Eighteen Hundred Seconds
Part I
First day in the arena, and ever since I woke up I had been in a foul mood. Sitting on an aluminum bench in the grey and black locker room, I pulled my thick black hair back, holding my rubber neck patch between my teeth. I had been forced to put my earpiece in first, and as much as I loved Dario—like a father, in fact—I wish I wasn't tempted to torture him, like I was. Poor guy.
“Kearin, for crying out loud, you're not ready at all!” my mentor cried.
I had to smile. It was always funny when Dario got desparate and nervous. If I failed in the Arena, not only would I have to repeat the course, but he'd have to report to Madam Takieara to explain why he hadn't taught me very well. As much as I loved playing with his nerves, I wasn't cruel enough to send him to Madam Takieara.
"Twelve minutes," I told him calmly. "It starts in twelve minutes. I have plenty of time."
"If you aren't in there in five, Kearin, You'll be lucky if it's a laser weapon that shoots you today!" He scolded. There was some humor in his voice, but he was definately nervous.
Dario was halfway across campus, about five miles away in a large computer room. There would be cameras all throughout the arena that he would use to watch my progress. There was one in the forehead of my helmet, but that was pointed to the ground at the moment, so he couldn’t see a thing. Which gave me some satisfaction.
“Battles don’t happen on a schedule!” Dario muttered, still talking to himself to keep his mind occupied. “When I went into the arena, they didn’t tell us when we’d be going. They threw the patches and guns at us and told us to move.”
“That was you,” I sang cheerfully, taking my time. Pulling my helmet over my hair and strapping it firmly around my chin, I let out a long, audible yawn.
"That was fake!" Dario accused, talking if only to ignore the threat of Takieara hanging over him.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I continued in a singsong voice, continuing to strap my helmet firmly. It was all black, with a metal mouth piece that wrapped tightly around my cheeks, clung to the bridge of my nose and bottom of my chin. I hated it, but I had to wear it. My mood didn’t improve. “Anything else that needs chiding?”
There was a quick whirring noise as Dario scanned my patches. Then I heard him sigh loudly. “Your left middle-upper arm patch is backwards,” he said wearily.
I rolled my eyes, pulled off the patch, and then readjusted it to where it was supposed to be. “There. That better?”
“Much. Thank you.” I heard him tapping at the computer, and my patches started to tingle against my skin. “Can you feel that?”
“Yes.”
There was a soft puff of gas from the metal guard in from of my nose. “Can you smell that?”
“Yes,” I answered, trying not to cough.
“What does it smell like?”
“Oranges.”
“Good.” There was more tapping. “Alright, we have to check all of your patches.”
I sighed very loudly. "Oh, what does it matter? He have enough time. Maybe I'll go back to my dorm for a while...”
Dario was going to hate me once this was all over, I was sure of it. I heard a violent fit of coughing on the other line and stiffled a laugh. Poor guy, my mind was telling me, but I couldn't help but take pleasure in it.
To my surprise, Dario wasn't going to be detoured. “Are your feet patches on?”
I bared my teeth and answered, “Yes.” It bugged me when my jibes never hit him.
“Both?”
“Yes, Dario! Jeez, we don't have to do it right now!
“Look,” he said sharply, sending a sharp shock through my elbow patch. I winced in pain. “We are going to check it right now, and you are not going to fail in the Arena.”
Again, I stiffled a laugh. Oh, he was nervous, all right. And that gave me immense satisfication.
I had rubber patches everywhere. One wrapped around each foot, ankles, three on my calves, knees, three on my thigh, waist, stomach, chest, gloves for my hands, my wrist, three on my forearms, my elbows, three around my upper arm, lightweight patches that capped my shoulders, and one around my neck. There were sensors in my helmet, too. Each patch had thin wires and flexible sensors that would react instantaneously to the flash of a laser. And, though I didn’t feel them yet, each patch had retracted micro needles. I didn’t quite know what they were for. I didn’t even think I was supposed to know about them yet. Whatever they meant, Dario hadn’t mentioned anything about them. Neither did any other mentor. And that racked my nerves.
“And your helmet is strapped?” Dario asked.
“Yes.”
“Visor down? I don’t want you going blind if a laser hits you in the eye.”
I quickly slapped the dark glasses down across my eyes. “Yes,” I answered. Knowing how realistic the arena was, they’d probably black out my visor anyway if a laser hit my eyes. I had examined them before and didn’t find anything, but I was still suspicious.
“Good,” Dario said, satisfied. “Now report to the arena.”
“I don't have to," I breathed, but in reality, I was nervous myself. First time in the Arena...
Slamming my locker door, I strapped my weapon belt, empty at the moment, around my waist and headed out the door. It led into a wide, flat, featureless room.
It was a perfect square, with no place to sit and only three doors: one to the girl’s locker room, one to the boys’ dressing room, and one to the arena. The floors were wide, white, flawless tiles, and the walls and ceiling were gray metal. There were about fifty other students in the room, all looking mostly identical. All were either talking to their mentors or friends, watching the arena door nervously, or both.
I glanced briefly at my surroundings, taking it all in at an instant, I went over to a man with black pants and a white lab coat to check in.
“What’s your name?” he said gruffly, pulling out his clipboard and clicking a white pen.
I really hated that lab coat. It made me feel like some sort of experiment. “Kearin Lissette,” I answered clearly.
He nodded and scribbled something in his clipboard, and then he pulled a black leather bag from a pile and gave me one that had the letters K.L. on them. “Here are your weapons,” he said. “I’m not going to tell you what they are; if your mentor taught you right, you should know.”
I heard Dario snort in my ear, and I smiled.
Leaning against the wall, I pulled out a sniper rifle (which I strapped across my back), a handgun, a shotgun, a pistol, a machine gun, and five grenades. The guns I holstered in my belt, then clipped the bundle of grenades to a loop in my belt.
I hadn’t made very many friends here, so I just stood staring at the black door with white block letters screaming the word, “ARENA”. I couldn’t wait to start shooting people. I dreamed of high scores, though I knew it probably wouldn’t be possible for someone who has never been to the arena before.
“Are you ready?” Dario asked her.
Kearin grinned wickedly. “Ready to kill someone,” I laughed.
“These are only laser weapons,” Dario reminded me.
I cocked an eyebrow, even though I knew he couldn’t see my face. “No, they aren’t,” I said pointedly.
There was a pause, and then Dario laughed. “Yes, you’re right,” he said. “They are real.”
Something about the way he had said that, so ironically, made me shift uncomfortably.
Then Madam Takieara threw open the arena door and stepped into the room. Several students tried to get a peek of what lay behind her, but though I was aching to peer with them, I was smart enough not to.
Madam Takieara wore a long, wide-sleeved dress with silver lining at the collar and sleeves. Her unparted hair hung down to the middle of her back, smooth and black with white veins. Wrinkles and creases were mapped across her face, her hands were thin and withered, and she limped slightly, but she stood up straight and her eyes, a vibrant blue, were as sharp and young as ever.
Her blue eyes, the only ray of color in this world of grey, black, and white, scanned the identical, eager students as they all quieted to hear her speak.
“If you are not level four, I suggest you get out of here now,” she said sharply, not so much as a quiver in her voice.
“She gets straight to the point, doesn’t she?” I muttered into the mike.
Dario shushed me.
When no one moved to leave, she continued, “If you are level four, I welcome you to the arena,” she said, her voice not losing any of its steel. “You may only use your weapons, your resources, and your wits. No physical contact is allowed at all. Anyone who breaks this rule will be put out immediately.”
“Put out?” I repeated to Dario. “What does that mean?”
“Something bad,” Dario answered. “That’s all I’m allowed to tell you.”
“There are weapons hidden in the arena, like grenades and extra guns,” Madam Takieara continued. “There are blinking yellow lights where you can reload your guns. Blue lights are for health, but keep in mind that the blue lights are out in the open, and if you have a serious wound, you can’t stay out there for long.”
“Wounds?” I hissed. “Master Dario—“
“Don’t worry about it,” Dario assured me.
“Don’t worry about it?” I repeated, trying to keep my voice down. “Of course I’m worried! They prepare for wounds!”
“Trust me, Kearin,” Dario assured me. “Everything is fine, really. You aren’t going to die.”
“There are obstacles to hide in, secret passageways, and concealed alcoves,” Madam Takieara told us. “But keep in mind there are also traps, false pathways, and box corridors that are not easy to escape.”
I shifted. “Dario…”
There was a tingling on my elbow patch, and I kept quiet.
She glanced around at the students again, then said, “You will be let in three at a time. The next three will be let in after the first three have had thirty seconds to spread around the arena. You cannot fire at anyone until your mentor has told you to. If you do fire at anyone, your guns won’t work anyway, but nothing—nothing—goes unnoticed in the arena, do you understand?”
We all nodded our heads, a little more than unnerved.
“Very well, then,” she turned and received the clipboard from the ”scientist” that had given me my weapons. “Quinn Lendon, Pol Rade, and Kince Welder.”
The three students opened the door of the arena and filed in. Again I kept myself in check and resisted the urge to look.
In the next group, two girls who were obviously friends entered the arena behind a tall, determined boy. I heard one of them whisper, “Do you want to be partners?”
I snorted at their stupidity. Only one person would win. If they were the last two left—which I doubted—one of them would have to shoot the other.
“…Jel Hylens, and Kearin Lissette.”
My heart leapt to my throat. Glancing at the short, fire-haired girl as she walked purposefully towards the door, I trotted after her.
“Hey, Jel,” I greeted her with a smile.
“If you want to be partners, forget it,” she said stoutly, examining her handgun.
I blinked at her, then shook my head. “Not at all,” I said. “I just wanted to tell you that I look forward to meeting you in the arena.”
I watched her as she glanced up, surprised, then she let out a feral laugh.
“So do I, Kearin,” she said wickedly, and I laughed.
“Until then?”
“And there won’t be a next time,” Jel said, hoisting her sniper rifle from her back.
I chuckled and pulled my pistol out. “I’ll make sure of that.”
She laughed and disappeared into the darkness of a wall.
“Camper,” I snorted.
“I fight my way, you fight yours,” her voice answered indignantly from the shadows.
“Kearin,” Dario exasperated voice came into her earpiece. “you don’t have much longer to hide. And I’ll bet you haven’t even glanced at your surroundings.”
I blushed. He was right.
“Alright, alright,” I said curtly, moving down the maze and glancing around. It was made of almost everything—fiberglass, metal, stone, brick, plastic and more—for varied distances—ten feet, three feet, thirteen feet, fifty feet—for varying heights—twelve hands, two hundred hands, even three hands at one point. I ran my eyes up to the top of the walls, where I found it was uneven. Surely the ceiling couldn’t be uneven with it? “Am I allowed to climb any of these walls, Master Dario? Like, are there any sniper hideouts up there?”
“You can,” Dario answered, but he refused to answer my last question.
“Kearin,” a voice came from behind me.
I turned to see Tyke, leaning casually against the wall with a shotgun aimed right at my face. I grinned.
“Tyke, you aren’t allowed to shoot until everyone has had time to spread,” I said.
I could almost see Tyke’s reckless grin as he chuckled and put the gun down. Also, twin yellow glints shone brightly through the dark, tinted visor. It was rumored that Tyke was a mix of several different planets; anyone could see he wasn’t the normal-bred, one-planet born person like most of us were. But there was no way of knowing. He didn’t know much about his heritage, and neither did the mentors who had found him.
I noticed Tyke’s specially-fitted patches. He was tall, taller than anyone I had seen, and very thin, so his patches were short and wide. His gloves had to be fitted for two missing fingers on his left and one extra on his right. What I never understood was that he pulled a trigger with his left hand.
“I’m going to find some sniper hideouts, anyway,” he said huskily, putting the gun down. “I was never good with these sort of guns, and I’m too easy a target.” The twin dots slowly disappeared as he blinked, then brightened as they reopened. “Want me to cover your back?”
“No, I’m good,” I said, though the thought of an expert sniper on my side was tempting. But I was intending to win, and if I had him as an ally, I’d have to betray him in the end. “Only one person can win remember?”
He sighed and nodded. “Alright. I’ll see you around, then.”
I nodded, knowing that I couldn’t say the same. No one could see Tyke if he decided to go sniper. He turned to touch the walls gently with his six-fingered hand, and I turned down a corner, glancing around at a good place to start.
I found several yellow lights—those were for ammunition, right?—and decided they were well hidden enough to hide while I reloaded.
But I was shocked when I saw the blue health light. It was sitting in the middle of a hallway, pulsing slightly on the ground, with a garish yellow spotlight shining right down on it. it would be suicide to sit there trying to heal when people several corridors down knew where you were.
“Madam Takieara really meant it, didn’t she?” I asked dryly.
“She rarely doesn’t,” Dario answered. “Anyway, it’s almost time. All you have to do is survive eighteen hundred seconds, and you can move on to level five.”
The hair on the back of my neck rose. “But no pressure, right?” I said sarcastically.
“No pressure,” Dario replied with equal sarcasm, and it made me feel better.
“Alright,” Dario said, growing serious. “Eighteen hundred seconds. Go.”
Only eighteen hundred. I could do this.
go reveiw 2 pieces of work now! 
Gender:
Points: 2832
Reviews: 93