[justify][size=10][justify][size=10]It was predestined for him, and he followed that predetermined path just like they intended. Hand-selected genes determined which personality he would be home to, how much muscle he was to gain, how powerful his jaws would be and if they would lock down once his victim was selected. They knew how he would act before he acted, knew how he would fight before he fought, knew how he would grovel before he groveled, how he would obey before he bowed his head.
He was more machine than animal.
Every action of his was bet on, every injury predicted, and every win expected. When that buzzer sounded, it was common knowledge that blood would be spilled, and it sure as hell wasn't going to be a machine's blood. Machines don't bleed; a machine was supposed to do as programmed, supposed to work without flaw, supposed to be nothing more and nothing less than what it was told to do.
His day was broken down into a schedule that was followed without error. He'd be woken at 8AM every weekday, and 10AM every weekend. The wide metal bowl would be refilled with expired meat and energizers, foggy water replaced- he did not hesitate on devouring it all, such an act would result in him being beaten until he finished all he was given. He'd then be prodded with sticks, his cage would be rattled and shook repeated, and angry voices would fill his ears. This would happen to the others as well; he could hear their growls or snarls, just like his own. Music would be playing, throbbing and crude, and he knew it was time when the men began stomping their feet.
He'd be placed into a new cage, though this one with walls and no place to see through but a cut-out rectangle that forced his gaze to stare into the eyes of the other canine across the arena. He'd be further prodded at and shook, shouted and cursed at, until finally a buzzer sounded and the door lifted.
What came next often was divided up into frames by the time after: nearing his opponent, a few scuffles, blood spilling, snarling, his jaws locking, and the whimpers of his victim. And then the sound of men was deafening and he was taken away and put back into his first cage and awarded the same expired meat with mixed drugs.
Sometimes he would fight once a day, or three times a day, or every other day. He wasn't sure why, and he wasn't sure if he minded it. Dog fights and tattoo parlors were all he knew. Fighting or being knocked out to receive tattoos his master requested, this was his life. He became accustomed to it, just like every other dog who had been in the game since they were old enough. It was simply all he knew, so, he accepted it.
That was until one day he was not woken on schedule, and he was not woken by his bowl being filled or his cage being rattled. He was woken from strangers in matching uniforms, who were oddly gentle with him. These people who he did not know- who he did not understand. Fearing he was being put into danger, he escaped who would have been his rescuer, and fled the warehouse without slack.
This was how he ended up here, in a world he did not know existed. In a place he did not know, with scents he could not identify. Where he, the machine, found himself... malfunctioning.
He stood, clueless, upon the forest floor, brows knotted and eyes wide, stance tense and defensive in his uncertainty. The air smelled of many animals, and he could only guess this was some sort of civilization- some sort of place one might call home if they belonged. It was as close as Lockjaw knew to be similar to the warehouse he had spent his entire life, scents of all the other canines filling the air. Perhaps this was like... that- like somewhere he belonged, right?
The canine simply let out a bark, well, as much of a bark as he could with the muzzle secured around his maw, though animalistic compared to most civilized creatures that belonged in their clans. He knew how to talk, yes, but only limited to what he had picked up from the older dog fighters when he was growing up, which wasn't exactly a wide vocabulary. So, for now, a bark was going to have to suffice.
// rushed!! excuse any typos pls
[hr]