Stabbing pain woke Hope.

It wasn't a headache behind the eyes or even a retching stomach. Something sharp pierced her ribs.

Over and over and over.

Hope's eyes fluttered open groggily, her lashes stuck together with each flutter. As if she'd been asleep for a decade in the sand. She moved to wipe her eyes of the gunk that made her vision blurry, but found she couldn't move. She could wiggle her fingers and toes, but not her limbs. It was as if they'd been buried in cement.

She looked down at herself when her vision cleared after a few more controlled blinks. Metal links strapped over her ankles held her legs down against a metal slab. Like a shining table you'd find in a morgue. Her wrists weren't much better, pinned above her head by the same metal links at her feet. Without focusing her sight, she knew she wore nothing but her bra and panties.

Hope felt terribly, horribly exposed.

The stabbing pain came again, conjoined with what sounded like a quickly pumping machine. An electric razor? No, a tattoo gun.

She turned her head to the right and watched as a man she didn't know needled black ink into the tender flesh of her rib cage. It was a symbol of some sort, but she couldn't focus on making it out as she was becoming very aware she was in pain.

Hope sucked in a sharp breath and wriggled against the table.

The tattoo gun stopped and the man looked up. With snowy hair, wrinkled skin, and yellowed teeth, he grinned a sneer at her.

"Does it hurt?", he asked, "I'm sorry." He turned the gun on again and gazed down at her as Hope felt either fire or venom filling her veins. "When you move, it will take longer and hurt more," he continued, "I'll make sure it does."

"Fredrick," Dorian's voice barked, "Get it done."

Hope turned to face the voice from the corner of the room she was settled in. It was a small room, with grayed concrete walls and floors. A surgical light above and a sleek silver table off to the side. It held various items. Some sharp, some dull.

Many slicked with blood.

Her blood.

Hope could only assume she'd been tinkered with for a while now. She was only glad she couldn't feel the pain that probably had originated with the use of those tools. It was then she realized the table beneath her wasn't cold to the touch because she'd been there for quite some time and it was covered in warm crimson.

"I am...so going to enjoy ripping your throat out…" Hope said, her voice reminding her of crunching gravel.

Dorian smirked from his position in the corner of the room, watching the man work with the tattoo gun - Hope refused to acknowledge the man had a name. He'd be dead soon anyway.

"So feisty," Dorian chuckled lightly, arms remaining crossed over his torso as he watched her, "It's one of the reasons you're going to do so well here, sweetheart. We need some of that spunk." The humor he held in his eyes- Hope could feel her body getting warmer. Her pulse quickened as blood thundered behind her ears.

She scowled at him, grinding her teeth together.

Dorian grinned now "Oh, I love the tension. Keep it going. The crowd is going to eat it up…"

Hope said nothing as she watched him walk around the room, around her table. She did her best to ignore the stabbing pain of the tattoo gun by keeping her eyes set on the man she'd be killing in the near future.

He continued to walk, flipping through a chart of paperwork. Having the man sign something at the bottom before continuing his little walk around.

"You know, Hope…" he began, his eyes meeting hers as he dragged his fingers from the sole of her left foot, up and over her toes, and continuing on up her leg.

Hope kept her gaze steady even while her body tingled and her heart pounded. Every instinct she had screamed she needed to get away from this man. Away from this touch.

Another part was deeply aroused.

The fingers continued up her thigh and torso. Stopping as he reached her cleavage, hovering just above her heart.

"I could kill you right now," he murmured, eyes dark with murderous purpose, "I could do anything…" he glided a finger along her collar bone, still staring into her eyes.

Hope didn't blink.

"I have the great Klaus Mikaelson's daughter here in the flesh," he placed a hand under her jaw, grip becoming firm as he stroked a thumb along the apple of her cheek.

Sweat dewed Hope's hairline, trying to stop herself from trembling as the world around blurred. Bile rose at the back of her throat. She visibly shuddered, earning a smirk from Dorian. Hope set her glare to stone again, realizing it had dropped away moments ago.

"I could hurt you in every way I know possible," he sighed softly, such a relaxed sigh, "But if I did that, then I would have to find someone to replace you, and my dear, you are…" he lowered his head to whisper softly in her ear, "irreplaceable…"

Hope spit in his face.

Dorian staggered back just a little, his smug expression replaced with stone cold fury.

"I'm going to rip your dick off and shove it so far up your ass, you'll choke yourself out" Hope snarled.

"Hm…" was all Dorian managed as he glowered down at her "I'll be back for you in a little while, princess." He glanced over at the man and nodded to him "Finish her up" he snapped before departing.

"With pleasure" he smirked, digging deeper into her ribs with the needle.

Hope pinched her eyes closed and wired her own jaw shut.

They wouldn't be getting the pleasure from her pain.

Hope was certain the deranged doc made the process take longer than necessary and now she was permanently scarred physically and mentally. The symbol he'd constructed had been difficult to accept.

It was an image of a mutilated crow, its neck twisted at an unnatural angle. A black ring encompassed it. It was like a stamp of death.

Morbid. Hope thought to herself as she followed another person (this time a woman) down a long narrow passageway lined with brick and mortar and only widely spaced buzzing industrial lights above that looked more like bug zappers than a caged ceiling fixture.

It was hot. Far more hot and humid than the weather she'd been previously experiencing in Beacon Hills. How far away was she from home? From Derek?

Had he started searching for her?

Was he already...dead?

The questions continued to thrum against her mind like hail and it was making her sway on her feet a little. The world had been spinning since she'd put on the black jumper in the grey room given to her by the expressionless brunette she followed now. She could tell she was human, compelled by Dorian no doubt, to carry out the meaningless tasks of leading prisoners to and from cell holds.

That's all Hope could assume this was. A prison.

She now regretted comparing her home in New Orleans to prison, because this was much worse. It was likely this dark tunnel system was somewhere underground near sewer wastes, because she could smell the foulness seeping through the walls. Saliva continued to fill Hope's mouth as she felt the urge to vomit, but each time she swallowed it back and tried to focus on anything but the smell and the migraine beginning to form behind her eyes.

After two more grueling tunnels later, they entered a room.

No, a cavern. It spanned a good five hundred feet in all directions, the outline a rough squared shape. It was one big open space where people, supernaturals, walked aimlessly about. Maybe fifty people altogether. Some rested in a corner where cots and ratty blankets lay strewn, others migrated somewhere in the center where they appeared to be playing some card game. Taking bets, no doubt. Hope could smell a mixture of hormones in the air.

Vampires, werewolves, and witches. They were all here, wearing the same black jumper as she did. None looked up or even acknowledged her presence. She was just another face among the many. The human who had led her in was gone, having retreated immediately.

Hope didn't blame her.

It was one thing passing through the winding passageways, it was another task entirely to know what she should be doing with her time now. She walked around, aimlessly at first. Trying to organize the chaos in her head that this room brought out. Looking up, she could see the stone ceiling meshed in darkness. Were they inside of a mountain of some sort?

"New I take it?" A deep voice startled her from just behind her right shoulder.

Hope swiveled on her heels to face the man with deep set eyes and graying beard. Though the top of his hair was dark in color, she could tell he was aged quite a bit. A werewolf, she sensed. Maybe in his fifties. He was tall with broad shoulders and a muscled physique.

"Names Dominik," he continued with a crooked grin when Hope said nothing, her gut twisting in response to being addressed so suddenly, "Wolf?" He asked, leaning in to get a whiff. His expression shifted from amused to puzzled as he slowly pulled back "Or not?" He tilted his head to the side, eyeing her with curious brown eyes.

Hope had the notion now was not the time to admit she was actually a tribrid, direct heir to the original hybrid. Youngest in the original family.

She swallowed hard and glanced around, realizing there were at least ten others standing not far behind Dominik with folded arms, wearing what seemed permanent scowls.

"Don't worry about them," Dominik chuckled, "They're all bark, no bite. Come on, darlin, I'll give you a tour."

Hope nodded pursing her lips "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers" her tone a little more acidic than she'd intended.

Dominik didn't seem to take offense. He just grinned and chuckled, creases forming around his eyes. "A good motto to live by...other places, but here...it's best to make friends where you can. You can call me Dom by the way."

With a nod and a foot falling forward she walked with him around the place, letting him lead her along the outer edge. She scanned her surroundings while keeping him in her line of sight. There were no hidden walls around the perimeter, not even a crack in the rock wall.

"What is this place…" Hope mumbled, mostly to herself, but Dominik answered anyway.

"Hell, sweetheart, and it only gets better. Wait till dinner gets out here. You like slop, right?"

Hope glanced over at him with a furrowed brow and before she could stop herself asked, "Is it a joke to you? Being trapped here? Forced to fight like a wild animal?"

Dominik shrugged, pausing in his steps and turned to face her "Honestly? If you don't laugh around here, you'll end up crying. Insanity isn't exactly a rare occurrence around here. Some have been here for so long they even enjoy the show…" he watched her, seemingly careful of his next words, "So you know about the fights?"

"The man, Dorian, told me," she nodded, "Like...some kind of cage fight for supernaturals?"

Dom nodded, leaning against the wall, it left a dusting of red against his jumper. "Pretty much. Only without the staged stunts. People get hurt around here. People die."

She glanced around the space again, "He said the fights were always to the death. Why are there so many here?" She looked back at him, arms crossed over her torso, "How have people been here for so long if they don't leave the ring alive?"

Chuckling deeply, he shook his head "The crowd believes what Dorian wants them to believe. They switch so many out, move locations so often, no one remembers who wins and who dies. Everyone, the people who aren't killed at least, end up back into the mixing pot."

"Hm, nice to know he recycles," she muttered, surprised to hear him chuckle.

"So," he started, tilting his head, "What's your story?" He narrowed his eyes "If you've spoken to Dorian, the head honcho of this whole operation...what makes you so special?"

Hope met his searching eyes, her palms began to sweat, but instead of outing herself just yet she swallowed back her uncertainty and nodded "My...sparkling personality."

He grinned again, it was beginning to grow on her.

"Well, whenever you decide you're ready for some more company, you're welcome in our corner" he said, nodding in the direction they'd just walked away from. Where the scowling werewolves still stood.

Dom pointed to the opposite corner "Bathrooms are that way, I'd stay away from the left side as much as possible…" he pointed a bit further to the left "Meals are served over there. Tastes like dirt, but it's the only food you get and you'll want to choose your strength over taste." He clicked his tongue as he thought for a moment "Oh, and my recommendation...don't try for one of the cots. Newbies lose a finger or two trying for things they haven't earned yet."

"Thanks…" Hope nodded slowly, glancing over at him, but he'd already started retreating to his little corner with the other eight wolves. She could hear him reassuring them of something, she couldn't make out the details.

Hope took it in. Scanning the whole place at least a hundred times, eyes pacing. She found nothing of need from her searching. Nothing she could really use to her advantage. However she'd escape from here, and she would escape, it would take more than a few hours of mental preparation. She needed a plan and she needed it fast. Who knew how much time she had until she'd be called into the ring.

Until then, she had to play it smart.

Outwit your opponent until their own purpose confuses them, Elijah's words strung through her head. She never thought she would miss the times of his little lectures sitting in the compound, trying to hide she was texting only for him to snatch the phone from her and toss it to the chair across the room.

"I wish you could tell me what to do…" she murmured softly to herself. Her family, the bubble they'd put her in, had protected her from these darkness's in the world. Now she was an open wound, becoming more infected with each passing minute. Being consumed by irrational fear and the undeniable reality that she had bitten off more than she could chew.

Hope would find a way out, she would, but for now she had to take Dom's advice. Making friends. She glanced toward the little pack that had settled into their corner. Hope took a deep breath, let it go slowly, and began walking toward them.

Yes, make friends with the strange new pack who had glared at her like she was a new item on the newbie menu.

What could possibly go wrong?