Two

Calloused palms vigorously scrubbed and attempted to cleanse themselves of the grime residue left by the illegally poached creature for the day’s additional meal. Scraping under the nails, Bom mused she had upped the stakes for her sentence should her treacherous actions be discovered by the sovereign’s underlings.

Early in his tyrannical rule, Kwang Soo had forbidden the art and stratagem of hunting and poaching, the clandestine act targeting the poor creatures of his lands. He made no other mention to his reasoning behind the cruel prohibition, but his people knew he dreaded the idea of a weapons in their hands and of a rebellion in their thoughts and hearts.

To hunt once on his grounds meant the permanent stationing in his ghastly prison wards, both unsanitary and unsavory, and to hunt twice and trample the sodden ground meant public execution.

Assuming the head of the household in place of her ailing mother and spineless, she had begun the trade in her teens and could no longer recount the amount of times she had slain a critter to fend off the pangs of starvation and the sweet kisses of death.

Eternal rest would be too good for the likes of her in goon’s books.

Aimlessly chafing her hands under the pleasantly cold, distilled stream of water, she had to be prodded by the shoulder to tune in once more to her surroundings – the touch obtrusive and yet familiar. Pausing her ministrations, she inquired the nature of Go Eun’s visit, her response mere croaks and shudders. Shutting off the water valve and drying her hands on her clothes, the seasoned red-head turned to her counterpart, mildly surprised by the sight of swollen eyes and pink cheeks.

“Unnie,” Her commanding and insisting tone contradicted the gentle quality with which she held her sister’s cheeks. “I need you to be strong. I need you to hold down the fort while I’m gone.” Like a mother would to soothe her child, Bom pressed her forehead against Go Eun’s, her eyelids drooping to a close. “You need to look after her, okay?” She quivered, “Don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine. You’ll see, unnie.” Looping her arms about her neck, she hugged the eldest sibling tight and close, silently hoping to assuage her rampant doubts and fears. “You’ll see.”

Whether an act of kindness or madness, one final day was given to the Players to bid their farewells, cast their apologies, and set their consciences at ease.

This would be the last moment Bom would have with her disjointed family of three – her name called to the forefront of The Games and arms of Death.

Relinquishing her sister, she busied herself adjusting Go Eun’s collar and smoothing out the frills of her tarnished frock, woefully memorizing the significant details of her flesh and blood.

“Bommie…”

The whirring gears of her mind gave pause at the nickname their mother had given her in her toddler years.

Frustration and anxiety crossed the simple features of her sister’s face. “At least get your hands on a bow! Check the barks, some might be more useful than others. Although, birch wood might just do the trick should they round out the best of trees.”

Success and survival could be found in the craft of her bow and her skills as an archer – if it mattered enough to her.

A heavy question lingered on Go Eun’s pale lips and her weak heart could not proceed to voice the gravity of her fears. However, Bom was keen and well-versed in her sister’s thoughts to understand the intent and query as though it had been spoken aloud.

You are going to try and come back, aren’t you?

Tautly smiling, she said nothing.

Amazed by the enormity and intricate designs, Sandara faced the train, her figure diminutive in comparison. Grazing the stainless silver sheets, she felt strangely elated by the advanced technology and hardware of which her sector stupendously lacked. She had never caught a glimmer of the rail transport for The Games, her flimsy stomach and throat churning with bile during such horrors.

The magnificent locomotive, sleek and slim, would be charged with the transportation of the livestock for the year’s slaughter. In droves, the victims would be sent and contained in a facility juxtaposed to the King’s grand palace, to where they would be displayed in the Parade prior to the procession of The Games.

Barks from the positioned managers dividing the jumbled mess of Players snagged her ear and alerted her to wisps of her title. Hastening to the shouts of her name, Sandara joined a proper, straight line and found she did not recognize many faces, the cream of the crop much younger than the previous generations. Age had caught up to her no doubt.

Steadily, the line shuffled on board and she felt herself diminish with each step. One foot was inside the arched entrance when an icy collar was secured onto her heated skin.

To avoid premature deaths and escape from punishment, hi-tech collars were latched onto the Players and fully capable of erupting and exploding if fiddled with in any way. Although, it affected them more as a destructive device, it mainly served as a form of monitoring the Players. A few beeps, a buzz, a vibration against her skin, and then it fell back to a soundless atmosphere.

Smothered in its grasp, her heart plummeted with the realization this could be her end and just as nasty as the obstacles she would soon confront.

A televised event, and time for merriment, Kwang Soo’s elite and nobility were given a first-close look at the splendor and potential of the involuntary Players in what had become known as the Parade – the last sighting of living, breathing men and women on the verge of their demise. Split into different groups on the basis of gender, the chosen would don gowns, suits, jewelry and garb of similar expense and filter out into an arena strictly for viewing pleasure.

Adjusting the wide-brimmed hat, Sandara peered into her reflection, fingers tugging and plucking the black-and-white checkered, form-fitting attire on her body. Whilst her outfit was entirely simplistic, she appeared nonetheless stunning. Her assigned eccentric stylist, quite the burly of a man in drab shades of yellows, blues, and greens, shook out her pale blonde mane of hair and rested portions upon her clavicle.

Slipping on the ankle boots, she willed her heart to cease its thunderous pounding against her ribcage – there was no escape.

Dragging her heels with each inch closer to the stadium, Sandara inhaled and exhaled sporadically, mentally unprepared for what would unfold.

Two short lines, one of the male and the other of female origin, solemnly strode to the heavy-set doors en route to the Parade. Jittery, she had only seen glimpses on the opposite end of the doorway and much had been darkness.

All too soon her trope had reached their turn and the gray doors slid to an open, thunderous applause and cheers swarming the senses.

Tinged with a hint of trepidation and nausea, the blonde cautiously walked to the foray of the linear stage, irises flickering to and fro the crowd of apprehensive and exhilarated citizens. Straight and narrow, rounded only at the far-end, the platform was settled in between two sets of long rows, of which were filled by the warmonger’s favored people.
Trailing the path marked on the smooth surface beneath her feet, as well as desperately drowning the ridiculous roars from her surroundings, she eventually came to a stop and lined with the ones that came before her string.

Ahead of the disgruntled, frightened lowly peasantry was the insufferable sovereign and his keep of aides in a balcony above. Weathered, scarred, and lined with age, Kwang Soo managed to stand with a domineering stoop, hands clutched securely on a cane of white-silver, biding his time till he was expected to present the annual Games.

Slightly breathless in her stupor, she honed in on the mesmerizing and terrifying man, whom she could not even reach out and touch. On a personal basis, she had little to fear, she was one of many in this ploy of his and he did know of her existence.

Chills ran along her exposed flesh, the rush of nerves spurred by the depravity of his soul seemingly emanating from his pores – flooding and stifling the arena.

Slowly unwinding, Sandara sunk into a daze, the gruff, booming voice of Kwang Soo and bloodlust ridden sea of elite more than she could bear. Exhaling softly, she gripped the pulsating side of her head, hopelessly awaiting the end of this stark humiliation.

They were lauding the Players as if they were on a mission for their country, as if they were national heroes, when, in fact, they were joyously sending them to their graves.

She had never felt so sickened by humanity.

Testing their sanity, the council, imbued with the rooming arrangements for Game Day, chose for the members to spend a night parted from their corresponding groups.

It made all the more fun when they were misinformed and disillusioned on the first day of Round One. Presumably burdened with increasing frustration, paranoia and tension could come swiftly and destroy future bonds, and morph into outright, delicious murder.

Unaccustomed to any sort of weapon, slim fingers awkwardly examined the nooks and crannies of the handheld grenade. Unusually so, given her dank and crude sector, it was the sole bomb she had ever touched in roughly three decades of her life.
Bastardly, they had always withheld the best toys in the Parade, inciting the individuals or groups to claw and shred throats for a better substitute; it was possible to earn them from a range of challenges to riddles, depending on the layout of the round. Sandara presently had one in her possession, but her unfamiliarity with the explosive her had assume it was for the best.  

Tracing the inscriptions, she remembered the existence of her group members and wondered how much less she would compare to them. A gentle, kind spirit, she essentially lacked the will to destroy or murder her opponents, however, she had the capacity to effectively disarm and paralyze them.  

She glanced about the room and memorized the gray colors of the spacious entirety, and lonesome vive. Huddling against the wall, she hoped for the best.

Mangled in shape, a wooden stake rested in the dissatisfied vice of her grip. Several inches long, roughly two or three inches in width, and distastefully dulled to a point, the stake would work best as a blunt object than a piercer of flesh.

Ah. How incredibly irritating.

But, she would do well with what she had, at least until she scored a weapon better adapted to her skill-set.

This would not ensure her end.

Chaerin had priorities and goals to meet, there was no room for mistakes or failure.

Minji wedged the dagger in between the flimsy tiles of her bland chamber, baffled by the insinuation she would have to carve it into another human being yearning to live and needlessly hounding his enemies to come home – all in all they would be the same on that field with the exact purpose of survival and she would have to strike first.

They were beasts disguised in the skin of man, weren’t they?

And she would have to become one to return to the pathetic halls of her hometown.

Distraught of what would come, of what her family would witness, of what she could become, Minji flung the blade at the opposite wall and curled beside the bed’s headboard. These brutish acts clashed with the principles instilled from her household and enabled from her conscience.

Prepped to scream, she clamped down on her black bob to refrain her display of frailty.

You can get through this.

Coldly, certainly expressionless, Bom smoothly danced the silver dart along her fingers. A packet rested in the folds of her lap.

Honestly, she had lucked out, the tools child’s play for her coordination and abilities. Long distance ranged weapons were her specialty and she naturally had a knack for precision with all those hunting games. While a crowed of enemies would be difficult to annihilate with the measly projectiles, she could confidently efface their numbers or bring them to their knees. They were no bow, but they would suffice for now.

Curiously, she wondered how her family was coping with the situation, especially the right-minded Go Eun.

You are going to try and come back, aren’t you?

Mute as the silence filtered her room, she stared at the door, tossing and toying with the dart.

Dangling her limbs over the edge of the bed-sheets, Sandara retrieved the photograph she had clumsily knocked from her grasp. Tomorrow would unveil her group-mates and determine how she would fare throughout the three rounds, if at all.  

Kissing the faded picture for luck, she exhaled, “Maybe it won't be so bad.”

Unnecessarily stirred from slumber by the clamoring upon her door as she was ripped from the comfort of her bed, Chaerin was suited in a one piece the shade of coal- long-sleeved and compressed to her hips. It stooped below her collar and flushed her skin.
Sliver-plated, a name-tag rested above the curve of her , the title of her group: 2NE1. Rejuvenated, she was crammed into a clear tube, her instinctive reaction to swallow the rising bile in .

Thirty-seconds on the counter began, the approach of ten shooting her upward into the tremendous dome, but a sheening, blinding white light obscured her sight of the terrain.

Five.

An announcement came from the commanding operating center of the First Round.

Four.

Something about the groups.

Three.

Twenty in total: A-JAX, B2ST, BTOB, C-Clown, EXO, Infinite, NU’EST, SHINee, Super Junior, TVXQ!, 2NE1, 4Minute, After School, Brown Eyed Girls, Girls’ Generation, Kara, Miss A, Nine Muses, Rainbow, and Wonder Girls.

Two.

Only ten complete units would be admitted to the succeeding round.

One.

Eyelids snapped open.

A wail resonated throughout the enclosed facility.

The Games had begun. 

Word Count: 2357

A/N: So sorry! I was catching up on sleep. Hope you enjoy! And the action shall commence in the next update. ;D

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