The guard made me stand for ages, like an animal on show. I surveyed the unfamiliar faces of the crowd, heart thundering in my chest, palms sweating, and the fear of imminent death almost paralyzing my legs. A firing gun sounded and, abruptly, the guard shoved me up some steps and into the claustrophobic octagon. A boy about my age clutched an axe; he was being pushed into the octagon from the opposite side.
My eyes were glued to his. He was about my height, but he was thinner. He too wore only black shorts, the number 591 tattooed across his chest.
As he stumbled into the cage, piss ran down his legs. I could see by the shaking of an axe in his right hand that he was terrified.
The cage doors slammed shut. The warden stood outside and banged on the cage wall, the sound sounding like thunder. “Only one of you comes out alive. No fucking around. No rounds. No breaks. Just kill.”
My eyes widened as I took in his words, but I knew this was what I was here for. I had to kill this boy in order to survive.
The boy looked across at me; by the way he stood, I knew he couldn’t fight. But my papa had taught me from a young age how to take care of myself. I knew how to fight. I knew how to inflict pain… I knew how to kill.
A gun sounded, and the joint erupted. Men were hammering the cage like hungry animals; they shouted things I couldn’t make out.
The warden bellowed for the fight to begin and adrenaline filled my muscles. My opponent stood frozen on the spot, his eyes roving the sick crowd in fear.
My pulse beat fast, the dull thumping deafening in my ears, drowning out the roar of the spectators.
“Move!” the warden screamed. He’d lost his shit. Our two guards stood at the doors behind us, rifles aimed straight at our heads. Self-preservation took hold; I moved to the center of the ring, my opponent receiving a hit on the head by his guard. The boy stumbled forward, crashing into my chest. The volume of the crowd dramatically rose as our bodies collided. Taking advantage of my stronger stance, I punched out my right hand and hit the boy square on his jaw. Blood showered the boy’s face. Dazed, the boy fell, back hitting the floor. Seeing my chance, I straddled his waist and struck him again on the face. Surprise registered on the boy’s face as blow after blow rained down on him. Teeth tumbled to the ground and his flesh tore under the spiked edges of my knuckledusters.“Please…” the boy whispered, his quiet voice sounding like a foghorn in the middle of the insanity beyond the cage, “Don’t kill me… I don’t want to die… I’m scared…”
My gut twisted upon hearing his plea and my shoulders sagged. I was exhausted and out of breath. Glancing around the dimly lit dingy room, my eyes drank in the howling, bloodthirsty crowd, and my stomach recoiled in disgust. Grown men. Grown men cheering for kids to shred each other, to tear each other to death.
Wiping a bead of sweat from my brow with the back of my bandaged hand, I rolled off the whimpering 591 and staggered to my feet. The guards raised their guns at my movement. I hit the cage’s metal mesh, which groaned as if it were in pain.
“What are you doing, boy?” one of the guards asked. Everything seemed to slow down, my pulse throbbing too slow.
The warden circled the cage until his angry face was inches from mine on the other side of the metal. “Get back and finish him!”
Nausea built in my throat as I looked at my guard’s hard face. He had to be in his fifties and he was built like a tank. The barrel of his gun was aimed squarely at my forehead. “You have five seconds to get back over there and kill that pussy, or I’ll shoot you both.”
I heard a similar threat being issued from the opposite side of the cage. Hearing a loud scream, I turned just in time to see 591 charging at me with his axe raised high. Though shocked at this move, I dodged out of the way and dove to the ground—just in time to see 591 crash into the metal of the cage, axe slamming hard against the steel links.
He whipped around to confront me, eyes crazed, the whiteness of gritted teeth shining through his bloodied mouth. 591 panted like a rabid animal. I knew then what had to be done.
My fight response kicked in, sending a surge of energy through my whole body. As 591 charged me, I dropped and wrapped a leg around his calf. 591 lost his balance. As he fell to the ground, without pause, I jumped on his back. I raised my knuckledusters, spiked blades pointing down, and with a fast punch and a deafening roar, lodged the blades into the bottom of his skull. Immediately, 591’s body slackened beneath me.
A gun fired and the crowd roared as blood began gushing from 591’s wound onto the concrete floor. Shocked, I couldn’t move. Staring down, I saw that my bladed weapon was still embedded in his skull. I pulled the blades out, and vomit spilled from my mouth as chunks of bone and flesh came away with them.