Aurore

9- Fight Week

"Wake up Jason. It's Fight Week." Andrew smacked my back. I groaned and covered my head with the blankets.
I hated Fight Week. Stewart had told us about it last week. Everyone hated the idea of Fight Week, except the insane psycho freaks that I think should go to an asylum.
I dressed quickly and left our room before Andrew even had his shirt on. I made my way to Sabrina's room and pounded on the door. She opened the door and I grabbed her wrist.
"Let's go." I said.
Without a word, I led her to the training floor.
"What?" she said.
"Today is Fight Week."
"Yea, people were all sad and I asked them why. They said that tomorrow is Fight Week. But no one will tell me what Fight Week is."
I sighed. "It's the job of your trainer to tell you. Fight Week happens once a year. It starts out where everyone is matched with equal skills in fighting. Those people fight until one of those two people can't go on, usually with unconsciousness. Then, the winners of each match are set in a fight with another person close to their skill level, again until they can't go on. This keeps going on until there are two opponents left."
"Well, it doesn't seem that bad." she said. "Why's everyone so sad about it."
"Because the two opponents are left to fight to the death. The winner has the choice to become a general with a lot of the power that comes with it, or to leave the Agensie. And a lot of times, they do that because once you enlist, you can't leave until you're 18. Everyone wrestles with that choice."
She looked perplexed. "What choice?"
"Whether to fight their hardest and win and have the chance of a better life, but deal with killing someone you know well. Or never being a good agent."
"Pff." she laughed to herself. "Never be a good agent."
"Except." I held up a finger.
"This just gets worse and worse." she muttered.
"As soon as you lose a match, you have to endure an hour of torture."
"Torture?" she exclaimed. "Like, cutting off your head?"
"No, mainly methods of emotional and psychological torture. Some other things, like whippings and electrocution and used as well."
She sat down.
"Have you ever won?"
I shook my head.
"No. I choose to lose in the beginning matches, usually."
She nodded. "So you've been tortured."
I nodded. As memories of the torture flooded my mind, I shuddered. "But I don't really want to talk about it."
She nodded.
"There's no training today. I wish you the best of luck today. It starts at eight."
She nodded and left the training floor.
A jumble of emotions boiled up inside me like a volcano. It was time to explode. Without even bothering to put wrist tape on, I turned to the punching bag. I punched and kicked the bag until my lungs burned. And then I punched some more. When I couldn't even breath, I walked over to the wall and slid down it until I was sitting. I panted, staring at the punching bag that was still moving. I felt sweat dripping off in my forehead, my nose, my chin, everywhere. I felt someone's hand on my leg and looked beside me. Shasta was next to me, her hand on my leg, inspecting me with her icy blue eyes through her white eyelashes.
"Fight Week."
I nodded.
"I know." She said sympathetically. "It's hard for me, too."
She put her head in my shoulder and hugged my arm.
I closed my eyes, but was confronted with terrifying memories. He stood in front of me, his hand clenched into a fist, all four rings shimmering in the dim lighting of the room. I pushed myself further into the corner, when I heard a whimper. I looked to my left and saw Shasta. But not the fifteen year old girl I knew, but the girl she was when I first met her. Five years old, her unruly hair unable to cover the bruises that littered her face. Her pants were ripped and dirty, and her sweatshirt had too many blood stains to count. I glanced at a mirror in the house that I hadn't seen in almost ten years, but I remembered it all too well. I saw myself as the young boy I had once been, too innocent to understand why I deserved what I had in my life, in the only life I'd ever known. I crawled over and put my arms around Shasta as the man went in for a punch. I could smell his breath, which was fresh with liquor and his greasy, dirty blonde hair was so long and shaggy it fell in front of his eyes. Just before the punch made contact, I opened my eyes. I looked to my left again, and saw Shasta. But this time it wasn't my imagination, but real life. She cuddled up next to me, depending on me for protection from the memories that invaded her dreams, as did my own. I stood up and offered my hand to help her up. She took it.
"Do you want to go to the commons?" I asked her, "Or my room? Or your room?"
"Let's go to the commons." She grabbed my hand and entwined her fingers in mine. I smiled and grasped her hand.
We walked to the commons together. We weren't able to stay there long, though, because Fight Week was about to start. We made our way to the Training Facilities and found our first matches. Shasta was on the third training floor on the tenth floor and I was on the eighth. We said our goodbyes and made our way to the mats. I stepped up on my mat and waited for my opponent to come. Luckily, it was a girl I had fought plenty of times before and easily beat. I went through the series of fights, each one winning in a matter of two minutes. Finally, on my 13th fight, James stepped onto the floor. I groaned, because James fought dirty. He did anything to get ahead, kicks in the groin, hard punches to the face, anything. I sighed and prepared for the blow. We circled around each other for a few seconds, when I took the first move. I swung a punch at his head, which he dodged. All part of my plan. I slipped behind him and caught him in a headlock. He gripped my forearm with both hands and leaned forward.  He struggled against my grip, and he threw me over his head with a grunt. Before I could get up, he kicked me hard in the stomach. Pain shot through my core, resulting in a cough. My eyes blurred, but I grabbed his ankle and swept him off of his feet. He fell flat on his back. I climbed the body and kneeled over him, each of my legs on either side of him. I held his shirt in my fist and with my right hand, holding onto him to steady him. I pulled my arm back and delivered a flawless punch, and as he doubled over in pain, I punched him a few more times to dizzy him. I pushed him onto his back and twisted his arm behind his back. I heard a loud crack! I shuddered at the sound of James's breaking bones. As he held his arm in pain, I nailed him in the solar plexus and he instantly passed out. I stood up and wiped the blood from my lip and walked off the mat. I leaned over the trash can, waiting for my breakfast to make a reappearance. That kick really upset my stomach. I watched as they drug James's limp body off of the fighting mat. I turned and saw Shasta. She placed her hand on my back, and I quickly moved away from the trash can.
"Hey. I'm done."
"How many rounds did you do before you got beat?" I asked.
"My ninth. They put me with James." She answered. She held a bloody rag in one hand, pressing it against the forearm of her other arm. I gently pulled the rag away and saw a gash that looked quite deep.
"He bites hard." She commented. I nodded and smiled.
"Yea," she said loudly so that James's friends could hear, "He sure deserved what you gave him! What a jerk." I looked over her shoulder at his friends, who glared at us.
I chuckled and then realized it wasn't a time to laugh.
"When do you need to....go?"
She shrugged. "I'm in the next group. I have about ten minutes."
I nodded and gave her a hug. I hated seeing her in pain, even before she was at that point.
She pulled away and walked towards the exit to floor 0.
Floor 0. That was the punishment floor. You could almost guarantee that someone who went to floor 0 would not return the same person. I changed every time I went down there.
I shook thoughts of Shasta from my head and turned to the mat. It was time for another match. For Shasta, I wanted to win the entire Fight Week. And that's what I decided to do. On my 30th match, the last of the day, I almost failed on my promise to myself. A large boy, who stood 6 foot 6 inches, with bulging biceps and rippling muscles everywhere else, I could only hope that I stood a chance.
"Come on punk!" he exclaimed.
As we circled around each other, I analyzed him carefully, hoping to find some weakness. Unfortunately, he lunged at me before I could find one. I dodged to the side, avoiding his body. Then I realized it. He was too heavy and large to move quickly. He may have had strength but I had agility. I slipped behind him and kicked him in the back as hard as I could. He fell to his knees. From behind him, I moved in front of him to deliver a blow to his face, but he wrapped his hands around my neck, making it impossible for me to breathe. As the edges of my vision became blurry, I remembered a defensive move that Ryan had taught me when I was nine. At the time, I had been too young for it to make much of a difference, but now, being 6  feet tall and weighing 165 pounds, I knew it would make a difference, if I could remember the technique. I swung my legs up so my feet were on his chest, and I wrapped one leg around his neck. I wrapped the other around his neck and tensed up my legs. Gradually, I felt his grip on my neck loosen. I gasped for air. As soon as the boy wavered, I slammed my thighs together, boxing his ears and probably causing him a migraine. I slammed them together repeatedly until he fell backwards on the ground, unconscious. Pain shot up my leg as he landed on it with his shoulder. I placed my hands on the ground and tried to pull myself out from under the boy. I failed. I panted, my lungs still enjoying the air they had lost. Ryan and another adult trainer rushed to the mat and grabbed my hands. They pulled me away from the boy. I tried to stand but my leg (the one that was under the boy) failed to hold my weight. I must have sprained my ankle. Ryan, who was standing behind me, wrapped one arm around me, his hand on my chest, and the other under my other arm, helped me stand.
"Get some crutches." he ordered the man next to him. He nodded, and within a few seconds, he returned with two crutches.
"6 feet tall?" he asked me. I nodded. He adjusted the crutches to my height and handed them to me. I adjusted them under my arms and nodded to him. "Thanks."
He nodded and patted me on the back. "You're done for the day. I'll make sure they know that you're checked out for the night."
I nodded a thanks and wobbled back to my room.
After returning to my room and showering, I impatiently waited for a call from Shasta. She should have finished by then, and I was getting worried. I laid in my bed, watching a cartoon. Its not like I paid any attention. Finally, after what seemed like forever, I heard a bang on my door. Shasta usually softly knocked, but I rushed to the door anyway. I opened the door to find Shasta, her hair in a mess, whimpering softly, barely able to stand. That sight took me back to memories of our times before the Agensie. When Luke adopted her and brought her home, when we were five. I remember trying to warn her of Luke's drinking problem, but she didn't care. She thought she finally had a family. The first time Luke hit her, that first night, she had the same look on her face. As soon as I opened the door, she wrapped her arms around me, crying. I dropped my crutches, wrapping my arms around her. We stood there for about thirty seconds. Then I lowered one arm and placed it under her legs and picked her up. She buried her head in my chest, and despite the pain shooting into my ankle, I walked over to the bed and set her down. She gripped my shirt tightly, not letting me go.
I needed to close the door and pick up my crutches, but I didn't move.
"Shh. It's okay." I said softly, stroking her hair, just like I did that first night.
She didn't move for a while, her head buried in my chest, her shaky hands gripping my shirt, her curled up in a ball next to me. Finally, she raised her head. Her face was red, but it was no longer littered with tears.
"It was horrible." She whispered.
"I know." I nodded.
"Have you lost a round yet?" She asked me. I shook my head.
"No. I'm gonna do it this time, Shasta. I'm gonna win."
She pulled away. "You'll have to kill someone!"
"I know how to do a sudden death, and maybe, maybe if I win, they'll let me go, and I can take you with me. We could get out of here, Shasta!"
"With what price? Killing someone?"
"It won't be my first kill." I muttered.
"I know," She said softly. "I just don't want to see you inflict more pain upon yourself."
I grabbed her hand. "Please. Just let me do this for you."
"You'll do it whether I approve or not." She stated.
I smiled. "You know me too well."
"I hate the idea, but I won't hate you if you do it."
I smiled and kissed her gently on the lips.
"Hey Jase, why's the door open, and why do you have crutches... oh." Andrew stepped in the door.
I looked up at him. "Sorry. Shasta just had her hour."
"You okay?" Andrew asked. She nodded and pushed her hair from her face.
"If its okay, can I stay here tonight? There's nothing to keep me company and I'll just be alone with my thoughts."
"Of course." Andrew said.
She nodded and went to sit on the couch.
"No." I said. "You sleep on my bed. I'll sleep on the couch."
She smiled and went to the bed.
Andrew handed me the crutches. I wobbled to the couch and laid down.
"If you need anything, just wake me." I told her. She nodded and laid down. Before I knew it, I was fast asleep.
I woke up the next morning exhausted. I found my crutches and wobbled to the shower. When I got out of the shower, Shasta and Andrew were already up, and they had started making breakfast.
I nodded to Andrew as he handed me the spatula to flip the eggs. He disappeared into the bathroom for his shower. Once the eggs were done, we found the last of our bacon and made it.
I put a paper towel over Andrew's plate and sat down next to Shasta to eat.
"Are you going to fight today?" She asked between bites.
"Of course. I haven't lost yet." I shrugged.
"I know, but with your ankle and all."
My thoughts raced. Should I tell her what I'd been thinking? I shook my initial thoughts away and said, "Yea. Andrew still has some of those painkillers from when he broke his arm. It'll totally numb my leg, I won't even feel the pain."
She shrugged. I knew she didn't approve of my use of the medication that wasn't prescribed to me, but she knew me well enough to know that I wouldn't listen to her.
"I'm sorry Shasta. I've got to get us out of here."
"I know." She said in a small voice. "Just, don't hurt yourself, you know, permanently. If you need to stop, stop. Do you promise you will?"
"I promise." I wanted to mean the words, but for some reason, I knew I didn't.
I had taken the pills less than a half hour ago, and Andrew said it'd last for five or six hours. I desperately hoped I was correct, or I'd be in loads of trouble. I left my crutches in my room, since I couldn't feel the pain, and made my way downstairs with Shasta by my side.
"You don't have to fight, Jason. You can just-" Ryan tried to talk to me. I interrupted him.
"Nope. My ankle feels as good as new." I jumped up and down a few times to prove it.
He nodded "Okay." and stepped aside for me to step onto the mats.
Shasta grabbed my hand before I was all the way on the mat.
"Be careful." she whispered in my ear.
I carefully assessed the situation. This boy was short and agile, which meant my agility was not a factor in this fight. I knew that if I could figure out how he moved, I could anticipate what he'd do next and take him out in one blow. He was smaller than I was, so it wouldn't be hard to knock him out. We circled around each other once the whistle blew, and I took the first move. He dodged to the right of me. I swung at him again, with little power. He dodge to the right again. I faked a swing with my left hand and brought my leg up and kicked him in the teeth as he dodged to the right. He fell to the ground in a heap. I picked him up and slung him over my shoulder, and brought him to the mats of the defeated. It allowed them to wake up slowly without interruption.
The next five boys and three girls I fought were like that, small and agile but seriously lacking in strength. It was easy to take them out. By my 24th fight, I could feel the tingling in my feet; the medicine was wearing off. The next girl I recognized as one of Kyle's old girlfriends. She was insanely pretty and looked like she had barely worked at all, despite the fact that we had been in that days fights for over five hours.
I wiped the sweat off my brow and got ready for the fight. She lunged at me first, and I dodged her and put her in a headlock. Right before I threw her on her stomach, I felt a stinging in my arm. My headlock was unpracticed and I realized immediately that it was weak. I looked down and saw she had her mouth on my arm, clenching her jaw down on my flesh. I let out a shriek and hit her knees. She fell to the ground, and with one blow to the side of her throat, she was out.  I held my arm to prevent the blood from coming out and watched as Ryan dragged her away. I shrugged and found the medical box that was beside all the mats and opened it. I placed gauze on the cut and wrapped it with some elastic blue wrap and returned to the mat.
"Hey, Ryan." I said. He looked up from his computer at me.
"Who's my next opponent?"
"Let me check." Ryan looked at his computer through his glasses.
"Um...you don't have any more today."
"What?" I exclaimed. "It's only Day Two! It always lasts at least five days!"
"Yea. You and your final opponent had some of the shortest fights I've ever seen. I didn't see any of your opponents' fights, but you only spent about two minutes in every fight. They usually last six or seven minutes, even ten minutes sometimes."
My heart raced. I didn't want to be one of the final opponents. I wanted to curl up in a ball and shut the entire world out of my head.
"Wh-who's my opponent?"
"I can't tell you." Ryan said. "It's against the rules."
"But Ryan-" I began, but he cut me off.
"But nothing, Jason. You'll have to wait until tomorrow. Everyone is going above ground for the final fight tomorrow."
I nodded. I grabbed a towel, wiped the sweat off my face, and began to walk out of the training facility.
"Oh, Jason?" Ryan called. "I just got a notification saying that I need to get a blood sample of the final opponents."
I nodded and walked to him. Despite my utter fear of needles, I stood still while Ryan prepared the needle. I didn't watch as he inserted it into my arm, but stared at a fixed point on the wall. He finished taking my blood and put a bandage on my arm.
"You did really good this time, Jason. You made me proud to have had you as a trainee." I smiled and pulled my sleeve down.
"I... I have to tell you something, Ryan." He looked at me expectantly. "Not here." I whispered. He nodded.
"Sure, let's just drop your blood off on the 20th floor and we'll go up top."
"Are you sure its okay?" I asked.
He nodded. "Of course. You're with me, and you're a trainer. It won't be a problem."
I nodded and followed him to the elevator.
As I stepped into the cool night air, I took a deep breath. On our way to the roof, we had grabbed my crutches.
"Okay." I took a deep breath. "You know how Sabrina is a Special?" I asked him. He nodded.
"Well... I'm a Special, too."
He stared at me, open mouthed. "Are you serious?" he asked. I nodded.
"I got a test done. Don't worry. David didn't put it into the system. But I'm definitely a Special."
"Jason..." Ryan put his hand on my shoulder.
"I've spent my entire life here at the Agensie, denying the fact that I was a Special. I told myself I wasn't one and I fought like I wasn't one."
"Then why did you test for it?"
I felt a lump in my throat. "Shasta asked me to. "
Ryan raised his voice. "She KNOWS?"
"No!" I exclaimed. "I told her the tests were negative. That I'm not!" I sat down, exhausted and upset.
Ryan leaned against the fence, deep in thought. It was the first time I had ever wondered about his past.
Ryan was still young, probably about 31 or 32, and he had dark brown hair and dark eyes. He stood at about 6 foot 1, with well defined, but not-too-bulging muscles. His face rarely showed any other emotions other than happy or undefined. He had always been a stoic man, with outstanding morals that I had always admired. It made me wonder how he ended up at the Agensie.
"Jason... your life is about to get a whole lot harder."
I nodded.
My phone rang. I looked at the text on my screen from Andrew that read: "Something is wrong. Please help me."
"I have to go, Ryan. Something is wrong with Andrew."
"Has he had his hour?"
"He hadn't had it as of this morning, so unless he's my final opponent, then yes."
"You better go. " I stood and rushed for the fire pole.
"Jason!" Ryan exclaimed. I turned and looked back at him.
"I know you have friends here that you want to protect, but remember. You need to protect yourself and protect the people you promised to protect."
I didn't understand what he meant, but I nodded and grabbed the pole and he disappeared from my view.
I sprinted down the hallway to our room. I had left my crutches on the ground floor, asking the guard on duty to leave them until I could come to get them. Pain shot up my leg and I knew I had resprained it from running and turning corners.
I burst into the room.
"Andrew! Andrew!" I looked around and didn't see him. I ran into the bathroom and found Andrew sitting on the tile floor, staring at the red that had stained the tiles.
"What..." I started. My mind swam. Was that all his blood? A million questions ran through my mind, but I held my tongue and kneeled next to him.
"What happened?" He looked up at me.
"Floor 0..." He started, but I could tell he was having a hard time staying awake.k
"Andrew, talk to me." I smacked him lightly on the cheek, hoping the sting would keep him awake.
"I didn't dodge the knife...I wasn't fast enough."
They'd stabbed him on Floor 0?
"Where is the wound?" I asked. He began to nod off.
"No!" I yelled and smacked him again. His clothes were covered in blood, and I couldn't tell where the stab wound was.
He removed his hands that he had been pressing against his leg and revealed a large stab wound that probably missed the bone. I cringed inside, but said nothing.
"I'm taking you to Floor 18." I put my arm under his legs and around his back and grunted as I picked him up.
"Nah. I'm fine, Jase. Don't worry about it."
"No you're not. Just stay awake." I carried him- a feat for me, considering he weighed about 20 pounds more than me- to the elevators. Surprisingly, and to my dismay, no one was in the elevators. I waited impatiently for the elevator to reach the 18th floor. My arms were beginning to waiver. I rushed to the doors leading to the medical area and pushed them open.
"Help!" I said to the receptionist. "He's dying. He was stabbed, help, please." I panted, but waited while one of the doctors grabbed a crash cart. I set him down on the cart. Without a word, the doctor began to push him away. I followed him, but Drew, the man who tested if I was a Special, stopped me.
"Just leave them be."
I pulled away and glared at him.
"That's my best friend and the closest to a brother I've got. And I'm going to be in there with him."
With that, I ran after the doctor into the surgical room.