The Transfer ✔️

Chapter One - Blood

"Think about them on top of you. Punching you. Imagine the blood running down your face. Your mind is screaming at you to give up. Your body is exhausted. Are you going to let them win?"

He grunts in front of me, heaving himself up for another round where I will knock him down again. The man, Damien, was struggling but my body was primed. It was ready. The muscles in my arms burned from exhaustion but my legs held me steady, the tense muscle keeping me upright in anticipation of the next swing. It would come, another blow would always follow, but being able to stop it was where the adrenaline kicked in.

He swung. He failed. He hit my stomach with a measly force, the blow softened by the muscles I have trained so hard for. I swung back, but the difference between the pair of us was that there was determination behind my punch - a determination to win. He crumpled down with a groan, clutching his jaw where my last hit had landed in a final death blow.

"Remember that." I say, not raising my voice, allowing my victory to carry the words through the air.

Damien spits onto the floor and a mixture of blood and saliva pools beneath him. "Sure, Audrey. I always remember your lessons."

"Good. Without them you'll die."

I leave promptly, allowing the endorphins of another successful fight roll through my body as I navigate the long corridors back to my room. Fluorescent lighting flashes across my irises as I make my way, blinding me from their unnatural force. The people of Oakwood watch me as I go but they refuse to meet my eyes in intimidation or annoyance. Most of the time its both.

We live in a society that only the best can survive in. You kill or get killed. The government wanted the best soldiers to fight their battles – the ones that are hidden by the news due to their gruesome contents that the 'picture perfect' society can't bear to see. So, they decided to split half of the army into two camps of their best soldiers and decided to let them battle it out in the idea that only the strongest will survive. The other half of the army continue as usual and act as a public figure for the country. When the time comes of another war, they'll be more equipped than any other country out there because they'll have the best of the best.

There are two camps battling it out to have the best soldiers for these missions: Oakwood and Marchwood. The opposition, Marchwood, have become increasingly weak after their leader died a year ago. Reliant on natural resources, only having electricity for two hours of the day and priding themselves on being self-sufficient they're polar opposites to my camp, Oakwood.

We pride ourselves with the knowledge that the future relies on technology. Well organized and run by Mr. Harold, our camp is the future of the country. Of the world. We have the best soldiers that are ready to go out onto the front line and fight for what we want - justice for the country. I supervise defense training for most of my camp – those unwilling to be trained by a woman go to a male trainer – and train people to be harder, smarter and quicker than their opponents every time.

If I don't succeed, they will die. If someone is better than you at this game then you're deleted before you even have a chance to press start.

My muscles scream with satisfaction and exhaustion as I shower in my room. Dressing again into black cargo trousers and a tank top, I shove my feet into boots before leaving my cold room. I'm never in there enough to decorate it, I spend all my time at the defense base. Making my way back down the long corridors, I turn quickly and make my way to the usual meeting spot.

A long grey cube of concrete makes up the indoor car-park of our camp. It stretches for as far as the eye can see which is just inefficient as we only have four pickup trucks belonging to our camp. Three of the four trucks stand ready, our best soldiers hiking themselves up and onto them. The noise of talking and shouts of anticipation is loud as it echoes across the grey hall. Making my way to the second truck, I sit down harshly and clasp my hands together, resting my elbows against my knees.