood filled his nostrils, and something uncoiled inside of him, yearning for more.

The man had been knocked out cold by the first blow. The second had killed him. The third was just overkill. The canine raised the bat again, intending for a 4th strike. His mind was foggy. He didn't want to stop.

A hand met with the grip of the bat, covering over his own, and his mind cleared. His knees felt weak as his eyes focused and centred in one the oozing mass of the man's head, the blood pool around his cranium. Nausea rolled over him and his hands slipped from the bat's handle. He turned and heaved, upending the contents of his lunch all over the floor.

"Atta boy. Atta boy..." A rough, scaled hand patted his back. "You did good. You're one of us now, Lil' Gilly. You ain't so lil' no more."

He felt sick. The vision of the man's bashed-in skull haunted him, imprinted into his eyes. Adrenaline surged through his body and he resisted the urge to cry. He felt...heavier. His mind felt colder.

This wasn't him 'coming of age'. This was him darkening his soul.