I barge through the dancing crowds toward the metal door, bumping straight into Jared's hard chest as I approach it. I stumble back and his eyes lock onto mine. If he's surprised to see me he doesn't show it. Simultaneously we both continue towards the Meat Factory.

A tall man in a gas mask gets there first, leading a girl with a pink mohawk through the door. She walks with him willingly and my stomach churns - she doesn't know what is in store for her behind that door. We pause as the demon raps on the door. It is opened a crack from the inside then the two are admitted inside.

Jared hurries forward, putting his hand on the handle. I grab his arm – feeling the tensed muscles beneath his tattoos. He spins around, anger in his eyes when they meet mine.

"What?"

"What are we going to do? Just barge in there? We'll be killed."

"Do you have a better idea?!"

I glare at him.

"Yes."

He arches a dark eyebrow.

"They let that guy in with a gas mask. We should get a gas mask."

"Oh...well let me just nip to the World War 2 memorabilia shop..."

I give him a look then nod towards one of the tall suited men, prowling the moving dancefloor, their faces concealed. Jared exhales, rubbing the back of his neck and then nods. He kneels down and pulls a small knife out from his boot. While on the floor the metal door opens and a masked demon walks out.

Suddenly Jared is on him, pouncing up from the ground and ramming him into the wall by the door. In a swift movement he slits his neck. I glance behind me. The clubbers move in one, fluid, pulsating movement. No-one notices us in the darkness by the side of the stage.

Jared rips off the gas mask, revealing hollow eyes and greyish skin, then slams it onto his own head. The demon falls to the floor and melts into a pool of black, sticky liquid. I gag, the acidic stink washing over me.

Jared grabs my arm. He looks at me through the clouded window of the mask. I don't know if it's a distortion of the steamed up glass, but I think I catch a hint of respect in his dark eyes.

"You sure you want to do this? I can go on my own."

His voice is gruff, distorted by the mask.

Do I want to do this? I hesitate, my fingers unconsciously touching Daisy's tattoo. Whoever is behind that door killed her and contributed to the monster I have become. Whoever is inside the Meat Factory has Rebecca.

Help us, I hear the voice in my head, you can help us all.

I nod and he returns it. Then he pulls me towards the metal door and knocks against it. It's opened a crack and we're admitted inside.

***

The room is dark and smells sweet and metallic- like blood and death. The music from outside is blocked and replaced with the sound of a female sobbing. About twenty chairs are facing a small raised stage at the other side of the room. On it, spotlighted and stood in a line, are twelve girls. Behind them – holding them still – are tall, masked men. One of the girls has been brought forward. The gas masked man from the main stage stands in front of them - a microphone in his hand.

With a lurch I notice blood dripping from the raised platform, and a black, bulging bin bag on the floor.

I scan the line for Rebecca and lock onto her stood at one end. Her eyes are watchful and she catches sight of me, then Jared, at the back of the room. She nods subtly – letting us know she has seen us. Her fists are clenched and she looks ready to pounce.

"Thank you again for being here again for our very special night here at the Meat Market," calls the demon on the stage, "Now, you all know the drill! See a body part you like, and bid for it. The part goes to the highest bidder."

The girl begins to cry as the demon holding her brings her forward and twirls her under his arm. She tries to run but he drags her back, pushing her to her knees, and pulling her arm back - extending it so that everyone in the audience can see. His bony fingers caress her wrist as he pulls out a large knife.

The main demon lifts the microphone to his face.

"Left arm, Caucasian, smooth skin, good condition. We'll start the bidding at £100. Any takers?"