Chapter 1: The Stare Down

He stared straight ahead and over my head at my instructor behind me. I stared at his chest, covered in black cloth. He held his rapier in his left hand with the point almost at the floor. The plain brushed steel didn’t reflect any light. He wore a black-handled, black leather-holstered gun on his right hip and a matching black crossbow stock poked above his right shoulder. A young man, my age, but head and shoulders taller, with more muscle, he had a bandage across his nose and two black eyes. His dark-skinned forehead reflected the lone light above us.

“You fight until you are incapacitated,” the judge said from my right. She said it for the TV audience, because we knew the rules. Tall with a large, round pot belly, she leaned backward to balance her girth, with old-style turtle-shell wire-rimmed glass and a bushy, white-streaked mustache. A lady who didn’t care anymore, or cared so much that she dared someone to say anything about her appearance. Her white dress’s hem swished at her ankles in the slight air current. More symbolic, but as a red-heart, white-star, and gold-bar decorated war veteran, I bowed to her, while Rob sneered at her.

“As this is a final exam, you will not be penalized for killing your opponent,” the stern woman rested an e-pad on her belly. My instructor stood behind me, whose name I didn’t know. He had officially worked with me for the past week to prepare for this final fight. A tall, nervous man, he hadn’t introduced himself, nor given me any instruction, which I understood, as he didn’t want any association with me. I lost all my previous contests, and as my eighth instructor in as many weeks, all of whom had also given up on me, I didn’t expect any different. They didn’t know I had lost on purpose. Those fights didn’t matter. Only this one mattered. I knew all my competitors’ strengths and weaknesses, but they didn’t know mine. My sister had snuck a peek at the administration’s dossier on me: exceptional strength, but I rely too much on my healing ability, aggressive to a fault, and I take too many risks. They predicted a loss. They rated me a one out of ten.

My opponent had a five rating, a toss-up to win against a normal opponent, but expected to beat me. His uncle, a minor analyst within the government, must have pulled some strings to arrange this fight. Rob didn’t scare me, and I had trouble not showing my excitement and confidence. I needed to stay in character, a hothead with more brawn than brain, or he might, might, change tactics, not likely, but not worth the risk.

Everyone had to go through this at some point. With our country at war, and mandatory military service, and enhanced humans as our greatest resource against a technologically superior nation, our military couldn’t afford weak soldiers. Better to have them identified early, when they didn’t have other soldiers’ lives on the line.

Rob’s instructor stood behind him and whispered in his ear. Rob grinned, a I don’t need to hear this because she has no chance type of grin, one that I wanted to wipe off his face, but also rejoiced inside because it meant all my preparation might pay off.

“The fight will begin in three minutes,” the judge said, turned, and waddled out of the ready room. My instructor left at the same time. Finally, his foul breath no longer tickled my ear and turned my stomach. Rob’s instructor stayed and whispered in Rob’s ear. Rob had speed, a flash as we called them after the old comic book character, a level six. But while he moved fast, he didn’t think fast. He will likely rush to a high place or a long hall to shoot me before he closes and finishes me with his rapier. He will use the gun to slow me down, the crossbow to incapacitate or pin me to the wall, then a couple of quick passes with the rapier to cut me to pieces. He had won six out of his ten practice matches, but four of his wins came from one dead, what we call a healer, whom he killed, and three hulks, a nickname for extreme strength, that he easily beat. Most, like Rob, only had one enhancement, but I had four, two physical, dead and hulk, but also two mental, photographic memory and empathy, although the administration only knows about my two physical enhancements.