Capítulo 8: Hidden Agendas
She could hear them.
It was more intense than any soccer game, mainly because everything was indoors. She could almost feel the walls vibrating from the cheers of the audience, and with every rise and fall in their voices, she could more or less tell the flow of the current match.
Sara was in a small prep room that smelled like gauze and sweat. She was sitting on a wooden bench, and her taped hands clenched and unclenched in order to test her range of motion. The best part of this small exercise was the bulky feeling of the gauze and tape around her fingers. Sara's lips pulled up into a small smile, and she spared a thoughtful glance over at the pod stationed in the corner of the room.
It was a glass cylinder with a control box on the outside of it- however, unlike the advanced system Sara experienced at the Syndicate Office, this control board was composed of a single dial. The only thing the dial could change was her body's ability to feel.
"It will last 12 hours." Windy was lounging in the doorway of Sara's prep room, her standard uniform exchanged for a red mini-dress that left little to the imagination. She was eyeing the happiness in Sara's eyes as she took a long drag from her cigarette, "Every club has a pod or two so people can adjust their bodies to the standard set by the club- but you'll need to visit the Syndicate Office if you want to make any permanent changes. Otherwise, after 12 hours your body will revert back to its default state."
Windy blew out a lazy cloud of smoke, "Well dearie? What do you think?"
The cheering from outside the room reached a crescendo, and both Sara and Windy could hear a single name being chanted, over and over again.
"Angel! Angel! Angel!"
Sara stood up from the wooden bench, and slowly cracked her knuckles.
"I think this is going to be fun."
⧗
"Ladies and Gentlemen, our night is only just beginning! In our first match, the Merciful Angel put Bloody Mary out of her misery, and now it is time for Round 2!"
The crowd was ravenous to see more blood spilled, their eyes lit with excitement as bookies began to travel through the stands to take their bets.
"I know we all love to see blood spilt, but today is a very special day folks! Because we have a Fresh Blood!"
The crowd started chanting like those simple words were a drug, and their bloodshot eyes were locked onto the side entrance of the arena with a fanatical gleam.
"Fresh Blood. Fresh Blood. Fresh Blood!"
Everyone chuckled cruelly, including the announcer standing in the middle of the arena.
"I hope she begs for mercy!"
"I bet you she doesn't last three minutes!"
"Her odds are horrible! I've never seen any so low!"
"Has she ever even been in a fight before?"
"I wonder if she will actually die- that's always fun to see!"
Everyone was mumbling their opinions to themselves, but the odds on the Board made the direction of the Match seem obvious. 20-1. A twenty to one chance of winning- about a .05% chance. It was almost disgusting.
But a lot of people loved a long-shot.
"I bet 3 Weeks on the Small Giant!"
"Weeks?! YOU'RE Weak!"
"I bet 1 Year!"
Everyone crowded around the smiling bookies as their cards were swiped and their bets were put into the system. There was no such thing as money in Gray City, and so everyone who gambled was forced to gamble with the only thing they had that was of any value.
Time.
If a person won, then Time would be subtracted from their Wait. But if they lost- then an equivalent amount of Time would be added. A casual visitor to a casino might play around a bit, but never would they dare bet such high numbers like 1 year.
But the members of this club were not casual visitors. They came here because in Life they were addicted to the thrill of gambling and could not avoid it even in the Afterlife. They indulged, and even the people who won miraculous bets would still be here weeks from now- because like any place that involved gambling, the system was rigged.
This was Sara's first fight, and her opponent happened to be a regular with a very good track record. Fresh Bloods always had low odds, but her odds were especially low because she had no formal fighting experience. Or at least, that was the 'official' reason the Club advertised. Of course, informal experience was not taken into account when the Club published their odds.
So while Sara's odds were horrible, her chances of winning were not as tragic as they seemed. After all, no one liked watching a one-sided fight, and having an obvious winner every round would lead to matches becoming predictable and boring. The Club could never allow this to happen- and so every time they had a Fresh Blood, they rigged the odds intentionally to keep the bets interesting.
It was all a matter of perspective. Her odds were so low that the people who preferred betting on longshots wouldn't be able to resist putting a bet on her, while the people who liked to use 'logic' would bet against her; and no matter the outcome, a large group of people were going to be walking away from this fight owing a lot of time.
It was a win-win scenario for the Club, no matter what the outcome turned out to be.
⧗
The requirements to be a Fighter were simple. You couldn't enhance the strength of your original body (though superficial alterations were allowed). You were required to program said body to feel a minimum level of pain when injured (though the fighter could always increase it from the minimum if they preferred). And lastly, for this club specifically, the fighter had to be female.
These requirements made the newly dead an ideal target for Fight Clubs. Scouters all over Gray City were on the prowl for people just like Sara; someone who was alone, someone who was grieving- someone with nothing to lose.
It was easy enough for Sara to figure out. When Windy brought her here, her words were as sweet as the ice cream she had eaten. She was experienced in drawing new people into this web of blood and pain, and Windy had also revealed that the hotel Sara was staying at was a place that the Syndicate liked to use for people like her. That shop was probably just one of many owned by Gray City's Fight Clubs, many more would probably be stationed near places the newly dead frequented.
It was a very clever business strategy, and as Sara walked down the black painted hallway, she couldn't help but admire the fact that opportunists could find opportunities even in the Afterlife.
"As we all know, great things can come in small packages! Well, tonight we are going to see if such a claim holds true! Please help me give a warm welcome to The Small Giant!"
Sara rolled her eyes as she stepped through the open doorway and into the light.
So what if they thought they manipulated her into this? So what if they gained something by her being here?
It was all irrelevant to her. Sara came here for one purpose, and one purpose only.
The bloodthirsty cheers mixed in with the enthusiastic boos, and Sara felt a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.
'This is going to be so much fun'.
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