Divide: Version 2 Chapter 1

gaitbreaker27
Divide (ver. 2)
Chapter 1

The first thing that he noticed was the darkness, so thick and complete he could feel it pressing in on him, almost hear it sliding around his head. Darkness so total he wondered if he’d even opened his eyes.
It had been the sound of metal scraping against metal that woke him, harsh, shrill, and cold, screeching across his consciousness like sandpaper across his skin. Beneath the scraping were the faint groans and hisses of cogs and mechanisms, like the workings of a factory, right outside the tiny room he was in. He thought he felt the floor beneath him rising, like an elevator in a high-rise.
He found himself in an awkward position, standing up with his back slumped against something solid, probably the wall itself, or maybe a door. The boy probed with his hands until they touched smooth, cool steel and something else that felt like glass. A wall, he decided. Definitely a wall. No knob or hinges.
But what does that prove? Just that I’m trapped here.
And where exactly is here?
Panic racked the boy’s head at the same time the question did as he discerned that he had no idea where he was. He couldn’t remember anything that had happened in the past few hours.
A fresh wave of dread washed over him as something else set in. It wasn’t just that he’d forgotten anything that had happened recently, he realized.
The boy could no longer remember any details of his past.
He scowled. No. That couldn’t be right. Even as this dilemma echoed in his head, he could feel his brain being loaded with information about the world he was in and what was happening, even then he was analyzing his situation, looking for ways out. No, his mind was working just fine.
So, why, then, couldn’t he remember anything?
My last name is Finnegan, he thought. I’m fourteen years old.
That was it.
No details about his past, hometown, school. No hobbies, sports, music, or favorite places.
No family, friends, not even a girlfriend.
Anger washed over the boy named Finnegan. There was no other explanation for it. Someone had wiped his mind and thrown him in a closet.
Finnegan balled a fist and brought it down hard against the glassy part of the wall, hoping it would break. No such thing occurred.
Again he swung. The only thing he hurt was his fist.
Wham. Wham. Wham.
Eventually someone would have to hear him, even over the roar of the machine. Someone had to come by every once in a while, right? Someone had to take care of the machine.
He added his shouts to the pounding of his fist, which were becoming louder and more insistent as his thought grew more frantic. “Hey!” WHAM. “Anyone!” WHAM. “Help me!” WHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAM–
And as he drummed tenaciously on the solid glass, the floor beneath him lurched upward sharply, throwing him to the ground.
He was right: the floor had been moving, which meant he was in an elevator. And now it had stopped, which probably meant it was time to get out.
Finnegan waited for the ding that usually came with an elevator stopping, but it never came. A minute passed. Then two. Three. Still no sign of the elevator doors opening.
He explored the walls with his hands, but felt nothing but metal and glass. No hinges, doorknob, not even a seam for sliding doors could be felt.
Fury threatened to overtake him again as he prodded the walls, looking for a button, or a knob, or anything that could help him escape.
He was about to lose it when a female voice echoed through the chamber: “Welcome to the Games, Contestant Finnegan.”
Finnegan whirled sharply on his heel, or as sharply as he could in a phone booth-sized elevator. Almost immediately he realized what a stupid thought that was, thinking there was someone else in the elevator. Of course not. He could barely fit inside, let alone another person. And even if there were, how did he think, in this darkness, he would ever be able to see them?
But he’d heard some voice, and it had to have come from somewhere.
Finnegan frowned. “Who–“ he started, but a loud whirring noise cut him off, and light began to flood the room.
It started out as a narrow white line in the wall, which widened to a bar, then a full rectangle of light. Finnegan was momentarily blinded by the light, which was harsh and alien to his dark-accustomed eyes and seemed to stab him hard in both eyes. But he soon grew accustomed to it, and could make out green foliage and red, pink, and blue flowers through the gray mist that was slowly curling into the elevator. The thought of the flowers took away some of his fear, and he relaxed.
The same calm female voice spoke, and Finnegan could tell it was an automated message coming through speakers mounted on the ceiling. “Contestant name: Finnegan. Contestant number: nine,” it droned. “Please step outside and choose your weapon, Contestant Finnegan.”
Weapon?
For the first time since the doors opened, Finnegan felt a stab of apprehension. Why would he need a weapon unless–
Unless there’s something out there.
And suddenly he was wondering if it was better to stay in the dark or go out and face… whatever it was he needed a weapon for.
He jumped as the cool monotone echoed through the room again. “Please step outside and choose your weapon, Contestant Finnegan,” it repeated. “Failure to do so in the next minute will result in an unpleasant method of Torture followed by disembowelment. Seeing as this would be terribly inconvenient for both parties involved, we ask that you Kindly leave the chamber within sixty seconds.”
Finnegan hesitated only an instant before darting outside into the mist. There was fear of a quick death in an unfamiliar environment, and then there was fear of torture followed by a slow, painful death.
He decided he was more afraid of torture.
The moment he stepped through the doors, they slid shut behind him with such force that he felt a spear of pain go through his left heel as the metal grazed it. Finnegan turned to look at the elevator he’d just come through, but found that it had sank back into the ground, leaving nothing behind but a flat steel panel where it had been.
“The chamber returns to headquarters each time it brings a new contestant to the games,” the placid voice explained as Finnegan puzzled over the vacant space where he’d been standing a few seconds ago. “This is to prevent any contestant from attempting to leave the game early, which we take a very dim view of. Any offenders will be punished most severely.”
Games? Contestants? Finnegan wondered. Then, aloud, he asked, “Where am I?”
The voice hesitated a moment before replying. “This is the area known as the arena. It is over ninety-four thousand square miles in area, the size of the former united kingdom, and where you will be spending the rest of your life.”
“What am I supposed–“ Finnegan began, but the voice cut him off.
“Details will be given to you in time. As of now, it would behoove you to proceed to the weapon rack, located a few feet to your left, and select something with which to defend yourself,” said the voice. “The area in which you are is called the hedgemaze, and it is widely known as one of the most dangerous parts of the arena.”
Finnegan frowned and turned to his left. Through the mist, he could see a tall wooden rack standing in the middle of the clearing. Silvery glints of metal shone from the shelves– weapons.
He walked over to the rack. Swords, baseball bats, axes, hammers, knives, throwing stars, whips, bows, metal poles, and slingshots filled the wooden panels, but he couldn’t bring himself to take any of them. He just didn’t see himself using a weapon, no matter what was out there that he had to fight.
A roar in the distance made him jump. It was somewhere between a lion and a crocodile, very deep, very loud, and very, very angry.
“It will behoove you to make your choice quickly,” the voice intoned. “The beast will be here very soon, and it would not be advisable to be anywhere near when it arrives. If you do not escape, it will find you. It will kill you. You will not get a second chance at this game. You have… two minutes, at the most.”