WARNING
The following contains disturbing and/or scary scenes not suitable for weak stomachs

Owen was alone, but he knew it wouldn't last forever. If it were to do that he wouldn't even be here. He checked his watch, his small smile never once wavering. It was a small one, as if he were plotting, and when someone passed he stared them down until they shuddered and crossed the street. He wouldn't have anyone scaring off the one person he was trying to find. And by his watch, he would be wandering by within the next five minutes. He sighed, plucking at his jacket, his knit cap, his ratty gloves. They were a dark red color and somewhat threadbare, but the air was warm enough that they let his fingers stay just warm enough. He glanced down to his old shoes---tennis shoes, gray and blue, half hidden under oversized jeans whose ends had been walked on so much the hems weren't much more than thread. He brought up his hand, scraping it down his face and sighing out a puff of air. He was a very patient man, but it didn't mean that waiting in the same spot wasn't boring or dreadfully monotonous.

He was raking his head against the rough brick building when he heard the telltale scuff of feet. Tired feet. Feet that have to rely on their owner to keep them moving as their only mode of transportation. He lifted his head and looked around, finding the source of the scuffling and smiling a little wider. He stepped away from the wall, into the light of the nearby pool of orange-yellow light as the form approached. He looked battered by life, but otherwise young, and had a bit of meat on his bones. His skin was somewhat clean---probably having taken up his pride and stopped by a shelter to have a shower and get his clothes clean. But otherwise, this man had no family. No apparent friends. It was so very sad. However, Owen didn't lower his smile's wattage.

"Hello there." He said, stopping the man quickly. "You look cold, young man." He carefully removed the knit cap on his head and the man's eyes widened.

"... Owen... Sylvia?" He sounded disbelieving. "What are you do---?"

"You know of our help with the less fortunate, I'm sure." Owen's smile grew a bit wider, but he stopped it before it could turn sinister. "I often come by the lower downtown areas to find those that need a bit of help, even if they don't want to turn to the public shelters to find that help. I understand pride, and how it can make you want to avoid help. But you should come to the home of my Master, he would be glad to give you one good day."

He didn't wait for the man to respond---he put a hand on his shoulder lightly, leading him to where a black car waited in darkness. He didn't wait until they made it to the vehicle however---Owen slammed his hand down on the base of the man's skull, immediately sending him unconscious to the ground. He swiftly lifted him, putting him under a rug in the trunk and slamming it closed.

The young man had been evicted from his home just a few days ago. He had been dumped by his long time girlfriend and also fired from his job. Sinking into a depression that anyone would suffer if these events had happened to you, he had to make the most of being homeless. He went to the shelter every night to get food and a bed to rest on, and spent his days trying to find a job. It was hard, when he couldn't give his potential employers an address.

He was surprised to see Owen Sylvia, a man known to serve the Gordons, the richest family in the city. Even though most of them had died, they left behind a son, Ethan, who was well-known for his kind heart and charity work. It was true they would often bring in homeless people and help them along. Even though those brought in by them were never heard from again, the legend was that they had been given jobs as CEOs or similar, and had changed their names to avoid people knowing about their shameful past. But what shocked the man was when he was given a hard blow to the head. Why had Owen hit him? His world went black before he could find out.

Ethan paced nervously, as he often did when left alone. It was rare for his butler to not be by his side, and he always felt madly alone when Owen was not in the house. He stared longingly out the window, hoping to see the headlights of one of their many black cars driving through the gilded gates and up the tree lined path. His family estate was huge, roughly the size of a hotel, but only had a few servants. Owen did most of the cleaning and looking after Ethan. The others were mainly gardeners, with one old maid who cleaned the rooms once a day, if she could get out of bed to begin with. Some might think the large house was extremely empty and as unhomely as a house could get, but Ethan didn't mind, as long as Owen was nearby.

He turned from the window and sat by the fireplace, picking up a novel he had set aside and tried to read. It was impossible to concentrate and soon he found himself pacing again, glancing out the window whenever he passed it. He was glad to see headlights and ran down the stairs, opening the large front doors and bounding towards the car like a puppy. "Owen! Owen! I missed you!"

The drive home was a quiet one. He'd hit the man soundly, and he would be out for a good long time. He drove out of the city and down a gravel-and-dirt road hemmed in by trees on either side, twisting away and then opening up onto impeccably kept grounds. One constant was the gardener, who took over where Owen left off. He did so enjoy the work outside, when he could, but it was nice to have at least one person to pick up what he couldn't weekly. That being, if he didn't have Ethan help. He was rarely separated from the man by too many walls, and when he was, it was under absolute necessity. As this time. He pulled toward the garage and stopped outside the closed doors, getting out as Ethan bounded toward him. His seemingly permanent smile widened a little and he put his arms around the man. "Ah, I missed you." He said in return, bending to breathe a bit of Ethan's scent. His hair was clean, and he could pick out the natural, overbearingly human scent that clung to him no matter what.

"I brought a good one tonight." Owen muttered, his voice a near growl but his face plastered with the same smile he tended to always wear, even away from the public. "If you would open the doors, I will bring him down before he wakes and we have a vicious fight on our hands." He squared himself, pulling away and going to unlock the trunk. The man wasn't stirring, and a quick check of his pulse indicated he was indeed still alive. He pushed aside the rug, hefting the man in a fireman's hold over the shoulder, one strong arm around his thighs, and Owen pulled back enough to slam the car shut, and started up the drive toward the door.

Ethan watched as Owen pulled out the unconscious man and stepped backwards, turning and going to the door. He was glad they didn't have many staff working in his mansion any more. It was hard to explain why they had unconscious men brought in and taken downstairs. Ethan preferred luring them to the house and leading them downstairs, but Owen hated the struggle of trying to tie down a fully awake person. He looked the man up and down, nodding slightly and closing the door behind them, rushing towards the stairs that lead down to the basement to turn on the light and open the doors there.

"You always know which ones are the best ones," Ethan commented, his light blue eyes widened with excitement. "I hope you kill him right away. He looks a bit sad... Surely you wouldn't be cruel to him?" But he knew the answer, he only asked in a vain attempt to stop the torture that usually happened to their victims. There was something strange about Owen, and only Ethan had seen it in his friend. Everyone else thought he was well mannered and a good servant.

Once inside, Owen led the way to the door downstairs. It was a basement area that seemed smaller than it should be because it was. He had discreetly had a specific area of the basement walled off and padded down to silence what happened inside. The last thing either of them needed was questions. They managed to write off suspicious disappearances easily in the past, and as such Owen had become very careful in who he picked up. Nowadays he chose those that had no friends or family, and wouldn't be missed. Drifters, hitchhikers, things of the sort. He shook his head a bit as Ethan spoke. "And you are aware that I have drastically reduced my cruelty." He said, opening the door that led into the silenced room. There was a line of cages one could stand up in in the back fitted with drains and a spigot that allowed cold water out in each, and a table bolted to the floor.

"You are aware that overworking the muscles makes them tough." Owen said simply. He bypassed the table and lifted the man, pressing him against the bars and disrobing him before pushing the barely conscious form into the cell and locking it down tight. He barely made a protest before he was on the ground. "I've not been harming them quite as much as I used to. An experiment I've taken to preforming. While the muscles remain underworked, they soften. This is why I have such small cells, so they have no room to truly run or stretch." He turned to Ethan. "Shall we leave him unbothered tonight? We do still have a wide selection still." He indicated the door, speaking of a somewhat late dinner on their part. Owen did enjoy cooking, no matter what it might be. Sometimes he bypassed the cooking entirely, and Ethan didn't seem to mind.

Ethan sighed and nodded, glancing back at their prisoner. They usually had two at a time, though there was enough room for five. They didn't want mass disappearances making the population suspicious, and bringing the police around to investigate. How would they react to finding out about what had been happening here? Would Ethan be separated from Owen again? He shuddered at the thought and followed the man upstairs. It was late and his stomach rumbled slightly.

"All the best parts have been used up, though..." he sighed, but didn't argue with his friend. Arguing meant he would be punished. They walked together down the hallways which were decorated with paintings and photos, to the dining area and kitchen. "I have been invited to another get-together. Something about orphans... I've always wanted to try something so tender and sweet as a child." He kept quiet from there, sitting at the table and waiting for Owen to deliver one of his delicious dishes.