“I’m norm—”
Lance’s hand slaps fire to my face. My head jolts to the side, my skin stings, and tears fill my eyes. “Don’t cry,” he orders, glaring at me. “Of course she’s on the verge. She’s a Ten!”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, blinking the tears down my cheeks.
The guard folds his arms over his wide chest and steps in front of Lance. “This is wrong,” he says.
“Shut up,” Lance replies, glancing nervously at me. “You’re getting paid a double ration of food for your family to keep your mouth shut, remember? And she’s a Ten!”
“This is wrong,” he says again. “And I can’t let you pass.”
Lance looks over the guard’s shoulder and nods. The barrel of another guard’s gun is slammed into the back of the guard’s head, and he flops into a pile at my feet.
With a renewed urgency, Lance locks me into the chair and wheels me to the other side of the locker room and through a door. The three remaining guards follow. And now I know why this place is so familiar. I’m in the old recreation center. The swimming pool is through a glass door on my right. But the pool looks different. Rows of stadium bleachers are set up around it. And people, mostly men, are filing in, fighting over the front-row seats.
“Wow. Big crowd,” Lance says, pushing my chair away from the pool.
“Who are you betting on?” a guard asks.
“The female,” Lance says, as if it should be obvious.
“Her? The Ten?”
“No way I’d bet on her. She’s going down first. I’m betting on the female Five.”
I am wheeled into an elevator that smells like diesel exhaust and urine. The door slides shut with a rusty groan, the elevator hums, and we go down. When we come out, everything is dark, and the smell of chlorine stings my nose. The chair’s metal restraints open, and I’m prodded forward. I stand. The chair is whisked away, and behind me a door slams. My cuffs spring apart and I can move again.
I am in the dark.
And I am alone.
Chapter 33
The room is small and square, with a door at each end. A thin stream of light trickles around the frame of the door across from the one I came through, enough of a glow that I can barely see after my eyes have adjusted. The room holds nothing. It smells like urine and bleach and damp.
Overhead, the ceiling rumbles with the sound of pounding feet. Excited voices carry to my room, shouting and clapping and whistling. I plug my ears, lean against the wall, and start humming Maurice Ravel’s “Pavane for a Dead Princess.”
Time passes, but I have no way to measure it. Cold from the cement wall bites through my wet shirt and seeps into my skin, making me shiver. My hollow stomach rumbles, and I need to use the bathroom. Judging by the smell, I could pee anywhere in this room—the whole thing is like a bathroom. But I don’t. Because I am not a beast.
Overhead, the frenzy of feet grows louder, shakes the room around me. I push harder against my ears, hum louder, but nothing will drown out the sound.
I hear a deep, rumbling echo—hear it way down in my chest—and take my hands from my ears. The pounding feet and voices have grown quiet. Only one voice buzzes in my head—the source of the rumbling.
“… a real treat. A twofer! A double match for the price of a single, two for one!” the voice booms. Noise explodes, cheering, and I cover my ears. After a minute the deep buzz of the broadcast voice is back. I drop my hands and listen.
“That’s right. A double match, ladies and gents! We are—” The voice stops and the crowd goes silent. I wait a long moment, the only sound my own heart, before the commentator comes back on.
“We have a special visitor, folks. It looks like Governor Soneschen is going to be joining us for today’s match! This is another first—a day of firsts! Let’s clear out the front row for him and his personal guard!” The crowd cheers again, but not with as much enthusiasm. “Now, like I was saying before our illustrious governor graced us with his presence, I’m going to start this twofer special with a matched fight—Level Four versus Level Four. So make your bets, get your popcorn, find your seats, and enjooooy the show!” The crowd grows eerily silent without so much as a pair of feet