InsaneJournal

Asterion had been tasked with finding the location - or at least clues - where the fighting ring which had held him captive was operating now. And for a long time there had been nothing at all. Asterion had spoken to the few survivors he new and kept in touch with, though none of them would call him their friend. And they too didn't seem to have any clue where the ring was operating from.

And Asterion knew he wasn't clever enough to figure things out in any kind of covert, sneaky way. That just wasn't the person he was. So he waited, and built up his relationships with the men who had suffered the ring with him, and finally, finally there was news.

One of the men who had been held at the same time as him, it turned out, occasionally worked to help the newly released captives find their way back to the real world. He only admitted this to Asterion over far too many drinks at a bar. And when Asterion mentioned he wanted to bring the entire thing down, his acquaintance was on board.

So now Asterion had the information, but there was an unfamiliar feeling in his guts when he thought about that place. It made him uncomfortable. What in the hell was it? What was wrong with him?! It got so bad Asterion decided to go to one of the only people he actually trusted in the world, and ask her about it.

Which was how he found himself buzzing up to Erato's apartment on a Tuesday night, his belly full of acid and horror.