They didn’t want me to be born, and I don’t blame them. Assigned to populate the planet with Players, they didn’t have a choice. There was no love any more, but they did. So far to the point that they would run away, but they were captured before they even left. The Master Player is always watching. As consequence, they were forced to raise future Players to ultimately watch them die. She raised three before me; I was her fourth and final.
Our names are given as motives for are strengths which coincidentally is mine. I’m not allowed to know the names of those who came before me. I’m Strength, my parents are mother and father, and my group is Agility and Speed.
Groups are made of three. We have eaten, trained, and lived together since birth. Leaving the bond made with our parents. Choosing each other at a few months old, destined to win and survive. We’ve been an unstoppable trio which sucks for us. When the championship begins, the clones will be deadly. A complement to those who lived centuries before but a lethal phrase to us now.
Twenty-two years of preparation sped by like the speed of a bullet. The championship began. To die is to be made a cyborg under their watch; to prove our worth to the Master Player and suffer under his orders. To live is to start a life under harmony, away from the madness.
Suiting up, we prepare for the first of the three games: handball. Each person is allowed three steps before they have to pass, score, or the ball obliterates them into nothingness. The ball, at any time, may equip spikes, gas, or noise to throw the human competition ary. There are no goalies. The team to score the most goals in twenty-four minutes wins. If not, the losing team is swallowed by the darkened horizon that embraces the Earth.
“What are you thinking about?” Agility questions, breaking my inner narrative.
“Life,” entangling her hand into mine, “we have to win.”
“I know.” She squeezes my hand, kisses my cheek, and leaves for the battlefield.
Slowly, I follow. I’m joined by Speed to my left and Agility to my right.
Taking position, two forwards and a defensemen, we stare at our counterparts. I’d be mortified if I hadn’t seen them before at the Opening Ceremony. Similar in stature, his hair black to my gold and his eyes dead to my blue. Looking over at Agility, she held her ground against the darkened soul to her contrasted light. Speed, he was smirking; his acceleration to the other’s speedometer was no match. It was simple; no one was faster than Speed, even a mechanically engineered clone that was supposedly the equal to us all.
Victorious in the first round, winning 22 to 16. A margin that was never accomplished before, explaining the riots on the adjacent village. Speed came out without a scratch on him, lucky bastard. Agility had her neck bruised by a ball aimed at her spinal cord rather the goal itself. And they thought we didn’t notice. I was fine.
“What the hell happened to your arm?” a feisty Agility screamed in our sleeping quarters.
“Shhh, you don’t want them to wake up.”
“Go to sleep, you assholes,” Speed yelled from the other side of the chamber.
“You and I both know they won’t,” she continued despite Speed’s orders.
“The cyborg cut me. I swear to God his belt had a blade sticking out when called.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. This whole system is screwed over.”
“I know.”
“We need to win. We have to leave. It’s our only way out,” she muttered, climbing into bed. Taking the adjacent bunk as a precautionary measure, I tuck myself in.
“You know that’s not true,” the words trickling through my lips as sleep conquered us all.
***
Day two wasn’t any easier. Three-on-three soccer, best of three goals. Upon walking onto the field, Speed to my left and Agility to my right, we glared across to our clones. Looking more familiar, their assets were glamorized compared to the previous day. How was that so?
The horn blew and Speed possessed the ball first, racing the Cyborg-Speed to the net. Our Speed one, only by inches rather than feet. 1-0
Smashing into my opponent, I stole the ball to score. He felt like metal, clinking into me until I kicked the ball into the empty net. 2-0
Agility hurdled over her counterpart while Speed distracted his opposite. Smashing into their clones, along her path of travel, she bicycle kicked the ball-cross bar down. 3-0.
I didn't want to believe it. 3-0? How was that possible. It almost always is 3-0 favoring the mechanics. Walking to our respective locker room, a trail of blood followed.
Speed raced to the showers; I couldn’t tell if the water, racing to the drain, was red or his blood. His screams allowed me to assume the latter. Turning to Agility, her jersey was torn. She beat Speed to the showers. Peering at myself, the mirror told me that my arms were swollen and crusted with blood. The Cyborgs, equipped with any weapon to try and weaken their opponents, were a rigged system.
Given two days before the final match, the abrasions should be able to heal. In a series where they only have to win one, we weren’t guaranteed anything. That night, I conversed with Speed and Agility.
“It’s a game. Can’t you see? There are no winners,” Speed started, cutting Agility off.
“We need to leave. Tonight--”
“Agility, you know what they did to my parents—”
“—Listen, I have a plan.” Speed interrupted, that bastard.
***
The final game. Agility woke to scratches on her arms, Speed’s lip was bleeding, and my head was spinning. We were puppets to their projectiles of misery and suffering.
Speed, he went to wander and to gather his thoughts; they were always running away from him. My feet carried me to Agility, who looked lost staring out the window onto the city.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked, deciding to use familiar words.
“Life. This game—” Cutting her off with my lips, I only needed this answer.
“You know,” she broke away, “if they were really watching, we would have been dead the moment we met each other.”
“I know.”
***
Standing hand-in-hand, we stare at our opposites for one last time. We break and skate to position, sticks imprisoned in our grips. I look at them both, nod, and await the starting signal.
It never came.
The puck dropped during the delay, and Speed raced to handle it. Following suit, I shoved the counterparts away while Agility raced across the ice to the goal. One last nod to them both. Right when I’m about to drop my gloves, Speed shouts something, but it didn’t register until moments later. His counterpart crashed right into him, pierced his stick through Speed’s heart, and disintegrated.
Skating over, my counterpart lifted me up and threw me on the ice, and he disintegrated. Agility, in a cat fight with her clone, her face decorated with thin, red lines. Agility, stealing Cyborg-Speed’s stick, murdered her clone. My head was spinning. Agility rushes towards me, the blood on her face smudged with tears. Helping me up, the Master Player’s voice boomed throughout the arena.
“Leave. Get out. You have ten seconds before I blow you into a million pieces.”
Without question, we ran. Grabbing our packed bags from the locker rooms, we travel to our New World.
***
Lights shining through the dark, winter sky, I turn to Agility.
“We made it.” Her face looking out in awe. I pulled her in close.
“Do you think we will ever see him again?” she questions.
“No, but that damn Speed is intelligent.”
“He’s fast. Nothing happens before he notices.”
“Did you happen to catch what he said back there?”
“No—”
“I love you bastards.” Turning simultaneously, Agility and I peer at the lifeform that the words boomed from. Love doesn’t die. I stole a kiss from Agility; she stole one from me. Huddling close together, hysteria of disbelief arising, standing as one. Love doesn’t die. I look up, and I seem them standing a few feet ahead of me. I’m home.