The Warriors
#1 of The Warriors
I've been trying to work on my other stories and such, but every time I sit down to write, the words for this story come into my head rather than for Rocky Mountain Times or Fallout. So, I decided to get them down on paper so, at least, they won't be floating around my thoughts any more. I may write one or two more chapters of this, it all depends. I probably will never finish it though. Let me know what you think if you get a chance.
Chapter 1
Prisoner 2719A8
A large bison sat at a steel table, a stack of paper to either side of him. As an inmate was led away from the table by two guards, the bison took a red maker and made an "X" on the sheet in front of him before placing it on the pile to his right. He then removed a sheet from the left examined it through reading glasses for a moment before looking up.
"Bring number two seven one nine alpha eight," He called in a deep, yet soothing voice, to an unseen figure at the door.
Moments later, a weasel was walked into the room, flanked by two bears. He was clothed in bright orange pants and matching t-shirt. Dark brown, almost black fur covered the top of his face and back of his arms, while brilliant white fur clad his neck, lower face, and paws. They shoved him into a char which was bolted to the cement floor. One of the guards chained his handcuffs to the table and his feet to the stool before they both turned and silently left. The wolf stared across the table through black eyes at the Bison who was still reading the paper in front of him. Eventually, the latter put the document down and gazed across at him.
"You are Alexander Kemp."
It was a statement not a question, but the weasel still replied "Yes."
"Do you mind if I call you Alex?"
"Yes, I do mind."
"What would you like to be called?"
"I go by Xander now."
"Okay... Xander. I'm just going to be asking a few questions. I'd appreciate your response."
Xander remained silent.
"How long have you been in here?"
"Three years, four months, a week, six days, ten hours," he glanced at his watch, "and twenty eight minutes."
The bison raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"You didn't want to the second did you?"
"No, that's fine. How much longer you got?"
"Until they decide to let me out, which will probably be never."
"Why do you say that?"
"Do you have any idea how rare it is for the courts to review someone's case once they get sent to a place like this one? No, I'd better continue to make myself I home. I'm here till I die, or they kill me."
"I see. If you don't mind me asking, what did you do to get sent here?"
Xander glanced at the document which sat between him and guessed at what it was.
"Since you already know everything about my incarceration, no, I don't mind. I killed my brother. He used to call me Alex. That's why I don't let people call me that."
"Why'd you kill him?"
The ferret laughed, "You know, it seemed so important at the time, what we started the fight about, and now I can't remember."
"The fight?"
"Yeah... my bother Kyle and I got into this big argument. Like I said, I don't remember what about, but it started to get nasty. Pretty soon a punch was thrown, which lead to a full brawl between the two of us. He pulled a knife on me and probably would have killed me, but I was able to knock it away. I got my paws around his neck."
Xander looked down at his cuffed paws, a look coming across his face as if he were watching the scene all over again.
"I got lost in the rage and adrenaline. When I came to my senses, I was kneeling over Kyle, still choking him. I let go immediately, but he was already dead. I loved my brother. I don't know what came over me that day. After I killed him, I sat next to his body and cried for... who knows how long. Finally I called the Police and told them what I had done. My parents came home to find three cop cars sitting out front and me being led away. The last I saw of Kyle he was laying on the floor of my old house, a raven feather sitting on his chest. No idea where the feather came from. They didn't even let me go to his funeral."
Xander finished the story, laughing weakly, but tears had filled his eyes as he remembered the act.
"You turned yourself in?"
"Yes. I knew what I had done and have regretted it every moment of my life since. What else was there to do? I could have killed myself, but I didn't feel like it at the time... so here I am."
"At the time? How about now?"
"I don't know, this place changes us. I don't think I could kill myself, but I don't think I'd mind dying."
"It says here that your brother was a Marine, Special Forces?"
"Yeah, that's right. So?"
"They aren't easy to kill."
"So give me a fucking medal."
"That's not what I meant. You see, truth is, I came here today to present you with an opportunity. An opportunity to get out of here."
Xander looked up, his full attention on the bison.
"Have you heard of... The Arena?"
"You weren't kidding when you asked if I was willing to commit suicide were you?" he replied laughing, "What, have you run out of gangsters and mercs to kill each other?"
"You don't seem like the type to take a lot of BS, so I'll be perfectly frank. We're running low on victims. As you probably know, there are in fact three teams who compete in an Arena round. Only two of them ever win though. The third team is a buffer, comprised of individuals such as yourself, who we give the opportunity to. Individuals who can no longer stand living in prison and will take any means to get out. Even if that means getting killed in front of millions of spectators."
Xander chuckled silently as he listened to this.
"Would you be interested in participating in The Arena? Three time winners are offered a ticket out of here?
"Really? Three time winners? Fighting on the team that never wins?"
The bison stared at him expectantly. Xander took a deep breath, contemplating a myriad of options. Finally he made eye contact.
"I guess it beets being stuck in here. If I'm going to die a convict, may as well get it over soon."
The large figure simply nodded and motioned to the door. The guards returned, unchained Xander from the table and lead him out of the room. The bison made a mark in a box on the form and placed it on the pile to his right.
"Bring number two seven two four November six."