241: A Team Divided?
“29:39” spelled the fiery numbers that were conjured above the arena after the first round started, mere seconds ago.
“Uma! Uma! UMA!!”
“Eh!?” Number Fifty finally snapped out of her daze and looked at her teammate that kept shouting her name.
“Uma, what are we supposed to do!?” Number Forty-nine panicked and demanded answers from her leader. A shorter girl than the leader of the team, but with the same white and blue uniform, and same gory hair color (apart from the haircut, which was a bob haircut, instead of the long straight hair of Number Fifty). Both she and Number Fifty now stood on one side of the charred line that separated the team of four into two so-called semifinals. “Me and you? Fight each other? What kind of a joke is this!?”
“When going gets tough the tough get going!” Number Twenty-two, their gory bearded teammate said as he walked to the crossbow their team was handed and picked it off the ground. “At least, that’s what my Pa always used to say.”
“What the fuck does that mean!?” Number Forty-nine screamed. “And why do you get the crossbow!?”
“Aint nothin’ more simple darlin’!” Number Twenty-two said as he loaded the first of the three arrows into the crossbow. “If just one of us gets to see the sunrise in the mornin’, we will do everything it takes to ensure the victory of our clan!”
“So, what? You’re gonna shoot yourself to help Aldrich advance!? Or you going to kill him first and then kill yourself!?”
“Nonsense!” Number Twenty-two shook his head and then look to Number Seven’s team, where “the fridge” just cleaved a jittering hyenakin’s head in half. “Instead of shootin’ each other like mad dogs, we eliminate Uma’s strongest competition! Strike hard and fast, secure the victory before they know that hit ‘em!”
“George...” Number Fifty softly spoke her teammate’s name.
“Have you lost all senses!” Number Forty-nine went from panicked to mad, to outraged. “Didn’t you hear the rules!? You’re not allowed to kill anyone else but Aldrich over here! They’ll probably kill you the moment you attack anyone else!”
“Did ya not wash your ears today?” bearded George asked. “That announcer only said killin’ others than our current opponent is forbidden. She ain’t said shit about maimin’ ‘em! Who needs killin’ when you can rip their pretty little eyeballs out?”
One of the shirtless masked members of the Forge of Champions staff, the one that delivered the crossbow, just stood in place, not moving an inch, and casually listened to the conversation, without objections or remarks.
“AND THEN!?” Number Forty-nine screamed, waiting to hear the answer for the only part that mattered to her.
“It goes without sayin’ that Uma must be the one to advance further,” George shrugged.
“SAID WHO!? We’re supposed to kill ourselves after doing all the hard work to help this little princess win!?”
“What?” Uma was shocked to be called a ‘little princess’ by her teammate. She knew that such an insult flowed around in the clan, but never before did anyone dare to say it out loud in her presence.
“I wasn’t even supposed to be here!” Number Forty-nine continued. “You were the one who said ‘we’re in this together’! Since when are we sacrificial pawns for her benefit!?”
George sighed and replied calmly, “We ain’t got time fo such bickerin’, Ethel!”
Uma tried to calm her teammate down and took her hand, “Ethel, please, I understand how you feel and—”
“You understand!?” Ethel recoiled and pulled her hand away in disgust. “You’re supposed to be our leader! Miss righteous! And yet you’re perfectly happy to just stand there and do nothing while we throw our lives away!?”
George shook his head again. Rather than arguing further, he relocated his desired target, Number Seven, and without letting the giant out of his sight spoke to his other teammate, “Come on, Aldrich! Shootin’ that overgrown’ potato will be easier than hittin’ the side of a barn. But we need to decide on your target before we move in. One chance to take out the strongest competition before they know what’s comin’! Even if Ethel—”
SNAP!
The crossbow fell at George’s feet, followed quickly by George’s lifeless body that collapsed to the ground with a broken neck, snapped from behind by his teammate, Number Eight, Aldrich.
“ALDRICH!?” Uma screamed in horror when she saw one of her trusted teammates betray and snap the neck of her loyal friend.
“Sorry, George, but I agree with Ethel,” Aldrich said as he twirled his handlebar type mustache.