ACRO

The Games

Sam's eyes opened, her head throbbing with pain. She definitely felt better, as she finally had some sleep after several days of torture and exhaustion.

She looked around her to see a large hall surrounded by walls and not one window. There were bulbs on each corner of the ceiling emitting a white glow, being the only source of illumination in the area. Around her were several hundreds of women, all running around hurriedly, some holding buckets full of water, some holding piles of clothes, while some with mops in their hands cleaning the floor. A few women swung open a door that seemed to be the entrance and exit of the bathroom across the spot Sam lay on. The women were dressed in rags, while some wore burqas.

The next moment, the sound of grating metal set all the women scurrying away, whimpers and gasps, being the only sounds leaving their mouths, as the centre of the ceiling opened. All of a sudden, a ladder fell out, unfolding from above. A couple of men in black coloured cargo war suits, with rifles slung over their shoulders, climbed down the ladder. Faint yellow rays entered the area through the round opening of the ceiling, indicating that it was day.

It was then, that she realised they were underground.

As the men entered this particular quarter, the women huddled to every corner, pulling their clothing over each and every part of their body that showed even a square inch of skin, covering themselves desperately.

Every woman present there, had only emotion showing in their demeanor.

Terror.

Sam rose to sit, her back leaning against the wall as these men walked inside, arranging themselves in order, standing in a line.

"Quiet!" shouted one of the men, in Arabic, sending a wave of silence across the room.

"Deema?" he called out, making a woman step out of the bathroom, her clothes in better condition than the others present.

She wore a burqa, off white in colour, and her face held an unmovable grim expression.

She stepped before the men, as they began to instruct her in their native language, words that were quite indistinct to be understood. The woman, of pale white complexion nodded to the man and turned around.

"Today we prepare for the feast, to celebrate our victory over the Americans." she said, in a heavy Arabian accent.

The women stood quietly, their eyes wide in terror, their hands slightly shaking. The men climbed up the ladder and threw the large metal lid over the opening, closing it.

Deema walked over to another woman present there, speaking indistinctly, her eyes repeatedly landing on Sam. The woman nodded at Deema's words and she walked towards Sam.

"Agent." said the woman, kneeling beside her.

Sam looked at her, confusion in her eyes.

"You need to get ready for the feast." said the woman.

One look.

It took her one look to realise this woman meant no harm.

The woman slid her arm behind her back, and swung Sam's arm around her shoulder, bringing her to her feet.

"Why do I have to get ready for some bullshit terrorist-fucks-america-over kitty party?" said Sam, as they walked towards the bathroom.

"It's more than that." said the woman.

Sam looked at her, expectantly awaiting an answer.

"Every time there is a feast, the celebration ends with a tradition they call halal, where they kill the strongest of their opponent, as a sacrifice."