Invalid

Three

The day I learned to fire a gun was the day I discovered we would be taking much more than someone's freedom...

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The ring was dingy, old and had nothing to keep you from falling off of it -unlike the ones we used when I was forced to learned how to do this.

Wrist Tattoo -my name for the snarky guy at the entrance- had a hand on my backpack, pushing me forward into what I was beginning to see as more and more of a bad idea. It was in an abandoned building, dirt all around along with cobwebs. There were rowdy people everywhere, pushing and shoving their way through the crowd, the noise almost deafening.

Minutes later, I was on the other side of the room. 

"I don't see how a toothpick like you thinks they could win against any of these champs." Wrist tattoo said, taking his touch away from my back. In the dim light of the room, I noticed more things about him. Like, for instance, a tattoo also placed on his neck. He also didn't seem much older than myself, maybe a year or two -meaning he's probably one of the lucky few who managed to survive past eighteen.

After the intense check out that he clearly noticed, his words registered in my mind. He was trying to scare me, bringing me over here next to these fighters and hoping I would back down.

Unluckily for him, I don't tend to give up that easily. "And i'm having a problem seeing why you feel the need to have your sweaty pit near my face." I told him, gesturing with my head to his underarm and holding my nose to get the point across. It really didn't help that my face was eye level with that said pit as I accused.

"If you've got a problem with this, you're gonna have a real problem up there," He pointed to the ring, and practically smirking as he moved closer to make it worse. "More than sweat will be near your face when that's going down."

"Didn't say I had a problem with it." I mumbled, then resumed my normal voice tone after clearing my throat. "Just stating an observation."

"Your braid isn't doing a very good job of covering up the fact that you have greasy hair." He said cooly.

"Huh?" Yes, I knew I had greasy hair, heck, my hair spent most of my year greasy than it did clean. In fact, it wasn't an uncommon thing among Invalids, we don't get the luxury of a shower, and freezing rivers and lakes only do so much for the cleaning process. "Does it matter? It's practically normal for people like me."

"People like us." He corrected. "And in all technicality, sweating through a shirt you have no choice but to wear for the next few days is practically normal too." At this he eyed my own clothes, torn and faded as they were. I got the point. "Yet you brought that up."

"Are you looking for a sorry or something?" I questioned him. But right as he was opening his mouth, probably about to answer me, a new voice filled the room, all other noise dying instantly. I felt Wrist Tattoo slip away, leaving this part of the building most likely.

"Welcome, one and all, fighters and watchers!" He announced, followed by a quick burst of cheers. "We've gotta fight ready for you tonight that will blow your socks off from what I can see." At that, all eyes were in our direction.

Then, the whispering started, most likely directed to me, the so called toothpick. Wrist Tattoo was now currently on the opposite side of the room, eyes focused on me, an eyebrow raised. "Well, eh, except for this young lady anyhow..." The announcer said, trailing off. When I looked at him, he was staring straight at me. "Hey, Michael. Where'd she come from?"

"She wanted in the fight." Wrist Tattoo -apparently Michael- yelled back. "She wouldn't budge. Determined little girl, i'll give her that."

I felt like strangling him once the words left his mouth but all I did was grind my teeth together. He was helping my cause without even realizing after all, -the weaker I look, the least likely my competitor is to see me strike- least I could do is not break his neck.

But even with that help, I don't care who you are, nobody calls me a little girl. I've been through too much crap in my life to be classified as that. We all have.

"Determined or not," The announcer was talking to me so I gave him my attention. "I think you should walk outta here, small-fry, while your legs are still attached to your body."

Remember why you're here, Jen. I reminded myself. Jane and Wade need you right now.

Why did life have to be so frickin' awful. I could walk out of here, my pride being all that's damaged, and forget about this whole thing; about Jane, Wade, and this whole showing my special skill nonsense. But i'm not the kind of person that walks away, not like so many other people did to me when I needed them.

"Nah." I said, pretending as if it were absentmindedly. "I was bored, and i'm already here so..."

"Ah, cocky are we?" I just gave him a look of 'maybe, maybe not' before he got the picture and continued. "Fine, have it your way."

He stood up straighter, facing the audience again. "Seeing as how we have a stupidly brave teenager who doesn't know what's good for her in our presence tonight, what do ya say we let her pick her future murderer -I mean, opponent? How about it, small-fry? You're about to face death, why not choose how it happens?"

I walked up to him, confident that everyone was watching as I did. To all of them, I was broken, no better than dead. They might as well have been Officials at that moment, everyone knows that's what they all think about us. 

A smile came to my face, mainly just to taunt them. "Sounds fun!" I muttered, giddy filled. "That's the point after all." Grabbing a stray strand of my hair, I twirled it between my fingers.

"Alright." He grumbled. "It's your funeral." 

He then gestured to the group below, in the crowd where I just was. More that just Invalids seemed to be in this fight today. Which, of course, can also be a common sight depending on the amount of homeless people in whatever area the fight is taking place. And sometimes there are just frickin' Valids trying to show off to their friends that they can beat the crap out of someone, except they underestimate us.

I looked through the options, knowing I shouldn't push my limits. I'm aware of what i'm capable of, and it's not taking on the large giant of a guy over in the corner. No, I needed someone smaller, but not too small, yet tall enough so my size would throw them off.

But I knew that no matter which one I picked, I would not leave this room uninjured tonight.

In the end, I picked a medium sized girl, her hair dipped dyed blue onto blonde hair shades lighter than my own, and definitely younger than me but she made up for it with bulging muscles on her arms -something that would get her respect in this ring, not a stupid small-fry nickname. She seemed to have something wrong with her left eye, a weak point I could use to my advantage.

The only problem was, she looked like the kind of person who would play dirty. But still, it was my best shot compared to the others. The crowd didn't seem to agree.

There were many different things screamed at me, such as, 'small-fry's gonna die' or 'I paid to see a fight, not a stupid girl get beaten to death for three seconds' and other versions of the two.

But still the girl came forward, up the steps as I had, and said, "Doesn't bother me, looks like I get an easy win tonight."

"Funny." I replied, letting my fake know it all attitude show. "I was thinking the same thing."

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