2

I woke up the next morning with a heavy feeling. My head felt like it was going to explode, a feeling I was already very familiar with. It took me a moment to register that my alarm clock had woken me up. Rubbing my stiff limbs, I got up and padded to the small table by my bed to finally silence the alarm clock.

I grimaced at the thought of going to exercise now, but I knew I would need the exercise. With tired steps I trudged into the bathroom to enjoy a short, cold shower. After that, I changed into my workout clothes and grabbed my key before leaving my little kingdom. Actually, I only had one bedroom and a small bathroom, but I had worked hard for that, after all I had been here for almost 10 years.

I slowly followed the small corridor past all the identical looking doors. Behind most of them there were similar rooms to mine, but most of the rooms had to be occupied by two or three people.

It's been a long time since I was accommodated in such a group room. Even when I couldn't hide the fact that I'm actually a girl, I still lived with some other fighters. The reason they didn't send me away is the same reason I was given a single room. I was damn good - at least when I was sober.

There were fewer and fewer people, but the few that were still there could actually be sorted into groups quite easily. First there are the slaves, they serve the wolves and do whatever they ask them to do. Then there are the workers, actually they did pretty much the same thing as the slaves - they too did exactly what the wolves asked them to do. But they had a little more freedom since they weren't that close to the wolves all the time. Finally there was us.

We were the fighters. Unfortunately not a rebel group, as one might assume. No, no one would ever dare to question the rule of the wolves. We trained day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year. Unbelievable how much effort went into it considering we were only alive to entertain the wolves.

They called it the fights, we called it our job. Actually, it was like back then, in ancient Rome, when gladiators fought against each other.

Wolves, we were told, have a tremendous thirst for blood and this must be quenched lest they tear each other to pieces. Of course HE - the king and leader of the wolves - wants to avoid that. That's why we exist. We fight each other to keep the wolves from going completely nuts. Most of the time it was just a few scratches and scars that were won in the fight, but from time to time we were also instructed to fight a fight of life and death. That usually happened two or three times a year, but that would change soon.

To celebrate the war that was won 10 years ago there will be a big festival and for that there will only be life and death battles all day long until late at night. This has never happened before and it gave me a headache day and night. I didn't even know all the fighters in our arena and apparently there are more to come. So, optimistically, my chances of getting out of this alive are fifty percent at most.

With an energetic shake of my head, I tried to dispel the thoughts in my head and only now noticed that I was already in the hall and had started to do my usual laps.

For once, though I tried to focus on the sound of my footsteps and my breathing, I couldn't shut my mind off. Annoyed, I left the dark hall into the small adjoining room with the equipment. I didn't even know if we were going to have to fight with guns or fists. I would have the best chance with two sisters. I was quick, clever and tactically just perfect. But the others would all be stronger than me and in a fistfight I probably wouldn't have a real chance of surviving.

I exhaled annoyed. I finally had to put my thoughts aside and forget about this bleak future. I had often defeated older and bigger people, also in fist fights. I knew it wasn't impossible with a good strategy and enough training.

I energetically grabbed two leather gloves from a box under a metal table. I quickly pulled them over my rough hands. After ten years there still wasn't a pair of gloves small enough for me, but nobody cared if I was well equipped or not, so I had learned to ignore such things.

The heavy, black punching bag hung from the ceiling in one of the corners of the training room. To my own surprise, I liked the room. It was at least 40 times the size of my bedroom and when it got light outside you could watch the sun slowly climb up the sky thanks to the large glass roof. Actually, this was my only real opportunity to see the sun. My room had no windows and the small ones in the dining room looked more like small holes in the wall than windows.

In contrast, the outwardly curved glass roof offered a wonderful view.

I averted my eyes from the roof, though, and focused on the black sack in front of me. Step by step I went through the different techniques that we had learned back then as children. With every punch on the punching bag, the crushing weight on my shoulders lightened a little. Bit by bit my gloomy thoughts disappeared until all my concentration was on the punching bag. For the first time today I was able to let go of everything else and enjoy the slight pain in my ankles.