Chosen

DELIA

The Collective. This is where those who have nowhere else to go end up. Those who can no longer fit into society. Those whose minds have been destroyed by drugs. Cripples and drifters, or those who have been unlucky. Children and the elderly are already one breath away from death. People the world wants to make disappear. The Collective is a fortress with rules darker than the walls themselves. If I count correctly, I've been here for about a year. I made one mistake, just one, and ended up here.

It's said to be impossible to escape from the Collector. Those who try get badly punished. I saw with my own eyes what the guards are capable of. The only chance is if someone redeems us. A relative, a friend, a lawyer. Anyone wealthy enough to pay the price of your worth. Different for everyone, but usually a significant amount. But it doesn't matter. Because I have no one who would miss me.

ALEXANDER

The Collective. A complete cesspit, a dumping ground for the country's filth. Smooth, polished stone and metal surfaces everywhere, with hardly any light coming in, as we are several miles underground. There is only one way in, a strictly guarded funicular that only operates in one direction at a time. The entire place is damp, cold, and stinky. It's home to criminals and rats, the fate of the unfortunate. But that's exactly why I'm here. I'm looking for someone like that. I just have to find the perfect match. Leaning on the metal railing, I look down at the lower levels of the cylindrical fortress. From here, on the top level, I can barely see the bottom of the pit. I don't want to spend any more time here than necessary.

"Ah, Commander! You didn’t mention you’d be stopping by." The inspector extends his hand to me. I return the gesture as briefly as possible and resist the urge to wipe my hand on my pants. I saw Inspector Gilles once when I was young, when he was shining in the role of the city executioner. A real bastard.

"May I show you around?"

"If you don't mind." I nod curtly and start toward the stairs. I don't have time for this.

DELIA

Every day, all day is the same in the Collective. Public work and exploitation. In this place, even death is not an excuse; even with broken limbs and bleeding lungs, you have to show up for slave labour. Many do not survive. Yet, perhaps this is the only way out, death. I have looked around everywhere, but I couldn't find a single crack or crevice to cling to. The system is flawless, the guards are alert, it's unbeatable. Well, at least my shift is over for today. We work in three shifts, rotating, so that means two-thirds of us are always working at a time. They're adjusting the duty hours to disrupt our sense of time. At first, it got to me too, but eventually I learned how to keep a record of my time here. Because if I lose track of time, nothing remains left. I shuffle across the mirror-polished, ice-cold stone floor toward a group of people standing around two men fighting each other—the challenge. The only entertainment for those here below, I can see some colour on their broken, weak faces at these occasions. The guards have beaten down every other activity or movement, but they allow this, and I know why. I know some are watching from above.

In the middle of the circle, a big guy is beating up on a smaller, stockier guy. Although the big guy is taller and stronger, the smaller guy is stable and, incidentally, not weak either. He is flexible and agile, and if he could take his opponent to the ground, he would win. Unfortunately, he can't get a grip on him. The big guy, Cruxer, has a precise technique, defends his attacks well, and when the first punch comes in, the petite but masculine guy has no chance. Cruxer aims for his head and knocks him back with a well-aimed strike. The little guy spits, and a small piece of white bone lies in the middle of the bloody discharge—his tooth. As far as Cruxer is concerned, the fight is already over, but the match continues until the little guy collapses on the stone. Cruxer wins, again. The audience roars with joy. Great.

The referee raises Cruxer's left arm high, though he can barely reach it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, here is the winner!" The stocky man tries to shout over the crowd, which erupts in even louder cheers at the announcement.

"Who dares to challenge him? Another round, ladies and gentlemen?"

Quiet. Of course. I smile silently and take a step forward.

Now it's my turn.

ALEXANDER

This place is even shabbier than I thought, and surprisingly oversized. It won't be easy. It would have been better to bring Marco with me, but maybe it's good that I didn't drag him into this. The fewer people who know about the plan, the better. I’ll have to bribe that buffoon Gilles as well. We circle left and right, through offices and storage rooms, but I’m paying more attention to the people. Some have been completely broken by their time here. Others are still new.

We step into a room that—for once—is bright and spacious.

“Here we are, the VIP chamber, for guests such as yourself, Sir. We bring sunlight down here using mirrors, the plants are watered daily, and the furniture comes from the finest merchants.” He glances at me, waiting for admiration. When none comes, he goes on.

“Would you care for a drink?”

"What's going on here?"

The room is bustling with people. Dressed-up aristocrats and merchants vying for their favour. Slightly dressed prostitutes. Servants carrying trays of all kinds of exotic fruits and cakes, and large jugs of wine. If I were an artist, this is how I would depict distastefulness.

“This is the challenge.”

He said it with the kind of emphasis people use when they’re stating something everyone should already know.

“Please, have a seat and feel free to watch a match or two.” His chuckle sounded like someone scratching a blackboard with their fingernails.

Most of the people there I didn’t recognise, but from the look in their eyes, they clearly recognised me. No matter — I’d stick around for a bit, let them think I’d come for the fights. I’m about ninety-nine per cent sure whatever’s going on here isn’t legal, so no chance one is eager to rat anyone else out. The buffoon leads me to a balcony overlooking one of the galleries, where ragged people and helmeted guards stand in a circle. A fight. This is how the wealthy riffraff entertain themselves. In the centre of the circle, a tall, muscular, big-nosed guy is pounding the life out of a fat, short one. The man’s whole face is a puddle of blood. Boring and vile. The fight ends, and as far as I could tell, nobody else dared step up against the big guy. He clearly has real combat experience — he fought well and stood firm like a rock.

“How much for him?”

I point at the guy. I lean closer to the clown and whisper so the others can't hear. Not that they won't make similar, dirtier, and even dirtier deals here.

“Cruxer? Well, yes.” Gilles smiles. “Impressive, isn’t he? Excellent fighter — solid and ruthless. He’d make a fine heavy or personal guard, though I must say…”

“How much?”

“Two hundred thousand.” Not cheap, definitely not. But worth it, in exchange for the mission.

"Great. I'll take him."

The deal was settled quickly. The buffoon is already extending his hand, and I almost shake it a second time when the crowd below suddenly gives way for someone. Someone short. A child, perhaps? No — definitely not. Nearly a grown woman. The aristocrats next to me gasp and whisper. I can hardly believe my eyes. Does that girl seriously want to stand up to that bulldozer? Maybe she wants to die. For most people, this is the only way out; unfortunately, everyone is aware of this.

"Stop this.” I can't bear to watch a woman being beaten to a pulp in public.

"Unfortunately, I can't do that."

"It's an order.”

“It’s the rule—written protocol. We do not interfere in conflicts between people here. You of all people should know that — especially as you represent the law, don’t you?”

The clown flashed a smile a snake would envy. I tried to unclench my jaw — I’d been grinding my teeth so hard it hurt.

Bastard.

By now, everyone is watching the girl, both audiences. You can almost cut the silence with a knife. Within moments, the fight begins, and the two opponents circle each other. They size each other up, assessing their posture, physical condition, and breathing. Neither of them breaks eye contact. Cruxer strikes first. He misses; the girl is quick. She is small and agile, but the man uses his weight advantage to take her down, pressing down on her and almost squeezing the life out of her. The girl moves her hips, puts her knee between them, and kicks the man off her. By now, everyone is watching the girl, both audiences.

She's clever. Cruxer attacks again, pulling her hair and dragging her across the floor. Even from this distance, I can see her tears flowing. She manages to trip the man, somehow gets up, and pulls herself together. She doesn't give up. She attacks from below, not going for the head. She gets a few more slaps, which knock her back, but don't stop her. She lands a series of shots to his ribs, and when she finds an opening in Cruxer's defence, she reaches for his eyes and then kicks him in the groin. The man yells. The girl trips him, again, and he falls. She starts kicking his head with her full weight. She stomps on him with all her strength and aggression. The man puts his arms over his head to defend himself, but some blows still reach him, and I can almost hear his nose breaking and his ribs cracking. The fight ends, almost too soon, and the crowd is disappointed.

“Gilles, I’ve changed my mind.”

“Sir?”

“I want her. That girl. How much?”

The valet looked flustered for the first time since I’d arrived. For a moment, I thought he’d gone mute forever, but the universe wasn’t that generous.

“You want her? And Cruxer?”

“I’m taking only one, and it’s her. How much?”

He muttered something under his moustache, but I couldn’t make out the words.

“I missed that. Repeat yourself. How much. The girl.”

“One million.”

Impossible — this bastard’s playing with me! Political prisoners don’t cost this much. I grab the oaf by the collar and yank him so hard I almost lift him off the floor.

“Don’t you dare joke with me. One more slip like that and I’ll have you replaced. Won’t cost me a damn thing, and tomorrow you’ll be sitting in one of the cells yourself. Understand?”

“I… I… Yes. Yes, but… that’s… that’s the price. It’s the truth, you can check her registry — just a moment and I’ll fetch it for you. Wait here.”

“You’ve got one minute.”

“Right. Be right back. One million, if you pay, she’s yours.”

DELIA

They dragged me out of my bed. Two guards, both wearing crimson armour and helmets. The cell was getting terribly cramped for the three of us.

"Get up. You're coming with us."

I know I should fight back, but even if I defeat these two, the fort is full of them, and I wouldn't get too far. So I wipe the sleep from my eyes and let them lead me by the arm. It's easier for everyone this way. I don't know where they're taking me, but they won't kill me. Unfortunately. We're going up, not down, which is perhaps good news. Or perhaps not. By the time I've run through all the possible options in my head, we're already upstairs, they push me through an iron door, which is the same grey as the others, and leave me alone with a man. I had a feeling. They take many women away for pleasure for the night. We are not bound by the law protecting women, like those above, so they can do whatever they want with us. Great, well, in that case, now is the time to fight.

"I won't hurt you."

Oops. I glance down at my clenched fists, at my feet planted wide. I’d gone into a fighting stance — and with that, I showed my intentions. I slowly lower my arms and look up at the man. He is tall, slender, commanding and looks a bit older than me. His clothes are fine and elegant, resembling some kind of officer's uniform. His hair is dark as ebony, his eyes are green; they remind me of the nature I haven't seen in a long time—the trees, with their thick canopies where we’d rest in the summer heat.

I don't know how much time has passed, but I may have stared for a little too long. Finally, he broke the silence.

"I've taken care of your papers. We'll be leaving shortly."

"What if I don't want to go with you?" No matter how much I tried to sound firm, my voice came out more like a squeak.

The man raised his eyebrow.

“You want to stay here?”

Then I understood, and although I couldn't see myself from the outside, I probably dropped my jaw. "You mean forever? You'd take me away from here forever?"

"Yes."

“Why?”

I’m not stupid. I don’t know this man, and clearly he doesn’t know me. I won’t be anyone’s lackey.

“Let’s just say… from now on, you’d be working with me.”

With me, he said I’d be working with him, not for him. I weigh it in my head. From the Collective, there’s no way out, and yet fate is offering me one now.

“Of course, if you don’t want to…”

“I do. Yes, I want to.”