CHAPTER 2 : THE GAME PIECES

Warriors prepared in different ways, this was no different for Treasa Firestar. She slipped into her steel plate armor, the blue steel dulled by use, as she practiced for the games. She was disbanded from the Elite Guard, after winning several awards for excellence in the line of duty, on the account she had taken one too many bullets and her left knee was bad. She was convinced it wasn't too many wounds. Since when does the Elite Guard care about anyone's well being? To her, it just didn't add up. She tried retirement, but when you've been training for battle since age three, and your only twenty four years old, the smell of blood and the thrill of battle still calls to you. This was Treasa, and there was nowhere for her to go but the Arena. The other plus to the Arena is that she could continue her investigation into the Arena and it's activities. All the things she couldn't do while she was investigating in the Elite Guard. She could never get this close to the games, but now she could finish what she started, and maybe find out the real reason for her being honorably discharged from the Elite Guard. "Funny," she though as she tugged on her steel bracer. "I've spent all my life searching for these fighters to turn them in and stop the games, and now I am the criminal I once strove to capture. Ironic."

She holstered her regulation Auto-Mag on her right hip, slid an extra clip to her belt and slipped the bowie knife, razor sharp edge and all, into it's sheath that was strapped to her other hip and down her leg. She gave her leather pants a tug, and gave the steel-cloth shirt a downward pull, and looked in the mirror. She took her grease paint and ran dark lines across her face. It was more of a psych then anything important. She felt herself slipping into that dark mindset. From her black leather boots and their steel toes, up her leather pants, her steel thigh pads, to her steel cloth gray shirt. She carefully slid into her steel chest plate, shoulder pads, back plate, and finally her full face steel helmet. She felt her heart race as a siren blared. Warning call. She tied her long waving hair back in a tight, military ponytail that fell down her armored back and walked onto the transporter. Suddenly her body tingled and she knew there was no turning back now.

Next moment she was in the arena, her body frozen, but her mind was racing around the factory. "Nearest sniper rifle?" She asked in her mind. "Second floor, east wing." Came the metallic chime of a computer voice, as the database spoke to her mind. She mentally nodded. "Closest shield belt?" The same scratching voice of metal on metal came to her. "Top floor, on the crossbeam." She looked up and saw a beam supported above everything else, long, narrow and not something she looked forward to. "Location, nearest dark corner?" And the voice did not respond, her mind just ripped through the map and she knew everything she needed to know. Now she just waited for the "Go" signal and hoped that no one had the same idea as herself, and if they did, she prayed that she was faster.

In another far off arena, an artificial waste water treatment plant, the same preparations went forth. The plant was nothing more then a warehouse on the outside, but on the inside it was a simulated waste water plant, with tubes of stagnant water, heavy, crushing machinery, and other personal hazards. David, a moderately sized, muscular warrior, sized up his armor. He tugged his gauntlets onto his well worn hands. His hands were the hands of a worker, strong, calloused, and unhesitating. He wondered to himself, "Why am I doing this?". Yet his answer never satisfied him. It was out of revenge, his family was killed and taken by the Blood Wraiths in their fight to prove that they deserve to be accepted by social norms. The wraiths would slaughter innocents, feed and attend the games. David escaped with his life, just barely. He was bitten, and was turning, but he made it to the medical labs in time to be vaccinated and saved. He still carries the bite scars on his neck, as a reminder of why he was here, and what he was going to do to the people who took his family from him.

The first problem was that he knew nothing about fighting, or surviving at that. His family farmed, and did manual labor, they were never fighters. He supposed he would learn though. He took his family's money and invested in the games. He bought armor of the highest quality, an Auto-mag he called "Blood-tap", and a deadly bowie knife of the finest steel he called "Night Gypsy". He slipped his firearm into his right hip/leg holster, and his bowie slipped into his left leg bowie sheath, the one he had specially made for him, with the blade's name etched eloquently into the high grade leather.

He shifted in the feather steel plate mail. It was barley noticeable when wearing it. He looked in the mirror. His blue eyes burned with rage, but were tainted with fear. This would be his trial, possibly his only chance at revenge, possibly his last look in a mirror, or his last breath. He was not used to hiding the emotion in his eyes. He felt naked when he stared at his own blue eyes and saw everything he was feeling, and he knew others would too. He slipped a full feather steel helmet onto his head, covering his soft, blond hair, and the tinted eye lenses covering his fearful eyes. If they didn't know he was afraid then they might be intimidated by his six foot five frame, and well equipped weaponry status. "Kill or be killed." he kept telling himself. Then the siren blared. He glanced in the mirror one more time, possibly the last, then stepped on the transporter. "Kill or be killed...oh who am I kidding, I am a farmer not a mercenary." he thought to himself and shook his head as he was removed from one place and dropped in another.

He knew nothing of warfare, or fighting, but he did know that he was going to need a bigger weapon. In David's frozen start he spoke to his comm implant inside his head. "Uh, computer..." he thought and the computer answered him. "Yes, I am at your service." He smiled inside his helmet at the politeness of the computer, and it's scratchy computerized voice. "Where is the biggest weapon?" The computer replied, "Please specify." David thought hard again. "The most destructive weapon, where would it be?" And the computer responded politely, "Left, 200 ft." He smiled, "And what weapon would that be?" He asked. "A missile launcher." it replied. David's face dropped inside his featureless helm. "What the hell am I going to do with that?" he thought to himself, and the computer answered, "Terminate life forms." David shook his head and responded, slightly frustrated. "I wasn't thinking to you."