 
DEFIANCE

HANNAH HANSON

Copyright © 2014 Hannah Hanson

Published by Hannah Hanson at Smashwords

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this work, in whole or in part, in any form.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, organisations and products depicted herein are either a product of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously.

To the reader who yearns for yet another book but has ran out of money

In the wake of their fears, they had not realised they were creating a monster, a vengeful creature that would pursue their destruction.

# CHAPTER ONE

Clouds slowly gathered in the sky, their dark grey lining more prominent against the glaring orange of the setting sun. The raindrops started as whispering air hovering just above the masses of old houses. Then, without warning, the unmistakeable streak of a lightning bolt ripped through the sky, followed immediately by the crash of thunder. Amelia stood by the dirty, cracked window, staring intently as the group of neighbours in the muddy street quickly dispersed to their homes to seek shelter from the rain. Unlike the Central City, Area Eleven, formerly known as North London, was uncared for.

There were no clear pathways nor was the government concerned about placing restrictions to ensure the safety of its people. This was the norm in most countries. After the Great War, anarchy and chaos governed the world until the elite, the rich, and those with enough brutality and hunger rose and joined forces. In London, the government elite were less brutal, but Amelia found them no better than those who ruled elsewhere in the world.

Amelia inhaled deeply; a gush of foul air raced into her lungs, causing her to choke. She quickly grabbed her throat as she steadied herself. Four men, the cause of her distress, marched in her direction. She had seen them before. She had felt their unnerving presence. They walked resolutely through the rain, their navy blue suits perfectly ironed against their bodies, their hair combed back neatly. They had those same vacant eyes Amelia had seen so often on the faces of government workers. Her heart fluttered like the battering of wild wings as the men walked like robots, their gaze fixed on Amelia's front door.

"Dad!" Amelia screamed. She turned to run but her legs gave way and she tripped over her own feet in anticipation of what was about to come. She knew very well what it was, and as she stumbled and fell, her thoughts took her to dark places.

"Amelia, what is the matter?" murmured her father's calm voice as he stretched a helping hand towards his daughter. A gentle smile crept over his long, refined face. Amelia wanted the words of warning to flow out of her mouth, but she stammered, and the old mahogany door crashed open with a loud thud that left her heart pulsing in her mouth.

The four men quickly entered with automatic pistols drawn. "Mr Jonathan Raymond, you're under arrest for treason," said one of the men. His dark blonde hair was soaked from the rain and his brown eyes twitched.

"I have done nothing wrong," Mr Raymond said as one of the other men grabbed his arms and proceeded to cuff them behind his back.

"Leave him alone!" Amelia said as she raced towards the man with the blonde hair. She pushed him forcefully and raised a fist, which he grabbed. He stared at her through venomous eyes as he pushed her away. Amelia's mother, Teresa, and her brother, Daniel, had by this point come to see what all the fuss was about. In that moment, Amelia saw weakness in her mother's eyes; they were filled not with defiance, but tears, which trickled down her caramel skin. She held onto Daniel's hand tightly as she muttered soothing words: "Don't cry, Danny. It's alright."

"Mum, help him," Amelia cried. She didn't notice her own stream of tears until she tasted them at the corners of her lips. She wiped away the droplets with her right palm and tried to calm down. Her father had told her many times not to let her emotions engulf her. She grabbed her right hand, which trembled uncontrollably, with her left one and studied the four men carefully: Their features and their names and serial numbers were embroidered on the small patch of fabric above each one's right suit pocket.

"I'll come back soon," Mr Raymond said. His voice was full of certainty, and although Amelia did not believe it, she forced a smile. Her father looked at her through kind blue eyes that seemed to glow against his pale skin.

Teresa walked carefully towards her daughter, placing a firm hand on her shoulder while the four men forcefully dragged Mr Raymond away. Amelia shook her mother off, followed the men at a run, and stood outside in the rain to watch. Her nostrils flared as she wiped away the rain that blurred her vision. She wished the sky would clear and the endless rain would cease as her father was pulled towards an armoured vehicle. A strange feeling stirred within her breast as she gazed upon her father's noble figure: tall and lean with broad shoulders. His brown hair curled softly, and even though she could not see his face, she knew he felt no fear, only remorse at leaving his family behind. But Amelia, to her dismay, was not as shaken by the event as she thought she should be. Her body reacted with such calm it frightened her. The tears that streamed once earlier had dried up and the trembling had ceased. She hoped her father could see how collected she was. He would be proud.

The people gathered outside their houses in crowds and muttered rather loudly among themselves as they observed Amelia with disdain. She knew what they were thinking, but she didn't care. Abruptly, her father stopped walking; he was several feet away from the vehicle when he turned around. "I love you," he shouted as he smiled, his white teeth gleaming against the dark sky.

Teresa and Daniel started to run to him, to embrace him, but the guards were quick to hold them back. Amelia, however, stood transfixed, her feet rooted to the muddy ground, her fists clenched unconsciously. She flashed a forced smile to her father, waved, and walked back into the house. She had seen enough.

As she entered the house, she wiped her muddy feet sloppily on the mat, smiled, and walked towards the small bathroom at the back of the house, next to the small kitchen. Like all the other houses in this Area, their house was single-level; many people simply could not afford more than that. But its small and enclosed rooms made the harsh winters bearable, and for that, she was grateful.

She flinched at the sound of the moving vehicle and waited for the shuffling of her mother and Daniel racing inside. "Your father will be back; just you wait," Teresa said as she held onto her son tightly.

"Don't give him false hope," Amelia said. "Dad won't see daylight ever again." The words flooded out of her mouth before she had a chance to think. She turned to her brother and regretted those sharp words; his expression showed how they pierced his heart like a dagger. Dismay clouded Daniel's shocked eyes, while anger blazed through her mother's tearful ones.

"I'm sorry; I was wrong," Amelia whispered as she walked towards her brother in an attempt to undo what she had already done.

"You're ruining my polished floor with that mud," grunted her mother. Teresa walked past her daughter. Amelia stood there for a long time, staring at nothing, until eventually she headed towards the bathroom near her bedroom. Amelia undressed and rubbed a shaking hand over her mouth as she stepped carefully into the shower. When had her hands started to tremble again? She did not know.

The hot water ran down her spine, causing her to shudder. She knew better than to let its warmth completely engulf her. Hot water was a scarce commodity here. She quickly ran her fingers through her long, dark curls, enjoying the sweet scent of lavender soap. She stepped out of the small bathroom, her warm feet pressing against the cold, worn-out flooring. As she dashed into her bedroom, she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the small mirrors hanging in the corridor. In a certain light, she was breath-taking. Her brown eyes gleamed under her dark, defined eyebrows. Her skin was a warm olive tone and she had a small mole just below her right eye. She hated that mole.

She shook her head and walked away briskly, forgetting the silence in the house. She did not want to think of her father; each time his absence came to her mind, her throat constricted. She felt helpless. The wind was beating against the old latched window as she entered her room. She looked around nervously; the icy-cold room appeared smaller than usual. The smell of damp wood had consumed it. Rays of light weaved through the cracks that had formed over the years. The sky had cleared, but just barely. The oak floorboards creaked with each step she took, and as her heart raced uncontrollably, she could have sworn she felt something—or rather, someone. She swivelled around, hands clenched. Nothing.

She opened one of the drawers and picked a grey long-sleeved shirt to match her black trousers. She wanted something to suit her mood. She sat on her unmade bed and stared out of the window. Tears of agony trickled down her plump cheeks, and she bit her lower lip to stifle a sob. All the emotions she had attempted to suppress came flooding back. She grabbed her pillow and threw it aimlessly across the room. "Why?" she whispered. Her father had not retaliated, nor had he attempted to defend himself. She knew very well he was more than capable of disabling all four men, so why hadn't he? Was her father's submission a sign? What made him so certain they would not execute him? She agonised over endless questions, each one more painful than the other. "Amelia, dinner," shouted her mother. Amelia dragged herself to the dining table, her eyes fixed in an accusing stare as she walked to where her mother stood laying the plates.

"You could have helped," Amelia said.

"Your father was wrong; you're still a child," Teresa said. Her voice had changed; it was suddenly neither menacing nor cold, but subdued. The disappointment in her dark, beady eyes made Amelia shudder.

"I'm not a child; I'm going to turn seventeen in a few months!"

"Eat your dinner." Teresa sat down on the chair. "You'll understand some day."

"Understand what?"

"Just eat your dinner," Teresa said, avoiding Amelia's fierce eyes.

"This is what I hate about you. You give people crumbs then change the subject!" The words hung in the air, full of venom. She didn't intend to sound so callous, but the words had come out without a thought. She did that often. Her mother flinched as though she had been slapped.

"I'm sorry, Mum; I didn't mean it," Amelia said apologetically. Amelia found her mother irritating, but she knew better than to address her in such a manner. If her father had taught her anything, it was to be respectful.

"I don't feel hungry; can I be excused?" Amelia stood up before her mother could respond. Her brother, who had spent the whole time rearranging the peas on his plate, raised his head. "Your problem is you have ears but you don't listen," he whispered, perhaps more to himself than to his sister.

Amelia lurched across the table and grabbed him by the collar, her eyes burning with rage, her hands quivering.

"Careful, the food!" Teresa said.

"I dare you. Hit me," Daniel taunted. She let go of his collar and straightened her shirt. Her anger had consumed her beyond reason. Amelia steadied her trembling right arm and tried to calm herself. She didn't intend to harm her brother, not really. What was she thinking? She looked at her brother and hoped he saw the regret in her eyes.

Teresa could no longer keep the tears at bay; she buried her face in her palms.

"It's okay, Mum; please don't cry," Daniel whispered.

Teresa stared at her son through tearful eyes. Daniel had matured so quickly, he seemed almost unrecognisable to his mother. She forced a feeble smile and wiped the tears away.

# CHAPTER TWO

Piercing rays of sun darted through the window's flimsy cream curtains. Amelia opened her heavy eyes in the silence. Groggy from lack of sleep, she reluctantly dragged her body out of the bed, almost falling to the floor. Instead, she caught herself and flopped back down on the bed, lying crosswise, her arms and head hanging over the edge. She had spent most of the night tormenting herself with the previous day's incident, wondering what would happen to her father. She knew what she had to do. Thinking of her course of action made her feel nauseated, and the muscles at the back of her neck ached. Suddenly, the door was flung open. A barefoot figure walked carefully across the wooden flooring. Unable to lift her head, she stared at the intruder's long, pale feet. Daniel.

"Why are you here?" she mumbled. Her head throbbed.

"You have to find him," Daniel said.

He sat on the floor inches away from her bed. "Find who?" groaned Amelia as she tumbled out of the bed onto the floor. She let out a soft cry; her bones seemed to be threatening to break.

"Dad, who else?"

"How do you know they haven't killed him already?"

"He's more valuable to them alive. They won't kill him, not so soon," Daniel said. He stood up slowly, walked towards the window, pulled the curtain aside, and stared at the crowd. "He was part of a revolutionary movement over fifteen years ago. They gave society hope until they made a mistake," he said. His voice was so low and soft, she could barely hear him.

Amelia looked at him for a long time. Her brother hadn't simply grown taller; he had matured. She hadn't noticed the change before.

"How do you know this?" Amelia asked.

"I found a small box with papers from his friends and I asked about it. He didn't tell me willingly." Daniel traced his long, bony fingers along the windowsill, and his eyes narrowed as he became pensive. He opened his mouth as though to speak, then closed it. He turned on his heel and stared at his sister, who lay sprawled on the floor. He wondered if she had what it would take to avenge his father's capture. She was spontaneous, as evidenced by her fighting when they practised; however, her emotions and anger always got the better of her. Daniel was sixteen months younger than his sister, but he acted more mature. He was selfless at the worst of times and compassionate at the best of times. He would be the one to stay behind, to look after his mother if his sister did not return.

"What was the mistake?" Amelia blurted out. It took a while for Daniel to understand her question.

"He wanted to be normal, and with that, came the consequence of existing outside the shadows. They were seen in the light, as nothing more than mortals," Daniel whispered. The words fell out of his mouth but sounded foreign, as though he had memorised and practised the sentence without understanding it. Daniel was more of a bookworm than his sister, and had he been born in a different era, in different circumstances, he could have made a life for himself as a writer.

"So how come it took so long for them to be found?"

"They faked their deaths..." He paused, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and turned to face Amelia. The glint of tears swelled in his eyes. She'd never seen her brother cry except as the result of an injury. She contemplated comforting him, but the tears were enough embarrassment for him. "Dad wanted to live a normal life. He didn't want to fake his own death... He did it for us, so we could have a normal life."

"Normal, eh?" she said as she rolled her eyes.

"This is as normal as it will ever get for us."

"Where do I go?"

"Area Seven. There is a man known as The Hawk."

"And how do you suggest I find this Hawk?" Amelia asked. She straightened herself and rested her back against the wooden bedframe. Her back ached for reasons unknown to her.

"He's known in the fighting community. Dad would kill me for sending you—if he were here—so come back alive." With that, he stood and started to towards the door, but Amelia grabbed his ankle and looked up at him with eyes full of fear and confusion.

"Wait. I'm not ready for this," Amelia said. She had initially thought her brother was joking, toying with her, but the grave look on his face told her otherwise. She wasn't ready. She wanted her father back just as much as Daniel, but she was afraid of failing. The thought of failing was more painful than the thought of death. She couldn't be the one to let her family down.

"If you can't go, then stay." His words stung. Pain soon followed, and her trembling hands were cold at the fingertips. Her heart throbbed and her tender shoulders tensed. She buried her face in her quivering hands, confused.

"I guess you haven't realised it, but we are being watched and followed. Make sure no one follows you," Daniel whispered. Amelia had sensed it before, but her brother's words confirmed her suspicions. Suddenly, she shuffled in her spot on the floor, her eyes darting nervously.

Daniel hurried out of the door before she had a chance to say anything.

For hours, she lay in the same spot, blank and fearful. The idea of failing consumed her, tormented her. She didn't realise until her mother walked in that she was quivering and her limbs had become fixed in one position. "Let's have some food," Teresa said. Her voice was soft, and although Amelia couldn't see her face, she knew her mother had that same expression, full of compassion and sadness.

"I'm not hungry."

"You're going to wither away. Please," Teresa insisted. Amelia pressed her hands on the floor and used the weight in her arms to leverage herself to standing. Her body ached. She was coming down with something. Her mother stepped towards her. She felt strong hands grasp her under the arms. "Porridge, lots of it," Teresa said through gleaming teeth. Her jet-black hair was brushed back and tied into a bun. The bun was once neat, but now, after her restlessness, strands of hair hung loosely around her face. Her lips were prominent against her high cheekbones and her thin, dark eyebrows framed her small, dark eyes. Against the streaks of light she looked delicate and beautiful, as though she had been carved with great precision. Unlike her mother's, Amelia's features—though beautiful and subtle—were masked by the unruly brown curls that always hung loosely on her shoulders.

Teresa helped her daughter to the bathroom, Amelia's weight pressing painfully against her shoulder. When had her daughter become so heavy? Teresa didn't flinch as she carried Amelia, even though the pain was becoming excruciating. Teresa persevered through gritted teeth and deep breathing. Amelia grabbed the bathroom door handle and dragged herself in. She collapsed on the toilet seat, fully clothed, and prayed the pain would cease. Every couple of years she would find herself suddenly crippled by flu-like symptoms, and for days she would wish death upon herself in an attempt to run away from it. Though the treatment for her illness was not expensive in the grand scheme of things, she knew money was scarce. The tears suddenly swelled in her eyes and stung as she bit her thin bottom lip.

She let out a small groan. Life couldn't possibly get any worse. She stretched a shaking hand into the air, as though admiring its frailness. It quivered in the air. She drooped back against the toilet seat and let the tears flow carelessly.

"Amelia, are you alright?" asked Teresa, her soft voice cracking through Amelia's drifting thoughts. The girl raised her head and glanced around the empty bathroom.

"Coming."

Amelia sat at the wooden dining table as she ate the hot porridge her mother had prepared. They couldn't afford anything more sumptuous.

"You look terrible," Daniel said. He hadn't noticed earlier when he had gone into her room, but now her unruly hair was not the only thing out of place. Her skin was pale and dark circles were visible around her hazel eyes. Her cracked thin lips curled down. Daniel's face was sad and full of brotherly concern and remorse as he said, "I'm sorry for being short with you earlier."

Amelia gulped the food, the warm porridge giving her a false boost of energy. She glanced up for a moment and smiled at her brother. He had a rectangular face with a defined, sturdy jawline. His small grey eyes were spaced evenly and sat below brown eyebrows. His thin lips remained closed as he stared back at her smile. He reminded her so much of her father; simply looking at him made the tears swell in her eyes. She quickly glanced away and focused on her bowl.

The three of them sat in silence, eating their breakfast with concentration. Daniel was the first to stand up, his tall, slender body towering over his mother's petite frame. He placed a steady hand on her shoulder and then walked towards the small kitchen adjacent to the dining room to wash his bowl. The porcelain sink had become worn out from excessive scrubbing; his mother found great delight in scrubbing everything to the bone. He turned around to say something to her about it to make her smile, but the words refused to come out. Shamefully, he turned his back to her and continued to wash.

# CHAPTER THREE

Teresa spent the last few coins she had on her daughter's treatment. The physician had diagnosed Amelia with a viral infection, and Teresa then collected the medication from the only chemist nearby. As she gave the money away, she found herself clutching at the coins frightfully. She was not ready to part with them. She had asked the chemist if there was anything less costly she could get to treat her daughter, but the sad look on the young man's face left her heart empty.

She grabbed the small brown bag with the capsules and swiftly walked away, forgetting to thank the young man for his help.

A cluster of dark clouds formed in the sky, obscuring the sun. Teresa's lips were crisp with dryness and the skin around her eyes was thin, showing signs of fatigue. In the fading sunlight, she looked frail and ill. She clenched her fist tighter around the brown bag with the antiviral medication. Her heart throbbed painfully against her chest; her breathing had become laboured.

Abruptly, she stopped on the dismantled pavement, as though she had seen something wicked. Her eyes darted back and forth anxiously and the skin between her eyebrows creased softly. She was certain she had seen him, but she couldn't believe it. She quickened her pace, holding the bag near her chest. As she walked purposely across the muddy, unkempt street, she recalled her mother's stories of a time when this place was a safe haven for many.

After the Third World War in 2023, almost one-third of the population died. The world had gone into anarchy. Food and electricity were scarce and looting became the norm. She recalled herself as a young girl, merely fifteen, darting through a shop and grabbing a loaf of bread without paying for it. Twenty-five years later, Teresa was still paralysed by the guilt. The world had become a cruel place for those who were unfortunate enough to be born into poor families. Education and prosperity were privileges left only for the elite and their kin.

Of course, the government held elections every three years. They branded and televised it in order to show their pathway to democracy. Teresa loathed that term. The Internet was heavily censored and the media was clever to ensure information made available to the public would keep them in their place. Every so often, when people tried to revolt against the oppression, a young man or woman from a poor background from the four Areas would rise to be "someone," and silence would consume the streets again, every man, woman, and child suddenly filled with hope.

Teresa had hoped her children would have a better future, a future in which humanity rewarded justice and hard work with prosperity instead of showering the greedy with more money.

"Oh, sorry, Mrs Raymond," said a small girl as she collided with Teresa. Teresa stared at the girl. She was no more than twelve years of age. The girl smiled, revealing small, spaced-out, stained teeth, her blonde hair blowing against the wind. Teresa didn't think she knew this girl, and the way she smiled was strange; it seemed as though the girl intended to hit her. Teresa smiled and placed a gentle hand on the girl's small shoulder and walked past her.

The encounter unsettled her. This was the second time today she had felt uneasy. Teresa stopped abruptly. How did the girl know who she was? She looked behind to ask her, but she was gone. Shaken, Teresa walked as fast as her legs could carry her, amongst the crowd and through narrow, dirty alleyways towards home.

Area Eleven, once known as North London, was a ghetto just like the other four Areas. The streets were littered with rubbish, faecal matter, urine, and vomit. The air was putrid to inhale, and yet the people had become accustomed to it. Those who worked for the government avoided coming to these Areas, and when they did, they ensured they did their job "cleansing" the Areas of all criminals in a mere day.

Sometime thereafter, Teresa arrived home, barely conscious of herself. She gave the antiviral medication to her daughter and sat on the old fabric sofa near the window. For hours she sat there, staring at nothing, until it was time for bed.

***

The beginning of nightfall presented itself with bursts of red and orange splatters in the sky. The temperatures had dropped; nothing remarkable, but enough to get the hair at the back of Amelia's neck to stand up. She edged towards the window and closed it tightly, ensuring no air could weave its way into the room through the small cracks. She sat on her bed for the last time, her vacant eyes searching the room. It had only just dawned on her how much she would miss this place. Once more, the tears threatened to come flooding, but she tilted her head back and inhaled loudly in an attempt to stop them.

It had now been three days since her father had been taken, and with each day, she found the sadness morphing into rage, directed at everyone and everything. She had fought with her mother and brother and said words that brought a rush of blood to her cheeks as she remembered them. She was remorseful, but she knew if she apologised now, it would seem vain; instead, she spent her days and nights in her room, plotting.

She glanced at the window, where the gentle wind howled and the darkness was difficult to pierce. She grabbed her black rucksack, full of essential clothing and dried food for the journey. Adrenaline poured through her pulsating veins, and she felt the irregular thump of a headache threatening to start. She placed a firm finger on her temple and steadied her thoughts. She would find The Hawk, and when she did, he would lead her to her father.

She stood slowly, tossed the bag over her shoulder, and headed towards the wooden door. She scanned a fleeting eye across her room, sighed, and walked out. As she closed the door, her brother appeared. He stood silently.

"If you don't come back in ten days, send a message..." His voice trailed off, as though something had caught his eye. He glanced over his shoulder. When he saw nothing there, he began to open his mouth. Amelia raised her hand. She understood. Abruptly, he threw himself at her and embraced her, his long arms engulfing her in his warmth. Daniel wasn't usually one for hugging. A small smile crept onto her face as she hugged him back, her head resting on his left shoulder. "Please don't make me find you," he whispered in her ear. She felt the trickle of his salty tears on her neck and stood in his embrace for what felt like an eternity. She pulled back and brushed her clothes, although there was nothing on them. She straightened her posture and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll bring Dad back," she assured him with a smile too broad to be genuine. Daniel nodded, his head bobbing up and down. Then she noticed her mother in the distance, her eyes transfixed in melancholy on her daughter. Guilt paralysed Amelia. She stretched a hand out and smiled at her mother, who proceeded to walk in her direction; her swollen face and the hint of pink in her nose told Amelia she had been crying.

"You're still ill."

"I'll be fine, Mum."

"I love you. You know that, don't you?" Teresa asked, smiling weakly.

Amelia tasted salt before she realised she was crying herself. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to say those horrible words."

Teresa let out a small laugh, startling both her children. "You're just like my brother: a complete idiot." The three stared at each other and burst into laughter. Amelia felt her shoulders drop, and her mother's embrace cocooned her. After several moments of silence, Teresa awkwardly pushed herself back, straightened her clothing, and then sighed loudly.

"I don't want you to go." The words trickled out of Teresa's lips before she knew what she was saying.

"I know, Mum, but I have to; I'll be back before you know it," Amelia said, smiling bravely. She tossed the bag over her shoulder and walked resolutely to the door. She knew not to look back; otherwise she would change her mind. Her fear would consume her. So she did what she had to do. She opened the door and briskly walked outside.

She raised her head and looked at the sky. Glowing orange and red hues painted the sky as the last rays of sunlight brushed over the canvas of white clouds. It appeared as though the day was coming to a peaceful rest, fading beautifully, and yet, without the warmth from the sun's rays, Amelia's skin grew cold. The damp, chilly air was consuming the warmth the sun had left behind. The rising sliver of moon, eagerly awaiting the departure of the sun, provided a dim light but no warmth. She pulled the sleeves of her black coat over her hands, more from force of habit than against the cold seeping through her clothes. As she crossed the street, the warmth of her home lingered behind her, beckoning for her return. Her mother shouted goodbye, but Amelia dared not look back; she raised her hand in the air and waved as she walked away.

As she walked, and the darkness sucked away what was left of the daylight, it dawned on her that she had no means to get to Area Seven. She had lied to her brother and mother when she said she had some money saved. She stopped abruptly, contemplating whether it was too late to turn back. She glanced behind her, her heart thumping against her chest. The front door was closed, along with the window of opportunity. She held onto the strap of her bag and quickened her pace. She wouldn't think of the warmth she'd left behind; the emptiness, coldness, and dangers of the night were now her home.

She walked aimlessly for what seemed like a lifetime. She had a vague idea where Area Seven was, and since buses and trains were beyond her budget, walking was her only option. Her legs tingled and her breathing became heavy, her body begging for water. She stopped near a dismantled porch where a beautiful house had once stood. She hung the bag on the gate door, which barely stood on one hinge, and rummaged through the bag for a bottle of water. She sipped enough to moisten her mouth. The cold water trickled down the back of her throat and the sweetness that followed was too tempting, and so the sips turned into gulps. She pulled the bottle away from her mouth forcefully. Glancing at the now half-empty bottle, a pinch of annoyance flooded her veins. She forced the bottle back into the bag, this time placing it at the bottom so she would not be tempted again.

The darkness left the air empty. Streetlamps had stopped working many years ago, so Area Eleven was plagued by darkness when the last sunrays disappeared. Amelia felt the cold on the back of her neck send an electrical pulse; she quivered for a moment then relaxed. In that moment, she felt something, almost like a presence. She knew it was most likely imaginary, her childish thoughts playing tricks on her as they often did at night. And yet there it was. The smell of a warm-blooded being seemed to be present, lingering, watching. Her heart leapt suddenly when she stepped on something. The crunchy sound echoed in the deafening silence. She squinted and found a plastic bag scrunched together in a ball. Her heart rate quickened as she grabbed her rucksack tightly and started to run. She was being watched; she was certain of it.

The dismantled pavements became a blur as the surge of adrenaline urged her body on, bringing with it warmth and sweat. The steady thump of her footsteps echoed in her ears, and as her heart rate increased further, she felt safe, knowing her feet would carry her for a great distance. Sometimes, she was grateful for the poverty and hardship in which she had been raised. No, she was not merely grateful; she had come to understand that this would be a weapon.

# CHAPTER FOUR

For hours, walking and running sucked the energy out of her. Inevitably, her body came to a crisis point, incapable of pushing itself further. Amelia cursed under her breath as she gasped for air. She had convinced herself that even with the long nights autumn brought, she could walk till daylight. But as she stared at her watch and the darkness in the sky, the specks of hope evaporated.

The sound of crunching leaves and a swerving car caught her attention. A man got out of the car.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing here at this time of night?"

She turned and looked at the man who stood before her. In the darkness, his features were nothing more than a sketch. She felt uneasy. He took several steps towards Amelia while she stood still, paralysed, curious to see who roamed the night with her. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and as he came nearer, the moon provided enough light to see his face.

He had dark circles under his eyes and his once full, round cheeks were sunken. His lips were dry and his left hand twitched. His pale skin glistened in the moonlight and his face bore no distinct lines to reveal his age. His features were profoundly alluring; the effect was indescribable and yet familiar. His auburn hair was ruffled and short, falling just below his earlobes; as he took a final step, the moonlight revealed a scar on his right cheek that looked out of place.

"I like to go for a walk at night," Amelia said. Her voice sounded forced and unnatural. He had caught the lie; she was certain of it from the way his right eyebrow arched.

"Perhaps I can give you a lift to where you're going," smiled the man, revealing crooked and yellow teeth. "Walking is better, thank you," Amelia said forcefully as she turned on her heels. The man reached out with his hand and grabbed her above the elbow. His grip was tight and painful. Amelia stopped. She turned to face him and dropped her hands by her sides, as if in defeat. The man retracted his hand and pursed his thin pink lips. "I didn't..."

Amelia punched his nose with a clenched fist, and then elbowed his chest. The man heaved and gagged. He hurled a careless punch against her face and the tip of his knuckles collided with her lips. Amelia took a step back; the surge of adrenaline from the hit made her heart pound. She leaned forward, grabbed his collar, pulled his hair back, and then threw him on the ground before ramming her foot against his left ribcage. The man choked and screamed in agony, and the trickle of crimson blood from his nose made her remember her father's words: You should fight to disable, not to kill.

She looked at the man, who had curled into a foetal position, and she ran into the distance before he had a chance to regain his balance.

"I'll find you!" he screamed after her. His eyes gleamed with rage as he spat blood on the ground.

Amelia glanced back as she continued to run; the man was now nothing but a mere speck in the distance. She had created enough of a gap between them, and for that, a smile crept into her lips. She eased her pace and slowed to a casual stroll, her feet lighter than ever against the ground. The tingling sensation in her lower lip made her come to a sudden halt. Her lips tasted of blood. She ran a gentle finger over the wound to assess the damage. A streak of red blood that seemed more diluted than usual was smudged on the tip of her finger. She stared at it curiously before licking it. The taste of metal engulfed her senses, and as she pressed into the wound with her teeth, the taste got stronger and more bitter. When the wound refused to stop bleeding, she placed pressure on the site and continued to walk aimlessly.

She looked at the sky, almost pleading for bursts of sunlight, but her eyes were met by the dull moon. She sighed and persevered on. The thought of home and a bed flickered through her mind as she passed a row of abandoned houses to her right. She walked up to one of them.

She kicked open the glass door, which was barely hinged, revealing a small landing. The stench of old, dank cloth hovered around the door. With an air of martyrdom, she pulled the carved door handle as it let out a small creak and crept cautiously into the darkness. With every step, the damp smell intensified, and her nostrils flared in distaste. She wrinkled her nose and tried to focus on the darkness rather than the unbearable stench that lingered. She felt uncertain about this, but what choice did she have?

"Is this the house of Mr and Mrs Lisbon?" Amelia asked. Her voice echoed through the hollowness; no one responded. She did not know a Mr and Mrs Lisbon, but hoped if the owners were at home, they would pity her, thinking she was lost. No one replied and the silence stretched.

"If you can hear me, please help," she continued, her voice more steady. She paused for a minute. Silence. She let out a sigh and turned to the right, where the living room was. In the darkness, it was hard to make out, but she could see the outline of what appeared to be a sofa in the back of the room. She walked towards it and collapsed on it. The stench of worn-out leather and damp tickled the back of her throat. Unable to bear the stench, she moved to the cold floor.

She took the grey winter cloak from her bag and used it to cover herself. She placed her right arm under her head and held tightly onto the bag with her left. With the sofa against her back, she felt safe, knowing she had a complete view of the room.

She listened to her own breathing pattern until it grew heavy and thick. Her eyes flickered in slow motion and her body relaxed to welcome the early start of a sleeping daze. Her heavy eyelids drooped over her eyes and the hard, cold floor pressed against her skin as Amelia curled into a more comfortable position. When she failed to drop off, she tried to focus on something that would soothe her to sleep: the abandoned fireplace on the left-hand side of the room near where she lay.

The last thing she saw was the everlasting darkness.

The sun bled various shades of red and orange as it crept over the horizon. The flickers of red spread across the sky, reflecting off the cracked glass window. The coolness of the night breeze had withered away to make room for the early morning warmth that would soon follow. The sound of gentle footsteps awoke Amelia. She leapt up and, through heavy eyes, scanned the room, her feet firm on the floor as she held herself in a squatting position. Nothing. Her heart rate slowed as she melted into the floor again with a sigh. She had slept for several hours on the hard flooring; her body ached. With a cautious eye, she rolled the cloak into her bag and dusted the dirt from her clothing.

She peered around the empty living room and concluded that it looked better in the darkness. Rubbing her dry mouth and tracing her fingertip along her wound, she concluded that it had healed with no blood residue. For that, she was grateful, but she needed water. Hurling the bag over her shoulder and tying her hair into a neat bun, she explored the house.

Amelia walked towards the main entrance and tiptoed into the back of the corridor where she assumed the kitchen would be. Her guess was correct. She opened both taps and waited as trickles of water dribbled. She cupped her hand and collected the droplets, her patience wearing thin. She washed her face with the little water she collected; then the sound of creaking footsteps made her jump out of her skin. She whirled around, her hands up in defence, her body tense as water droplets trickled down her cheeks. A young girl stood by the door.

She had pale skin to match water-hued eyes. Her nose was delicately carved against her round apple cheeks. Her long blonde hair hung loosely against her small frame. She wore a navy blue dress with long sleeves and a gold hem just below her knees. Her skinny legs were covered with black tights. She looked frightfully delicate, and as she took two steps forward, Amelia found herself cringing and backing away. She knew better than to be afraid of this child, who looked no more than twelve. But there was something strange about her.

"I'm lost; will you help me find home?" the girl asked.

"How did you know someone was in this house?"

"Guessed," she replied, smiling, revealing small, spaced-out, stained teeth.

Amelia didn't like her. There was something peculiar, something unsettling about her. Afraid to show her feelings, Amelia forced a smile.

"I can't really help you. I'm trying to find home too."

"Maybe you can look after me?" she beckoned. She stretched out her delicate hand, pulsating with green and blue veins. Amelia felt the sadness in the girl's eyes drown her, suffocate her into submission.

"I'll try my best." The girl ran to her and embraced her, wrapping her small arms around Amelia's waist. Amelia smiled and stroked her soft hair, and although she didn't know where fate was taking her, she couldn't help but feel fearful. She tried to tug the girl away gently but she refused to move, her body glued to Amelia's. She felt a stab of paralysing panic.

"Don't be afraid," the girl whispered. Her voice, though sweet and innocent, sounded forced, and Amelia tried to contain her fear. She slowly tugged away from the girl's tight grip and steadied herself, only to be pulled forcefully by the hand. The girl's hand, frail and soft, had far more power than Amelia could have imagined. Amelia stumbled behind her, dragging her bag with her right hand. The water left on her face was icy.

She watched the girl's small frame bob with sheer adrenaline across the corridor, through the wooden door, and into the bright day. Amelia placed her hand over her face to block the blinding light.

# CHAPTER FIVE

As the sun set and the shadows of the evening crept in, Amelia followed the young girl through back passageways of Area Seven. Although the girl had said she wasn't completely sure where her home was, Amelia did not believe her. All she knew was there was something unsettling about the girl.

The girl was called Elysia, a name Amelia had never heard in all her years.

"Does your name mean anything?"

"Blissfully sweet."

Amelia was becoming accustomed to her near-silent companion. Even though she spoke little, it was comforting to have a traveling partner. It also helped that Elysia had enough money to enable them to take the route ten bus to Area Seven. At one point, Amelia wanted to ask how Elysia had come to have such money in her possession, but in fear of being abandoned, she remained silent, occasionally glancing at Elysia's frail frame out of curiosity.

Amelia glanced around as darkness clouded the sky. She didn't know where she was. The houses looked just like those in Area Eleven: old, withered, and abandoned. The sky was full of stars and a soft, warm breeze rustled the leaves scattered on the ground. Even in the emptiness of the night, the air was heavy with the stench of bodies. Her nostrils flared in disgust. An expression of deepest revulsion flashed across her face for a moment. She heaved at the smell of something dead.

"What is that?"

"Nothing."

Elysia turned to face her. Her pale face seemed to almost glow in the darkness. Did a bilious, spiteful smile wander over her thin, pink lips for a fraction of a second? Amelia was certain of it. Chilled and shivering, more from fear than the cold, she stared at the girl, whose expression loosened. Elysia quickly forced an exaggerated smile and said, "This place always smells like this."

"I thought you said you didn't know where we were going?" Amelia asked. Everything felt saturated with the pungent smell. It was so stuffy. Her breathing had suddenly become uneven. "I can't..." The words came out of her mouth as little more than an indistinct whisper. Just as the smell was there, it was gone. The air suddenly became clear and welcoming. The pressure in her chest that threatened to explode into a piercing pain ceased. Amelia straightened herself. She stared at Elysia. Her eyes were met with the twinkling of innocence.

There was something wrong. Very wrong.

Elysia grabbed her hand and pulled her into a small path. The path was seldom used and overgrown, and the branches thrashed beside them in the wind. "I remember where home is now. You can rest there for a bit."

Amelia shrugged away the last tendrils of fear that gripped her and followed Elysia through the darkness. She dared not look anywhere but straight ahead. In the darkness that surrounded her, she feared even a curious glance would be dangerous.

She screeched loudly as her foot caught on something. Panicked, she leaped forward, racing through the darkness, almost forgetting Elysia. The silence lay so heavily, she could feel it dropping over the night. Then, with no warning at all, they burst from the pathway into a dimly lit street. She felt Elysia's small hand tugging at her coat, her eyes dilated against the unwelcomed light. Amelia felt a cold shiver trickle down her spine, tingling.

"Where is this?"

"You'll become famous," Elysia said as she laughed through her nose, her small body heaving and shaking. Amelia, confused by the sudden change in character, flinched. But by now, Elysia had once again turned into the innocent girl she had first met, the darkness that lurked within only barely visible.

Amelia, once again convinced herself that she was merely a damaged child, nothing more. She stepped into the street and, to her surprise, it was littered with people. It wasn't overcrowded, but certainly nothing like Area Eleven, where everyone hid inside their homes as the last streak of sunlight disappeared from the sky.

"I know you know more than you're telling me, Elysia."

"And what exactly do you think I know?" Her voice was nothing more than a contained whisper.

"For a start, you give me the impression that you're a poor, innocent, and ignorant waif, and yet you articulate well and beyond your age."

"I like reading."

Books, although not banned, were scarce, and those who found comfort in the pages of writing had to go to Internet stores, paying for their daily fix. There had been a time when libraries were scattered across the country, but after the War, society had no use for them.

As Amelia became accustomed to the light, her nerves rose to taunt her once again. It was now clear that the ringing in her ears was a warning as she watched the crowd walk in one direction like zombies. She started to say something, but the words drowned in her fear.

Someone placed a large firm hand over her mouth and dragged her body into the dark pathway. She felt a blow against the side of her head; the piercing pain left her nauseated. Yet it was not shock, but a different feeling, more like dread, that seized her. She did not recall anything else in that moment, except Elysia's exaggerated smile and her tender hand always beckoning her. She forced herself to concentrate on staying conscious, to remain alive, but in the sinking darkness, she found comfort, a delightful peace that her body yearned for.

# CHAPTER SIX

"She should have woken up by now."

"She will. She is stronger than she seems..." Elysia paused, smiling and looking over her shoulder as though greeting someone. "Besides, have I ever let you down?"

Amelia struggled to open her heavy eyelids. The hoarse, strained voice of a man pierced her ears.

"I need her to recover quickly," he snapped, his voice echoing in the room.

Amelia, in her agitated state, was beginning to shiver. She forced herself up from the small, lumpy bed she had been thrown onto. She looked around the room; it was a prison cell with bars. There was nothing but the worn-out bed and a bucket in the cell. In front of her, on the other side of the bars, stood none other than Elysia, her small frame juxtaposed against the tall man who stood beside her. The feeling of boundless loathing Amelia had tried to suppress rose within her. All the questions she had suppressed flared up at once in her consciousness. She stood sharply and walked to the metal bars, pain radiating through her right arm. Turning cold and barely aware of herself, she clutched the metal bars and spat at Elysia.

Elysia's small, consumptive face showed little remorse. She opened her pursed lips; the words hung in the air like thick fog, "She's just perfect, Diablo."

"Perfect for what?" Amelia asked.

Elysia, uninterested in her question, walked out of the room, leaving behind nothing but bitterness and raging anger in Amelia's throat. She wanted to break that thin neck—no, yearned for it. She should have known better than to trust a stranger.

Diablo, who had stood silently during the whole ordeal moved closer towards the bars. He was tall, with sharp features. His dark emerald eyes looked out of place against his pale skin and dark blonde hair. He smiled at her, revealing tobacco-stained teeth. He had a seductive smile, punctuated by a small dimple on his right cheek.

"She tells me you can fight," Diablo said.

"She's a liar," Amelia said through gritted teeth, not so much out of hatred but from the shooting pain that threatened to paralyse her.

"That's too bad. Because if you can't fight, then I have no choice but to kill you..." His voice trailed off as he studied her, seemingly assessing her strength. "I'm sure you can appreciate that in my line of work, discretion is essential."

The information was too much to take in all at once. Amelia, though confused, understood the implications of his words. Bored with his torment, she nodded with a heavy head. "Supposing I can fight, how do I get out of this place you have built for yourself?"

"Empire," he corrected, his eyes narrowing to slits. "You get a percentage of the winnings—if you win, of course. And you can buy yourself out before someone else does. Very simple, really."

Tiny droplets of cold sweat dribbled down her forehead and a peculiar feeling of exhaustion consumed her thoughts until they pounded in her head, endlessly thrashing against her temples. Her eyes glazed over and her thoughts were incomprehensible even to herself.

"When can I start?"

"Oh, you're so keen. I love it!" He laughed and walked away.

"Wait!" cried Amelia, the tears swelling before she had a chance to fight them back. But he had vanished. She collapsed to the hard floor, her hands still gripping the metal bars. All at once, a flood of emotions shook her already overwrought nerves and her anger was replaced by hysterical laughter.

"Can you be quiet, please?" came a voice.

It hadn't occurred to Amelia that there could be others like her, trapped and kept as fighting animals. She heaved herself up and leaned against the metal bars; she looked to the right and left. It looked like someone's basement, not much bigger than that. The room extended beyond her periphery to the right and left. The basement was so large that Amelia could not see all of it.

"Who are you?" she whispered into the empty air, searching for the voice, hope rising within her.

"They call me Ace."

"Who are they?"

"The devil and his deranged daughter." Small laughter twittered in the darkness, dispersing the emptiness and fear that hung over Amelia's shoulder.

"How many of you are there?"

"Eleven, including you," Ace said.

Amelia smiled to herself. "They recruit frequently?" Amelia asked, though she knew the answer before he replied.

"Only when one of us dies or gets sold on."

"I'll break Elysia with her doll-like eyes!" Amelia said.

Another voice rose in the darkness, replacing Ace's—this time, that of a girl. "We've all tried that. She's not the enemy."

As far as Amelia knew, there was truth to the statement. Her heart sank. She slithered back to her bed, lay on her back, and stared at the ceiling. Sometime after that, she drifted off.

She was jolted back to consciousness into the darkness of the dimly lit room by terrible shouting. She found herself becoming flustered, almost frightened. She turned on her right side and gazed into the emptiness. Fear was taking hold of her more and more. Then she heard footsteps coming from the depths of the room.

Diablo had returned, this time with a plate of food in his right hand and a cup in his left. She could have sworn she saw a twinkle in his eyes as he came closer. His blue shirt showed off his lean body whilst the black trousers were too long for his height.

"I bear gifts," he said, smiling.

"I don't need them," Amelia snapped as she looked at him intently and spitefully.

He stared back at her. A minute of silence passed and she saw something like mock indignation in his eyes as he bit his lower lip. Diablo bent over and placed the plate and cup carefully on the ground, his eyes still fixed on hers. She stared at him as he disappeared once more. Tormented by burning thirst and hunger, she discarded her stubbornness and walked towards the food and water. She peered at the plate, at the dried and overcooked potato with green vegetables and cream sauce drizzled on top. It looked enticing. Suddenly, the memory of her mother's cooking came flooding back.

"Eat it," Ace said in a hoarse, strained voice. She reached a quivering hand between the metal bars but quickly flinched back as though burned. She stared at the food longingly. A gush of saliva flooded her mouth and she had to swallow more frequently.

"What if it's poisoned?" Amelia asked.

"You're now as valuable as gold to him. He would not poison you." The certainty in Ace's voice made her heart pound until she felt she might die from the increased pressure in her chest.

Without thinking, she grabbed a piece of potato and quickly gobbled it down, each bite sending squirts of tangy saliva into her mouth. In hunger, anything tasted delicious, she thought to herself. Though it was certainly nothing like her mother's food, it was better than she'd had in a few days. She finished the potato and vegetables and washed them down with the water. Her hunger and thirst satisfied, she lay back down and quickly fell asleep.

In the dark of the night, Amelia was jolted back to consciousness by what sounded like the terrible screaming of a child being tortured. But it was only the screeching of metal on metal as a cell door opened. She peered through the darkness, her eyes incapable of quickly adjusting. For days, she had remained in the cage, and aside from relieving herself in the bucket and being fed, she lay on the bed, plotting the inconceivable.

"Today is the beginning of the Fighting Season," Diablo said. Although she couldn't see his face, she was certain there was a small smile plastered there.

Another man, short, with a grey moustache and sensible eyes, opened the metal doors of her cell and looked attentively at Amelia before moving to the next cage. Almost instantly, Elysia appeared behind him with her innocent doll eyes and pink cheeks. Amelia hurled herself at the girl without much thought. However, she was too slow: Elysia darted to the right with one casual step and Amelia fumbled to the ground. Elysia twisted her lips in pity, and as her pale face shone in the darkness, Amelia caught her expression. This time, it was nothing like that of the child she had accompanied for days. This time, it was like that of an adult trapped in the body of a child. She was almost frightened by the girl's expression.

As though nothing had happened, Amelia dusted herself off and regained her posture. She wouldn't make the same mistake. Next time, she wouldn't miss.

One by one, the prisoners were all escorted up an unstable wooden staircase out of the basement. Amelia glanced over her shoulder and noted only two small windows on both sides of the room. Too small, she thought.

Someone pushed her from behind in an attempt to get her to walk faster. Obediently, she quickened her pace and followed the group. The darkness started to melt and the light that came from the door blinded her. As she drew nearer and the light become more unbearable, she raised her hand to block the glow that seemed to be omnipresent.

Once they reached the landing, they were escorted into what appeared to be a sports court, fenced on all four sides. The place was crowded with people and the smell of alcohol drenched the brightly lit hall. With every step Amelia took, the crowd whispered and murmured amongst themselves, their voices causing her to tremble. Her nervous trembling turned into some sort of fever, and even in the warmth of the place, she began to shiver. She wore a grey jumper on top of her short-sleeved shirt, with black trousers. How she yearned for her coat. The crowd shuffled amongst themselves in anticipation of the new addition to the team. Their eyes gleamed with unrestrained excitement.

"Quiet!" shouted a man. Amelia tried to figure out where the voice was coming from but found no one.

"Tonight is going to be incredible, that much I can guarantee you all—and I'm sure we'll see things we haven't seen before."

He spoke for several minutes, but Amelia drifted off sometime after he started speaking. Fear and confusion clouding her thoughts, she tried to see if she could find Ace amongst the other ten members. All she had was a male voice to go by, which meant four of the team members were eliminated based on sex. A young girl with scruffy ginger curls stood by her right, her small, beady dark eyes fixed on the crowd as she mumbled words under her breath. Amelia nudged her and asked who Ace was. The girl looked back through vacant eyes, then returned to staring at the crowd. Amelia found the girl irritable and inattentive; her eyes flitted from one side to the other, and then she scratched the back of her neck.

Amelia learned later that the girl's name was Vacant, befitting in every sense.

# CHAPTER SEVEN

"Please give a warm welcome to Sue!" Diablo shouted, his voice echoing through the overcrowded arena. Amelia stood beside him, and a young girl with vibrant red hair emerged from the group of fighters.

Diablo slithered past Amelia, whispering, "Crush her."

Sue stood before Amelia, pacing back and forth eagerly. Then, without warning, Sue threw the first punch, her small frame gliding across the floor. Amelia ducked and regained her posture. She stared at her opponent. Her small freckled face twisted as she paced past Amelia. She paused. Then, suddenly, she threw her weight at Amelia's waist. Amelia, too slow, felt the painful jab at her stomach. Both fell to the ground. The hard floor sent a shooting pain to the back of Amelia's skull. Sue regained her posture and hurled herself on top of Amelia. Amelia struggled under her. She couldn't understand how such a lightweight could be giving her such a hard time. At school, she was always the quickest, the strongest. But in this place, she was nothing but a newcomer, and one who was struggling miserably.

The smell of sweat and body odour lingered in the air like a thick fog. Amelia's heart pounded against her chest, causing her throat to constrict. For a moment, she felt as though she would collapse. The room was swarmed with cheering faces. Without thinking, and with the rush of adrenaline seeping through her pores like venom, she abandoned rationality.

In the wake of darkness, she allowed her fears of being defeated to morph into the unimaginable. She grabbed Sue's hair and pulled it back. Sue screamed in agony. Amelia let go of her hair and shuffled backwards.

The two girls stared at each other for a while, both waiting for an opportunity.

Amelia raised her right leg just above her chest. Sue, having seen it, placed her forearm in front of her face. The kick collided with her right forearm. Sue bent over, holding her injured arm, and Amelia grabbed her hair, pulled it backwards, and smashed her elbow against Sue's face. The crowd cheered as Sue staggered. No longer able to keep her posture, she fell to the floor. Amelia slammed her knuckles against her chin. The cheers were so loud; they felt like the air itself.

Amelia shouted as she spun around, swung her body sideways, and ducked. She deflected Sue's blow with her forearm but lost her bearing in the process. Sue threw a punch. Her fist collided with Amelia's nose. Amelia wailed as she pinched the bridge of her nose. Unable to control the pain, she let her legs give way and sank to her knees.

Sue took this window of opportunity and hurled a kick against her chin. The loud crack echoed in Amelia's ear. She cried in agony. The crowd roared whilst Amelia lay curled on the ground.

"If you die here, who will find your father?" she asked herself. With a sudden surge of energy, Amelia jumped up, placed her legs at shoulder width, bent her knees, and waited. This time, she would take the defence. She had to learn the behaviour of her opponent. Watch for patterns. Only then would she be able to fight back. Sue, almost sensing Amelia's goal, paused. She stood tall, but then dropped her arms to her sides and waited. Her forehead was shining with sweat.

The loud booing from the crowd rang in Amelia's head.

Suddenly, Amelia grabbed Sue's right arm, twisted it behind her back, and kicked the backs of her knees. Sue's frail body tumbled to the ground. Amelia grabbed her head and thrashed it against the floor.

"Stop!" someone cried in the distance. Then the person fell silent, as though their voice had failed them. Amelia stood up and glanced at the still body. A man came to Sue's aid and turned her over. Her face was dripping with crimson blood. Amelia, in that moment, was white as a sheet. Suddenly, horror swept her heart. Sue turned her deathly pale face to her; she twisted her lips weakly in an attempt to utter something.

Amelia bent close to the girl.

"They're looking for you," Sue mumbled through a bloody mouth.

Guilt overpowered Amelia and, as she tried to edge closer to find out more, Diablo grabbed her hand and raised it to the crowd, declaring her the victor.

"The stakes have been raised," he shouted to the crowd. The words meant nothing to Amelia as she stared at Sue's broken body being rushed away. She prayed hard for her survival. Her sanity relied on Sue living. She didn't intend to cause her such harm, but somewhere in the middle of the fight, she had lost herself. She had become consumed with rage.

What exactly did Sue mean by, they're looking for you? Who were they?

The crowd chanted, "Angel!" as they shook the barbed wire fences of the arena. She feared they would break through and kill her until she realised they were cheering her.

"Does the winner want to say anything to the crowd?" Diablo whispered in her ear. His breath was hot and the stench of alcohol was nauseating. She shook her head and slipped behind him, and he took her out of the arena.

The other team members stared at the ground as she walked past. Was it shame they felt on her behalf? What had she done? The questions that floated in her thoughts had no answers and she continued to torment herself as she sat on the bench, watching the others fighting like animals.

Her heart rate slowed to normal, and the warmth she had felt during the fight was replaced by a chill that seeped through her veins. She glanced around to see why it was so cold. Sometime during the fight, she had removed her jumper, and the black t-shirt she wore was not enough to keep her warm. She wrapped her arms around herself and sprawled on the wooden bench, facing the arena.

Ace was fighting next. He had broad shoulders and was of muscular build. He had a rectangular face with a sharply defined and sturdy jawline. His dark, soft ebony skin glistened under the radiance of the arena's light. His small brown eyes sat below thick unruly eyebrows. His thick lips remained closed as he stared into the crowd. His jet-black hair was tied neatly with a thin leather strap to reveal a wide forehead.

His fight was short and swift. It seemed as though he was playing with his opponent. He darted back and forth and dodged each punch and kick as though it were merely a game. He was too smooth. A pinch of jealously soared through Amelia's veins. Abruptly, as Ace was looking at the crowd, gloating through evenly spaced white teeth, his opponent's kick collided with his face. Ace tumbled backwards and fell to the ground. The sound of a crack pierced through the crowd's roar. His opponent suddenly had the upper hand. He punched repeatedly at Ace's face whilst Ace lay motionless beneath him. The crowd gasped, then came to a sudden silence. Ace's opponent was thin and of lanky physique, and with every punch, Ace merely twitched.

Then Ace grabbed his opponent's shoulders and pushed him back with such force that he stumbled back several feet. Ace swiftly stood up, raced towards the other boy, and let his large bare feet crush against his chest. The sound of cracking ribs and the piercing cry sent shivers down Amelia's spine. Ace then did something remarkable. He grabbed the young man with one arm and held him up. He stared at the crowd and raised his right arm to the crowd. The crowd screeched with unbearable excitement as the young man heaved and coughed.

Ace had shown mercy, something Amelia was incapable of doing. Her heart raced and the pounding rang in her ears.

In the chaos and chanting, Amelia drifted. She had proved herself to be a brutal asset. However, as she sat on the bench, bile lingered in her throat. Had she lost a part of her soul in an attempt to survive? Would there ever be salvation for her crimes? As she tormented herself with these thoughts, she almost failed to notice the crowd hastening out of the arena. The games had come to an end.

It seemed like minutes, but from the numbness radiating down her spine as she stood up, she knew no less than several hours had passed. She glanced over the crowd one last time. Men, women, and children rushed past her. Something uncomfortable about their very presence sent a chill down her spine, yet she could not say for certain what alarmed her.

Among the crowd, someone stood out. It appeared to be a man, but she couldn't be too certain. The hood on his black cloak covered his head and most of his face except his lips, which seemed to curl into a smirk. Just as quickly as she had seen him, he vanished into the crowd. Someone pushed her forward and her gaze was pulled away. Reluctantly, she walked through a small corridor that led to the staircase.

"What time is it?"

"We have no use for time," Ace said, his voice hoarse and heavy. Was it guilt he felt?

Amelia darted through the other team members and walked beside him. The smell of sweat and blood made her nostrils flare and she wondered if she smelled just as bad.

"Why didn't you finish the fight?" Amelia asked quietly, her voice barely audible even to her.

Ace watched her through glazed eyes. His dark eyes were captivating. They drowned her in darkness and she had to hold back a shiver. He opened his mouth for a moment, and then closed it, shaking his head. He walked faster, as though avoiding her. Amelia, annoyed by his response, quickened her pace.

"Why?"

"Why did you feel the need to smash Sue's head even after you had won?"

Amelia paused. Why did the words feel so painful? "I didn't know I had won," she replied.

"Then how did you know I didn't finish my fight?"

Amelia didn't like him. She had convinced herself that his bark was more dangerous than his bite, but his cold words made her think otherwise.

"Everyone has their style. I don't like to cripple another," Ace continued.

As much as he was right, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. Had her father been there at that very moment, she would have seen shame in his eyes.

"How long have you been a fighter?" she asked.

"A year, maybe two."

"Why haven't you tried to escape?"

Her question caught him off guard. He looked at her, confusion twinkling in his eyes. He smiled and continued walking. He had a kind smile. She wondered if he was always like this. Before she had a chance to catch up with him, someone placed a firm hand on her shoulder. Startled, she turned around.

"He likes to be quiet after a fight." A tall girl of broad build who went by the name of Rose stared back at her. Her grey eyes were framed by short blonde hair. She wore a black long- sleeved shirt and trousers. Amelia nodded and slowed her pace, her eyes still fixed on Ace.

"You can't escape this place," Rose uttered.

"There must be a way," Amelia said.

A young man with a defined, muscular jawline raised his head; his brown eyes glowed with hope. He had heard the conversation and beamed too broadly for his small mouth. Nervously, Amelia glanced around to see if anyone else had heard. Everyone seemed too far away or distracted to notice. She sighed loudly and let a small whimper of frustration escape her lips. Rose and the boy—whose name Amelia did not know—laughed at Amelia's agitation. Diablo glanced around. His eyes paused on Amelia, and then he turned around.

She looked at Rose and contemplated whether she would make a good friend. Friends were a liability in Area Eleven. She liked the idea of having a companion who was not a threat, for a change. In that moment of insanity she had forgotten her circumstances. She had drifted from her goals so quickly that the thought frightened her.

They descended the staircase silently as she thought of her father. A small cry escaped her lips as she thought of him, and she quickly placed a palm over her mouth to stifle the sound.

"Angel, come to the front."

It took a moment for Amelia to realise Diablo was referring to her. She darted through the group and stood by the landing.

"My name is Amelia," she hissed through gritted teeth.

"Angel is your new name."

# CHAPTER EIGHT

Amelia lay on the hard bed and stared into the darkness her eyes had become accustomed to. She had turned and twisted for hours. She had thought of a hundred ways she could escape. Yet with every idea that popped into her head, the magnitude of the escape agitated her. What had become of her mother and brother? Was her father even alive? She stared into the emptiness and fidgeted, longing for the end of the night. She yearned for someone to talk to in the hope of finding answers she could not find on her own.

Suddenly, she heard two distinct treads walking carefully down the stairs. They echoed in the silence. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes as though afraid their eyes could pierce the darkness and they would notice she was awake.

"You have to get rid of her. She's a liability who doesn't know her own strength," said a man whose voice she did not recognise.

"Since when is the death of an opponent anything but a part of the game?" The question betrayed Diablo's intense annoyance.

"This isn't about death. Sue is alive and better than ever, but the issue here is that this one is unpredictable, without self-control, and that's never a good sign."

"Word has spread of new and fresh blood. She's a rough diamond, that's all."

Amelia was aware they were referring to her, but her thoughts drifted as she heard the good news about Sue. The guilt that had haunted her for three days disappeared as though it had never been there.

"Mark my words, Diablo: She will be the fall of your empire," snorted the other man.

She continued to listen but heard nothing after that. Sometime after, Amelia drifted off. She curled into a foetal position and slept peacefully that night.

***

The morning was so damp and misty, day succeeded in breaking only with great difficulty. And as the day dawned, Amelia twisted in her bed, a gentle breeze suddenly floating into the stuffy basement.

The sudden ruffling sound of the padlock awoke Amelia, to her dismay.

"Training day."

She opened her eyes to find Elysia standing before her. Her smile, in spite of its sweetness, was a little too thin. A tinge of colour suddenly suffused her pale face and as she held the door open for Amelia, her eyes gleamed with excitement. Amelia looked at her this time without the stain of anger clouding her vision. She truly was a remarkably pretty girl—her hair too vibrant and her eyes too big for her face—her small ashen ankles dancing against the velvet dress she wore.

"Where are we going?"

"To practice in the arena, Angel," Elysia said, without taking the trouble to conceal the irony of her tone. She walked swiftly past Amelia with the door ajar. Amelia wanted to feel remorse for this child, if she could call her that, but every time she tried, it was too difficult. She had always been slow to forgive, a trait abhorrent to her father. He had tried so hard to make her forgive as a child, and had failed too many times to count.

One by one, each of the members walked out of his or her cell until only Amelia was left. She still sat on the hard bed, her eyes barely open.

"Hurry up!" Elysia shouted.

They followed her through the twists and turns of corridors, barely taking note of their wanderings. Amelia dragged herself behind the group as they made their way to the shower cubicles. She had already assessed these cubicles and their small windows, trying to find an escape route. But they were too small, even for her petite frame.

Elysia spun around on her small feet and shot a terrible glance of wrath at Amelia before she slithered past. The heavy musk of her scent hovered in the air after she had gone, making Amelia's salivary glands squirt with bitterness and her nostrils flare. This was a new smell.

Everyone had exactly five minutes to shower and get dressed.

Amelia, clean but still partially asleep, followed the crowd once more. Her eyes barely focused on where she was going until she stumbled against Rose, who always seemed to be lingering in the back of the group.

"Sorry."

"It's okay. Did you sleep well?"

"Just about. You?"

"Like a baby," Rose giggled.

"Do you ever think one day you'll get out of here?"

"Every day," Rose said, her thin lips pressed into a smile.

"Then why haven't you escaped?"

Rose paused for a moment, as though the question never crossed her mind. She traced a tender finger over her lower lip and frowned. "Not possible."

"You can buy your way out," Amelia said. She grew suddenly animated as she spoke.

Rose placed a steady hand on her shoulder and stared at Amelia, almost extinguishing her hope. "If it were that easy, Ace would not be here."

Amelia simply didn't understand. She became annoyed; her shoulders tensed and her lips curled into an impudent smile. "I'll find a way," she muttered under her breath. Rose pretended not to hear. "Once you have no hope, there is nothing else to cling to."

"Aren't you the smart one," Rose laughed.

"You watch," Amelia said confidently.

Eventually, they reached the arena. The windows were all open, so a gush of air and rays of sunlight weaved in. It looked and felt bigger than Amelia remembered. She stood, her eyes transfixed on the ground. Suddenly, exclamations of horror arose on all sides. Amelia started and looked toward the direction of the cry. A teenage boy, who must have been no older than fifteen, lay sprawled on the ground. His leg was gushing out spurts of blood like a fountain. Amelia rushed to his side and placed pressure on the wound. He stared at her with vacant eyes as his lips trembled.

"What happened?" she asked.

His red nose and blotchy face made her shiver. He beckoned for her to come closer and whispered, "Watch out."

Before she could ask what he meant, a small blade raced by her right ear. She grabbed her ear and felt the warm rush of blood. Abruptly, she stood up and turned around. Diablo held several small knives in his left hand and proceeded to throw them at her in calculated rhythm.

Amelia darted, dodging each one in line with his rhythm. It was too easy. Ace grabbed her from behind and elbowed her left side, causing her to drop to the ground. She coughed and choked as her head spun. A painful headache clouded her vision and her body felt numb. The niggling pain of a headache was turning into an unbearable migraine. "Stand up," said Diablo as he grabbed her hair. In the wake of the pain, she stumbled to the ground, her senses no longer co-operating with her body. She didn't want to die, not like this. She placed her palms firmly on the ground, inhaled and exhaled loudly, and steadied her fears. She had to survive. She jumped up, too quickly for her sore body, but she ignored the shooting pain.

She clenched her hands into fists and held them close to her chin. If she was to die, then at the very least, she would give them a good fight.

"Okay everyone, gather around!" Diablo shouted.

Amelia, convinced it was part of the ploy to get her guard down, remained vigilant in her defensive stance.

"You too, Angel."

Amelia glanced around fearfully. In the back of the arena, two men, Elysia, and another woman sat on a bench, staring at her. She hadn't noticed them before.

She walked towards the rest of the group. All this was tiring her quickly. Then, like a flood of rain, she remembered the boy. She glanced back, but there was no one there. Had she imagined him? There was no blood where he had been, and as she glanced at her hands, there was no blood on them either.

She was becoming delirious, her fear and confusion increasing by the second. Her body quivered uncontrollably, and her fingertips became icy cold.

"I want you all to pair up. Whoever wins from each team fights the other winners, and so forth."

Amelia didn't want to fight. She wanted, or rather needed answers in order to steady her nerves. She quickly darted through the crowd and grabbed Rose's hand. Rose smiled at her with such delicacy that Amelia almost forgot her urgency for answers. She wondered how such a nice person could end up in such a tragic place. What did it matter in the end?

"You're excited," Rose said.

"What have they done to me?" blurted Amelia, her voice shaking as she spoke. As she pursed her lips, fear flickered in her eyes. Her irregular heartbeat pounded against her chest as she squeezed Rose's forearm.

Rose flinched and took a step back, her eyes growing wide with fear. "Did you eat or drink something earlier?" asked Rose.

"Yes, water. It was left by my cell."

Rose merely shrugged as she said, "They spiked it with hallucinogens."

"Who?"

"Maybe Diablo, or Elysia. They pick at random who gets the hallucinogens."

Amelia grabbed her chest and collapsed to the ground. As she lay on the ground, paralysed, her eyelids too heavy to keep open, she felt compelled to seek Diablo, to ask for help. She reached her hand in the air and mustered enough energy to open her mouth before collapsing again. She lay sprawled on the ground, thin and weak.

"Please," she cried.

No one came to her rescue. The rest of the group, including Rose, merely stood there staring, as though fascinated by her distorted body. Amelia saw the hint of remorse in Rose's eyes, and Amelia couldn't contain the tears that trickled down her cold face. When had it become so cold? Would her mother and brother ever know she had died?

Diablo appeared before her and said something, or perhaps she dreamt it in that moment of insanity. With the last ounce of energy she had, she licked her dry lower lip and clenched her cold hands. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. To her surprise, it was calm and controlled. She heard the chaotic mutters in the distance and felt someone dragging her body.

A serene smile crept onto her face as her life withered away. Darkness plunged into her soul as they dragged her body across the hard floor. The scraping of her skin was unbearable, but she couldn't scream in agony. Had she known death would be so painful, she would have fought harder to stay alive. Her last breath was wasted on regret. Beyond that, she had wished there were someone, anyone who could cradle her from the cold ground, for it had become too unbearable to endure. But no one came to comfort her.

"I told you it would be too much."

"I thought she could take it."

"I don't pay you to think!"

"Sorry."

"I don't know where idiots like you crawl out of!" Diablo said as he stared down at Amelia's lifeless body.

# CHAPTER NINE

A gush of air rushed into Amelia's lungs. She inhaled loudly, her back arching against the force of it. She grabbed Elysia's frail hand, her eyes wide and pleading.

"You're alive," Elysia whispered.

Diablo spoke, "I'm glad you're alive, my Angel. I was starting to get worried. You cannot begin to imagine the amount of money I spent on you the last two days." Diablo sat down beside Amelia, the flimsy bed barely able to cope with the added weight.

Amelia opened her mouth to say something, but Diablo placed a gentle finger on her dry lips. "You need to save all your energy." He stood up and looked at Elysia. He seemed distracted.

"I need a favour," Amelia said in a strained voice through the pain. Her body ached and the sharp pain hammering against the side of her ribs was too painful to bear.

"You're in pain. Elysia, get her some morphine."

Amelia raised a protesting hand. Since the War, opioids had been legalised and were sold with few restrictions. The government elite were content with the masses becoming addicted and emotionally void for a large portion of their lives. It made no difference to their comfortable lives.

Elysia's forceful hand tried to open her Amelia's mouth to cram a capsule down her throat. Amelia struggled, bit at her tender fingertips, and stared intently at her. Elysia recoiled. Her small eyes glazed with disbelief. Amelia had no intention of taking the opioid and she was ready as ever for a fight. Fortunately, Elysia did not attempt to force the morphine down her throat again.

"She enjoys the pain," Elysia said with a venomous gaze. She stood still for a few minutes, staring at Amelia for reasons the young woman couldn't fathom.

Diablo sat beside her again and waved Elysia away. The room was still and silent. Amelia felt cold uncertainty pinch at her stomach. Suddenly, she gave a start as a desperate thought raced through her mind.

"I want you to send a letter to my mother about my death," Amelia said. Her gaze was steady and her lips curled at the corners of her mouth. Although she was pale, her eyes burned with excitement. Though Amelia doubted her brother would search for her, she remembered his last words, Don't make me find you, and wanted to be certain he would not. After all, who would search for a dead girl?

"That is lying, and I don't encourage such despicable behaviour," Diablo said, smiling feebly.

Amelia snorted through the pain and said, "Suddenly you're an honourable man?"

Diablo pressed his lips together and fought to still his rage. He pressed his hand firmly on the bed and struggled to rise. She hadn't notice earlier, but now it became clear to her: He was injured, but she couldn't figure out where. He walked forcefully to the small glass window on her right.

"Why would I do that?" he said gloomily.

"It is not a lie. Amelia is dead, while Angel has been born. If you do this, then I'm resigned to be here forever." Amelia paused, as though what she was about to say would be painful to endure. She used her right elbow to push herself up and sat upright against the old rusty metal frame. It was cold against her warm back. "Who will look for a dead girl?"

Diablo smiled and stared at her. She shivered. There was something sinister about the twinkle in his eyes.

"So be it." He walked to the wooden door.

As he closed the door behind him, Amelia slipped back under the covers, the warmth of the blanket too delightful to resist.

She slept unusually long without dreaming. Diablo and Elysia came to visit her several times during the day, more from fear that she might escape than anything else. Amelia stirred from her sleep when a cold finger pressed against her cheek.

She opened her eyes to find Elysia close. She jolted and recoiled. Elysia looked hurt and quickly disappeared from the room. Amelia woke up irritable and angry and looked with hatred around the room.

It was small; the white paint and minimal furnishings gave the illusion that there was more space. To her right was a small mahogany bedside cabinet that looked worn out. There was a rocking chair parallel to the bed. Aside from those sparse furnishings, the room was bare.

There was a small piece of paper on the chair with the word Deal written on it. A small smile crept onto her face. Diablo had agreed to send a message to Amelia's family to inform them of her "death." It was the only way to keep her mother and brother safe.

Amelia swung her legs off the bed and struggled to her feet. The wooden flooring felt unbearably cold against her bare feet. She held onto the cabinet for support and stood in that same position for what seemed like a lifetime.

Suddenly the door swung open and Diablo stood in the doorway, looking at her, smiling. For a man who did such despicable things, he was always smiling, and that scared her the most.

"Good, you're ready for a fight." He beamed.

"No, I'm not. I'm in a lot of pain and need rest."

"I offered pain relief. You have less than an hour before the audience comes to watch a spectacular game. I hope by then you're ready."

Diablo closed the door. Amelia sunk back into the bed. She had no choice but to fight.

She sat on the bed, daydreaming for several minutes, before Elysia came and offered the painkillers one last time. Amelia was smart enough not to refuse this time. Then she followed Elysia back to the basement to gather all the other team members.

As she walked down the creaking staircase, she saw Ace by the landing. Why was Ace allowed out of his cell unattended?

"How did you get out of your cell?"

"It isn't a cell," he said, his face as expressionless as ever.

Amelia stood beside him, glaring at him, while he remained distant. What was going through his mind? Unable to restrain herself, she blurted out, "Doesn't it bother you?"

"You ask a great deal of questions that will never satisfy you."

"How do you know I won't be satisfied?"

"You've been here for some time now and yet you ask the same questions in a hundred different ways. Doesn't that bore you?"

Amelia was uncertain. What could she say? She pressed her lips together tightly.

"I see people like you all the time. Fighters with natural talent that many here would gladly sell their soul for, but you..." he trailed off. He seemed distracted.

"Don't stop now," Amelia hissed.

"You're a waste."

Amelia clenched her fist and punched him on the nose. His head jolted backward as he lost his bearings. After he regained his posture, he touched his nose and looked at his blood-soaked fingertips, then merely stared at her. There was no malice in his eyes.

"If what I say is a lie, then why does it bother you?" With that he walked away and climbed the stairs.

Did he truly mean what he said? Why was he so spiteful? Amelia tormented and taunted herself with these questions all the way to the arena.

She was not fully conscious of her surroundings when she entered the arena, but the loud cheers of the crowd brought her to her senses. She raised her eyes and stared for a long time at the crowd, their cheers and chants echoing in her ears, until she felt the nibbling sensation of a headache surfacing.

She wondered if she would be forced to fight even in such a state.

"I hate this place," she muttered to herself.

Rose, who appeared almost out of nowhere, placed a firm hand on her shoulder and asked, "How was your holiday?"

"What holiday?" Amelia said, a smile creeping onto her face.

"Don't be so modest! Anyways, a lot has happened since you've been snoozing in the sterile room."

"Why is it called the sterile room?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Amelia nodded her head, even though she didn't understand. Afraid of looking stupid, she shrugged off the question.

"What happened?"

"Apparently, Diablo has to sell off one of us to the King."

"Who is the King?"

"No one knows. He never comes himself. He always sends a different person seemingly unrelated to him."

Amelia paused at this new revelation. None of this made any sense to her. Why was this King interested in one of them? Why now? And who would he pick?

For hours she remained seated on the bench, looking at the people fighting but not really watching. Sometime after walking in she had managed to drown out their voices, or perhaps her own thoughts were too loud to hear the crowd. In any case, it made no difference to her. She'd had enough of it all.

Eventually, an announcement caught her attention. It was Sue in the middle of the arena, waving to the crowd, her small frame more delicate than ever. Although Amelia was happy she was alive, she was reminded of the blood and what Sue had said.

She hadn't thought too much about it since that day, but now, the thoughts came rushing down in a torrent. She opened her mouth to ask Rose but decided against it. What would she know?

The games finished; she was fortunate enough to have been spared from fighting. Perhaps it was Diablo exercising compassion. She couldn't be too sure. She left the crowd chanting as she walked to the basement.

The rest of the day dragged. She sat on her bed feeling somewhat deflated. She knew she had to go on, but had lost the energy.

Then she saw her bag in the corner of the cell, neatly placed by the bedside. She had completely forgotten about her rucksack—after all, there was nothing of value in it. Amelia reached out and grabbed it, opened it, and examined the contents. Something tugged at the tips of her fingers, and she pulled out a small piece of paper, unfolded it, and read the contents.

Dear Amelia,

You're far more valuable than you think, and the things you know may one day put your life in jeopardy. I never wanted this life for you. Somewhere between having you and Daniel, I lost the way. I forgot to be the brave father you thought I was when you were little. The only thing I know is that right now, you're not safe. Perhaps this letter has come to you too late, and for that, I am truly sorry. I am not half the man you think I am. Don't come looking for me. You will not find the answers your heart yearns for. Look after your brother and know that I'm sorry. Know I never meant to hurt you and I love you.

Father

Amelia read the paper with tears streaming down her cheeks. Why hadn't she noticed this letter before? How long had it been in there? What did her father mean by all of it? She clasped her hand over her mouth and shook her head in disbelief; her father knew they were coming for him. But why didn't he run? There were so many unanswered questions, Amelia felt as though her head would explode if she didn't stop thinking.

# CHAPTER TEN

Stephen Waterhouse walked into the isolated room. The prisoner sat on the metal chair. He wore a slashed shirt that had once been white but was now stained with blood. A deep wound was visible under the bright light. His breathing came too heavy in the silence.

"Let's try this again," Stephen said.

"I can't tell you what you seek."

"How about we play a game? I'll tell you something about myself and you can do the same," said Stephen through a forced smile. His voice echoed in the solid metal room. The painted white walls made it appear bigger than it actually was. The bright lighting gave Mr Raymond a headache: He suspected that was intentional on their part. He placed shaking, bloody hands over his temples and ears in a feeble attempt to drown out Stephen's voice as well as soothe the headache that threatened to cause him even more grief than his wounds.

Stephen paced back and forth a few times; his heavy, shiny black shoes glistened and made an echo with every step. He wasn't sure where to begin. He spoke very little normally and he found no comfort in sharing his darkest thoughts or his life, but this was a man sentenced to death. To whom could he talk in the grave?

He pressed a long, thin finger to his lips, contemplating. His eyebrows were wrinkled and Mr Raymond thought he looked constipated. A soft smile crept over Mr Raymond's wounded face.

Mr Raymond thought very little about his family and his circumstances. He knew he had no hope, but as he sat in that room, he prayed his family would survive this entire ordeal.

In confinement, he found himself calling out in prayer more frequently than he had ever done before. How strange that in the wake of disaster, he was compelled to draw nigh to a powerful deity he had denied all his life. He certainly saw the hypocrisy in his own prayers, and yet, it did not stop him from pleading.

"When I was younger, my mother reminded me that one day, I would become someone important. I felt special, you must understand, even from a young age. Those dreams were quickly destroyed as I grew older and wiser and saw the world for what it truly was. It broke my heart, knowing that because of the Area I grew up in, I would never have a chance. Isn't that sad, Mr Raymond?" The question was more rhetorical than anything else and before Mr Raymond could respond, Stephen raised his hand. "When I was twelve, a man came to see my mother. I remember that day as though it were yesterday. And can you guess what it was about?"

The rhetorical questions were tormenting Mr Raymond. In that moment, he concluded that the whipping and the brutal beating were nothing in comparison to the torture of listening to Stephen's childhood story. No, he was certain this was part of the torture plan. If anything was going to take his sanity, it would surely be this. Mr Raymond's thoughts wandered. Was Stephen this stupid? Would he honestly expect him to divulge secrets he had buried deep inside for some sad childhood tale he couldn't verify?

"Mr Raymond, look at me!" Stephen snapped. "As I was saying—yes, where was I? Oh. This man brought money with him and this money was to help me finish school. This in itself was a gift that, even to this day, I cannot repay. My opportunity started then and from that day forth, I promised myself I would work hard. Harder than a man born in the Central. I worked in order to achieve a portion of the life of the fortunate, and now look at me. Haven't I grown to be someone to be proud of?"

"They have turned you into a monster while they dine in their houses like untouched angels," Mr Raymond whispered, getting in a quick response. His voice was barely audible, but the words grated like a scream; Stephen gasped and lurched at him. He punched Mr Raymond's face so many times the blood splattered on his own clothing. Only then, when he noticed his bloodied suit, did he back away slowly, glancing down at himself nervously.

Stephen crumpled to the floor, his knees on the hard floor. He whimpered to himself and whispered something repeatedly that Mr Raymond couldn't understand. He dragged his blood-stained self to the corner of the room, where he sat on the floor, rocking back and forth. Mr Raymond hadn't thought his answer would provoke such a response, but as he watched in sheer curiosity, it dawned on him that Stephen was already a broken man.

With a gasp that echoed in his own head, Mr Raymond dared to speak one last time. "Don't let them turn you into something you're not." The words were intended to comfort Stephen, but he didn't appear to have heard them. There was something strange about him, rocking aimlessly and without rhythm. His eyes even seemed to be lit with rapture as he muttered to himself.

Finally he looked straight at Mr Raymond and said loudly and firmly, "I'm not a monster!" His gaze was sharp and fixed, and his consumptive and agitated face produced a painful impression.

Mr Raymond cringed and steadied his thoughts. Even if Stephen were not a monster, there was something more sinister lurking in the depths of those eyes. The deranged look he gave Mr Raymond was not that of a sane man. Mr Raymond was not particularly religious, but if he had been, he would have believed Stephen was possessed. How else could he explain these peculiar behaviours in a man with so much status and power?

After much silence, Stephen gathered himself together. He heaved himself from the floor and tried in vain to dust off the dried blood. He straightened his suit and tie and composed his distraught face.

"I have tried to reason with you. I have tried to show you I'm on your side, but you're adamant about making me the enemy. I have grown tired of this. Tomorrow, we will kill your family."

"Leave my family alone. You want me, not them!" Mr Raymond shouted through his swollen, bloody mouth.

A sinister smile crept over Stephen's face. He turned his back on Mr Raymond and faced the large mirror that hung on the wall. He looked pale and tired. He stared at himself for a long time. Then he abruptly turned on his heel and walked towards the door. He gripped the cold handle and slowly turned it.

"Wait," Mr Raymond said.

Stephen paused as though contemplating the word, weighing its value. A flicker of excitement danced in his eyes and his lips curled into a smile. He paced, almost cautiously, towards his detainee, who remained chained and bolted to the metal chair.

Then the door suddenly opened.

An older man walked in. He gazed on Mr Raymond with small, grey, fiery eyes. Undaunted by the blood, he stared at Stephen in confusion. Unsure of what to say, Stephen stared back; his thin lips pressed into an impudent smile as he dismissed the bloody scene. He traced small, fat fingers over his pointy beard.

"We are waiting for a go-ahead," the older man said coldly and intently without taking his eyes off Stephen's face.

Mr Raymond was confused. Through bloodshot eyes, he tried to work out who was in charge. The man abruptly turned on his heel and walked out. Stephen remained still as the door closed. He stayed still and silent for a long time. His eyes narrowed, transfixed on the steel door. Was he waiting for someone? "You had something to tell me," Stephen said finally.

"Spare my family."

"I don't think you comprehend the severity of the issue at hand. I can only help you and your family if you tell me what I want to know. It really isn't that hard to understand."

"But I don't know anything."

"You're testing my patience. I am not a patient man and when I get angry, it is not a pleasant sight." His irritation increased with every word he uttered.

"I know that."

"Tell me, then!" he snapped. He twisted himself about with rage and grew paler. His lips trembled and vainly endeavoured to form some words, but the anger stopped him. His rage blinded him and his hand trembled with uncontrollable anger; Mr Raymond watched with calm astonishment. He contemplated what he could say to calm the man down. His face throbbed painfully and his body ached. Above all, it wasn't his own death he feared, but that of his family. He couldn't put them in danger.

He opened his mouth as though to say something, then closed it just as quickly as the thought crept into his mind.

"Your time is up."

"There were four of them," Mr Raymond said. The words forced themselves out before he had time to refine the truth. "Two have died, one has been imprisoned, and the other roams outside of London. Last I heard he had travelled to the North."

"Who are they?"

"If I knew that, do you think I would be here?"

Stephen strolled towards him. That peculiar and contrived smile crept over his thin lips and a strange, reproachful look lingered on his face for a minute or so.

"You know what I think? And this is a theory the others don't believe. I think you're the last man—the one who escaped."

Mr Raymond swallowed painfully and tried to steady his eyes. Stephen didn't have much to go on other than his theory. He looked at Stephen's face closely and noticed his nostrils flare under the light. The anger was still lingering, even boiling beneath the surface.

"I wish that were the case. Maybe then my life would be more valuable."

Stephen's eyes blazed with anger as he looked at Mr Raymond. Clearly, the words had hit a nerve. He turned on his heel and raced to Mr Raymond to quickly inspect the skin behind his ears. His heart throbbed painfully against his chest. Nothing.

"You should have a scar here," Stephen spat. He covered his face with his hands and murmured in a language unknown to Mr Raymond, who gazed at him uneasily. He certainly wasn't afraid of Stephen, but there was something dangerous about him—something peculiar and sinister that threatened Mr Raymond with a fate worse than death.

He wondered if Stephen had ever been experimented on as a child, for much of his symptoms reminded him of the stories he had heard as a child himself. They called them The Anomalies, for the children showed signs of morphing that were neither dangerous nor useful. But no, there was something more to him.

"You're one of them. I just have to prove it," Stephen said. His suspicions seemed to increase the more he thought about it. From his pocket he pulled a steel chain from which a silver watch hung loosely. He glanced at it and walked out without saying anything. Mr Raymond shouted something that he ignored.

As he closed the door, his eyes met those of his colleagues. Most of them had sleepy eyes and a chilled expression. Stephen shuffled past them briskly as they all exchanged startled glances.

# CHAPTER ELEVEN

"She isn't for sale."

"Diablo. Everyone is for sale, it's just a matter of price," the man said.

Amelia sat on the bed, her back against the cold wall. She watched the two men as they quarrelled. One of the fighters was for sale, just as Rose had told her. She recognised the man as the one who sat on the bench the day she was drugged. They discussed the cost and exchange rate at length but Amelia had tuned out minutes before. Eventually, the man sighed loudly, catching Amelia's attention.

"Five thousand pounds, and that's our final offer."

Diablo, unable to contain his excitement, made a sound close to a screech. He grabbed the wooden railing by the staircase as though to steady himself. The pound currency after the War was stronger than it had ever been. With that amount, Diablo could easily afford to close the underground arena and live amongst the elite in the Central.

"You should have started with that sum initially," Diablo said through a broad smile.

"When can we have the girl?"

Diablo fumbled with the bundle of keys attached to his trousers by a silver chain. He walked towards Amelia, his eyes fixed on the keys.

"I don't want to leave," said Amelia. She sat still and pale. Her eyes were glittering and she breathed with difficulty.

At least here, she knew there were others; Rose was her friend, and that bought her some comfort. There was no comfort in the unknown.

"My Angel, you have to understand I wouldn't sell you willingly, but it is an offer I simply cannot refuse." He traced his index finger across her cheek. Amelia flinched and moved her head out of reach.

"I thought we had a deal," Amelia said.

Diablo paused, confused by her statement. Then suddenly, he understood what she meant. He smiled and gestured for the man to take her. He walked away as she struggled with the man.

"You can either walk or I will drag you; which would you prefer?"

With that, Amelia turned and scuttled to the staircase, then marched up as quickly as she dared. She knew there was no point in running. There would be no place for her to hide. Amelia reached the door, which was slightly ajar, and stepped out.

"Wait."

She stopped abruptly, turned on her heel, and stared at him.

"You forgot your bag."

Amelia shrugged as though it didn't bother her, but of course it did. She ran down the stairs and swerved past him to get to the landing. She looked around eagerly. As she had anticipated, there was nowhere for her to run. Reluctantly she went into her cell and grabbed her bag and the small piece of paper that lay on the bed. As she stepped out, she glanced back. Rose waved at her, smiling as always. Amelia waved back, her sadness difficult to mask.

She searched for Ace and found him lying on his bed on his back. She stepped forward to say goodbye but decided against it.

She ran back to the staircase. She had become accustomed to this place. She had come to see this place as home.

The man stood by the door, waiting for her, his face expressionless.

"What shall I call you?" Amelia asked. She wasn't even sure why she felt compelled to ask; she didn't care.

"You don't need to know that."

"Maybe not, but I would like to know the name of the man who thinks I'm worth that much."

The man narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I don't think you're worth a fraction of that, but I answer to someone who, for some strange reason, values your life."

Amelia felt a burning excitement seep to the surface and she stifled a smile. He was simply the middleman.

She followed him through dark and entwined corridors. Eventually they came to a small metal door. She turned suddenly. She could have sworn she heard someone call out to her. Then she saw Elysia, standing in the distance, her face shrouded in darkness. Amelia shuddered as Elysia disappeared into the shadows.

The metal door creaked open. The bright sunlight rushed through with such blinding force that she had to cover her eyes. She felt a hand grab her and pull her as she stumbled forward.

The sun had come out from behind a cloud and shone bright. The fresh air was delightful. In the bright light, she saw the man's face, a face only a mother could love. He saw the fear in Amelia's eyes as she unconsciously retreated. In a feeble attempt to reassure her, he stretched out a large, pale hand.

"No," Amelia mumbled to herself.

She looked behind at the dark corridor. Perhaps she was looking for Elysia, but this time, her gaze was met with emptiness.

Amelia quickly buried the thought and her mind drifted. Rose. She had wanted to take Rose with her. She had come to trust her; even more so, she saw her as an ally in a place where enemies were in surplus. She stood there staring at nothing for a while until the man's voice bought her back to reality. She didn't respond straight away. She was not fully conscious of where she was.

"Listen, I don't have all the time in the world," the man said irritably as he turned on his heel and walked away. He did not glance back to see if she followed.

Amelia looked around. The house where she had been held was huge and unkempt. It was surrounded by acres of field and at the edge was a forest. She almost stopped breathing as she contemplated her escape. This would be her best opportunity. It was a long time before she ventured to try. As though sensing her plan, the man saw her sooner than she had anticipated, but she scuttled as fast as her legs would carry her.

There was a small fenced passageway just behind the house. It was low and roughly made. She had to get away, out of this horrible circumstance. She ran without looking behind her. A pang of fear and loss stirred within her as she heard his pounding footsteps in her ear. He was close. Too close. A feeling of sadness mixed with horror welled up in Amelia's heart as she reached the edge of the field. Within the luscious green grass lay shards of glass and metal. She gave a terrific squirm and stopped abruptly. She dared not glance behind her. His footsteps grew louder with each second she wasted.

She extended a pale, dirty foot to check it for injury. The man grabbed her by the arm and yanked her towards him.

"This is why I hate children."

"I'm not a child."

"I don't like to be made to run unnecessarily."

He pulled at her forearm with great force, causing Amelia to squeal with agony. He let go of her arm and once more went on ahead without her. This time, Amelia knew better than to try to escape. Where could she run? Could she have escaped if she'd taken a different route? Did she still have an opportunity? Her heart throbbed and her chest constricted with pain.

The man was now a little too far ahead and Amelia ran behind him, her chest still painful. An old grey car was parked by the road. The man threw a small black cloth towards her. She reacted slowly, and it fell to the ground. Amelia picked it up and stared at it, bewildered.

"When you get into the car, wrap it around your eyes. You do not remove it until I tell you."

"Why can't I see where I'm going?"

"I don't trust you." He opened the driver side door and slithered in. The car jolted with his weight. Amelia reluctantly got in beside him. She placed the blindfold around her eyes but left a small peephole.

"Put it on properly or I'll do it for you," he hissed. He didn't try to mask the annoyance in his voice.

Fearful, Amelia did as she was told and listened to the revving engine of the car. The engine rumbled grumpily as it turned over and finally started.

The journey was bumpy and, every so often, she would ask, almost pleading with the man, to see the world. His answer was always the same, a simple no.

"I'll call you Bob." Amelia was certain this last comment would irritate him. She wasn't sure what her motivations were at this stage, but she still carried on talking.

"I wish you wouldn't call me that."

"Maybe if you told me what to call you, then we wouldn't need to have this conversation."

The silence dragged for a while.

"James."

"James? Are you quite sure?" blurted out Amelia.

"Yes. Do you have a problem with that?"

"No—you just don't look like a James."

After that, he didn't speak again nor indulge her questions.

Amelia eventually drifted off to sleep.

# CHAPTER TWELVE

The car came to a sudden halt and Amelia was roused from her sleep. She removed the cloth from her eyes, then stared at the house before her. She had seen images of such magnificence only on television and the Internet. For a long time, she remained in her seat, still and unable to move.

"I don't have all day," James said. His voice cracked through her vacant thoughts.

"Where are we? Is this the Central? Why am I here?"

"Stop, please."

She wanted to grab the man and shake the answers out of him. Crushed by his silence, she followed him and looked around in awe. Houses lined one side of the road, each house occupying the equivalent of three houses in Area Eleven. On the opposite side of the road were acres of land with decorative gardens.

"Amelia!"

James was becoming impatient with her very existence. In the short period of time he had spent with her, he had come to dislike her. Of course, he simply did not understand what it was about her that made him agitated. As she walked towards him with her curly brown hair blowing against the cool sun, she smiled at him. He flared his nostrils with distaste and sighed loudly.

"I don't like you either," Amelia whispered as she walked past him.

If he had any doubts about it before, they all disappeared. He loathed her.

They walked towards the large gates that led to the house. In the middle lay a pathway made of cobblestones and on either side, fresh flowers blossomed. Amelia had never seen anything like it. Unable to refrain from her sudden desire to touch them, she reached over and picked a flower.

"I just couldn't help myself," she said before James could object. She brought the blossom to her nose and inhaled a delicate aroma.

"What are they called?" Amelia asked.

"Wildflowers."

"Are they always this beautiful?"

James paused for a moment and then said, "I guess they are."

He walked on ahead, expecting Amelia to follow. But she stood there, turning and twisting each petal with morbid curiosity. It was too much for her to take in. She had never imagined she would ever touch a wildflower. Never did she imagine she would be in such a beautiful place. Suddenly, she remembered Diablo and his place; the contrast was shocking. She quickly brushed away the thoughts that stirred within her. They were too upsetting. Eventually, she withdrew her eyes from the wildflowers and followed James. She looked at the sky. She hadn't noticed before but somewhere behind the grey clouds, the sun must have gone down, for it began to get dark.

"You're easily distracted. He will not like that."

Who was he? Just as the question came to her mind, she distracted herself. She knew she would be compelled to ask the question out loud. James stopped abruptly and looked behind. He was expecting her to say something, and her silence unsettled him.

When he paused for too long, Amelia overtook him and continued towards the large wooden door that gleamed from excessive polishing. The house was covered with ivy that snaked up the side of the imposing marble wall. She stood by the doorstep and waited for the door to be opened. James pushed beside her and typed a code into the alarm system keypad on his left. The door slowly swung open.

Before Amelia stood a staircase with a marble banister decorated with two grandiose statues of hawks, one placed on each side. Amelia propelled herself forward by a force unknown even to herself. For a moment, her feet were so light, she thought she was floating. She reached the staircase and brushed her hands against the smooth banister of the grand staircase. The hawk, of intricate gold design, seemed to gaze into her soul. She stared at the statue as though expecting it to come to life.

"You must be Amelia." An unfamiliar voice broke through her reverie. She tried to look away from the statue but a force deep within her kept her transfixed. She shivered as she tore her gaze away from the hawk.

A man of about forty, of above-average height, stood in the doorway to her left. He had a broad, pleasant face with high cheekbones. His jet-black hair hung just below his ears and framed his round face. His narrow eyes were black and had an intense and thoughtful look under a wide brow. He had the air of an imposing gentleman.

"I am Haruto Naoki. You must be tired from travelling. Please come and join us for dinner."

Amelia followed him to the large dining room to her left. The dining table in the middle could accommodate ten people and was laid exquisitely with food, the likes of which she had never seen. In the corner of the room, a woman with reddish blotches on her face stood conspicuously. She was too magnificently dressed and stood to one side, as though waiting for something. She glared at Amelia with icy-blue eyes.

The woman stepped towards the table with a rustling of her silken gown and lowered herself onto a chair.

Haruto beckoned for Amelia to sit. Reluctantly, Amelia obeyed. He then sat opposite her, next to the woman.

She stared at the white plate in front of her and felt a pinch of guilt tighten her throat. How could she enjoy such food, knowing her mother and brother were struggling on bread and soup?

For the longest time, Amelia merely stared at the empty plate, without any thought of helping herself to the food.

"How is your father?"

Haruto's facial expression was blank as he asked the question. There was no indication that he knew what had become of Mr Raymond. Amelia did not want to inform a stranger about her father's disappearance. She paused for a moment then shrugged.

"I heard he was in trouble with the authorities," Haruto said. His voice was calm and calculated. Amelia stared at him as he ate a plate full of boiled potatoes and salad. Amelia was growing more paranoid by the second. She shuffled in her seat in agitation and wiped her dry lips on the back of her hand. Suddenly, the room felt smaller, and hot.

"I was under the impression that you had set off to find me," Haruto said. The words escaped his mouth as nothing more than a whisper.

"Are you The Hawk?"

His silence reinforced Amelia's suspicions. How did he find her? How did he know who she was?

Suddenly, Amelia pushed her chair back from the table and sat up straight. Even she wasn't sure what she was doing.

Haruto observed how pensive and distracted she was. He pulled the napkin from his lap and patted his lips dry.

"Please, help yourself to the food," he said.

"I don't need food, I need answers." Before she knew it, Amelia's eyes burned. She tried to stifle the tears and gripped the wooden chair tightly.

"I will answer all your questions in due course. For now, you must do as I say."

"I'm getting tired of doing what others want me to do. Give me answers or I'll walk away," hissed Amelia. She had suddenly grown animated and angry.

"Madeleine, please leave us," Haruto said.

The woman, who had spent much of the time staring at Amelia with curiosity, pushed her chair back from the table and walked briskly out of the dining room. Amelia watched as her body bobbed in the distance. She had a peculiar, even comical walk that left Amelia bemused.

"I'm your father's friend, a good friend," Haruto said, his voice vibrating in the silence of the spacious room.

Amelia's expression suddenly darkened. She turned to look at Haruto, her eyes lit with rage.

"You're not a friend. A friend would never do as you have done. You threw him and his family under the bus whilst you've lived like a king."

Haruto was taken aback and his face, now turned away, was extremely pale; he wore an expression of extraordinary suffering, as though he had been tortured.

"He chose that life. We all made our choices and lived by them."

"Perhaps so, but in a time of need, where were you?" Amelia asked. Only when her throat ached did she realise she was shouting. Her body shook with anger and her hands were clenched tightly against the chair. "Why am I even here? Do you think this is somehow going to atone for your actions?"

Haruto did not respond immediately. Amelia wished for an answer; anything would have been more bearable than the deafening silence she endured now.

"It was your father's idea. We told him; no, rather, we warned him that his choice would have a grave consequence, not only for him, but for his family. That was a price he was willing to pay and as a friend, a true friend, I could only support him in his choice, regardless of how preposterous it was." Haruto paused for a moment. Abruptly, he got to his feet, looked around as though confused, and paced towards a large window at the back of the room. He was pale, his eyes vacant, and he suddenly looked exhausted.

"Why didn't you share some of your wealth at least?"

Haruto laughed nervously. For a while, his laughter echoed in the room, even after he had stopped.

"Your father is a proud man. He would rather die than ask for or accept help."

"But..." Amelia began to argue but soon realised she had no more straws to grasp at. All she said was, "They are going to kill him."

Haruto turned away from the window and looked at Amelia. He saw her eyes glisten as she fought to stay strong. Unable to contain herself, her lips began to quiver and tears coursed down her cheeks. Her sadness quickly turned into self-loathing. She did not want to cry in front of him. A curse rose up in her soul as she wiped away the tears.

"I won't let that happen," Haruto said.

Amelia nodded, more as a reflex than anything else. She wanted to believe him, but she saw nothing in the man's eyes that gave her hope.

"When can I leave here?" Amelia asked.

"I have brought you here as a promise to your father," he replied.

"What? Have you seen him? Or spoken to him? Why didn't you mention this earlier?"

"Amelia, please. I made your father a promise a long time ago. We all made promises to one another if such a circumstance were to present itself. I have not seen nor heard from him recently."

"Who are the we you keep referring to, and what was the promise?" As Amelia asked the question, fear crept into her heart, and she became apprehensive of his every word and gesture.

"Your father, myself, and two other friends—"

Before Haruto had a chance to finish his sentence, Amelia turned her back to him. "Where are the other two?"

"One is suspected dead and the other lives," continued Haruto. His expression was now frozen and serious.

"What does suspected dead mean? Surely he is either dead or not," said Amelia. Haruto suddenly dissolved into nervous laughter, apparently unable to restrain himself.

"They call you The Hawk. That's why..." Amelia's voice suddenly trailed off. So many thoughts surfaced at once, it became difficult for her to keep up. Of course she should have realised from the moment she saw the statues. Amelia now sat on the chair and appeared calm, then got up once again and began pacing, arms crossed, lips pressed tightly together.

Haruto was becoming agitated by her pacing. Unable to bear it any longer, he pleaded with her to stay still. Amelia stopped and smiled feebly.

"I did go by that name. In any case, that isn't important. We must focus our energy on getting your father released. I will train you, physically and mentally, but you must be patient. It could take weeks, perhaps months, before we can do anything tangible—"

"I don't have that much time," interrupted Amelia.

"You do... They will not kill your father."

Haruto went to the table, examined the food, and walked towards the foot of the staircase. "I will see you tomorrow morning, Amelia. Make yourself at home."

Amelia watched as he walked past the stairs and disappeared to the left. His footsteps echoed in the silence as she stood, bewildered.

Coming in June 2014, the next in the Defiance series.

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