Chapter 5: The Arrival
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I was in the trailer for many hours. It felt like I would never reach my new district and that I would be locked away in here for the rest of my life; never to see a single moment in the ring. I hadn’t been given any food or water and the heat of the sun made me tired. I didn’t want to move.
Suddenly, I felt the trailer turn somewhere and stop. The truck pulling it let out a hiss and went quiet. I could hear footsteps outside the trailer before the doors opened and light flooded in. Master Markson came in with a bottle of water and a small bag of crackers and set them in front of me.
I stared in awe at the bottle. I hadn’t drunk out of a bottle since I was an infant. Once we’d mastered drinking out of a cup or a bowl, we were denied a bottle to drink out of, and I had never, ever been given a luxurious food such as crackers. For my whole life I had only been given flavorless oatmeal as food; so a salty treat like crackers was something foreign to me.
“What’s the matter?” Master Markson asked me, “You look like you’ve never seen these before.”
“I have seen these before.” I replied, “But we’re not allowed to drink out of bottles or eat crackers. All we ever drank was water out of a cup or bowl and we at oatmeal.”
“Well then this must be a real treat for you. You’ve been locked in here for the better part of five hours, so I knew you must be getting hungry and just a bit thirsty.”
Thirsty? I was parched. I unscrewed the cap to the water bottle and took a sip. The water was cold and fresh and it instantly washed away the dry, prickly sensation in my mouth. Crackers were simple foods, but their salty taste was something I had never tasted; the closest thing I could compare the taste to was the sweat that would leak into my mouth whenever fights occurred in the nursery.
“We’re about ten miles away from our district.” Master Markson said, “When we arrive, you’ll be taken someplace to be bathed, given a name, and put with the other Fighters. They’re an easy lot to get along with, so I’m sure you’ll make a few new friends.”
Friends? I’d never had any friends in my old district. The closest think I had to a friend was B, and now that I had been sold I didn’t even have her anymore.
I only nodded as I nibbled away at a cracker, and then I stopped.
“Why did you pay so much money on me?” I asked.
Markson only shrugged, “I like to take a gamble on the things people turn their noses up at; the things they see as worthless or useless. Sure, every master wants a Fighter with muscle in their bodies, and lots of it. But what are they going to do with all that muscle when they have no clue how to use it. What are they going to do if they’re put up against a Fighter that’s twice, maybe even three times their size? That is where wits become stronger than muscle. I put up ten-thousand dollars on you because I know you have the wits.”
“But, I’m just a Level One; I don’t know how to fight against someone who is twice, maybe even three times my size.”
“No, maybe you don’t; but I’m willing to bet your parent’s fighting genes were passed on to you.”
My eyes snapped open, “You knew my parents?”
“Yes, I did. But that’s a story for another time.”
And with that, Master Markson walked out of the trailer and shut the door behind him.
He was the only person I know who knew my parents. I had never heard much about them, other than that they had respectable fighting skills. I didn’t even know if they were still alive; then again, most of us didn’t know who our parents were, and most of us never found out.
I heard the metallic roar of the truck engine starting up again and moments later we were traveling once again, and I sat in the trailer as I happily nibbled away at the crackers I had been given.
Within the hour, we pulled up to a very large building where the trailer stopped and the doors opened once more. A pair of unfamiliar men dressed in black strode into the trailer holding another choke chain and leash. I allowed them to secure the collar and the leash and I obediently followed them into the building. Fighting against hem would have been futile. They’d carry me inside if they had to.
I only caught a glimpse of the outside world before I was surrounded by the familiar gloom of the district building once more. For a place that was considered “well respected” as Mr. Yorkshire had said, it didn’t really stand out to me. There didn’t really seem to be anything fancy about it.
As Markson had told me, I was taken into a room where I was bathed. My nails were trimmed evenly, they cleaned out my ears with swabs, and my teeth were brushed with a gooey, minty substance that foamed the longer it was brushed around in my mouth. They forced me to spit the foam out, even though my first instinct was to swallow it. A piece of thin, white string went between my teeth; all of them! I didn’t understand any of this. What were they trying to do?
By the time it was over, my teeth and gums hurt. I wanted nothing to do with the toothbrush, minty goo, or the white string anymore, and it was a real punch to the gut when one of the men said I had to do this sick ritual with my teeth every day. Twice a day. Morning and night.
A man led me to a room where Markson was waiting.
“You don’t looked pleased.” He commented.
“I would have been just super if my mouth didn’t have to be tortured.” I remarked, “What was that about?”
“Brushing your teeth helps keep them from rotting and falling out. It’s completely necessary.” He stood from his seat in a cushioned chair and looked me over, “Now you just need a suitable name. Normally, masters will give their Fighters vicious names so they scare other Fighters and intrigue those who bid on them in a fight. I don’t aim to do that. You need a name that suits you, not your fighting ability.
Master Markson was silent for quite some time. He just stared, locking his eyes with mine. Eventually, he pulled a man aside and whispered something into his ear. The man nodded and vanished out the door. He returned ten minutes later with a blue collar with a metal tag. The collar was secured firmly around my neck. I couldn’t help but pick up the tag and try to spell out the name while reading it upside down.
I-R-I-S.
Iris.
I looked back up at Markson, who smiled at me before nodding to the man that held my leash.
“Please show Iris to the Fighter’s Lounge.”
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