A Future Torn: Chapter 4: The Pit
19 Apr 2016LordPsymon
Previous chapterA Future Torn: Chapter 4 - The Pit
A year had passed since the attack on Spirit of Nortes. I’ve laboured away, loading cargo, working machinery in less than humane conditions, been beaten and berated and I have had a few too many close encounters with pirates. More than a normal person would encounter in a lifetime. Supposedly I was one of the very few slaves here to survive more than two or three trips to that icy moon. I was puzzled as to why they didn’t just send fully armed convoys with fighter escort to deal with the problem. The managers had grown weary of my ability to run into pirate infested territory and return in more or less one piece. It turned out that they loved to place bets on the chances of a slave returning from the trip, and had lost a fair bit of money on me. It wasn’t known if these slaves were killed or captured and forced to work for their new masters.
Some of the less productive slaves were thrown into what was known as The Pit where they were forced to fight to the death like gladiators while onlookers placed bets. The difference between the slaves here and gladiators is that gladiators got trained to fight in the arenas. Slaves did not. Slaves, managers and guards alike spectated enthusiastically. The reward for victory was not dying. If you were lucky, you wouldn’t have to fight again. The consequences for refusing when selected were brutal and worse than death. The only time I witnessed one of these brawls was when Luke had been selected to fight in The Pit. Him and I became friends not long after I had arrived. I went to make sure he didn’t end up being killed. The fight didn’t last long as his opponent had already received a severe beating before being thrown in. They wanted an unfair fight. Their way of getting rid of a slave they see as useless without having to do it themselves.
Luke left The Pit in shock. He was normally calm and collected but he had a look of self-loathing in his eyes as sweat dripped down his face. I walked with him back to the recreation area and we sat in silence for at least half an hour.
---Slave Recreation Area---
“I’ve never killed anyone before Simon,” he wept. “That man was harmless.”
“There was nothing to be done. It was either you or him.”
“It should have been me! I should have been the one to die in there! These fucking animals threw us in there knowing he had no chance. I’m no fucking better than they are at this point.”
“Given the state he was in, I think you put him out of his misery. I don’t know if he could have recovered from many of the injuries the guards inflicted,” I tried to reason with him.
“You’re probably right, but that doesn’t make this any fucking better. They buy all these slaves for their sick games. They don’t need us for labour. That’s just a cover. These are twisted people.”
“We’ll find a way out of here Luke. They may be sick, but they’re not the smartest.”
“You sure about that? It’s been over a year and we’re still grinding away like animals.”
We sat in silence for another hour.
“You, imp boy! You’re going in The Pit!” A guard yelled. “Some of us have high hopes. I put a lot of money on you winning so don’t fuck this up.”
Luke jumped up and leaped at the guard, “you touch him and I swear to God-”
Luke was hit with a taser and he dropped to the ground. I was grabbed violently by my arm and taken to The Pit.
---The Pit---
Hundreds of guards and slaves circled, cheering and booing. The floor still had blood stains from previous brawls. The one time guards and slaves actually got along was when watching a fight. Another man with thinning hair and a piercing gaze entered the arena. He was fairly built for a slave, perhaps purchased from a prison colony to work here. Judging by freshly bandaged injuries, he had fought and won in The Pit very recently.
Well, it’s either me or him, I thought to myself as we held eye contact. My heart was racing but I paced cautiously, waiting for him to make the first move. He took a lunge at me, throwing his boulder like fist toward my stomach. I quickly stepped sideways, avoiding the blow to which I attempted to counter attack with my elbow. I hit him on his shoulder blade and he staggered slightly, almost brushing off the blow as if it was nothing.
“Come on, kid. I ain’t even breaking a sweat!”
Before I could turn around I felt his foot hit me hard on the back and I fell to the ground hard. I picked myself up slowly, slightly disoriented. I could tell this guy was toying with me, wanting to drag this out rather than finish me off quickly. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to beat this guy. A member of the crowd threw a broken broom handle into the arena. The man picked it up and snapped it in half leaving two sharp ends. He lunged at me again, catching me on my rib, leaving a decent gash. Working up my strength I swung at his face. Once, twice, three times, missing every time. I finally took a swing at his stomach, winding him and sending him staggering back, gasping for air.
A metal pipe was thrown into the ring by another onlooker, barely missing my head. I stumbled over and picked up the pipe. The man attempted to slash me again with the broken broom handle. I parried his attack with the pipe and took a swing at his head. He toppled over forward, then rolled onto his back clutching his head as blood trickled down his face. I stood over him and looked down, with my left hand covering my wound and the pipe in my right. Though I felt a surge of regret, I felt powerful.
“I don’t want to do this,” I coughed, “but better you than me.”
I slammed the pipe down on his head three times. There was a loud crack and a spray of blood. I fell to my knees and dropped the pipe, in shock from what I had just done. A group of onlookers ran into the ring and carried me away to the medical bay.