Chapter 34: Codename: Blackheart Chapter Thirty-Four
Just as I finish my lunch and place the tray on the bedside table, there’s a knock at the door. I open it to find a box placed on the ground in front of my door. There’s no note or instructions. I guess they think I’m seasoned enough to not need it. I take the box inside, place it on the bed and open it to find a full lycra spandex bodysuit with my codename printed on the back. The traditional uniform of The Tournament. Every competitor is required to wear these. We are completely covered from head to toe, concealing our identities from spectators. The only part of us that is visible are our eyes, and that’s only so we can see what we’re doing.
I strip down to my bra and panties, tie my hair up in a bun and slip into the bodysuit. Once I have it pulled over my head, I reach behind me and zip myself in. I’ve considered investing in one of these for some of my jobs, but I hate the way my head is covered, and I wouldn’t mind a pair of shoes. If you’re not used to it, the bodysuit can be rather suffocating, which is another reason why they have everyone wear these. These outfits aren’t just practical, they’re psychological. Throughout The Tournament, it’s not just our skills and bodies that are tested, but our mental state too. So, causing us stress, whether sensory or otherwise, is all part of the game. I’ve gotten used to it, but some crack incredibly fast.
I look at myself in the mirror and resist the urge to laugh. I look like I’m about to dodge laser beams while breaking into a secure facility. My ass looks great though, which is a plus. Soon, there’s another knock at my door. I walk over and answer it to find a man in a pristine suit with a blindfold in his hand.
“Miss Blackheart, it’s time for the opening ceremony,” he informs me.
I turn around and patiently allow him to place the blindfold over my eyes. With my vision now completely obscured, the man turns me around and takes me by the elbow, guiding me down hallways and corridors that I don’t even bother trying to memorise. People have tried, but you can guess what happened to them. We stop when I feel us step into an elevator and after what feels like a long journey, we get off and he again proceeds to guide me to our destination. As we approach, I can sense other people around and hear the sound of pacing and whispering. When we come to a stop, he removes the blindfold from around my eyes.
“Please wait here for further instructions,” he says and then walks off.
Most of the competitors are here, all of us dressed identically so it’s hard to ascertain who is who. We appear to be in what looks like a dark underground parking lot made of nothing but cement floors and walls, just minus the cars. The only way in or out is the elevator, which I’m sure none of us can open. There’s a large platform in the middle of this cement tomb with our codenames placed in specific places across it, indicating where we’ll be required to stand.
I walk over and lean against a wall, folding my arms over my chest and observing my competition. Some people are pacing anxiously and muttering to themselves, which is incredibly annoying. Some are quietly talking amongst each other, possibly even strategizing, or trying to form some kind of alliance – like that will help. Some are meditating and some are even praying, which I find laughable.
Let’s just assume there’s a God. Do you really think such a being would ever offer any of us salvation? I mean, the rule is ‘thou shalt not kill’ and we have killed many and we’re far from repentant. If there is a God, he or she is more likely to ensure our suffering and death in this place as retribution for our sinful lives. For those who are praying, I can assure you, they won’t survive this. The only way to survive this is to fight with everything you have, and whatever you don’t have you better find a way to manufacture. This Tournament tests your will and resilience. How far are you willing to go and what are you willing to do to survive?
“Competitors, please take your places on the platform. Face forward. And stay completely still,” a feminine yet robotic voice commands.
We each make our way to the platform, stand on our name markers, and stay as still as possible. There’s nothing but silence until suddenly the ceiling begins to open and the platform begins to rise. Slowly, we are lifted into a large arena as bright, blinding lights obscure our vision, the sound of a screaming crowd more than clear to my ears. Tens of thousands of people all around us, cheer, and holler for the twenty-three killers assembled before them. Would be twenty-five but two of them got scrubbed out early.
The lights change and I can finally take in the familiar scene of a place from my nightmares. There are large jumbotrons around the arena all depicting a live feed of us standing at the centre of the arena. I look towards one end where Hexton, as usual, is standing on a grand podium in full Master of Ceremonies mode.
“Ladies and gentlemen, are you ready to meet our competitors?!” Hexton shouts excitedly, once again getting the crowd amped up. You have to admit, he’s good at his job.
One by one, he introduces the competitors to the crowd and as he does, the jumbotron zooms in on that competitor along with their stats beside them. Instead of pictures for each competitor, there is a symbol that is a reflection of our codenames, used to signify each competitor. The stats list our codename, kill method, height, weight, estimated kill count and how many years we’ve competed in The Tournament. While they don’t have accurate kill count numbers, the estimation is often in the ballpark. How they know that is alarming, to say the least.
“And last but certainly not least, put your hands together for the woman many of you have come to see, our three-time reigning champion, the remarkable and sinister BLACKHEART!” Hexton shouts, making the crowd go wild. I step forward and give the crowd a wave, stepping into the role of excited champion. Thank god they can’t see my face; I can sneer and grimace to my heart’s content and no one is the wiser. Small mercies.
As the spotlights move around illuminating the crowd, I pay close attention to the VIP boxes that are set up around the perimeter of the arena. The boxes are for former competitors or those who pay the most. They get to be right up close to all the blood and gore, watching on through state-of-the-art bulletproof glass windows. I doubt even a tank could break through. I look around and see one box in particular that makes my heart thump in my chest. Inside, I can see my mum, Dad, Grandpa, Uncle Marcel, and Aunt Vivienne. Each one of them is dressed to the nines and looking on with vacant expressions as they clap along with the crowd. Most years, Mum and Dad get separate boxes to ensure no one knows they’re married, but sometimes they manage to get a box together.
As happy as I am to see my family and as badly as I wish I could run over and hug them, I’m also extremely shocked due to the one addition I wasn’t expecting. Alec is also with them. I have no idea how they managed to score him an invite, or what it cost to not only get him in but allow him to share their VIP box. Why the fuck did they bring him here? I can’t even go over and ask or scold them, and now I feel thrown. I can’t believe they did this! I have spent the last two days clearing my mind of all thoughts involving Alec and this Grigoras mess so that I can focus on what I have to do here and now, and they go and bring a giant distraction arena-side. I am so kicking their asses if I survive this.
“Now it’s time for the rules,” Hexton announces as the crowd settles down. “There are four exciting rounds. During each round, our competitors will have to complete a certain task or challenge that has been designed either for that round or for that competitor specifically,” he says with a diabolical smile. “Each challenge will come with a set time frame. Failure to complete the task correctly or within the time allotted will be met with a permanent disqualification. Attempts to cheat or circumvent The Tournament in any way will also be met with disqualification.” Why doesn’t he just say death? Break the rules and we kill you.
Before Hexton can get another word out, one of the competitors steps forward, frantically unzipping the back of her bodysuit, and pulling her headpiece off to reveal her face to a shocked crowd. She’s new to The Tournament and goes by the codename Azrael; named after the Angel of Death, because that is exactly what she is. She prefers to give people painless deaths, allowing them to just go peacefully in their sleep. I feel perhaps Hexton invited her this year just to shake things up. The fact she gives people such painless deaths indicates an amount of compassion many of us don’t possess, which doesn’t make her suited for this type of thing at all.
“What is wrong with all of you?!” she screams as panicked tears fill her eyes, “They’re going to kill us! Don’t you understand?!” She runs to the other edge of the platform, becoming more hysterical with every second, the rest of us remain still and silent. While we’re watching and listening intently to her obvious breakdown, no one gets involved. As I said, not everyone can handle this and if it’s not the games that kill you, it’s the mental tactics. “I just want to go home,” she says, looking up at Hexton with tears streaming down her face. “PLEASE JUST LET ME GO HOME!” she screams, screeching at such a level you’d think she was turning into a banshee.
Hexton looks down at her with an impassive expression, but the noticeable tick in his jaw isn’t a good sign. Hexton flicks his finger ever so slightly and not even a second later, we watch Azrael’s head explode, splattering the competitors closest to her in blood, skull fragments and brain matter. The arena fills with gasps of shock. Azrael’s body stands still for just a moment, with a large part of her head missing from her body before it drops to the floor with a thud. It twitches a few times as the last few nerves in her body have yet to realise their host is dead. I glance down at my feet to see one of her molars motionless in front of me.
As I stare at the tooth, all I can think is that it would still be nestled in her gums, where it belongs, if she had just kept her cool. She didn’t even last a fucking day. She didn’t even make it to the first round. All she had to do was keep her shit together and she couldn’t even do that.
Some people kill because they have no strength or control in their day-to-day lives, so they find it by preying on others. Then there are those who kill because they are strong and in control. Clearly, Azrael was the former.
I’m suddenly aware of the crowd cheering with enthusiasm as masked men come and place Azrael’s body on a stretcher and cart her off, leaving some of her insides coating the platform. Some competitors are still trying to wipe the pieces of her off them, while others like myself don’t even move. Is it disgusting and disturbing? Absolutely. Are those of us with brains about to react and show any sign of weakness? Hell, fucking, no.
“It seems we have quickly gone from twenty-five competitors down to twenty-two, and the games haven’t even begun,” Hexton chuckles, “Some people just can’t seem to follow the rules. But that is what makes The Tournament so exciting! You never know what might happen,” he cheers, once again ramping up the crowd. “Our competitors will be taken away to prepare for the first round which will begin shortly. So, strap yourselves in and let The Tournament begin!” he shouts, as sparklers go off around the arena as the crowd screams and applauds. Sick fucks.
In a single file, we all exit the arena, and I give one final glance to the VIP box hosting my family and Alec. My family’s faces are calm and collected, but Alec looks like he’s going to be sick. I bet money he throws up at some point. As I step off the platform, I pass what remains of Azrael, hoping at no point that becomes me. I’m still owed my revenge and I’m not dying until it’s exacted.