Game of Ash and Bone

Chapter 2 - I assimilate to life as a gladiator rather well

We're no sooner getting settled in our cell than shuffled down to a main area, cuffed hand and foot of course. This is a fitting room. We're checked for our sizes, given stacks of clothes, and a few MREs. Apparently we eat in our cell until further notice. The girls are told to do their hair or it will be shaved. Tove hurriedly fixes Lyra's hair as the little girl whimpers at the prospect of losing it. Arthur and I are already shaven. We're given medical supplies for our injuries and our mug shots are taken. I'm sure I look terrible given I died earlier today but I'm not supposed to talk about that.
There's a stack of donated reading material, paperback books, all government approved of course. We're instructed to pick something. Of course it has to comply with mandatory health and well being regulations while we, ah, fight to the death.
"Is it just my constantly running brain, or does New Order censor this stuff?" I ask, sorting through a stack of clearly sanitized books. Like there is nothing fun.
"I can barely read so," Tove mutters, red rising to her cheeks.
"Well why can I?" I ask, confused.
"You got educated? Maybe you were like a house slave," Tove points out.
"Does that look reasonable though?" I point at my face, "No idea what I look like but does it?"
"Not really no," she says, weakly.
"Here," Arthur picks up a children's book and puts it in Tove's hands then snatches one for himself.
The little girl is clutching a book, and clearly smiling. A blue leather bound book of fairy tales. Her little fingers brush the cover lovingly. I realize that considering she got discarded she's probably never had a book of her own.
"Fuck it looks like I'm getting Winnie the Pooh," I say, picking up a big yellow hardback. Realistically one or both kids will die in the coming weeks they might as well enjoy the books. And I don't even know what I was looking for.
We are herded back to our cells, carrying our clothes, MREs and books. I for one am apparently very easily pleased the clothes are at least clean and washed and starched and the MREs don't look like bad ones. I don't know how often I've eaten them but it doesn't look unfamiliar.
When we get back to the cell a guard is there, with a wooden box.
"Have it together, by morning," he says.
"Team building," Tove predicts.
"It's a Festus thing, get you working together, but, gives you something to do eh?" The guard asks.
"That's stupid," Tove says.
"How quaint," Arthur snarls.
"A game?" Lyra asks, hopefully.
"Cool! A toy!" I say, opening it up. It's one of those building toys, building blocks. There's a set of instructions. The sort rich kids have to make them even smarter. It feels familiar, though. I must've played with one at one point or saw it.
"I think fighting to the death will be bonding but all right," Tove says.
"But we have to do it," I say.
"Is it hard?" Lyra asks.
"Probably for me," I don't remember being good at it.
"By morning, and you'll get time in the yard to practice," the guard calls, then walks on.
"Thank you—person containing us so we can fight to the death," I call, kneeling down.
"Guess we don't have anything else to do," Tove says.
"Here, I had one like this—sort the gears into sizes, Lyra can you order those by color—you—actually don't touch anything," Arthur says, kneeling down.
"That's probably a good call," I admit.
"I mean I had half a one. I found one in the trash once," Arthur mutters.
"I mean I don't remember how I even know what it is, so," I shrug, opening an MRE to start determining edible parts. It's not going to be all of it. "I get I'm pretty boring since I don't remember anything before this morning, but there could be a point to the group exercise here, it would be helpful to know a bit about each other so we can work together or whatever?"
Arthur twitches which I take to be a bad sign.
"He's right if either of you can or can't swim or are afraid of something or the like we should know," Tove says.
"I can't swim," Lyra nods, still sorting pieces, "And I'm afraid of the dark and I do NOT like scary stuff."
"That's all good to know," I say.
"Where did you live?" Lyra asks.
"I don't—," I don't remember isn't fully true. Blue bedsheets. A breeze coming in the window. A cold hand on the back of my neck. "I can't really—fully remember. I just get bits and pieces. but it doesn't like mean anything just sounds or colors or—nothing." A name. I don't remember it now. But practically speaking I'm assuming it's my murderer's name.
"It's like that," Tove says, helpfully, "I have dreams as well. But it's all jumbled, and I don't know if it's just my imagination or what. Sometimes a voice or a smell reminds me of something but it's never anything solid. The others said they got bits of their memory back now and then but not everyone does."
"Hm, I don't know that I have that much to remember," I say, "I mean, I was a slave that can't be great."
"No," Tove agrees, shrugging, "Or we'd not be here."
"Yeah," most masters wouldn't do this, I mean it makes money but have a bit of heart. I don't feel very surprised to be here so I assume that I must've suspected this was coming.
"At least they sold you after you're already dead," Arthur says, not looking up from building.
Tove and I both wince, realizing of course he's right.
"It's okay," his face twitches into an odd expression then relaxes, "It's not okay but I wasn't saying it for you."
"What did—if you don't mind what did happen? To either of you?" Tove asks.
"My mother's a sex worker. My father was—someone rich enough to pay her off for a while. Told her to send me to the New Order Academy. They wouldn't take me so, immediate fighting pits," he says, "Festus bought me from there."
"Ah," I wince appreciatively. Fighting pits are poor mans version of the games. Not televised because of the brutality.
Tove, staring at him with concern, "So nice you were bought before you had to kill in the fighting pits."
"I wasn't," Arthur says.
"I SAID so nice you were bought before you had to do anything awful," Tove says, staring at Lyra.
"I wasn't," Arthur absolutely misses our not at all subtle hand gestures to shut the hell up, "I strangled my cell mate and used his body to bait the dogs, then I strangled them. After that Festus figured I was worth the risk."
"How—?" I ask, as Tove hits me. I want to know now.
"I was supposed to go to the Academy as a psychic. I'm not good, at all, but my mom thought it would be enough," he says, "I can hypnotize like a little but usually only long enough to get a noose around 'em."
"That is enough," I say, appreciatively. Psychics are far and few between, training at the prestigious academy. I can't remember if I've actually met one or not it feels familiar so maybe. Usually they can only hypnotize a little, tiny bit of telekinesis or something? Obviously the rich and powerful families pride themselves on training their little princelings as psychics, it looks good. But a regular person has a shot at the Academy that way.
"Really?" Tove asks, "I've never—I don't think I've ever met a psychic."
"Statistically abou 50% of people carry the gene it's just a matter of tapping into it—I do not know why I know that," I laugh.
"Maybe you are one too?" Lyra offers.
"He wouldn't be a slave," Arthur says.
"Yeah I'm ah, no one I'm afraid, what about you? What brings you here?" I ask, nicely I think but Tove shoves my arm.
"I was in the way," Lyra says, sadly, "My mommy said it would be fun here. But it hurt. I want to go home."
"We—are going to start having fun, look we're building —I don't know what it is actually," I frown.
"It's a house," Arthur says,, "The picture shows that!"
"Okay well I'm stupid so," I mutter, turning it over. I guess it looks like a house. Not where I live. Where do I think I live?
"Take it easy, you just got back today," Tove says, hand firmly on my shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah," but I'm frustrated I can't remember. Like I feel like I should somehow. Like I was supposed to do something important? Obviously not for whoever owned me them I'm not gonna care about considering I'm here. But, surely I had friends? Family? I feel I'm missing something.
I'm disturbed from my thoughts by the arrival of dinner.
"I thought we weren't getting anything!" Lyra bounces.
"We weren't," Arthur frowns, twitching his shoulders.
"Sometimes sponsors send all of Festus' teams food. Looks like your lucky night," a guard quips, handing us paper bags of steaming food. The smell hits me immediately. Warm. And inherently familiar.
"What is it?" Lyra asks, opening up a styrofoam container.
"It's ah—I don't know what it's called but it's pasta—breaded, fried ravioli," I say, quietly.
"I've never heard of it," Arthur voices their bemused expressions.
"I have," I say, quietly. I can feel a hand pushing one of the plump hot pasta squares into my mouth, laughing, covering it. Forcing me to eat it. I was laughing, trying to wrestle the hand off my face. "I—I think I had it once. I don't usually eat cheese. It's from the continent."
"It's good," Tove says, taking a small bite of one.
I put one in my mouth, then cover my mouth with one hand. Yes full of cheese.
Laughing. Arm wrapped around my head leaning against each other.
"Hey, you two, what are you doing?" A woman's voice.
Laughing harder. My face crushed into fluffy gold curls as we tried to smother our laughter.
"Well you were eating rich person food," Arthur grunts.
"You normally hate cheese but it's from the continent. And you're going to love it."
"I hate it," laughing as I'm nearly strangled, mouth full of sticky pasta.
"You're going to love it and trust me —-shh they'll find us," laughing, a soft familiar voice in my ear.
"I—think I was married and we—stole it. From whoever we were working for. I keep—I really think I was married," I say, quietly. An arm around my shoulders. I should be falling asleep with a hand in my hair. Lips gentle on my cheek.
"Oh that's so sad," Tove says.
"We'll help you find her," Lyra offers, as she crams more ravioli into her mouth.
"I don't—think that's gonna happen. We'll—whoever I'm remembering knows I got sold," I say.
"But you were murdered right?" Tove asks.
"Yes—I mean so were you," I point out.
"I was yeah but I was probably trying to run away or something. I keep having dreams about running," she says, "You got stabbed in the chest. That's pretty close range. And personal."
"True," I say, looking down at the freshly closed wound, then at the heaps fried square pasta bites. That I remember so clearly. It's an odd food choice. Calculated even. Mocking me. Why do I think that? That's an odd thought. My head is spinning though.
"Well if you have interesting dreams let us know," Tove says, smiling, "We have no other entertainment."
"True," I force a smile. And why do I feel like my backstory has to be a bit twisted? I'm what, twenty something? And I'm just a slave so why did I get stabbed? That doesn't track. And I'd really like to know who I keep having memories of.
We get ready for bed, changing with our backs to each other to respect the girls' privacy. We only have sleep shorts, the girls also get sleep shirts. Tove brushes and fixes Lyra's hair. I make my bed and check on Arthur, who is competently making his. My backpack appears to contain a few more pairs of clothes and some standard survival stuff like matches and a first aid kit. Nothing interesting. I put that on the floor in favor of doing my best to get comfortable. Why do I feel like my pillow should be different but I don't know how? Like far more comfortable?
Arthur's on the lower bunk and he curls up with nothing, his back to us. Tove crawls into Lyra's lower bunk to read aloud to her quietly from one of the books. I just try to get comfortable, rolling over several times. I'm used to, or at least want, another warm body next to mine. Fingers tangling through my hair—was it long? Longer than this anyway. A kiss to my temple. But the light is on. Still reading or working maybe? Yes the light is on my face in the pillow.
Struggling to draw out those memories, I drift off to sleep.
My dream is clear and entirely lucid. A large house. I'm a child this a memory, my feet are bare on stone floors.
"Shh, we're not supposed to go in here. But I do anyway," a soft little hand in mine. I look up. A little boy is leading me. Same soft fluffy gold curls, and rosebud cheeks. But distinctly mismatched eyes, one is a creamy blue, the other light brown. I know that voice. And those eyes. We can't be more than six? Seven?
"We'll get in trouble," I whispered.
"It's fine. I want to show you," he said, tugging me into the room and closing the door.
A vast library. With shelves upon shelves, and all manner of treasures. Maps in frames upon the walls. An entire globe. Ancient texts. And on the tables rows and rows of actually working computers. Not just TV screens no actual computers.
"It's beautiful," I whispered.
"When I grow up we're going to have a house full of all sorts of things like this. Treasures from all over the world. All of our adventures. And you'll never be sad again," he said, hugging me gently.
"I'm sorry," I wiped my face. I'd been crying? Why?
"Never. I'm going to take care of you. Come, I want you to see this," he tugged me over to a map, framed upon the wall.
"See there?" He traced his fingers over the glass, "Someday we're going to go all the way across the ocean."
"Nothing's there since the last wars," I frown.
"That's what they say. That's always what they say then it turns out there's actually treasure! And we'll find it. Just you and me. And then you'll never have to be sad. We'll have all the money in the world," he said, swinging his arms around me, "Say it. Say you promise."
"It's not real. They blew it up," I said.
"Promise," glaring at me, soft brow furrowed with mock annoyance.
"Yes, Lex I promise I will visit a nuclear fall out zone in search of treasure with you," I said, so tiredly.
"Yes, because you'll be my friend. Forever."
The memory fades and with it I jerk awake. Painfully.
So that's Lex? Whose name was on my mind as I woke. Broadly speaking then that's who kills me? What is he another slave kid I was friends with? Were we actually stealing something or something?
Try as I might I can't get back to sleep. And come dawn we're roused for our promised time in the exercise yard, since we built the little house thing. Lyra is genuinely excited about this. Arthur is more quiet, but he's not twitching as badly as yesterday. We all change swiftly into more scrub type things, as the guards shout for those of us with privileges to be ready.
Tove and I line up behind the little ones, and I take this as an opportunity to share my dream. I don't see what I have to lose and two heads are better than one. She's been nice so far and honestly my last life apparently got me killed.
"I did dream last night," I say.
"I'm just fleeing in the dark. It's boring honestly," Tove says, "What happened to you? Anything fun?"
"A little I—okay when I woke up, I was thinking of someone's name then I couldn't remember. It was on the tip of my tongue. Then last night I—got it again. A boy I was friends with wherever we lived," I admit.
"Oh," she frowns, "I mean it stands to reason you had friends?"
"Yeah I mean the memory didn't mean much he was just cheering me up, we were playing," somewhere we shouldn't. A library? "I think we worked or I grew up in a house or something."
"Oh. That's kind of nice I guess," she says.
"That's the thing—I don't think it is. Why would I wake up with his name on my lips?" I tap my chest where I was stabbed.
"You think he killed you?" She whispers.
"I mean, why else would I be thinking about this—random guy I just knew? I said I think I'm married, what if I wound up taking his girl or something?" I ask.
"Oh you're right. That's a bit dark," Tove winces, "You were murdered though—hell I hope the girl is okay."
"Yeah so do I, whatever happened my manner of death—and then him being tied to it somehow," I shake my head.
"Well, not going to matter here is it?" She asks.
"No," yet it feels important. But she's right. That's an entire world away. I died. Whoever, I do assume Lex, got his revenge. And maybe the girl. I think so. And I think I'm right based off of the jealousy burning in my chest at the thought of it. He was the one who was stuffing the ravioli in my mouth, we were friends once. How dare he? I hope my wife kills him too. With such jealous thoughts I don't pay proper attention as we're herded outside to a very tiny exercise yard with substandard equipment. It's just some bars and things for stretches, and artificial grass which will dig into our skin as we try to sit ups or push ups. I'm used to rubber or—why am I used to an exercise yard? Was I a militia staff or something? Maybe.
Lyra, none the less, bolts directly over to the bars to play.
Tove and I exchange a glance then let her have it. There's little to no point in an organized routine for her anyway. Though I could use to work out some of my pent up jealousy in a little light calisthenics.
Arthur attempts to do a push up and fails.
"Here, I'll show you, widen your hands it's easier," I say, moving into position next to the weedy boy. I wince in pain. Probably shouldn't do this with a chest wound. Oh well.
He grunts in thanks, allowing me to correct his hand placement.
"You were tossing and turning last night," he says, holding a successful if short plank.
"Sorry about that. Had some dreams though. I think I was in a love triangle or something with another slave. And that's how I got killed," I admit, because it feels bad not telling him. I did get murdered that has to be off putting. And he told us his stuff last night.
"Really?" He frowns.
"Yeah well I was murdered, by someone I trusted to be very close to me," I reason, "I think I keep remembering the guy who did it. Except I think it was a fight over a girl so now I'm worried about him being with her. With me not there."
"No you're not," Arthur frowns at me, "you're not worried."
"All right I'm insanely jealous are you happy?" I ask.
"No never."
It is jealousy. Eating me up. I despise the thought of him and this faceless girl, who I can't even remember. And I'm not there. I should be there. Someone deprived me of that. Not someone, him. And then I close my eyes and I feel my face pressed into soft smooth skin, and a hand twisting through my hair. Kiss to my temple. Wet tugging me into a shower, eyes shut to keep out the spray, hand over my mouth. All these soft sweet memories yet when I come back to reality I remember my murder and ultimate betrayal and I'm sick.
There is a punching dummy, so we mostly uselessly try to show the kids how to throw punches. There's probably not going to be anything punchable. And our knowledge of the games is limited.
"I'm not allowed to watch scary stuff," Lyra says.
"I said I grew up in a brothel why would I be anywhere near a TV?" Arthur asks.
"Well we're zombies with no memories, so," I shrug.
"I think like it's usually just genetically altered animals, or ones they found out in the radioactive zones in Europe," Tove reasons.
"That's a myth they'd weep too much radiation here near London," I say, before I even think of why I know that.
"How do you know—you don't know shit," Arthur snaps his fingers as he remembers.
"Yeah—it's the genetically modified animals—they don't want people knowing how bad it goes that's all," I say, "Even so it's probably going to be punchable but let's try."
We show them how to form fists and throw punches. The kids are more entertained by Tove and I doing basic moves, than attempting their own. They're both malnourished and pretty neglected, despite our situations the one on one attention is like Yuletide to them.
Our hour in the yard is soon up and as we're being shepherded out I realize Arthur didn't twitch the whole time.
"You quit doing the face thing," I say, while Tove hits me, "Is it —intentional?"
"No, I just do it, not when I'm focusing, when I'm nervous, which since we're being forced to fight to the death I'm a little on edge," Arthur mutters.
I figure that's fair and shut up. I'm ignoring thoughts on what we're going to do with these kids when we actually get attacked. I know I'm going to probably die trying to save them but I'd like to avoid it to be honest.
We're led back inside for a hot lunch (they act like this is real star treatment. It is not). Because the lunch is not actually currently warm it just once was.
"I love pie," Lyra says, starting to eat.
"That's a nice unrelated topic," Arthur says, and I see the serious boy nearly crack a smile.
We're still shackled but hungry enough to eat what we're given. I choke it down and this time have no memories. Probably because I've never tasted anything this bad before. That's not to say I think I dined well I doubt I did. I also doubt I picked up wet mud to stuff in my mouth creating vivid erotic memories.
As we eat, they play an infomercial projected on the wall. Lyra bounces asking if it's a movie.
"I wish," I say.
"No, shh, it's information about the games," Tove says nicely.
They project when our teams go. Festus' Team Omni (that's us), are going in another week. Other than that it gives basic information, all of which sounds familiar but is nice to absorb again.
The labyrinth is divided into levels. Beat a level you (could) get a week off, any injuries treated, and if enough people donated, maybe new weapons. A week off is back here. There's five levels so four chances of a solid rest. We'll need all of those.
Each level can technically take as long as you can survive in it. Most people get killed the first few days, but some teams survive weeks before unlocking the next level. How you do that is a mystery technically but it's just finding your way through the maze.
The entire maze is forming a pyramid in the middle of arena. Live spectators come daily to watch, as they see down into the maze. There are cameras all over to live broadcast the competition, and of course big screens in the arena where people can watch live.
The maze is filled with hazards, of course, in the form of genetically modified, underfed, animals, and traps. Traps can be anything obviously they aren't going to tell us what they are. But expect poison, falling rocks, snares, the works.
There's also 'prizes' throughout the maze. The prizes come in the form of chests of food, clean water, the like, or even new weapons. Those are sometimes scattered throughout or locked up. There are also, rare and highly coveted, 'safe rooms'. Once you enter a safe room, it locks behind you, for twenty four hours. During this time you can rest, recuperate, and overall recharge, completely free of hazards. If a sponsor wishes they can 'buy' your ransom out of the safe room for that twenty four hours. Most commonly that's going to be to show off to friends, give you hints and tips, or most likely, as a bedslave.
"Why would they want us to make beds?" Lyra asks.
"Sometimes grown ups do that," I say, evasively, as Tove winces.
Arthur frowns then looks disgusted.
Bedslaves from the games are a sexual adventure to say the least. I can fully see how the rich and famous would get their kicks having one of us brought up for a little excitement. More commonly the video assures us it's to give weapons or advice, or just as a novelty. I'm sure that's not true. We'd be in chains the entire time of course and heavily guarded, delivered to the sponsor's pent house.
That's if we get locked in a safe room and if we actually were wanted. The answer is more than likely no, we'll be lucky if a sponsor paid for weapons. To get that sort of privilege you have to actually be good, that is at least beat the first level for rich to take notice. Though the more attractive are likely to get pulled as bedslaves before they die.
"Well we're safe," I say.
"Fuck you," Tove says.
"We agree Cosmo's going to get pulled? What's our angle?" Arthur asks.
"What are we saying?" Lyra asks.
We immediately get shushed.
The video goes on to describe the other elements of the competition. Namely, one another. We're not 'asked' to fight each other or told to. Namely some aggressive teams will as it makes a name for them and gets some attention which might mean weapons or even food or a trip out. For the first couple of levels there's less in fighting as we're mostly falling to natural hazards of the labyrinth itself. However, as the game continues then resources will be scarcer and fighting one another for food and supplies could be important, though not strictly necessary for the first three levels.
The second to last round is a maze in which only one may escape at a time. That means that the longer you stay, the more people will be fighting to get to the other side, so you want to cross eventually. That means basic fighting, like you're going to starve otherwise.
The final level, is the center of the arena, just a simple fighting pit. Only two are in it at a time (meanwhile the door from the second level is locked).
Only one can survive. The winner of a fight to the death wins the fantastic prize of—-
Money! Millions to be exact. But that money goes directly to the 'owner' and whatever shareholders of the fighters. The winner then gets a few months off, and yes purchased time with any sponsors, of which there are several by that stage. The money in theory goes to outfitting the winner for the next round. Which after the four to six month break, the winner is put back in, no team. Of course there's publicity and money riding on that person to make it through again.
Most contestants get killed in the first or second round, a rare few making it through the third. There have only been a handful of game champions, who then are somewhere in the process of being spit back in till they die. I feel like there was one recently because it's always a big deal if someone makes it, but I can't be certain. The video doesn't say only that we could find ourselves fighting a former champion.
"I'm going all the way. This will be fun," I say.
The other three look at me.
"What? You have a better idea for our after life? Let's go with it. Come on, guys, it's all we've got we might as well have fun with it," I say.
"We all can't go all the way," Arthur says.
"Says who? We enter one at a time and refuse to kill each other. Then they shoot us? So what? We said 'fuck 'em' and beat them anyway,, and we win," I say, strongly, "Beat their stupid maze it probably isn't even that complicated."
"You're genuinely looking forward to gladiatorial combat?" Tove asks.
"Yeah? So?"