Page 42 of The Phantom's Vice

“What’s wrong?” I whisper, reaching my hand up to his bunk. I can’t feel it, but I know Brenden has taken my hand by the way his breathing evens out. He doesn’t answer my question, but he doesn’t really need to. Even though he gives a carefree act tothe others, I know that deep down, Brenden is terrified. He genuinely fears death, so much so that when we were little, I would have to talk him down from panic attacks before every lesson.

It seems tonight is no different. Brenden is still that scared little five-year-old boy, crying over the kitten he was forced to drown during initiation. Crying over the cruelty and the unfairness of it all. The reminder of the frailty of his—or any—life.

“I’ll protect you. It’s going to be okay,” I promise, tightening my hand around his. “I won’t let you die tomorrow, Brenden.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he says with a shaky chuckle. It’s a weak attempt at humor—his only real defense mechanism—but it eases my nerves, nonetheless. If he can make it through tomorrow, he can make it through whatever is yet to come.

I’ll make sure of it.

I squint against the sun beating down on the center of the circular clearing, every muscle in my body wound tight as a wire as I take in my opponent. Matt gives me a haughty smirk, those bushy blond brows wiggling tauntingly at me. I spit on theground next to me to get rid of the acrid taste coating my mouth, my skin tingling with the aftermath of the Rebound we were dosed with during breakfast. Nasty shit.

“Remember, this is a test of your ability. As such, you have been paired with a Rook of equal fighting capabilities.” Master’s voice rings out from the center of the clearing, his voice easily heard by the six pairs of Rooks positioned around him in their respective fighting circles.

“The match ends when one of you is subdued—or dead.” He says it so matter-of-factly. Like the lives of the boys he’s spent the last five years with mean less than what he’s having for lunch.

Fucking bastard. I clench my jaw and discreetly peer around the circle, my heart dropping into my stomach when I see Master has paired Brenden with Randy. Randy weaves tauntingly at Brenden’s ashen figure, licking his lips with a malicious gleam in his eyes.

How the fuck is that a fair fight? My pulse thrums so loudly that I miss what Master says next. Brenden—I have to protect Brenden. If I don’t do something, he’ll?—

CRACK!

My head whips to the side, and though I feelnothing, there’s a distinct ringing in my ears that tells me Matt just clocked me in the fucking temple. I see his elbow out of the corner of my eye, and just before it hits me, I duck, sending my own fist up between Matt's legs.

“FUCK!” he squeals, dropping to the floor like a sack of potatoes. And that’s why you wear protection, asswipe. I should use Matt’s distraction to finish the match, but my attention is caught by Brenden, his face purpling in the crook of Randy’s elbow.

No—NO! I know Randy enough to realize he’s not letting Brenden go until he’s dead—and even long after that. I can’t let that happen. I won’t.

With no regard for what will happen to me, I sprint toward the circle’s edge, my mind on one thing alone—saving Brenden.

“What the fuck are you doing, P-1313? Your match isn’t over!” Master’s voice barely registers in my mind as I pump my legs faster. I have to save Brenden. I have to?—

“GET THE FUCK BACK IN THE RING!”

I don’t care what he’ll do to me for disobeying. I don’t care about anything except for my friend. He gave me my name. He gave me my name. He gave me?—

A horrible squelching noise emanates from the back of my thigh, and for some reason, my leg gives out from under me. I look back in alarm, noticing a thick serrated blade sticking halfway out from my leg, horrible, sticky red flowing from the injury and dripping down to the dirt.

Plop… plop… plop…

Suddenly, I’m five years old in Momma’s living room. She’s screaming at me for getting the red on her carpet again, though her voice sounds funny. Deeper. Robotic, almost. Why is she screaming like that? What is this circle she keeps talking about?

I look at the red pooling underneath me, a pit growing in my gut. I have to clean this before she notices. Momma hates color on her perfect white carpet.

Mindlessly, I start scooping the blood and dirt sludge into my palms, deaf to the clomping footsteps growing closer. Have to clean the red. Can’t let her see. My fingernails dig into the earth, my frenzy growing as more and more red joins the puddle I just swiped away. Why? Why can’t I do something right? I just want to be good—that’s all I’ve ever wanted. Why can’t I just be good for once?

“GHOST! Ghost, snap the fuck out of it!”

Ghost… that sounds familiar. I look up, instantly meeting Brenden’s icy-blue gaze. His mouth keeps moving, and he looks pale, but pale is better than purple. He must have gotten out of Randy’s death choke…

The last thought snaps me out of my trance, and there’s just enough time for me to hear Brenden yell, “DUCK!” before something silver swipes toward my neck. My instincts take over, and I fall to the side just before Matt’s blade slices into my carotid.

“What the FUCK is wrong with you, Boy?” Master yells, his voice filled with a rage I’ve never heard before. “Are you fucking slow? Get up and FIGHT!”

“Yeah, Boy. Go to your death like a man,” Matt taunts, swinging his dagger wildly at my chest. The tip clips me, and more red spills down the front of my shirt. I clench my jaw, jumping to my feet and pulling the knife from the back of my thigh. Bits of my muscle and sinew cling to its serrated edges, and I swallow down my bile as I raise the knife in a defensive position.

“That’s not my name,” I snarl, circling Matt slowly with my blade outstretched. “It’s Ghost.”

“Not what it says on your birth certificate, though, is it? You’re such a fucking loser, your mom didn’t evengive you a?—”

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