Plutonian

Chapter 5

I've never been the weakest nor the most sickly slave. Knowing I'd always wanted to be a fighter pushed me to improve my strength on the construction sites, carrying materials far beyond my capacity.

My strength gradually increased over the years sometimes rivalling that of the boy slaves but if it's one thing I've learnt from the matches in the pits, it is that strength alone never made a winner.

Instead of improving what little skills I have, I spend most of my training time watching the opponent I am going to face tomorrow. His name is Michael and he has only won one match since he became a fighter last month.

This should make me less nervous but it doesn't because he is already one month ahead of me. 

I sit on the benches and cup my chin in my hands as I stare at him. As a slave we are allowed to watch the fights in the pits if we complete our tasks on time. I suppose it is sick and twisted to want to watch two humans beat each other up but as it is our only form of entertainment I have made a point to make it for all the matches every week since I was fifteen.

That was when I realized I watched the fights differently from others. While other slaves would discuss how the fighters who won were just generally stronger, I noticed the little things like how some fighters had predictable moves that their opponents never noticed and how the unpredictable ones also had patterns to their movements.

Every fighter has a pattern and the ones who win have generally better patterns.

And now I am watching Michael's. 

He is training with an older noticeably more experienced fighter in the ring today. I notice he jabs his right foot out every time his opponent nears him and he limps on his left one. He misses almost every time and suddenly he gets lucky and hits his opponent in the side. 

His kick must be strong because the other guy clutches his side and winces before backing away.

"Good one," He praises and Michael smiles at the approval. This is positive reinforcement and I am certain he will try it again tomorrow with me. He has lost three fights in a row ever since winning his first one and it will be his last chance to win against me. If he loses, his next fight will be with a Plutonian, which is an automatic death sentence.

Like Sergeant Atmos said, there is no room for the weak here.

I try not to think about his fate and instead focus on my own. It's true that I have memorized almost all his moves and most of the fighters I have seen on the pits before but I myself have never fought. I do not know what my strengths are nor my weaknesses.

Although Sergeant Atmos had been quick to point them out during our brief training session just now. 

After watching me punch a dummy over and over again, his eyes had glazed over and I didn't miss the relief on his face when he received a call and excused himself from our session.

Despite the obvious dismissal I continued my assault on the dummy till my fists were numb and then moved to the benches to watch Michael sparring with his opponent. 

My eyes narrow on his left foot as he walks. His eyebrows crease in pain every time he moves that foot and then it clicks in my head.

I remember his last match where his opponent pushed him to the floor and twisted his left foot till he tapped out. Michael must have injured his ankle.

"Don't think about it too much and try your best," Sergeant Atmos sits down beside me and watches them as well. "What ever you do try not to get kicked."

I make a mental note of that. 

"And your punches are weak so try to attack with your legs. Run circles around him and make him tired."