Chapter 35: Codename: Blackheart Chapter Thirty-Five

Sensory deprivation has been used as a torture technique for thousands of years. Most people require not only human interactions but the stimulation of their senses in order to function. Prolonged sensory deprivation has been known to lead to hallucinations, psychosis and in extreme cases, death. Temporary exposure is enough to cause disorientation, which is the whole point of us being put in these cells.

I’m currently sitting in a 10x10 cell, painted red with a red light and just a simple cot, also red. Another psychological tactic. Scientific studies show red stimulates the adrenal gland and neurons. While the colour is commonly associated with love and considered an invigorating colour, prolonged or extreme exposure to it has been known to cause stress, frustration, and provoke anger. It’s also known to stimulate the heartbeat and breathing. So, locking us in solitary confinement in a soundproof room doused in a colour designed to trigger stress and anger, is all part of their plan to fuck with us six ways from Sunday.

You see, for our psychotic overlords and audience, it’s not fun if we are at our best for each challenge. No, they want us to suffer. They want to see us broken and struggling. Only then is it truly riveting when they see us come out victorious. This line of work showed me long ago that there is little humanity left in this world, and this stupid Tournament brings out the sick and depraved. If I wasn’t forced to be here, I wouldn’t touch this shit show with a ten-foot pole.

To keep myself calm and centred, I lay on my stomach and bury my face in my arms, blocking out the colour of the room. I focus on my breathing and replay everything I learned during my recon on various contracts. This time, I’m replaying everything I have learned since I took Grigoras’s contract, that way I can hit the ground running when this is all over. Mostly, I’m just trying to stay grounded to stay sane.

The concept of time doesn’t exist in here. Have I been in here five minutes or five hours? No way of knowing. But I know it’s time for me to be taken back to the arena when I hear the deadbolts of the cell door snap open. I sit up and let my eyes adjust to the light as a man in a mask opens the door and gestures for me to step out. I get up and walk out of the room, squinting as my eyes struggle to adjust to the fluorescent lights.

In silence, the masked man guides me through empty concrete hallways. The closer we get to the arena, the louder the sound of cheering becomes. He places me in front of a door and touches his earpiece just as I hear Hexton’s voice boom around the arena, introducing me. The masked man opens the door and I step out, once again blinded by those fucking strobe lights. I make my way to the centre of the arena where a table has been laid out. A black cloth covers objects lying on the table, and a blindfold hangs from a fishing wire right next to my head.

I look towards the platform where Hexton stands with his microphone, and I just wish I could run over and shove it down his throat. Maybe one day.

“Blackheart, welcome to your Round One challenge. For the first round each competitor has been given something different, but all along the same vein,” he says cryptically. “You have thirty seconds to assemble the gun pieces that lay under the cloth while blindfolded and then hit your target. Only a perfect bullseye will suffice,” he says seriously, as the crowd moans ominously. Give me a fucking break. “The timer will begin the moment you put on the blindfold; do you understand?” I nod affirmatively. “Then let the challenge begin!”

I take the blindfold and tie it around my eyes while it is still attached to the fishing wire, instantly plunging myself into darkness. I feel for the cloth and pull it back. Though this is a little tricky with my hands covered, it’s not impossible. I feel around and feel bullets and five gun pieces. I’m unsure what gun it is until I feel the shape of the pieces, specifically the pin and a shit-eating grin comes across my face – that fortunately no one can see. It’s a Ruger Mark III. A gun that can be a massive pain in the ass to fieldstrip and assemble if you’re not familiar with it, but if you are, it can be done in seconds.

~FLASHBACK FIFTEEN YEARS AGO~

“Dad, do I have to do this?” I groan as I spin in my dad’s office chair. Guns are so boring. I don’t know what Dad or Grandma like about them so much. Load, point, and shoot; what a snooze fest.

Dad walks over and squats down in front of me, bringing the chair to a stop, “Alina, you understand how dangerous our lives are, and if this is a life you want, then you need to know these things,” he says, tucking my hair behind my ear.

“But why do I need to know about so many guns? You tend to use the same gun all the time,” I point out.

“I have a preference, but I know how to use any gun I need to. Sweetheart, something may happen when you may need to disarm someone, and if you don’t know how to use their weapon or any weapon around you, that can be the difference between life and death,” he says gravely.

“Has that happened to you?” I ask.

“Yes, but I trained, so I always knew how to use the weapons around me. Alina, this is also important for the day you enter The Tournament,” he says, his face becoming concerned.

Mum and Dad compete in The Tournament every year. They don’t tell me much, just that it’s a fight to the death. Every year when they come back, they’re so badly injured. Last year, Dad lost a finger, but luckily they were able to reattach it. I used to cry when they’d leave because I was scared they wouldn’t come back, but every year they came back to me. I know no matter what, they’ll always come home to me. I want to come home to them too. So if this is stuff I need to know so I can stay with my family, then I can do it.

I stand up, “So, what do I need to know?” I ask as I tie my hair up.

Dad stands up and smiles, placing a kiss on my forehead, “That’s my Little Warrior. Now, this is the Ruger Mark III. Considered very hard to fieldstrip and assemble among gun enthusiasts, but as soon as you know the trick, it’s easier than changing the sheets.”

“I hate changing the sheets,” I say, wrinkling my nose.

“Me too,” he smiles, “Now watch. What do we always do first when fieldstripping?” he asks.

“Make sure the gun isn’t loaded and there’s nothing in the chamber,” I say.

“Correct.” Dad quickly checks the magazine, and then the chamber; all is clear. “Now first, pull the trigger and release the mag,” he says as he shows me what to do and then places the magazine on the table. “There’s a lever on the back of the grip, you want to pull it down and out like this,” he instructs as I watch his actions closely, “Put your thumb at the base of the grip, wrap your hand around the pin and give it a good pull.” He does this and the pin pulls straight out. “Next, we pull the bolt out.” He does so and places it on the table. “Now hold the gun like this,” he says as he wraps his hand around the muzzle, places his thumb around the trigger guard, and holds the grip in his other hand. He gives it a good pull and the muzzle comes apart, leaving five pieces laid out on the table.

“Now we put it back together?” I ask.

“Now I show you the trick to putting it back together quickly,” he grins. I grin back up at him. I may not love guns as much as he does, but I sure do love getting to spend time with my dad. The guns are worth it.

~END OF FLASHBACK~