"Hey, you. Come over here!"

Alongside those words came the cacophony of bottles tinking together and the rustle of various plastic wrappers as the lid to the industrial dumpster slowly lifted to reveal the sleaved right arm of a man.

Witnessing this, the last few lazy hairs on the back of Dean's neck finally stood up as if finally noticing the peculiarity of the situation.

'The f*ck! Why in god's name is this man sitting in a dumpster with a dying dog no less? Have the homeless in my fair city sunk so low?'

Shaking the useless thought from his mind, he finally decided to take several large steps backward as he kept his attention glued to this real-life Oscar the Grouch.

Clearing his throat, Dean attempted to speak as calmly as he could as he addressed his new dumpster friend. "Haha, man it's a little dark out here. Anything you want to say to me just say it. I don't see why I have to come over there."

While he was speaking, he was able to get a better look at the man to reveal what could only be described as an average unassuming face that was easily forgettable in a crowd.

The man wore a plain dark blue buttoned-down shirt, but Dean's vision of the man from the waist down was obscured by the fact that he was standing waist-deep within the dumpster.

If there was anything to note about this man's appearance, it would be the few conspicuous sanguine stains around the man's mouth and the incessant way he kept sucking his teeth as if he had something lodged within them.

The spaghetti that slowly slid unencumbered down his face only added to the oddity of this situation.

Ignoring Dean's words, the man continued to speak.

"Didn't you hear what I said? I said come over here. Don't you hear its pained whimpers? Are you someone that only looks out for himself?

Stolen novel; please report.

What has the world come to where the suffering of another creature can simply be ignored?

I'm sure you're not one of those people. Come over here and help me. This dog needs our help."

At those words, Dean raised his caution towards the man even higher as he quickly threw out an excuse for his earlier actions. "Of course, I wanted to help, but what can a struggling college student like myself do to help it. I have no idea where the nearest vet is. If I went over there and 'helped', the best I could do would be to send it on its way. And THAT, I will not do."

"Since you won't come over here to help him I'll just bring him to you." The man's patience seemed to have ran out as he bent down to rummage in the dumpster for a brief moment before flinging the injured dog towards Dean's feet.

Or, what was left of it.

With another pained whimper, the dog landed with a thump several feet in front of Dean. The dog was worse than he thought as it could barely take weak shallow breaths.

However, what truly shook Dean to his core was the fact that the dog's left leg was missing all of the meat!

In fact, if one looked closer one would even see that the dog's meatless left leg appeared to have teeth marks all over the bone and even that was cracked open like someone had sucked the bone marrow out of it.

'No way! This man was eating the dog alive. Is that even a thing one does in this day and age in American society?'

Feeling that the situation was weird enough, Dean turned around to bolt out of the alley before he heard the man make a surprised cry of "Ah, wait".

Ignoring the man, he took several powerful strides towards the salvation that was just up ahead at the exit of the alley before he felt a sharp pain in his right arm.

Ignoring the pain, Dean was only able to take two more strides before it felt as if his limbs were submerged in concrete blocks before he listlessly slumped to the ground in an uncoordinated heap.

His body felt as dexterous as a wet noodle, but he was able to strain his neck to look down at his right arm where he noticed a small cylindrical stick poking out of it.

'A blow dart? What the f*ck. Whatever happened to the friendly game of cat and mouse that ensues between a psycho and his victim, where I run and you chase? How shameless.'

Uncaring of Dean's inner thoughts, the man quickly placed the blowgun back into his sleeve as he turned his head on a swivel to look for any potential witnesses. Satisfied with what he saw the man nodded his head and hopped out of the dumpster with practiced ease before taking hurried steps towards Dean as he reached out with his grubby, grime encrusted hands to grab him.

Using the last bit of his fading strength, Dean attempted to scream for help; however, all that left his lips was a hoarse, wet gurgle that echoed unceremoniously within the alley.

Only his fellow victim, the dog, and the psychopath could hear his plight.

Seemingly spurred on by Dean's struggle, the man quickened his pace as his breath became ragged from unsuppressed excitement.

Feeling a vicelike grip on his ankle, Dean used whatever strength he had left to try and claw at the man's hand that was wrapped around his left ankle. But alas, whatever was on the blowdart was too effective and his arm only barely wriggled despite his best efforts.

As despair took over and his consciousness sank ever lower, the last thing he saw was the back of his assailant as he was slowly dragged along the ground back towards the dumpster that the man just hopped out of.

'For god's sake, someone please help me!'

Of course, cries for help are rarely answered and within seconds Dean sunk into unconsciousness as the blowdart's concoction finally worked its way through his system,