The minotaur had kicked open a boarded-up door and ran into a rotting hotel. The hero ran through and saw the monster’s work.
Walls had been pushed down and hallways blocked. The creature had knocked holes in the floor and covered windows to create pools of shadow.
The hero appreciated the effort. He drew his combat knife and a sawed-off baseball bat and crept into the labyrinth, following the smell of blood and cow. The hero could hear the monster’s breath, quick and heavy, and he could feel himself panting along.
The smell of blood and cow changed, grew sweet and heavy as the hero turned the corner. He saw bodies lined up in rows on the floor, face up. The hero counted thirteen.
Six Barbies. Seven Kens.
The monster stopped breathing. The hero knew it was close, and he tensed before it rushed.
The minotaur burst through a wall, bellowing in a voice just short of a man’s. It stood, eyes rolling and muzzle caked with blood and foam, and howled at the hero.
The hero howled back, diving at the minotaur. He stabbed and pounded as the minotaur crushed him, ignoring the tight, floating pain as his ribs began to break. The hero tore and bit, babbling a stream of meaningless sound that became “Get it! Get it! Get it!” as the beast screamed and died beneath him.
The hero stood, ignoring the pain. He cut the minotaur’s ears and tail off quickly, stuffing them into a trash bag. Money from the Greek, money from a collector. Good day.
He stopped as he heard a whimper from the room where the minotaur had waited for him. A girl sat in a pile of rags, shivering and crying silently. She reached bound hands to him.
The hero walked past the girl the minotaur had left. She was dead anyway.