Chapter 3

Sorry but I need to live.

......

Blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood

So much blood.

......

"Punch! Block! Don't fucking hit like a girl!" Nick kept shouting. His hands were up in his chest, letting me hit them with my fists. He stuck to the ground, feet not moving, yet none of my punches have hit him. Instead, my face was the one beaten to a pulp.

Right.Left.Right.Left.Right.Left.Right.Left.Right.Left.Right.Left.Right.Left.Right.Left.Right.Left

Two hours into training, doing the same thing, my body wanted to give up on me: my legs felt wobbly, my arms were getting stiff, and my lungs were burning. I was too exhausted to go on!

I couldn't keep hitting like a girl; I am a freaking girl and would forever hit like a fucking girl! There was no changing that stupid fact.

It was just torture: a plain waste of time. I wasn't born with a body and metabolism of a fighter. A few hours of training wouldn't transform me into one.

It would have been simpler if they had just killed me. If only I died in the torture, I got from that Marshall guy. It would have been a lot easier.

"Hit like that, and you won't see tomorrow," Nick stated as if it wasn't of an obvious situation. Though, there was still a way for me to get out of the hell they created for me.

I kept hitting; aimlessly, pointlessly.

Then I halted unexpectedly, wiped the sweat, blood, and grime out of my face. I sighed. I was tired, too tired that I could barely feel my legs. And like jelly, I slumped down the floor of the boxing arena. My mind was out of reach. I was in no condition to have more-- enough is enough.

"Stand! Do you want to live?" Nick asked as he pulled me up my feet. His eyes bore anger, hatred, fear, and more I couldn't possibly explain anymore. He was demanding an answer to a question I would have willingly given up: hope.

"What's the sense? I'm going to die too. Why not just make it faster? Why would I torture myself further?" I said, looking into the depth of his eyes. There was no point in all the pain I was experiencing. Why would I prolong something inevitable? I didn't want to make my hopes high. A human could only endure a certain amount of pain, and I was nearing my tipping point.

Nick slapped my face hard. He left my ears ringing. 

In an instant, tears run down my eyes as my hand cradled the hurt body part; he has no right to hurt me like every other person he in that horrible place. 

Why it has to be me? Why of all the people? The darn question wouldn't stop bugging my head.

"Pitying yourself is a sign of weakness. Do you want to die? Here put yourself out of misery!" he exclaimed angrily, throwing a knife at my feet.

I sniffed, grabbed the knife, and held it in my hands; it was a silver butterfly knife with curved edges. A sad memory immediately played before my eyes. My bastard of a dad used to own the same knife. A knife he loved to play with when I was young. The same knife he used to threaten us every time he got used up with his drinking. 

The knife grew heavy on my hands as if it got a life of its own, and my body shook uncontrollably. I couldn't tell if it was because of fear of the supposed forgotten memories that were starting to spurt in my head, trespassing outside the enclosure I longed to build during my childhood.

Then, I admitted it to myself. I couldn't do it. I cried even harder. But no sounds were coming out of my mouth; it was all muted. And at once, uncontrollable tears flooded my face. The realization struck my body like a wild forest fire, I wanted to live.

"I want to live," I mumbled, crying, voicing out my inner thoughts.

Nick nodded. He knelt to my side and held me in his hand. I took it without questions asked. "If you want to survive and live, then be smart, use everything to your advantage and never...never hesitate to kill."

I nodded to confirm that I fully understand him. And I would do anything to survive and breathe another day.

The practice ended; I was led back to the claustrophobic cell to wait for my impending doom. Every second was hell in there. It felt like waiting for the reaper to come and take my soul. I hoped, even tried praying for the door to stay close, but I wasted my time. After about an hour of waiting, a guard came to get me.

My body moved in robotic motions. I didn't have the slightest idea of how I got in there. I only knew that my feet walked, but it was a blur.

I stood at the foot of the arena, not sure what to do. Blinding lights, yellow spotlights were all over the place. They were making my vision muddy. The proximity yanked the fear I was hiding inside me-- I wanted to run away, anywhere, and hide.

People surrounded me, faces hidden behind masks of different colors. Women and men, cheering for the most awaiting fight-- my fight. They were all monsters trying to hide from those cardboards, but no one could have fooled me.

A loud voice came in over a speaker. "Ladies and gentlemen! It is the fight we are all waiting for long! A newbie and the crowd's favorite killer! They will fight in a battle of blood! Who do you think will survive?" The crowd cheered, "...now let us welcome, Machine... and of course our newbie, Red Fox!"

The monsters cheered around me once more, deafening my hearing.

In the distance, a figure stood with a confident stance-- my opponent. 

My heart pounded so hard, almost bursting out of my chest. Air seemed to be nowhere to find. 

I started panicking. 

I have gone deaf; none registered in my brain. I didn't want to fight. I didn't want any of it.

No! I can't do it. The shouts in my head transformed into begging. My whole body shook in utter terror.

I moved forcefully; someone shoved me forward. I stumbled a bit in the process. My head snapped to my back to see Craig's hissing face. 

It would be no different if I didn't go. I would still be dead. So, I gave up and submitted, dragging my unwilling feet.

Cheers erupted again, the crowd gone mad from too much waiting.

Machine!

Give as action!

Be worth the money I paid and put on a good show!

Yeah! Blood!

Beat her to a pulp!

Kill her!

Strangle that little neck!

Snap that head, off hers!

Blood! Blood! Blood!

We want blood!

Blood!

The bets were showed on a monitor in our vanguard. An LED screen with names and numbers of sorts like what you see in a horse race. And it was a sport for them-- a very sick sport. 

A single bet was showed over my name. Only one thought that I would win. Only one thought I would live. 

One.

I grazed over my opponent, the girl in front of me. The one, looming over as she stepped closer to me. She thirsted for blood. I could see it in her smile: menacing and treacherous. She wanted to kill me, and she wanted my blood on her hands.

She was a hound that had found her prey, and I was the lucky one.

Machine got red eyes from drugs, and she looked scary as hell.

She wore the same clothing as me but, with the seemingly same size that her muscles budged. It showed the body of a soldier who won a death war. She was scarred all over the place. It showed how long she had been fighting, and it must have been that long to have those many scars. And she was proud of it, her battle marks.

She looked like a monster-- a monster created by the sick stomach of the people cheering around us.

I hated to think that I may be like her, that I would soon be like her. That survival meant being the same with her-- someone with a dark soul.

Without a guard, I had flown across the arena. My opponent hit me on the face cutting me off my thought.

I tried standing but, she was like the wind. She was fast to straddle me, hitting me in the face. I was just a plaything to her and not long enough that my eyes were going blood shut. 

She wouldn't stop. She kept going.

Blood trickled on my nose. I groaned in pain; it was ten times worse than training and much painful-- for my opponent wasn't in a stationary position anymore.

Machine stopped momentarily in her tracks, looking me in the eyes. There was satisfaction written all over her scarred face. And she was enjoying every moment of the fight like the feral animal she was.

She bent down, licked the blood off my nose, round it in her tongue, and tasted it inside her mouth as if sampling a high-class wine. 

The crowd had gone wild loving everything she does.

"Kill her! Now!" the crowd shouted at once.

She pulled me on my feet by strangling my neck. I tried to pry her hands away, but she only smiled at me. That blood-curdling smile that made me want to crawl under a bed.

The pain was everywhere then.

The monsters in the crowd were going crazy around the arena: more shouting, more lewd comments. They were loving my pain and were asking for more.

It should have been them in my position. It wasn't my choice nor Machine's. We were just a product of the monster's sick hunger for blood.

It wasn't our choice. We both need to survive.

I need to survive.

She couldn't be that strong, she might have muscles, but we have the same body.

"You deserve this bitch," the girl whispered in my ear with a high-pitched laugh.

What she said has ringed repeatedly in my head. It brought back memories of long-forgotten pasts.

You deserve this bitch. You deserve this bitch. You deserve this bitch!

In a blink of an eye, I lost it. When I look at Machine's face anymore, I wasn't seeing her anymore. It suddenly transformed into my dad's cruel face. The bastard dad who knew nothing other than hurt me and my mom. The same dad who almost beaten us to death.

I butted my head to Machine with all the force I have left in me. I freed myself from her, and in a swift move, I jumped Machine down fast before she could recover from what I had inflicted her. I pinned her down, facing the floor. I fisted her hair and pounded her head on the hard ground. 

Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound. 

And pound.

I stopped; she was groaning in pain. I would have killed her if I kept going, but then I remembered what Nick said: do not hesitate.

I pounded once more.

I could feel her pulse starting to slow. I lowered my head to her left ear; this time, I was the one who whispered. "Sorry but, I need to live." And for the last time, I pounded. 

Her breathing stopped, and she was finally dead. I killed her.

Blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood

So much blood.

I had no choice.

I became a bloody killer; my hands tainted with red.

They made me do it.

It wasn't my fault!