Jess Thompson
  #18

I stare at my plasma lined metal walls in boredom. This is literally how I have been living for two years. I remember those amazing days before I came here, or was captured. This is not the life I wanted, this is not the life I deserve.

"Jess Thompson, please report to room two hundred three. Thirty-five and twenty-five," I hear the people call over the announcements.

"Daisy Snipet, please report to room two hundred three. Thirty-five and twenty-five,"  I hear the announcements ring again. My stomach churns in disappointment.  I wish I was given a bigger competition, someone bigger to fight.  I guess it'll be an easy win.l

I walk out of my cell with my head held high. I walk down the halls, surveying everything.  I look at the walls, finding which ones are least reinforced, and the ones that are the most.

I lay out the plan on how to escape, ready for the right moment to attack.

"Jess, are you ready?" Daisy asks, causing me to let up my fast pace. She didn't ask me to wait or stop, just if I was ready. This one simple question causes me to slow down without begging or saying 'please'.  Such a shame, no begging.

          "Ready to win?  Of course!"  I snap back with a cocky smirk. I know that there is no way for her to beat me.

          "That's right. Out of fifty five million, two hundred sixty-seven thousand, nine hundred eighty-one possibilities, there is only about point one percent of them I win. Each one with absurd tactics, wrong thoughts, and strange moves you would never consider. So, I will lose in this up coming battle,"  Daisy Snipet declares, clearly proud of her calculations and numbers.

          "Any last wishes?"  I jokingly ask.

          Daisy raised her palm to her chin before replying. "Actually, yes. Can you let me finish my goal before finishing me?  Also, please no permanent wounds. I'm not in the mood for scars."

          I roll my eyes. "I'm not that evil,"  I smile.  Daisy cocks her head my way and gives me the coldest of stares. I throw my hands up in confession. "Okay, okay. Maybe."

          "Yes, you can get evil, but out of all those possibilities, only fifteen were when you wouldn't let me finish my goal, and four hundred thousand six hundred eleven possibilities where you would give me permanent wounds."

          While Daisy keeps jabbering on about her numbers, and me pretending to care, we pass room two hundred one. Dried blood coats the charred metal floor. A single, small flame rebels while fighting to stay alive on a piece of fabric lying on the floor. It seemed to be a piece of T-shirt that get caught on a jagged piece of metal flooring.

          Passing room two hundred two, I spot the remains of another battle: Lincoln's and Eliza's. Water puddles collect on the metal flooring while the overhead lights keep sparking. They probably won't ever be the same again. I take note that some of the puddles have a little bit more glow to them. I swear I saw some sparks flying out of one.

          We enter room two hundred three to see a room, like two hundred on and two, minus the battle remnants. Of course, the only thing different is the people in the room: our caretakers.

          "Okay, so to eliminate the more of the permanent wounds, wait five seconds before curling me together with your metal,"  Daisy instructs, bringing me back to the real world. I have no idea the other instructions she gave me, but I hope they weren't important.

          "Hello-"  my caretaker starts before Daisy interrupts.

          "Jess works on moving the metal with her mind, and I work on seeing more futures at once. Got it!  No need to say it twice,"  Daisy rolls her eyes. I just find myself staring at her funny.

          Innocently, she says back, "What else can I do?  It's the only talent I really have."  I smile back at that logic.

          "Ple-"  Daisy's caretaker starts the word 'please', but could never finish it because Daisy steps in.

          "Walk up to the red tape.  I know. You've said this almost fifty six million times. No need to make that fifty six million and one times,"  Daisy snaps. I have never seen Daisy this way before. It's a little nerve wracking.

         "Daisy-"  her caretaker starts.

          "Start to work on stopping to finish people's sentences. Got it!  Been told about fifty six million times!" 

          I just stare in amazement in how she can talk to her caretaker. If I would have said any word, especially in the tone, to my caretaker, she would have slapped me silly, not that I would have cared though.

          Before Daisy could finish another one of their sentences and get yelled at again, I step up to the red tape. Daisy takes note in what I did, and follows my lead. Our caretakers release a breath I don't think they even knew they were holding before giving us the signal to start. I just can't wait for this to be over with.

"You may begin," my caretaker says as quickly as possible, so she doesn't get interrupted again.

Daisy smirks, giving me the opportunity to end it right now. However, I wait five seconds before doing anything. Four. Three. Two. One.

I raise my arms, opening my fist and curling my fingers. I feel the power coursing through my veins. I tell it to make a cage out of the metal flooring. The cage should encase around Daisy without any escape.

The metal flooring curls up around Daisy, while she has her eyes closed, clearly completing her goal. She puts up no fight, which is a shame. I really wanted a good fight.

I create a metal window, so I can see Daisy clearly. I focus on holding the metal there with my mind. I let one hand fall to my side, fingers limp. I think and think, forcing the metal to stay where it is, and I do, releasing my other arm.

I smile, quick fight. I create a metal choke collar to go around her neck. I pull with the slightest amount of energy, so no wounds will be created. The caretakers nod in my direction.

Releasing my hold on the metal, the metal crumpled to the ground; for, I am too lazy to push it back to where it originally goes.

"Back to your cell," my caretaker says roughly, harshly shoving me out of the room. I frown at his actions. I sneak a peek in Daisy's direction to find that her caretaker is doing the same, minus the shoving part. She can walk freely back to her cell. Probably, only because she doesn't have a violent power like mine.

With my feet padding down the halls, and a calloused hand punching my back, my temper rises. I know that I'm not escaping, not today; but I want them to know that I still have fight left in me, that I'm not so helpless.

I whip around, staring daggers at his face.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asks in a low, gruff voice, sounding kind of like a hungry bear.

Smiling, I say back, "Showing you who owns the place." I slap his face. A blushy red starts forming on the spot. He raises his gun, shooting right where my heart would be. I stop the bullet mid air. "I thought you would have known better," I smirk.

Bending the gun back, and shoving the bullets up in the air, I laugh. This is such a small parlor trick, so easy, but yet it scares them the most.

          "To all of you guys who want justice. It's coming. Join me and justice will be served, on a platter of gold with their blood served in a golden goblet. We will rise. We are the ones who should be served. They cannot trap us, they cannot rule us, we rule them. We are better than them. We will rise. Justice will be served,"  I scream towards all the cells.  I hear a couple people clapping and some cheering. I smile.

"Not so fast," says a lady in military uniform holding a unique gun.

"Just like you witnessed, I thought people like you would know better than to shoot me with metal bullets," I grin.

"And we do," she smiles as she cocks the gun and shoots at me. Electricity flies out of the gun and hits me square in the chest. My body crumples to the ground as my caretaker steps forward.

I try to move away from him, but I realize quickly that I am paralyzed. He slings me over his shoulder as reality fades in and out.

          Blackness. Daisy's concerned looks. Darkness. My caretaker's boney shoulder. Blackness. My cell with a few words above it. I can make out the first two and the last word, but the middle two become blurry. The broken __ _ reality. This is the last thing I see before my caretaker tosses me on the bed.

He walks out of the room quickly. However, I swear he took one last look back at me. Pity? Love? Sorrowfulness? My eyes fall to a shut, and blackness consumes me.