Round One

The twenty of us, confused and denfenses raised, approached the slender man standing outside our living compound. His silver hair was short and the black frames upon his nose were just as slim as his body. He wore a jumpsuit similar to our own but where ours were gray, his was black. Behind him floated small black pods, the machines shifting back and forth to new view points around him - the cameras that would record the devastating results of the Warrior's Tournament. The man smiled and beckoned us to him.

"Welcome everyone," he greeted with a friendliness that seemed almost unnatural. "I am Cyrik, and welcome to the first day of the Warrior's Tournament."

I scanned the faces of the other contestants. Nothing. Blank, solemn stares, some distorted in anger. I could tell there were some of us desperately wishing to use our Talents against the man and flee, but we all knew there were too many complications with that. Even if the twenty of us banded together, we were vastly outnumbered by government agents and their anti-Talent technology, coupled with the fact that we didn't even know where the hell we were.

"Now, when you were arrived you were briefed with the rules of this contest," Cyrik spoke smoothly, careful not to stumble over any word. "But let's review for our folks back home," he lifted his lips into a small smile as a camera pod glided over to focus its lens on him.

"This tournament is an evaluation of the strength of your Talents put in the form of various challenges of strength, wisdom, and morality. You will think of this game in three sections: Dorm Life, Challenges, and Versus. When you are not competing in challenges, you will be all living within the same building. While there, you may use your Talents against one another as you wish, taking lives as you see fit. We do limit the number of deaths per night to a strict two-deaths-only. If you exceed this, the guilty shall receive punishment."

A pair of eyes lingered on me, I could feel it. I glanced in the direction of the gaze to find a tall blond boy drinking in my figure. He may have had a height advantage over me but it was easy to see the youth on his face, possibly one of the younger members. I hadn't yet spoken to him, or anyone really. He was probably trying to assess my Talent by sight, and to be honest, so was I. But I knew appearances meant nothing, so I checked the number on his uniform - Seven - and remembered it for later.

"Challenges will be a bit different. While we encourage you to use your talents to push you or your team to victory, we strictly prohibit murder within this section. This section is monitor how Talents can be used in tandem and not in an oppositional manner. However, the challenges shall determine the final section: Versus."

Seven moved his gaze to another contestant, repeating the process once more. Perhaps he's got a weak Talent and he's worried he'll be the first to go, I thought. They always say in situations like this you find the strongest guy and take him out. I felt some empathy for the boy. He knew as well as I, and as well as the whole world, that Talents were simple mutations in an individual's DNA that allowed them special abilities. Some could change form, some held dominion over elements and molecules, while some completely lacked Talent to begin with. Unfortunately, they were random mutations, and even a fresh face like Seven could be hiding a deadly ability.

"The losing team of the challenge section will be forced to vote two of their teammates into Versus mode, in which they will engage in a battle of Talents. Versus mode will only end when one of the contestants is dead. Any further questions?" Cyrik raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," came a voice. It was a short blue haired girl, the number Eighteen on her uniform. Eighteen contorted her mouth into a scowl. "Why the hell are you actually doing this?"

"Sweetie, we've told you," Cyrik answered condescendingly. "To assess your Talent. Anything else?"

"This is bulllshit!" shouted the burly Five.

"Alright, now that you've been briefed once again," Cyrik ignored them, rolling his crystalline eyes. "You will meet me at the transporter in ten minutes. Tardiness will not be tolerated."

Cyrik was the first walk away form the interaction, the rest of us too stunned to actually move. Part of me wanted to talk to them, make friends. The more calculative side of me advised against this. If I would have to kill them at some point, I couldn't risk hesitations. I had people to go home to. This could not be the end of it.

It was Eighteen who broke the silence.

"This can't be real," she stated. It was obvious she didn't believe her own words, but there comes a comfort in stating the things you don't believe.

"Well, it is. And sorry to say this to you guys but I'm going to do what I have to do. Even if it means killing you," grunted Eleven. "I won't hold back if it means going home."

"I don't blame you there," answered One. "Trust me, no one does."

Our eyes collectively fell to the ground, a consensus of agreement. Eleven just had the guts to say it first, but we were all considering the same sad fact. It was about to become kill-or-be-killed and to be honest I'd rather be on the winning side. We all would. Blue eyes and pink eyes and red eyes alike, we all held hope and determination in them. We knew the only way out of this was to cooperate. That is, until a better idea came to mind.

"What are we waiting for?" Eleven piped up again. The guy was average in height but his build was athletic, deep indigo hair and dark eyes to match. His brown skin and dark features fit perfectly with the uniform, as if he was born for this sort of thing. I suppose he was one of the luckier ones of the group, having physical fitness on his side. Me? I had some smarts and a decent Talent. I only hoped Eleven's Talent wasn't as powerful as his physical body seemed to be.

Eleven lead the way toward the giant metal disk in the center of the yard, several of us following him while the remaining fraction stayed put. The grass stretched out for what seemed like a mile, but the anti-Talent fence could be seen on the horizon. It encamped us and trapped us within the area, confining us to the yard, the transporter, and the compound in which we lived. We'd searched extensively upon arriving only to find that the fence not only canceled out our blood-given abilities but also was patrolled without fail. The guards had threatened to shoot if we got any bright ideas about trying to get through the fence, a failed endeavor in the end.

One sighed, his long golden hair brushing his cheeks as a breeze rolled by. He didn't say anything, just offered a sad smile before joining the rest of them. I could just decide not to go, I thought. I'd probably be killed, though, or at least punished. The idea seemed somewhat appealing, not having to go through any of this. However, I had Roland to go home to and if he were watching this, I'd want him to see me being strong.

"Hey, Fifteen," a voice grabbed me from my thoughts. When I looked up, Seven was standing a few feet away from me, soft blue hair in his eyes. "Are you coming?"

"Uh," I struggled to find the words for a moment. "I kind of have to, don't I?"

Seven just chuckled slightly. The first time I'd heard any of us laugh since we arrived. I laughed in return and began my way toward the transporter with him. I tried to find the strength to wish him luck or something, some form of empathy but I just couldn't. I had to look out for myself. Seven stepped onto the transporter and I followed suit. Being the last, Cyrik pressed something upon the collar of his uniform and the disk began to hum, the cracks in the design letting a soft glow to show through. There was a countdown from ten. Nine. Then Six. Then Three. Two. One. There was a whir and a flash and a feeling of disorientation as my molecules deconstructed and reconstructed in a new location.

This was round one of the Warrior's Tournament.