A palpable silence rings throughout the arena, with nothing but a faint panting being just barely audible over the sound of the swaying reeds and rustling leaves. Dropping my sword, hearing it clang against the boulder below, I collapse. I look up at the fake blue sky, watching the overhead panels glitch ever so slightly as I feel the warm blood of my opponent seep into my hair. I could hardly care at this point. All I had on my mind was the prize, the one thing I had given up everything for. It had better be worth it. 

“Welp folks, looks like we have a winner.” the moderator’s voice booms from the loudspeakers, echoing off of the arena walls. “Congratulations, Myla Blum, on becoming our Champion!” 

As a cacophony of applause erupts from all around, I try to stand, using the sword for support despite my screaming muscles and tender wounds. The arena walls turn transparent, revealing rows upon rows of elated spectators clapping and cheering, laughing with their friends, and overall making a fool out of themselves. The only day we get off from work a year, and this is what they choose to do with it? I’ve honestly never understood how watching a bunch of twenty-somethings kill each other could be fun, but to each their own, I suppose. 

Just as the applause begins to subside and spectators begin to file out of the arena, a door opens directly opposite me. A team of medics runs out to receive me, along with the Guardian and someone I’d never seen before. They’re draped in a white robe and accompanying mask, a shiny opal fastened to their right breast. The two of them approach me as I’m loaded onto a stretcher with electrodes attached to my forehead and chest. He lifts his hand, motioning for the medics to stay put: 

“Congratulations, Myla. We’re all so proud of you.”

“T-thanks, I guess.” 

The guest reaches out their hand towards my now-crimson hair, recoiling when they notice blood beginning to soak into their white-gloved hand. 

Turning to address the medics, they gesture to their bloodied glove, “Make sure to have its hair well cleaned.”

“Of course, your excellence. We’ll have the champion prepared within the hour.”

“Splendid.” They peer down at me through their emotionless mask. Looking up at them, I see nothing but the reflection of my scratched face and icy blue eyes.

They look back up and signal to the medics as they walk towards the door they had entered from just moments ago, the Guardian only a few steps behind. With that, I’m hoisted up and taken out of the arena. 

~~~

I stare blankly at the receptionist in front of me as he clamors away behind his desk. He is dressed very modestly, plain. His bleach-white scrubs juxtapose the muffled elevator music that saturated the room, so calming I can hardly keep my eyes from fluttering asleep.  He peers around the thing in front of him for only a moment, revealing an emotionless mask.

The medics had sat me here after having been stripped down and washed thoroughly. While waiting for the physician to examine me, I had asked about my parents, and of course, when I’d get my prize, but they shrugged me off. The two of them never said a word,  handing me a pair of the same white scrubs to change into when I was done.

Unpinning my hair and combing through the still-damp strands with my fingers, I look around the blinding room in awe. Assuming that I was in some type of reception lobby, this room was more opulent than any of the most luxurious mansions from my municipality. The white walls, while sterile, were accented with tasteful artwork and luscious greenery. The chandelier, with its glistening clear crystal, cast a warm glow in competition with the harsh fluorescents. Shifting my weight, I sink back into the plush upholstery. I wonder if this is how the Elite live. I wonder if this is how I’m going to live.

Sensing movement in the corner of my eye, I whirl around to catch the receptionist leering at me once again.

“Could you knock it off! I can see you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he stammers, “I’ve just never seen-.”

“That’s enough, Steve,” a cloaked figure says, cutting him off. He reels back, returning to whatever he was doing before as the figure rounds the desk. Taking a closer look, I notice it to be the same person from before; the one escorted by the Guardian. At least, I think it is. 

“Miss Champion, how wonderful to finally see you all cleaned-up!” They extend a thin, covered arm for a handshake.

“Please, it’s Myla.” I reply, hesitantly accepting the gesture. They grasp on tightly and pull me closer to their face, their inky gaze piercing right through me. 

We stand there, silent, for just a moment. I sense them twitch from behind the mask before letting go of my arm, pushing me back into the chair: 

“Yes, yes! Of course. Now, right this way, Myla. We have little time to dautle!”

Collecting myself, I follow them past the ogling receptionist, through a door, and down a stark-white hall. Walking briskly, their swaying cloak masking the rest of their figure, we pass by several rooms, each with their own receptionist clamoring away and a starry-eyed champion gawking at the beauty around them. Nothing but a thin sheet of glass separated us, yet I swore there wasn’t a window like that in my room. I shrugged it off; it must have been an oversight.

“Ah yes, the Champions from the other municipalities. They all must be done with processing by now,” the cloak says, gesturing towards the glass panes with a flourish. “What a great service you all have committed to.”

“What do you mean?”

They bristle a bit as they turn around to face me, “Oh, it’s just a turn of phrase we say around here. You all have made such sacrifices and done unspeakable things to get here.”

“Huh.” Something doesn’t sit right with me as we continue walking, but I push it down. 

Passing countless lobbies with their countless receptionists and countless Champions, I notice a certain gleam in their eyes. Not all of them had it; of course, many of the past Champions were total psychopaths. The sight, however, triggered something deep in my chest as I began replaying all the things I’d done to be here. Yet, just as my emotions were on the verge of getting the better of me, I pushed them down ruthlessly. I had the rest of my life to go through counseling if I wanted; right now, I needed to be strong.

We make a sudden left, and the opulent lobbies ceased, replaced by a hospital-like wing with doors lining the wall for as far as the eye could see.  My escort stops and signals me to wait as they talk with one of the nurses at one of the service stations, their masked faces bobbing in conversation. Feeling nosey and a bit jaded from the lack of information, I slowly inch my way towards them in an attempt to catch some of what they were saying:

“... room should I put it in?”

“Champion Myla Blum, from Nursery #7,  has been assigned to room 𖥤ꚡꔅ, your excelence.”

“Splendi-”

They turn around, nearly bumping into me as I leap back. They let out a yelp in surprise.

“What the hell are you doing over here?” they demand, “I told you to wait over there.”

“You gestured at me. I wasn’t certain what you meant, and so I was just about to ask for clarification.” I lie breathlessly.

At this, they compose themself, “Oh, well then. I suppose apologies ought to be in order.”

We stand in silence for a bit before they ever so slightly shrug their shoulder. I sense them roll their eyes from behind their mask.

“Anyway, we best be off.” 

They start making their way down the corridor, and I follow, only a few paces behind them. Unlike before, the rooms we pass are dull and, for the most part, empty; their only distinguishing feature being the different symbols in front of the door.

Seemingly at random, they stop in front of a door, open it with a keycard, and point inside.

“In case you don’t understand, I want you to go inside.”

I nod sarcastically and make my way into the room. Sitting down on the bed, they walk over to the counter and open one of the cupboards, the door clicking shut behind them.

“So…” I swing my feet from atop the bed, “Can someone finally tell me when I get my prize?”

The figure sets down whatever they were fiddling with onto the counter. Turning around to face me, they begin to tremble with laughter:

“My apologies, but whatever do you mean?”

I feel the same emotion from before, climbing up my throat. I do my best to keep my body still as I begin to shake, “What do you mean? I competed, I won, I am entitled to my prize!” 

“Oh,” they compose themself, setting down what seemed to be a syringe on the counter, “You’re entitled?” 

They move their gloved hand up to their mask and let it drop to the ground, revealing a flat face of inky black, its sickening, white-toothed smile being the only distinguishable feature. Noticing movement from under the cloak, it splits in half, revealing a set of wide-spread feathered wings and spindly legs. With inhuman speed, the figure grabs the syringe and sticks it into my neck. Without so much time to react, I began to feel heavy and tired.

“Entitled to what, human?” It spits out with contempt. My head spins as the thing seems to look away, going back to collect its tattered belongings.

“Wait,” my words begin to run together as the beast goes to unlock the door. It’s long, and many fingers just about to turn the knob, “Why?” 

The monstrosity turns, the same unnerving grin seemingly glued to its face, “Thank you for your service, Miss Myla Blum.”

With that, it walks out of the room, and I slump down onto the bed moments later.

~~~

“Daniil, where have you been?” grandmother asks, impatiently stirring her tea, “You’re late for supper.”

“My apologies, Ba. The shift at the embassy ran a bit over.” Setting down my torn cloak and chipped mask, I join the family at the table. Sitting just to the right of grandmother.

“Why must you stoop to such levels, Daniil?” my mother stumbles with her words, a glass of crimson liquor swirling around her cup, “Its becoming ever so embarrassing to have to explain your absence to the girls at bridge.” 

“I’m sure they think nothing of it,” my father says from her left, “They know they’re replaceable.”

Mother huffs, “But I like these ones.”

“Quiet you two,” grandmother hisses from the head of the table. She turns to face me, “Daniil, it is expected that your service to the court is done whole-heartedly, and that any extracurricular activities should be kept until after your duties. Am I clear?” 

“Of course, Ba.” I mutter, waving over a servant for some bonemeal tea.  I look out the window to my left, watching the clouds part over the world below. Squinting slightly, I watch as the tiny dark splotches run along on the sprawling land, building little communities, performing their little duties. They almost remind me of the little ants from the “Ant-Farm” my grandmother brought back from her trip abroad. The thought makes me chuckle slightly.

“Thank you, Daniil. Now, I believe that supper should be coming right up.” 

As if on command, servants barge through the door, carrying an array of side dishes, greens, and desserts. A group of them inch-forward, plopping down a heavy cast-iron pot in the middle of the table, its contents still bubbling away. If I recall correctly, today’s supper was a stew.

The adults and I start divvying up the spoils, making sure to pass along appropriate portions to my fellow siblings farther down the table. Taking the ladle, I pour myself a helping of stew, making sure to get one of the heads: my favorite part.

Drawn to a glimmer in the bowl, I stop, looking down into a set of icy-blue eyes staring back up at me. I began to feel a bit sorry for the beast. All that hard work and self-sacrifice, and for what? Maybe it was on to something; perhaps it was entitled to at least a little something. 

“Daniil,” grandmother started in between bites of liver pâté, “your food is getting cold.” 

“Yes, Ba.” Without a second thought, I stab the eye with my fork and pop it into my mouth.