Chapter 4
The standings had some interesting results for the first set of bouts. The angry woman had gone down in five minutes, much to the chagrine of her owner...whereas the insolent agent had defeated the previous victor, even without understanding, even with a complete lack of desire to do so. It was an accident and the victor had been definitely in bad state. Still he had won. That was not to be sneered at, even though she didn't get as high of marks for an accidental death as she would have for one which had been a motivated killing. Still, that kind of victory, so early. He definitely had potential. She hoped he lived long enough to live up to that potential. She had already joined forces with her friend who had lost his own promising start.
The next set of matches should prove more interesting. These were the ones where they usually still tried to talk their way out of it...and almost always failed. Bets had been placed that her entrant would be a talker, not a fighter. It was in the rules that the training sessions were totally off-limits. The area where the fights took place was the central hub, but the participants were spread out over a huge area...land purchased for this specific purpose. No one outside of her training staff knew what was being done to hone her fighter into someone who would attack at will. She always had quite a bit of success with her methods. It didn't always work fully, and sometimes the physical ability just wasn't there...but she always had people begging her for tips.
She never gave them. As she looked at the odds, an eager, avaricious smile lit up her face. She was happier than ever with her choice, even if she doubted he'd survive to the end. There was a military man among the ranks. Rare to be sure, but a good find. He would be the favorite to win in the end. Even she could concede it was more likely.
But it wouldn't be any fun if she only bet on a sure thing.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"Get to the man before the lights go out and I won't hurt you anymore."
Tim almost wept. Almost. A small spark of pride remained and forced him to hold back the tears of exhaustion. He had no idea how long he'd endured this, how long he'd been trying to get to a person that seemed no closer than he had before. He hurt. The cuts weren't serious, but they were painful. The beatings left him gasping for breath but they weren't designed to kill. He just wanted it to stop.
The lights came up. He began to run.
The lights stayed on. He continued to run.
The lights went out. He was ten feet away this time.
He screamed.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"I wish you would let me in on your secret, Cherie. I wouldn't have thought your choice could make it through one round...and you even drew the previous winner as his first fight. That's usually a write-off."
Cherie smiled as she sipped at her drink. "You know that will never happen, Don. We may be allies at the moment, but the next time, we'll again be on opposite sides. I would only weaken my own hand by showing you how I do it."
"Do you get personally involved?" Don asked.
"Do you?" she returned.
They stared at each other in silence for a few moments before they both smiled and laughed.
"All right. I concede. We can't really trust each other in this respect. We could, however..."
"Don't even think it, Don. It will never happen."
"The next bout will begin in one hour. Players will please transport their fighters to the center ring."
Cherie stood, downing the rest of her drink in a swift swallow that barely made her wince.
"I need to get him prepared. My trainer has been...extremely focused." She smiled and left Don staring after her.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Tim collapsed to the floor of his cell and curled into a ball, cradling his arm which was bleeding rather heavily. His body trembled from the lingering pain from the punishment he had just endured. He had come so very close this time. So close. So close that he could see the man's body as he inhaled and exhaled. So close.
"Second cycle. Round one."
Tim tensed at the voice. He had been round one last time...and he had almost died because he had tried to stop his attacker rather than fend him off.
No more pain. No more pain.
The door opened. He heard footsteps and then was pulled roughly to his feet. He couldn't help but let out a soft whimper as the rough hands reopened the bleeding wound. He heard a muffled curse and then was unceremoniously dumped onto the...bed (for lack of a better term). It was dark, hard to see around him...and he couldn't bring himself to expend the energy to focus anyway. The same rough hands wrapped a bandage around his arm and then pulled him back to his feet.
He allowed his mind to disconnect as he was taken, barely noticing when he was led through hallways, never reaching the open air.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Cherie took her time walking to the center ring. As one of the original members of the group, she always had a prime spot. In addition, since it was her candidate she would be given pride of place...as would her competition. She didn't know whom her fighter would be facing off against, but she was confident that her trainer had done his job well. The job wasn't over as yet, but significant progress had been made and that was important. These cycles weren't about immediate returns, but general improvement, and hopefully, gradually-increasing successes.
She held a folder in her hands, although she had no reason to look at it. The files never had much information anyway. Name, occupation, photo, and level of education completed. Beyond that, they were expected to figure out the abilities of their fighters the hard way: by throwing them into the ring and seeing how they performed. Sometimes, like for Don, someone who seemed perfect ended up being weak. Other times, like the military man and like her agent, they performed to specifications or even exceded them. The women rarely lasted as long as the men, although there had been some notable exceptions. It came down to endurance and the women they had often chosen did not have that. Or perhaps they just didn't have the same bloodthirsty streak as the men seemed to possess. Or maybe it was simply that the women they picked up were not the ones with the animal need for survival. Who knew. Men dominated in these cycles. It was a rare woman who managed to last to the end.
Cherie reached the doors and waited for admittance. No one came and went as they pleased. There was a certain order to things...an order that kept the fights secure, kept the entire facility secure. She looked up at the camera and nodded.
The door opened.
"Welcome, madame. The players are in position and await only the time."
"Good. My place?"
"Empty and awaiting your presence."
"Thank you."
Cherie walked down the aisle to the front of the small arena. Don stood beside her, nodding professionally. She smiled and then turned her attention to the currently-empty circle.
It wouldn't be long now.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Tim was shoved into position in front of a door and then left alone. He knew what was coming. Another fight with someone who would try to kill him.
Not again.
A hand reached up to the door. He wished it wouldn't open. He didn't want this. He didn't want to have to fight for his life again. He knew he would...and he couldn't let himself die. He just couldn't. It would hurt.
He couldn't face more pain.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"Ladies and gentlemen, the fighters are in position. Any last-minute bets must now be made. Once the bell is rung, there will be no more betting accepted. Remember to maintain the requisite silence."
There was a collective intake of breath in anticipation.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
The door opened and Tim was pushed into the lit circle. He could, again, see vague shapes beyond it. He knew they were people. He knew they were watching.
...what he didn't know was why they were watching.
Then, his eyes tracked in on the man staring at him. His eyes were wild with panic and once their eyes met, he burst into a flurry of motion. Tim steeled himself to fend off his assailant. ...no, not just fend off. There was no halfway. He had to go all the way. That was the only way to stop the pain. All the way. He'd never succeeded in making it all the way, not to the wall, not to the black shape of a man...but here...here, he could go all the way. He could stop the pain. In this ring of light, he had the power to stop it. Only here.
Hands unused to the impending impact, clenched into fists and swung, one after the other as the man reached him. One after the other connected with more force than Tim thought he had. The man staggered backward and then flung himself forward again as if someone was shoving him at Tim with a firebrand in his back. This time, Tim decided to forego the boxing and resorted to a strange conglomeration of half-remembered wrestling moves and the type of grappling Gibbs had taught him...years ago and worlds away from this place.
A fist connected with his face, just below his left eye and something seemed to explode in his head. Stars flashed in his vision and he couldn't focus. Next thing he knew, he was on his back, a knee in his chest, compressing his sternum, his ribcage in a way that would kill him if he didn't fight back. The pain was excruciating and the man was fighting back with a ferocity that matched Tim's intense desire to avoid feeling more pain.
He's going to win. He's going to win. I'm going to die.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
The watching crowd was unable to suppress a small gasp of surprise when Cherie's fighter was taken down with a flying fist. In seconds, the tables had turned from a certain victory to a defeat that seemed equally-certain.
Cherie maintained her famous calm, although she could feel Don tensing beside her. She didn't blame him. He had chosen to ally himself with her and it was looking as though his money would be lost twice.
Then, another gasp was let out.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Tim wasn't even aware of wanting to make a noise, but from his throat, he heard a growling sound...it was almost a word.
"NO!"
He pushed and then when that failed, he drew back his hand and rammed it into the man's face, feeling the nose break. The knee disappeared and Tim leapt up to press his advantage. Again and again. No backing off. Now that he'd made it, he wouldn't give up. A small part of his mind was screaming at him to stop, but the dominant part was screaming more loudly for him to stop the pain he felt in the only way possible. There was only one way out, the voice screamed.
He listened to the louder part.
He stopped the pain...if only for a short time.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
There was no sound as the victor was taken from the ring. No sound as Cherie did the traditional march to the body. Don accompanied her, a step behind. She walked from the body to the owner, inclined her head and accepted the the file he held. Then, she stepped back from him and returned to the body.
"Round one of the second cycle," she said, reciting the formal speech of victory. "To the victor go the spoils. The dead are weak. The living are strong. The masters...rule."
A delicate foot lifted and nudged the body onto its back. Then, she pressed her foot into his chest until she heard a crack.
"The dead are weak," she said again.
"The living are strong," Don recited beside her.
"The masters...rule," the other participants said in a whisper.
They stood in a silent tableau. Don respectfully keeping his head slightly lowered, Cherie with one foot atop the defeated corpse, the rest of them in shadow.
After a minute, she walked away without a backward glance.
Later, there would be congratulations, but not until the evening meal. Now was the time spent cleaning up and disposing of the evidence of the fight.
She never showed it, but Cherie was suppressing a feeling of glee. She had won again.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
They threw him back into his cell. He lay on his side, unmoving, for a while. Unmoving. He didn't want to move. Moving caused him pain. Unthinking. He didn't want to think. Thinking would bring him back to the person who didn't kill just to save his own skin, who wasn't willing to kill with his bare hands. Thinking would remind him that he hated what he had done in that ring. He didn't want to think because, somehow, he knew that he would end up in that ring again...and if he could, he would fight off whoever was placed in his way.
His body trembled. His face throbbed where the man had hit him. His chest ached from the pressure. Any harder and his sternum would probably have cracked.
He didn't know how long he lay on the floor...but eventually, they came in and pulled him out, dragged him into that horrible room.
"Get to the man before the lights go out and I won't hurt you anymore."