[NOTE: There is a POV switch halfway through this chapter. The story will be from MMA's point of view from there on.]
My brother was now old enough to fight. He had toughened up and stopped getting sick so often, but he was still a bit small and he didn't know how to fight. Most days we would spend our days play wrestling, trying to keep quiet, but it was hard when these were the only times we would laugh. Sometimes I'd still be asleep when my brother would pounce on me, but I was never angry. I wanted him to be strong.
Most times I would let him win, wanting to encourage him. Other times I would pin him to show him how to get out of it, or show him holds that are nearly impossible to break. I knew all the best ways to fight, and he needed to know as well.
The Man didn't seem to mind that we did this, which was a relief. He always wanted us to win our fights, so I think he liked that I was training my brother. I just wanted him to be safe. And it was sort of fun, playing like that, you could almost forget what our situation was.
[POV switch]
My older brother was kind to me. On more than one occasion he had defended me from the Man, or in fights, if I were too sick. He promised of escape frequently, and I trusted him. I loved my brother.
He was smart. He could come up with games and different ways to play so we could pass time till our next fight.
The fights. I loved the fights. I loved fighting, I loved being in them. I had been fighting a few years, and each kill made me feel more powerful. I loved fighting, and I loved watching my brother fight. I didn't care as much when I had to watch strangers fight strangers, but when my brother would fight you could see his strength easily. Most opponents didn't stand a chance.
For a while, at least.
As we got older my brother seemed to get sicker. Some days he could hardly move, and I couldn't wrestle with him as we usually did. But even on days like that, he would sit and talk with me, and silently we would laugh. My brother was the only thing in the world that could make me laugh.
But it changed.
We came back after a particularly bad fight. My brother and I were bloody to bits, just trying to rest back in our cage, tending to our wounds and regaining strength. My brother had a black eye and a split lip, and I was about the same, both of us bruised, yet content.
My brother heard the man approach first, urging me to the back of the cage like he always did. He stayed in front of me, guarding me from the Man, even if he was sick and hurt.
Normally the Man would come to give us food and water like this, sometimes even a new blanket, but this time, he approached us. I could feel myself panicking, bracing myself for a random beating, but instead he grabbed only for my brother, yanking him roughly by the arm. Brother yelped in pain, struggling against the Mans grip, but he was weakened and ill and had little fight left in him. I started to scream, fearing the worst, but was quickly kicked into silence.
My brother used to talk about how the Man would drag my Mother into the house and bring her back the next morning. He wasn't sure what happened inside, Mother wouldn't say.
Hopelessly, I watched my brother dragged inside the same way.