The Colosseum

Loyalties

Kova

The king's servant was as silent as someone born without a tongue. Whatever questions I asked him when unanswered, with the most noise made from him being a grunt of the sound of him shifting in his seat. Though I'll admit, I didn't ask much. I didn't know where to start or if his answers would even be reliable.

As we drove through the streets with me in the backseat, I saw the beautiful scenery of a bustling city – every house and villa had lights on, even at this hour. Some of the owners left their blinds open, letting me see the films and shows they were watching. Most of them were viewing Deveraux's show, which still has me rattled to the core. Flowers and trees that bordered lawns and lots were well kept; trimmed to a straight edge and blossoming to their full capacity. I didn't see one piece of trash on the streets and everyone walking about seemed to be getting along like nothing bad ever happened to them in their lives. I guess to them, nothing ever did.

Despite the harmony of the outside world, the world spinning in my head was in cacophony.

Spy on Ten or get killed. I have no particular ties to Ten, and spying on him isn't going to kill him. The king might not even know if I'm telling the truth if I lie about what I know...maybe. He seemed quite keen at our "meeting," so lying under his watchful stare might not be a credible option. It makes the most sense to just do what I was told to, though I don't know why that bothers me so much. I don't have a soft spot for either Ten or the king, yet I detest the situation I'm in. I should be glad that I have a reason to see the king, as like he said, seeing him means getting plenty of food.

The king's servant pulls into a wide underground tunnel to the Colosseum, where Sammy waits for me. I wonder if he has a grudge against me for winning my first match, and therefor preventing him from receiving Ten's sweet wine. Eagerly, I step out of the car, wanting to get back to the Colosseum, find some alone time, and think. "Hurry up," Sammy barks, beady eyes burning through me. "I've got sleep to catch and you're giving it a head start." When I enter his proximity, Sammy roughly grips my upper arm and shoves me forwards. An unexpected surge of white-hot anger boils in my gut, surprising me with its easy appearance.

Maybe I have a dilemma about reporting to the king not because I don't like him, but because I don't like to be controlled. Whipping around, I face Sammy, abruptly stopping in my tracks and nearly making him barrel into me. "I'm not a joystick," I snap. "Don't push me around like one."

"You get one request from the king and suddenly you're a hotshot?" Sammy disses. "You're just like the rest of them. Don't get cocky, or you'll regret it."

The people know my face, now. They liked me, apparently. Whatever I say to this asshole guard now won't matter, because if he touches me then I'm sure he'll reap the consequences. "Don't test me or you'll regret it, too."

"We'll see how long you can keep up this badass act for," Sammy challenges.

I ignore him, unsure if this attitude is an act or just who I am. For 18 years, I lived in a remote location. I roamed the hot desert sands in search for food for 16 hours of almost every day, kept up my hut and boiled clean water for at least three, thought of my parents for one, and had four to get rest. I never had time to figure out who I was, because I was too busy trying not to die each day. My personality never got a chance to develop or flourish, but now that I have a roof over my head and will have food on a table, I'll have time to open Pandora's box. Who am I? What do I stand for? What do I like and what do I hate? What are my morals, if any? How many lines am I willing to cross to ensure my survival?

What if I don't like who I turn out to be?

"Where are you taking me?" I ask to get myself out of my own head for now.