FLAWED

Chapter 1

A crinkled paper ball hits me in the back of my head. I turn in my chair slowly, watching the faces of the teenagers around me. All smooth, emotionless. I know it's bad to make more eye contact than necessary, but I need to see. Just one flicker of emotion. Someone. Anyone. I blink a few times, and then turn back to my work.

But I don't see the diagram of the chi points in the human body. Instead, there is another paper ball sitting on my work. I watch as its edges catch aflame, turning brown, corroding inwards as the rest of the ball lights and burns. Tiny wisps of smoke rise into the air, but not strong enough to smell. Not big enough to be noticed by the teacher, Biology. That's ok. I don't need Biology to explain this lesson to me. I understand the message.

Burn.

***

Before I enter the...gym...if that's what you call it, I step in the shadows of the doorway. No one is around, but you can never be too careful. I quickly shuffle through my shoulder bag, and find my mask. It's a masquerade half mask, which covers the top half of my face. I stole it from the school's supply, but I really had no choice. The school documents who buys masks, so they can identify us. What's the point, then? I slip it over my face, and walk into the...gym. It's not a gym in that sense; it's more like a training room. Except there are bleachers lining the walls, which I haven't quite figure out the purpose of yet. Our school doesn't have sport's teams; it has Divisions.

Heads turn as I quickly walk into the room. Our teacher, who we refer to as Coach, tilts his head in my direction. "You're late." My cheeks flush.

"I know, I'm sorry." I bow to him and join the line of teens. There are a hundred of us here today, because this is the day of our assessment. Me being late does not help my chances of passing.

Someone behind me shouts, "She should go first for being late!" I turn around and see a group of twelve teens sitting on the bleachers. They all have a staff either on their laps or beside them. The kid who shouted is the one in the far most back, and I can tell that it's a guy too. His mask is pitch black, with a white dot in the middle. It covers his whole face. I hear snorts and snippets of whispered conversation.

"-disarmed in two seconds."

"-like to see that loser go first."

"-laughing stock."

"-won't even break a sweat."

I turn back to the Coach, and my mouth goes dry. He is seriously considering it. I may not be able to see his face, but I can see his eyes. He's quickly reaching his decision when a girl with a gold plated mask steps forward.

"I want to go first." My tense shoulders relax. It's not that I'm afraid of going, or afraid of going first, it's just the plan I've been working on the past five weeks would be ruined if I went first. Or second. Not ruined; the results wouldn't be ideally perfect if I went anytime except last. I needed to be last.

Bemused, Coach says, "But you don't even know what you're supposed to do." That's not true. All of us know that our test is to disarm him.

"That's for me to worry about." I hear snickers from the back of the room.

Coach turns away and addresses all of us. He's tall for a teenager, but his voice isn't as deep as you'd expect. He has a lean build. Rumor is that no one has ever beaten him. "The past five weeks all of you have been training to become a member of the Staff Division. There are a hundred of you in this room. Ninety seven of you will fail."

Gasps echo, but no one says anything. Only three of us will pass? My lips part to protest, but I quickly close them again. I learned the hard way last time. I will not be standing up again any time soon.