Prologue
March 6, 1975
Molly awoke to the sound of a rooster’s crow. It wasn’t a live rooster, of course; just a recording blasting through the speakers of her dorm. Molly groaned, but rolled out of bed, took three long strides to cross the room, and slammed her palm over the button by the door.
The crowing was instantly muffled as the speakers over her bed cut out, but the sound continued from the rooms beside, above, and below her own. Molly ignored the sound as best she could and took two small steps to get to the other, slightly smaller, door.
Beyond the smaller door was a minuscule wet bath. The room was so small that, no matter how she attempted, she was dodging the toilet multiple times throughout her shower, during which she got five minutes of hot water before it quickly traipsed the range through lukewarm, to tepid, before settling deep into ‘fresh off the iceberg.’
Upon finishing her shower time acrobatics, she stood in the middle of the bathroom, her legs spread as wide as the space would allow and hit the button next to the shower knob with her off hand before it joined the other high above her head. Air blew hard and fast from above and below. Once she was dry, Molly hit the button again, cutting off the air flow, and left the room.
Back in the main room of her dorm, Molly went to the dresser built into the wall at the foot of her bed. She didn’t have to rifle through it, since she only had the one outfit in triplicate. She grabbed the first piece her hand came into contact with, and pulled the brown, burlap-like t-shirt over her head before moving to the next drawer down, which contained three pairs of dark denim pants. Once she got those on, Molly laced her sandals around her feet before heading out into the compound.
The cold metal hallway was still fairly empty when she left her room, overhead lights shining so bright that they stunned her eyes for an instant, but she wouldn’t have stopped to talk to anyone even if there had been anyone to talk to. Making friends in the dorms tends to lead to both parties facing each other from opposite sides of the Training Grounds. And Molly didn’t want to kill any more friends. Thusly, she nodded to the Matron posted at the stairs and made her way down to the mess hall.
As the sound of roosters faded, the delicate rumble of the mess hall became more pronounced. Molly slipped quietly through the doors and took her place in line, trying to avoid the thoughts looming in her mind. She nodded and shook her head in all the right places as the line worker filled her tray. Once they finished, she took her tray over to where the largest portion of tables was cordoned off.
Gruel. Again. It didn’t look all that appetizing, but Molly could have been eating cardboard for as much as she tasted it as she watched the tables fill up. Six people to a table, and at least twenty tables in the cordoned area, and the only sounds were those of eating, and the occasional growl or snarl whenever someone felt someone else was too close.
“Smith, Molly!”
“Aye!” Molly stood, leaving her empty tray at the table. The mess watcher directed her out a side door, where a young woman with dark hair piled atop her head in curls and twists was waiting.
“My name is Rachel York,” the shorter woman said, pushing her oval-framed glasses up her nose as she led Molly away. “You’ve been in the Arena for six months?”
Molly nodded, noting that Rachel’s glasses had already slid back down her nose. Rachel held her gaze for a moment before flinching and looking down at the slim folder in her hands. They came to a stop, and Rachel pulled a cloth from the pocket of her pencil skirt.
“You’ll have to forgive me if this process seems redundant,” Rachel said as she began to buff her lenses. “I only finished my apprenticeship last week. You’re the first champion I’ve ever promoted. Can you help me out here?”
Molly nodded, and Rachel put her glasses back on.
“Thank you,” Rachel said, and the pair resumed their journey. “Now, are you a voluntary candidate, or are you serving a sentence?”
Molly’s hand went to the device implanted at the base of her neck.
“Prison sentence,” she said, her voice harsh from lack of use.
“Getting answers out of you is gonna be like pulling teeth, isn’t it?” Rachel asked. Molly shrugged, and Rachel sighed. “And what did you do to earn your prison sentence?”
“We failed to overthrow the government.”
