Right and Wrong

What is right?

Is it right to hurt people?

Is it right to hurt people who've hurt people?

Can you ever justify killing someone?

What would it take?

Rape?

Children?

Murder?

Is it right to punish death with death?

I'm personally against the death penalty. Well, as much as I can be with my current profession. I think about it a lot though. True justice - what's right. In a way I believe that most crimes should be punished in the old poetic way - an eye for an eye. The thing is, I also believe that kind of justice would leave the whole world blind. So maybe I try to come up with a way to poke the eye hard enough to hurt, without anyone losing sight. Jail was always a weird punishment to me, what good does it do? You stay in a government funded cell and rot away, no longer contributing anything. You just stay there until a board decides you can come back out. Then you have no skills, no way to make a living because you now have a record to follow you around like a cape made of trash and warning signs no employer would ever touch.

Is that right?

Is it right to serve your time, but for the punishment to continue long after?

Is it right to take someone's life without killing them?

I shake my right arm a little harder than my left - as if to announce "You're about to go to work". The sound of the crowd behind the heavy metal doors is spectacular. The thousands of people are calling me - not my name, but like a siren trying to entice a sailor, they are luring me to them. I am more than ready to drown for them, in them. The first fight of the night is still going. But from the muffled panting you can hear escaping fighter number two, he's about to lose. He has no name. No one cares that he's bleeding all over the floor and might die in a few minutes. They are just warm-up for the real fight. He's probably just some tweaker that couldn't get his shit together and stole from the wrong people, or maybe a wife beater.

There's not a lot of volunteers.

There's not a lot like me.

I have a name. A horrible one, but a name none the less. I got it after my very first fight.

It was right in the beginning, a little over eight years ago. Back when no one knew how or what this would bring of chaos and order to the world. That arena was a lot smaller and so was I. So was my opponent. She was fucking annoying. Her look with the pigtails in a wannabe Harley Quinn type style, was a little too messed up to read as anything other than homeless junkie. Her makeup didn't do her any favors either. The attitude she brought was far too bratty for someone her size. Flipping me off, shouting vile things at me and putting her hand to her ear as if to say "I can't hear you disagreeing".

I was stone, almost dead in my expression. She had decided on an axe and I went without any weapons. I could win more money without the weapon and since I had no weapons training whatsoever, I figured I might as well take my chances.

They changed that rule - you don't get paid more to go bare.

Pity.

To this day I still prefer to go without attachments. Besides, it's not against the rules to steal your opponents weapons, once the fight starts. The weird thing was, I wasn't nervous at all. There was no other way. I needed that payout. I was going to die without it, or at least that's what I had told myself. But I never thought I would feel the way I did. It was glorious to beat that stupid blond bitch’s ass. Feeling her teeth loosen under that smart mouth of hers. With each landing punch I felt the love of the crowd grow.

They roared for me.

They didn't know my name - but that would be the first and only fight they didn't.

By the time she was on the ground and her fight was over, mine wasn't.

I needed more.

I straddled her, to the surprise of everyone in the arena - including myself.

The audience got so quiet when I lowered my face to the side of hers.

I get the name they gave me.

When I got up my mouth was covered in blood. I spit out the lower part of her ear, into the crowd, spraying blood everywhere.

The room was still, silent as I looked around into the black figures all staring back at me. Only then did the nerves come, and a cold fear of having gone too far almost swallowed me whole.

Did they no longer love me?

I remembered one of my favorite movies in that moment and I screamed at the top of my lungs.

"ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED!?"

Throwing my hands in the air, praying they would get the reference. The room erupted and all their love for me flooded my veins.

I realized I would have done this for free.

That sound was my new drug and I would chase it forever. Or at least until my body couldn't anymore. The director ran to my side with a microphone in his right hand.

He grabbed the wrist attached to my completely numb right hand and spoke into the microphone with such joy and admiration. I didn't get it then, but in hindsight it was only fitting. I had just made his career after all.

The crowd was still screaming as he spoke.

"The winner is the one and only - Vamp."

At that moment I was named.

I was pissed.

But honestly what could I expect when I had just bitten that chick's ear off and I stood there with my mouth covered in blood.

A lot has happened since then. Almost all governments ended up making arenas, but the rules are different from country to country. In some ways it brought more peace. The crime rates went down everywhere, significantly. I don't know why. I'm no professor or genius in any way, but my theory is that a lot of people committed crime out of need - not want. Once you got caught doing something you weren't supposed to, you worked for the arenas - and by proxy the government.

The arenas gave people a steady income and helped keep the people happy, and controlled. You don't get to choose your profession once you are handed over to the arena.

At first it was random, but then some tech nerds came up with this AI. They named it Othniel - after the first judge or some shit. So now some computer decides everything - work stations, who fights who and a fuck load of other things none of us know about. But people seem happier since it started making the decisions.

Of course politicians try to spin it as fear of getting caught doing illegal shit. Obviously oblivious to the desperation poverty can bring a population to. Not all bad guys are bad guys.

Technically you can't be forced to fight, but Othniel sentences a lot of the harder criminals to fight and almost all accept. The alternative is not as enticing - jail, with no chances of parole. Depending on how good you are at winning and entertaining, you can make a lot of money during your sentence and you will be allowed to live life on the outside - with a pretty ankle bracelet to track your every move of course. Not to mention you get treated like a superhero. A gladiator. People will love you. Fear you. Desire you. And if you are a really good fighter, and manage to not piss off Othniel, you are pretty much untouchable.

The fights are justice, but they're also a way for old white money to get down and dirty with the rest of us. They enjoy a good fight... just like the rest of us. And now you can get it on pay per view from the comfort of your own house. Even though most of them show up for the live shows. Even politicians and royalty have been to my fights. You can't do meet and greet with the fighters from your couch. And even though regular tickets are very cheap, most arenas have a special area for those who are able and willing to to pay extra. Can't have the rich and famous miss a chance for public display of superiority.

"Vamp! Vamp! Vamp! Vamp! Vamp!"

I hear a familiar voice speaking over the crowd.

It's showtime.

"And now it's time for what you've all been waiting for…"

I have grown to like his introduction of me.

"The blood thirsty ginger from the north"

I'm literally one quarter Dane, the rest is very Midwestern. Took the DNA test to figure out more about my background.

"The one and only..."

I enjoy how he drags it out and how loud people get when he finally stops teasing them.

"Vamp!"

The doors went up the second he spoke my name, and I moved to the beat towards the center of the arena. The song playing is "I am not a woman, I'm a god" by Halsey. I've always liked that song. I think Othniel knows I would enjoy it.

I am not a woman, I'm a god

I am not a martyr, I'm a problem

I am not a legend, I'm a fraud

Keep your heart 'cause I already—

Every day, I got a smile where my frown goes

A couple bodies in the garden where the grass grows

I take 'em with me to the grave in a suitcase

Maybe I could be a different human in a new place

It's not a long walk to the fighting area, but it's a huge place. A lot of eyes on me tonight. I go to the center stage and the song fades, the only sound staying is the people buzzing with excitement and expectations.

It isn't that I kill people in the arena that makes me one of the most popular fighters. Of course it has come close a few times, but never intentionally. Well as unintentional as a serious ass-wooping can be. The people love me because of the show, the theatrics I bring to the table. Over the years I have developed a few... spectacles if you will. It's wild to hear the crowd when I pick one they know. They chant it back at me - the name of that move. Some moves have obvious names and executions, while others are more elaborate. The elaborate ones are for the most part the ones that have been picked by the majority vote. The platform used for that is called Olympus. Everyone is on there and uses it for everything. You can use it to buy tickets, research fight statistics, make bets on upcoming fights, stalk fighters - I just love that one. All fighters have a score there as well. At this point in time I'm the highest scoring, at least in America. Olympus is always expanding as the arenas draw big crowds. The financial sector joined in on it a few years back. Now you can pay for stuff with Olympus and earn points to go to games or gamble away. Some stores even started to take the Olympus currency, OC for short. I am a billionaire at this point - on Olympus of course. The OC I earn fighting is not really being spent though. Most of my life is sponsored. My food. My clothes. My house. Even my damn toilet seat. All courtesy of some people I have never met, but hey... I'm not too fancy for free shit.

"And her opponent tonight is new to the arena. First time offender."

He walks out to a rap song I don't recognize.

"He goes by the name Brutus and he has been a bad bad boy."

Brutus? What a shit name.

Jerry's intro of Brutus was mocking. He always makes it known that he is rooting for me, every time ever since that first fight. But of course it would be a little weird if he was rooting for a criminal.

"Brutus here is a wife beater and now it is time for him to play with someone his own size."

I am not a huge girl by any means, but 5' 10" and a little ripped. My legs and upper arms are especially muscular. Jerry is right, this dude is not much bigger than me - which is not a given in the arena. I am grateful because I want to go to the after-party and I don't want to do it looking like an avatar. Brutus looks like someone I could eat up and spit out within 5 minutes. I'm not cocky - I'm seasoned. I'll drag it out for a while, to give my audience the show they paid for. The show, I know they'll love. Brutus looks more and more nervous the closer he gets to the center of the arena.

The closer he gets to me.

We don't get to know in advance who we are fighting, but I don't think he is pleased with Othniel. Part of him must know that he won't be walking out of here tonight, at least if he has heard about me. But hey, who hasn't? Still... not cocky.

I can smell his cheap aftershave and piss poor lifechoices, before he enters the ring. He seems smaller up close. For choice of weapon he went with a dagger. Bitch weapon for bitchboy. I declined to pick any.

The girl bringing him the dagger can't stop eye fucking me, which seems to piss off Brutus.

Oh I'm going to enjoy this.

She's just my type. Long dark brown hair and petite, maybe 5' 2". She reminds me of her. Maybe it is her, I can't tell because of the mask covering half of her face. I would love to run into her tonight.

Any night.

Maybe she came to find me, to see me fight? My smile would be too big for my face right now anyway, so I leave it out and go with the stoic expression I usually wear pre-fight.

"The rules are simple"

Jerry speaks in his autopilot voice, and I feel like I do on planes when the stewardess explains safety procedures before takeoff.

"There are no rules!"

Of course there's rules. Well, rule. All fighters - volunteer or not, have to abide by the rule. There must be at least a knock out to win. But yeah other than that, there's no rules, everything is up to the fighters. That's the rule in Louisiana, and in all the other states. I don't know all countries' legislation on it, but France goes with blood drawn and Russia is to the death.

The crowd is going wild. You can hardly hear the rest of Jerry's fun speech. They are just as hungry as I am.

"Fighters, take your positions."

I move near the center and wait for bitchboy to join me. Hesitantly he does without looking at me. He stops about 9 feet from me. His gaze flickers between the crowd and the blood stained floor of the arena.

My arena.

Shouldn't have beat your wife little Brutus.

Jerry finishes his autopilot speech off the same way they always do. "May the judgment land as fair as it was thrown"

My stands are relaxed, with my arms hanging against my half naked body. I'm wearing the shortest and tightest black shorts, paired with a matching crop top with a helmet-activation plade in the middle of my not so small tits. My gloves are reinforced with metal at the knuckles and forearm, which rests cool against my skin. My boots are lightweight but with metal covering my shins.

A fake confidence rests over Brutus as he says "I don't want to do this... I don't want to hurt you."

I scoff. The fucking audacity in this one. "Aw I'm sorry sweetie, having performance issues? Is that why you beat your wife, couldn't get it up?"

That seems to do the trick as he launches at me, dagger first. He's so slow. I feel like I'm fighting in slow-motion. It's going to be hard to drag this fight out.

But I like the challenge.

One quick pirouette, like a real fucking ballet dancer, that ends with a hard kick to his back launching him to the ground. Maybe a little too hard, he doesn't get up right away. I use the time to press my activation-plade. Thin metal strips appear from the back of the crop top and envelopes my thick red braid, then continues further up my head until a helmet is formed around my eyes. My people love the new gear, voraciously chanting my name again.

"VAMP! VAMP! VAMP!"

Jerry is speaking over the crowd, stating the obvious

"Well well well, I see our Vamp got some new equipment."

Curtesy of some rich fucks I've never met.

Thank you rich fucks I've never met.

I spin so I'm faced away from bitchboy and I give my people some love, throwing my hands in the air waving at them. Now my big ass smile is plastered all over my face and it isn't going anywhere. I can tell long before he touches me, that he's going to try to catch me off guard from behind. Even if I hadn't heard the crowd shifting in their seats, I would have smelled him. I do a fast confident backwards kick right before he reaches me and he flies back on his ass, dropping the dagger before he lands a good 8 feet from me. Brutus is flat on his back grabbing at his ass.

Did I break his coccyx?

That's a first. Literally kicked his ass. I make a mental note of reading about that injury tomorrow.

Now, what to do? What to do to you? I'm slowly stalking towards the whiney piece of ground beef that's ugly crying and drooling all over my floor. I grab the dagger on my way to dinner. He finally stops squirming around when he realizes I'm standing at his feet and looks up at me nervously. I'm relishing that look.

I give him a crooked smile and ask him in a very nonchalant tone "Are you a righty or a lefty?"

The look on his face is pure confusion. I let him stew on it for a moment until his eyes landed on the dagger in my hand. His expression changes and he screams " NO, PLEASE!"

I shrug "Doesn't really matter."

I leap on to him, like a wildcat to its prey. In one fluent move I drill the dagger into his right hand, that he put up as a shield, and continue over him. Impaling his hand to the floor. Poor idea of a defense buddy. The sound of his screams are drowning in the pure ecstasy that pour over me from the crowd.

Kindest love I have ever known.

I soak in it for just a minute before swiftly taking a knee behind the poor fucker, wrapping my right arm hard around his head from the back. The stress sweat seeping out of his pores is almost hurting my eyes. He has given up at this point, leaning into my touch. Letting me take charge. My little pudding cup. Forcefully, I tip his head to the side, exposing his neck and lean in on him with the crowd loudly applauding in my ear. They want me to bite his neck, to drain him of his worthless life. But I stop before my teeth grace the side of his neck. Lifting my left index finger, teasingly swaying it from side to side. I stand to my feet and walk around my prey, while smirking out at the stands. I caught the eyes of the weapons girl again. She looks excited, almost horny.

That's right baby, you like it when I tease you don't you?

You all do.

I straddle Brutus and hear Jerry's voice loud and clear over the now flabbergasted audience.

"Have Vamp gotten hungry after something other than blood?"