Note: This was supposed to be a short story for my other story (The Jo Collective), but I decided it's turning into a stand alone series. I hope those of you who have been reading don't mind the switch and hope the rest of you enjoys it!

Somewhere in Iowa...

I fall back into the couch as if to sit in it, but the force of my body propels the blue velvet to tip and slams the backrest into the carpeted floor with me. Legs curling over my head uncontrollably, my neck expands to a point of pinching pain. I yelp and my legs' momentum is stopped short by the wall behind, and they topple over to once side, joints aching.

Hands zip-tied behind my back, I struggle to straighten my neck, flipping onto my stomach so that fucking thing couldn't claw out the vital organs exposed at my front.

I'm crawling, more like inching, forward, my knees bending and my sternum and shoulders burning against the stiff carpet fibers. Blonde strands create a web of hair for my eyes to see through.

The Monticore's snarling mouth and claws tearing into the velvet warn me and brace myself for another attack.

Extended paws thudding on all four sides of my body, the beast stands over my back, pricking on the carpet.

Quickly, I scrunched my chest to my knees, feeling my back hit the prickles on its lean stomach. Just in time, too; the blunt tail smashing down where my head would've been. Even without its scorpion stinger, it would have crushed my skull.

The Monticore roared it's frustration when there was no stinger, or head, to deliver a killing blow into.

Thank god the freak watching this removed it, though he was also the asshole who zip-tied my hands behind my back.

The scorpion-lion creature tried to backtrack, to get its teeth into me, but its ridiculously sharp claws were snagged on the carpet. It panicked and reared them up, yanking long strings of thick fiber, unraveling an entire line.

I roll out from under it and under a large, polished oak piano positioned against the wall and adjacent to similar book cases which had been destroyed by our attack-and-doge format at the beginning of this fight.

I kick the bench at it, hitting the Monticore's side with a painful gnash of its teeth.

Finally free from the carpet's entanglement, it swats the bench seat out of its way, tearing into the wood with a powerfully sharp paw.

I press my back up into the corner of under the piano as claws swipe frantically, like a pet would trying to get at a lost toy.

C'mon, boy, come get me.

It lashes blindly under the piano again, and destroys the piano's pedals. Jagged bits of wood fly and its claws lash deep into my shin.

"AAAHHH!" I scream, as blood responds immediately,"FUUUCK!"

The Monticore peaks its head down at the sound of my injury, lips curling over fangs, pleased.

I grunt and breath shakily through it, pushing my body as far back into the space under, dragging my left leg further out of its reach.

"C'mon! You can fit you massive, ugly shit! Get me!"

In response to my taunt, the creature lurches its large, spiked head under, chompers snapping and spitting. Unable to reach fully underneath, its pinned between the floor and the top of the piano, keys jingling chaotically as its tail works on punching through the self to get better access.

I raise both my legs and kick the side of its face, a sharp pain running through my left shin from the new gash on it. It yelps and snarls, anger anew. Lifting again, I put more force behind my blow and catch the corner of the jaw, jerking its neck violently to the side.

Yes.

There's just enough room for stomp my right foot down, crunch my back and propel forward to land my left knee into its throat and press down. Hard.

The beast successfully tips over, its neck turning the rest of its body as we slide to the other side of the piano. Its upturned, limbs scrape the air in a frenzy, the jaw working to crush my right leg in its mouth. The blunt tail rams downward on the key shelf above as I press down harder, using the short, wooden roof above me for leverage to cut off its air supply before that thing comes crashing down on my head.

I drive my knee down harder, pushing, pushing, pushing down.

The Monticore chokes and sputters over the clamor of keys deafening my ears.

I lengthen my body, grunting and pressing the back of my shoulders against the roof, creating more pressure against its throat.

The tail's crashing against the keys get weaker, the notes softer. The limbs ripping at the wood on the edge of the piano swat slower, fatiguing.

I'm sweating now, using all of my strength as my blood stains the part of its neck I'm suffocating.

The jerking begins, and I know I'm near the end.

Just keep it, just a little more, a little longer.

I find it in me and apply more, as much as I can muster down.

Minutes pass and the monster's body settles from twitching, but I still hold it. I need to be sure the thing is good and dead before I crawl out of here, my eyes glue to his faintly rising chest.

More time passes and the rising is no more, my sweat drips from my forehead and onto the prickles of its coat.

I release and scramble out from under the piano as if it might jump up and attack me again, but it remains upturned and motionless.

Dead.

Finally.

A clapping echoes in the room as I struggle to catch my breath in the center of it, stepping over the overturned couch.

"Nice! No one's ever done that before."

I don't answer the voice that sounds over the speaker in the tall corner of the room by the sealed metal door, but I glare at the camera adjusting to my form next to it.

Hands still behind my back, I shift uncomfortably under the lens' gaze.

"Why a piano?" I pant surlily, "What the fuck is this room? I thought this was an arena."

"I like to set my stages, babe," the speaker crackles, "it's all a part of the thrill. I thought this might warm you up, like those house calls you make, you know?"

I don't answer, limping to test how much weight I can bare to put on my gashed left shin. It's painful, but I manage to put all of my weight on it.

I sit on the rug to inspect it closer, without hands to touch and manipulate it. There was still a trickle of blood seeping though the rips of my jeans.

Time to get out of this behind-my-back shit.

I prep to roll on my back to slide my ass and legs through the hole of my tied arm.

"Ah, don't bother," the masculine voice reassures.

The zip-tie is immediately snapped, the plastic falling harmlessly between my boots while I rub out the pressure lines it caused on my wrists.

I get myself to standing, staring at the camera, "How did you do that?"

"Hello, I'm aware of the supernatural, and disciple of Magnus, I dabble."

"Who?"

"Not important, babe."

Great.

I'm dealing with a psychotic witch who likes to collect crazy exotic pets. I knew I had a bad feeling when Campbell assigned me to find out who and where the 'Zookeeper' was.

It was supposed to be strictly reconnaissance.

I pinned him on an old man in town who gathered bunches of raw meat and other unseemly foodstuffs from the backshop of the butchers. Turns out it was only this fucker's man servant or butler or whatever.

And I, being so brilliant, unknowingly met the real Zookeeper at a bar, and didn't think twice about fooling around with the attractive man named Darren. If that even was his real name.

After waking up in this arena (as he called it) with my hands restrained behind my back, I only had one sarcastic comment on mind before the Manticore was released and I had to snap into hunting mode; guess who I found?

"Why did you have to do that?"

"The Manticore rely on their stingers quite a lot, as you may rely on your hands to hunt. I removed something from him, so I had to disadvantage you too, it's only fair."

"Fuck your fair, he had plenty of other sharp things to fucking get me."

"Not so angry, now Joanna. You may need that energy for your next challenge."

"Next - next challenge?! I killed the thing, I earned my freedom, like you said! Now let me go you sick fuck."

"C'mon now, no need for name calling. Besides, there's more earning still to come, babe, you think it was going to be that easy?"

"Yeah," I scoff loudly, "so easy you should come and fucking try it."

"Tsk. Tsk. So much cussing, what happened? You were such a lovely lady last night."

"You tricked me, you bastard, you were the Zookeeper all along."

"Don't beat yourself up, I can spot a hunter as soon as they come into my town."

"Fuck you."

"Hey. Reminding me of last night won't get you out of this any sooner, 's just a fairness thing you know? Can't treat you different from the other competitors."

"Competitors?"

"Nuh-uh. Not another word about it, hun."

"Who else have you -"

"Your bowie knife is in the side table by the door."

"What?"

"Well, you did earn something from this, you think I was gonna let you go to the next level without it?"

"'Next level'? You're seriously. Fucking. Insane. This isn't a video game, you incredible douche, this is my life."

"Exactly. This is your life, Jo, hunting monsters. Don't get all upset at me now that I'm just making you do it competitively. So what if they're back to back, they're still monsters, you still got to kill 'em and stay alive while trying. Isn't that the point?"

"What about all those other people you put up to the challenge huh? All those people who don't know how to defend themselves, who don't hunt? They don't-"

"I'm balancing the scale, sweetheart! Every time you hunters meddle with these creatures, you realize you're knocking out natural population control? You just assume that our human race is superior, and this excuses your genocide of the creatures from Purgatory? They have a right and a reason to live just as much as you do hun, why do you think they exist in the first place? My work is undoing all of the fuck-ups you hunters've created for the world."

"Fuck-ups? These are innocent people, you fucking unbelievable-"

"You know what? We could argue this all day babe, but I'm telling you, you're gonna want that knife for what's coming next."

I grit my teeth in my mouth, breathing hard and incorrigibly through my nose, standing in the middle of the trashed room with my arms crossed, refusing to play his game.

"Alright, let me lay it out for you; You can go get your knife and go through that door to the next level, or I can open the door and let the next monster come to an unarmed, trapped you."

I took a breath and let it out my mouth, squishing my nostrils in stress between my fingers as if to itch the inside.

"Fuck." I whisper under my breath, staring at that metal-clad door.

"What's it gonna be, babe?"

Another breath in and I force myself to stomp to the side table, exhaling all the way.

"'You have chosen - wisely.'" His voice nerd-ily quotes and echoes through the room.

I pull the drawer, but it's locked.

"Asshole, it's -"

"Haha! Try again."

Pissed, I yank on the knob again and it magically opens; my father's bowie blade lay polished and teetering against the brown wood.

I take it in hand, letting the tight anxiety of my person loosen slightly by having it in my possession.

"There, you've got a weapon. Happy?"

"Only when I can shove it into your chest."

"Oohwhowhooo!" the speaker whistles tauntingly, "Spicy! You're a fun banterer."

"Fuck off and open the door."

"There we go! See, spirit of the game."

The door loudly releases its latches from the other side, as if someone was behind it, letting me out. I ready the blade parallel to my forearm, hoping to see his or his butler's face, but of course there is no one.

I grit my teeth, take a breath, and step over the threshold and into a gray hallway, the door slamming magically behind my back, wondering what creature would pop out at me next.

"Welcome to Huntfest 2010."