Chapter 22

The guards lead me outside, right into an awfully quiet cafeteria downstairs. Everyone stares blankly at the steaming food, but they hardly take a bite. They poke at them, staring into space as if waiting for time to pass. I shuffle among the rows of tables, looking for one with my serial number stuck on the wood.

Never have I felt more disgusted than I do now.

Someone's already sitting there. An odd-eyed girl pokes the shredded spinach stalks, cutting through the murky broth with a spoon. She dons a plain white uniform with a name tag on the corner of her blouse. Electra. Her features look eerily similar to Esper's, with her wavy brown hair, heart-shaped face, and the smooth dip of her jawline.

Why is she the only one with a name?

Maybe it's a glitch in the Simulacrum. Brushing the question aside, I force myself to concentrate on eating as much as possible. The expanse is devoid of conversation. Only the occasional clanging of spoons and the soft slurping of the tasteless liquid can be heard. Usually, I'd break the silence. But our voices would draw too much attention. Instead, I thrust my gaze down again, stirring the remnants of boiled beans.

A tattooed boy takes the seat next to mine and digs in. Soon, the second help he asked for was served. I steal a glance at the clock near the kitchen area. All that remains is ten minutes of mealtime. The seat diagonal from mine remains empty.

"She's not coming back," Electra mumbles, her words barely carrying across the table. Even the tattoo boy doesn't seem to hear her. More people start to file in, most of them wearing the same pajamas. Each table has two, except for ours. I want to ask what happened, but I stop myself. All around the room, there are hidden microphones, just like the one over at the next table. I nod, subtly eyeing the small black circle sitting on the silk flower decoration.

Understanding flits across her features. I try to stretch out the time and hope for the best. Even until the last minute, her chair remains empty. A guard rips off the serial number and pushes her chair in. He gives us a once-over, his grim expression sending an unspoken warning. Once he turns away, the tattooed boy leaves a red carnation behind. It means my heart aches for you.

Soon, we're shown back to the experiment camp, where we're escorted to the different chambers. The tattooed boy claps my shoulder and heads in the opposite direction. The living spaces for girls and boys are separated by a vast field and tall barb-wired fences.

The room is much better than what I'd expected. It has two single beds lined up side by side, with a small table in the middle. There's a cooling unit in the middle that doubles as a heater. My rucksack lies on the bed to my right. The other one has random pieces of pajamas strewn over the elaborate quilt. I start folding EL520's clothes into a neat stack, setting the pile in the corner of the bed.

Soon, the door clicks open. Electra peeks through, her eyes growing wide as she sees me. Her hair is disheveled like she'd just been in a fight. A long scratch extends from her temple down her cheek, and her fingers brush the torn edges of her mouth. A purplish bruise begins to form around her eye, leaving the upper part of her left cheek swollen. She avoids my gaze and goes to her bed. "Get moving. Remember to get the supplies from the cupboard next door. You might find a first-aid kit in the bathroom if you're lucky. It's usually at the cabinet below the sink."

"Where are we going?"

Her head whips up, her brows knitting together as she glares at me. "You hit your head or something?" She runs a hand through her hair, letting out a long breath as her fingers skim over a tender injury. Still, I make no effort to move. Not even so much as a step towards the door because I'm not leaving without my answers.

She sighs. "We're heading to the arena to duke it out. That's one of the tests they've got for us, and I swear those sadists just want to get us killed."

I don't need to be told twice. Within seconds, I'm already in the next room. Racing to the cupboard, I scan the empty space, wondering briefly whether Electra made a mistake. Finally, I find the flimsy piece of wood at the bottom. It's attached to the walls by a thin layer of glue. I quickly work with my knife, and the board gradually loosens around the edges. The adhesive tears away, and I grab my stash of knives. Soon, my weapons are wrapped in layers of clothing, tucked away safely in my rucksack.

The bathroom is next. I go straight for the cabinets beneath the sink. Like what Electra said, sealed away in a false wall is a first aid kit. Just before leaving, I check the bed. As I run my fingers through the thick fabric of the comforter, my fingers find a device hidden beneath the quilts and endless layers of bedding. There's a muffled beeping noise from the transmitter. I pull it out, squinting at the bright screen and pressing buttons until a voice recording plays. "Keep this somewhere safe. Even if I don't remember myself, I want to remember the person I used to be."

I quickly hide it in the very bottom of my rucksack. Though it won't be there after the Simulacrum, I hope it stays safe for now.

Electra meets me in the lobby, and we head outside. The peachy glow of twilight illuminates the path to the nearest train station. My gaze follows the direction of the winding tracks, watching as they loop around an observation tower and stretch into the distant horizon. While the last smudge of sunset teases the clouds, Electra scans the area before gesturing me to follow after her, "Come on, we're taking the trucks instead."

She walks to a warehouse, and we head to the parking area. Thankfully, most autonomous vehicles are still here. The ones nearer the exit are almost entirely filled with supplies already. Electra leaves first and motions for me to stay hidden behind one of the vehicles. Meanwhile, she sneaks up on one of the Proxy workers. She fishes a set of keys from his belt and tries them on the cargo container connected to the first truck.

The doors swing open, and we're greeted by more boxes. I climb inside first, with Electra following closely behind me. Folding my legs to my chest, I press myself to the corner until I'm completely concealed by the crates. Someone—possibly one of the workers—yells at another for leaving the doors open. Grunting, he locks up the truck and gives it a tap. The engine chokes to life, and we're off.

"How did you know that would work? They could've checked the truck, and we'd be goners."

"Trial and error. I came here all the time, wondering which one leads back home," —she pauses— "but I've stopped trying."

Electra clasps her hands together and stares at the ground while we breeze past the concrete jungle.

"Took you long enough."

She jumps at the voice and glares at someone hiding in the corner. "Got the newbie with you?"

As the glow of the streetlamps strikes his face, the boy's lips curl into a slow smirk. He nods, cocking his head at another figure lurking in the back. That's when Jax takes a tentative step forward, saying my name so softly that I'm sure no one else hears it.

I'm still confused, especially since we're reliving the memories of one of the false immunes. He shouldn't look like himself. I don't know who moves first, but I soon feel his arms around me, and I kiss him with a fervor I've never known before. He smiles against my lips.

"Keep the action to a minimal. I've got enough to deal with as it is," Electra rasps. The boy introduces himself as Ambrose. That's what he's been calling himself ever since he forgot his name after an experiment. Once he's done speaking, the stuttering engine begins battling against an uneven road. I steal a glance at Electra, noting how her face bears the shreds of moonlight seeping through the cracks overhead. She suddenly turns to face me. "Jo, do you know what happened to Matt?"

My heart nearly stops at the question, but I don't hesitate. "He was still at the hospital when I left and conscious for a while."

She now knows the truth, just not all of it.

As the ride wears on and the end is nowhere in sight, I lean back, focusing on the ceiling. Gradually, that fades away like it's being consumed by the night sky.

Soon, a soft rustle jerks me awake. The first rays of sunlight pour in, scorching the side of my face. I hear shallow breathing and the faint pulses of a heartbeat. Heat rises to my cheeks as I pull myself away from Jax. While my eyes adjust to the harsh light, I spot movement at the side. In the shadows, Electra stares back at me. She emerges from behind the sturdy barrier of boxes. Ambrose has fallen asleep on her shoulder, but she makes no effort to push him away.

My gaze immediately goes to the odd scar on her arm, but she quickly hides it beneath her sleeve. I feign interest in the scenery outside before facing her again. "Where are we?"

"Nowhere, Jo. There aren't road signs or anything like that."

Iron walls loom ahead, circling around a large arena. People are already filtering inside from the side entrances, filling the spectator stands. The truck slows to a maddening crawl as we join the long queue of vehicles waiting to be let inside.

When Ambrose and Jax begin to stir, Electra takes advantage of a fork in the road and busts the container doors open. "We'll be out before they check the cargo," she says, dragging a still half-asleep Ambrose outside. Jax isn't much better, but at least he's slightly more awake.

We land on the side of the road. I twist to break my fall, and my skin burns with fresh cuts. After dusting myself off, I help Jax up while keeping my gaze glued to the arena looming ahead. Its arching entrance is fitted with polished and curved spikes like an animal's canine. Eorius's glare torments my eyes until I'm forced to squint as we enter the mouth of the beast. The spectators are wild here. They cheer while we enter, their screams sounding more like desperate war cries.

Small, white sheets of paper float down from the stands. I grab one of them out of mid-air, only to realize that they're betting slips. Jax does the same and lets out a low whistle while he reads whatever's written on it. He tugs my hand and nods at someone. Following the direction of his gaze, I meet the stern glare of a nearby guard. The man marches up to us, grunting as he scans our bracelets for attendance. "You were almost late," he growls. "Remember that the world leaders are watching you from the observation tower, so don't embarrass us."

One by one, the false immunes are called to the center of the ditch. Some act like animals, making guttural snarls with each thrust of knives. Their eyes are wild, their pupils drawn to slits, and their instincts untethered. Every scuffle is a desperate attempt at survival.

Electra nibbles at her fingernails throughout the fights, nodding absently at whatever Ambrose says to her. I bite my lip, watching them until I can't stand it anymore. A shallow whimper echoes through the arena after the last brawl. The audience holds no sympathy for those in the pit. Instead, they look on like unimpressed bystanders.

Once everything is cleaned up and the area sanitized, my number is called next. I walk to the pit's edge and wait for my evaluation to begin. Reflexively, my fists clench so tightly that I feel my fingernails dig into my skin. Taking out a knife from my rucksack, I slice both hands open. This is a promise to me that I will shed first blood. Jax and I always do this before our fights.

The spectators quiet down, slinking back into their seats. A mutated chimera stands before me, the flimsy metal bars of the cage bursting open. Its long, scaly body shimmers with an emerald glow. Just as it spreads its clipped wings, a rumbling sound escapes its throat, and it rakes its claws through the dirt. Horns extend from the sides of its head while it fixes its feral stare on me. I aim straight for its heart. Blood soaks my clothes, but I keep driving the weapon deeper until its scales split apart to reveal more vulnerable flesh. The beast screams for reprieve.

It grabs my leg and throws me to the arena's wall. The audience erupts in jeers, but I ignore them.

A crimson stream rolls down my forehead and coats my lips. I swipe it away. The chimera's claws plow through my body, tearing me to shreds slowly. I thrust the knife further into its chest and dodge out of the way. Its size slows it down, giving me time to duck and aim my other knives whenever I have the chance. Over each lunge, I memorize the beast's moves and its pattern. After a few attacks, it gets tired, and that's my chance. It comes at me, though each lunge and swipe grow weaker. Jumping up, I land hard on its back, jabbing the weapon deep inside its spine. It growls and collapses.

An inky red pool gathers around me, soaking into the leather of my shoes and splattering against the mud walls of the pit. There's no time to rest.

Now, I can spar with anyone I want. There's no hesitation in my choice. I point to Ambrose, who stands with his arms crossed at the back of the crowd. Shocked murmurs carry across the arena. I've seen that none of the girls have ever chosen to spar with boys. He flashes me a cheeky grin and hops down into the pit. Like me, he has a small knife until he throws it aside.

"Why'd you do that?"

"We should level the playing field," he says nonchalantly.

I hurl my knife past him. It stays wedged in the hardened dirt and soil. Droplets of crimson fall from a deep cut in his ear, but he doesn't show emotion. He simply stands there and waits for me to come at him. Once I attack, I won't have much time to take him down before the match ends. I stand back, looking at the positions of his feet and how they dance around in anticipation. When he's off his guard, that's when I strike.

He ducks out of the way as I lunge towards his left side. He comes from behind me, bringing me in a choking headlock. His grip is deathly suffocating. My lungs squeeze in on themselves, crying out for air. When his body steadies, I elbow him hard in the ribs and kick him in the shin. He falters, gripping his leg. Taking my chance, I dive on top of him, locking his head between my legs, and throw him backward, slamming him into the wall behind.

I stumble to the ground. The blood loss is starting to blur my vision. When he charges at me, I can't duck in time as he lands a blow to my jaw. I'm sure it's not the hardest he could've hit.

He smirks. "That's the best you've got?"

Channeling all my strength in my arms, I rain blows on his face while pinning him to the edges of the pit. I'm not punching hard enough to knock him out, but they'll stun him for a while. A deafening buzzer rings out, signaling the final five seconds of the fight. We let the timer run its course until the whistle blows.

It's a draw.

After shaking hands and taking our leave, everyone watches on silently. I can feel their gaze boring through my back as I rejoin my group, now waiting at the other side of the pit. While the fights wear on, my injuries take a toll, and it's getting harder to remain standing. Slipping to the back of the group, I find a small resting area tucked between the girthy walls. When we're living as false immunes in the Simulacrum, this means I can't heal myself.

There's a light tap on my shoulder. In a second, I'm already wielding my knife.

"Aria, it's just me," Jax gradually comes into view, and he has an injector in hand. Biting down on his lip, he aims for my chest and plunges it in.

The familiar tingling sensation returns to my wounds. They start to heal. Gradually, my vision clears, and I see him sitting across from me. A wane smile finds its way across his lips as he checks my injuries. Now, they look like massive bruises. But at least the skin is almost completely closed. I murmur my thanks.

Jax inspects my injuries, staring at how they heal seamlessly. "You took a risk today."

"That was dumb," I look down at the muddy water surrounding my worn boots.

"Sure, you took a gamble. But it paid off because you knew yourself, not because you charged in there and hoped for the best. Ambrose was a decent opponent too, challenging enough but not too difficult."

I chuckle mirthlessly. "I don't know why, but I wished he'd just kill me already."