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I won't cry for you. I won't crucify the things you do. I won't cry for you. See, when you're gone, I'll still be Bloody Mary.
— Bloody Mary, Lady Gaga
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━━━━━━ September 3, 2161
MARCUS KANE STOOD IN the middle of a fighting pit. Brick walls surrounded him, decorated with weapons, while a dark fence erected above it kept back the frothing mouths and wild eyes staring down at him. Over the course of eleven years, he had toed the line knowing that the bunker had failed. Now, he stood in its cruelest form of punishment as he crossed that line and dug his feet in. So many entered, only so few survived. And now, he was one of the many who would likely die as he attempted to protect Abby from herself.
⠀⠀⠀The crowd felt twenty times grander than on any other day. However, he tried to avoid watching the fights before as much as he could. He would hear the cheers echoing through the halls constantly, but they would be muffled by closed doors and distance. It rang in his ears now until all he could hear was a monotonous ring.
⠀⠀⠀Around the fencing, there was one portion where either end stopped and allowed open access. A throne sat in the shadows as green eyes peered down in slits. Blood from the dead adorned her forehead in a sick way to remember them.
