CHAPTER ONE

Kay

15 december 2169

Los Angeles

kay, orphan

Winter seemed to last forever. I stayed in my room, fiddling with anything I could get my hands on, desperate for something to do, my eyes glued to the computer in the computer cafe since twilight.

I stepped out of the cafe, only to see the orange rays of sunlight shining on me, embracing me with its warmth. I got into my comfy, cosy chair in my cabin."Home," was all it took before it shot off towards home. I looked out of my cabin, enjoying the picturesque scenery as I hugged my cushion. Before I even knew it, I was back at home already. I got out of the door, which automatically slid open at the detection of my face. Well, unlike before when I had my parents, hello I'm back see the blank hall of pictures of my family. Those pictures, though just pictures only, seemed to come back to life. I see myself at the photoshoot, back when I was three, I remember the time when the cameraman was asking for additional pay because I, being cheeky, kept moving around and could not keep still. I remember the time when we went on our first winter vacation even before winter started, and it was at Japan where I saw my first snow. I remember the good times at Japan where I would slide on the ice slides till my butt turned extremely numb. When we went to eat my first plate of Japanese food. I was begging my mother to get me a cup of ice green tea. She went, "Okay, oh kay...KAY, what a nice name, Phil, lets name him KAY!" I remember that they called my name a million times that day. I remember when...

"Kay, come 'ere!"

"Hmm! No! Say sorry! And you have to fly all the way to the skies to get that balloon back!"

I stood there, arms akimbo, a clear 'anger' written on my cute little 6 and a half year old face.

"C'mere, daddy will get you a new balloon, alright, I'm so sorry, my darling boy."

I shook my head violently, trying to express that I really wanted that balloon back, not sure if that would work.

"Alright, alright. Daddy's going to book an airplane now alright, sweetie? On the plane I'll see if I can get the balloon, alright?"

On normal occasions I would be awfully upset, whining about how he was going overseas yet again, but this time I was very, very excited. He would get that balloon back, for sure!

And after that whole episode, my parents died in a freak accident. Plane crashed, somehow. I didn't have the courage to ask how.

That was when that memory attacked me. Not physically, but mentally. That kind of pain is immeasurable. Physical wounds heal, mental ones don't. They leave a very, very nasty scar behind.

The voices in my head, swarming around the core of my brain, struggling its way to penetrate it. My brain was trying to tear away from whatever was attacking it, pleading for mercy. The cause of my parents death was, indirectly, because of me. The coward I am, I just refuse to accept that fact. My hands are clenched into a fist, trying to rip off my hair at full strength. I could feel it, my skull vibrating at a horribly fast pace, my face swollen from all the anger vented, blood circulating rapidly. I could feel it, my heartbeat racing at a thousand miles an hour, my veins going to burst at anytime. I could feel it, my heart palpitating so hard it could rip my ribcage open.

BOOM! My knuckles busted, pain rippling through my entire body, coursing through my brain down my spine, to my very toes.

Slowly and carefully, I drop my hands, seeing a lot of hair stuck onto my sweaty palms. What a good way of venting anger, losing hair, self-abusing.

I backtracked, cowering myself into the corner of the hall, crouching down. The depression was just too strong.

It made me feel...suicidal.

Out of nothing, I began hallucinating looming shadows, towering over me, their voices chanting the same few words, over and over again, 'You are the one who caused your pare...'

'Shut up!' I snapped out of whatever was making me hallucinate. The shadows kind of reformed into the shadows of the ceiling of the hall once again. I put on a brave front, investigating the hall though there was nothing much to investigate. It's just me and myself alone, nobody else. Mentally, I was a lightweight boxer against the heavy weight boxer called 'depression', prepared to get knocked out a few seconds just after the match had started.

At the corner of my eye, I saw what I would least expect in my house. The Defence.

They burst through the doors, giving me a very big shock. In front of the officers were big-sized, burly men carrying shields that stormed into my house. Through the tempered glass, the saw that I had no weapon and let their guard down. My heart palpitated. What are they doing here? I've not committed any major offense, what do they want?

"Freeze!"

One of those big, burly guys bellowed, so loudly it sent chills down my spine, so loudly that my eardrums felt as if they were going to burst, or rather that's because my heart was pounding in my ears now, making me choke up, the anxiety bubbling inside of me.

He immediately started walking towards me, his eyes filled with suspicion, his every step booming and making the wall shake. As he came towards me, he bent down and placed the Defence Scanner in between my legs. I looked down and saw a bright, neon-green laser shining brighter than the Sun. My legs were completely frozen but wobbly now, and I knew that within a few minutes my knees would betray me and buckle. It shot directly at my very eyes, causing me to immediately face back up. The machine said in this very monotone and robotic way,"Scan complete. I have detected no forms of metal, no forms of weaponry and no drugs. Thank you." It then automatically shut itself down.

This new machine was invented by the company owned by this rich fella, Wesley Barne. Well, he definitely did not invent it, but it seems like all the credit goes to him, like 'oh, that scanner was invented by Wesley Barne, he is such a genius. If only he fell in love with one of my daughters'. I really pity the workers. They invent something so good it is actually used by the Defence, making it one of the only four military tool used by the Defence, yet they just get paid their usual salary with no pay rise. Cunning, wicked, evil. That's Wesley Barne.

I snapped back out of my thoughts when another guy shouted a 'Freeze!' at me. What could I do wrong? I am merely an 18 year old kid, with rich and dead parents, a house and nothing else. The rest of the officers, knowing their usual routine, spread all over the house, searching every corner and every edge. I, though, was standing there, arms up, looking like a scarecrow ridiculously standing there with a Defence officer pointing a .45 at me. After a few minutes, those inefficient Defence officers were still searching around the room, and from the corner of my eye, I saw one of those officers wiping away his sweat. He must be thinking 'Damn, this house is big!', while I was thinking 'Damn, you are one high-ranked officer, eh? Three stars, impressive!'.

It was until after what seemed like forever when I finally heard an officer reporting to that three-star guy with a piece of news.

"Boy, you are found to be drug trafficking. According to Defence laws, we will take away all your possessions and spare your life.", the three-star officer announced.

Since when? Like I said, I was merely an 18 year old, with no parents and only a house they left behind for me. So, since when was I a drug trafficker? My only record in my history states that my parent had passed away when I was 6 and a half years old.

I then went on and explained that I was never a drug trafficker, knowing that that would be useless. If they were to make such a statement, it meant that they have found a solid piece of evidence. Whatever I said would definitely be useless. One of the men grabbed me tightly in my thin, bony arm and dragged me to...the secret room my dad and mom never allowed. Was that why I was arrested? My parents, though they seem so honest and upright, are drug traffickers? I began to understand, that behind those upright facade of theirs lie dishonest sinners. Everything came back to me. The reason why I was kept out of the room. The conversations at night. My mother whispering she was sorry to me on nights where she'd go drinking and come back barely able to stand on her two feet.

I started to hate my parents. They died and left me to shoulder the responsibility. Was the reason I was born because of this? Was I just an indirect henchman of my parents? Had they planned my life out like this? I was left with no choice but to resign to my fate. Whether drug trafficker or not, I was a useless, rich-but-currently-not-and-still-will-not-be-in-the-future kid. There was not a single eyewitness to prove my innocence, not a single CCTV to capture any footage, left with nothing but my life to cling on to.

With my head hung low, my arms were held onto by the burly guy. I went out of the door, they were still clinging on to my hands. With my last shred of pride, I flung off the guy's arms, cursed and shouted,"I can walk on my own, you stalker," and spit at that guy before walking away.

Well, I won the battle, but lost the fight. Right now, I was nobody. With nothing left, I was as good as those people at the pig house, those people who lived and slept with the pigs at the farm, those beggars. Right now, I turned from hero to zero.

My livelihood had been destroyed by my parents, and that is a fact.

Vaguely in my memory of living for eighteen years on this Earth, I remembered watching the poor people at a huge arena fighting till their last breath. Then, my fourteen-year-old self was scared to my wits end. I was watching it like any other horror movie. Looking at it for a moment, the next, covering my eyes. The punches, groans of agony, the...Bloodshed.

Bloodshed.

That is definitely the name of the arena.

I suddenly remembered that I had some change left from the computer cafe. Instinctively, I raced back to the computer cafe and paid a pound to use the computer for 10 minutes.

I typed in 'bloodshed' in the search bar. Thousands and thousands of websites popped up right in front of my face. I quickly clicked on each website that I found could be a possible choice. On my fifth attempt, I decided to click on a website that had nothing to do with Bloodshed.

And there it was, in a corner just out of my eye.

1 Capital Road.

I know that place. It seemed so...familiar. Its as if I was connected to it somehow.

Then, I remembered. Its where my parents and I were before they left for their trip.

I was no dog, I did not pee as markings, but somehow I was able to trace back to 1 Capital Road. Perhaps it is because that's the last place I saw my parents.

Before they breathed their last breath.

When I arrived, I noticed that huge stadium. The size of a football field in the olden days, I guess. I remembered my great-granduncle telling me about how he used to play in... I forgot which club. But anyways he was one of the star players. He told me about how small the field is currently. I don't really care though. Its year 2169, everything is supposed to be compact and automatic. Not like how during my grandfather's time the only automatic function was the open and close of the shelter built on top of the stadium. Well, he is, so far, the only old folk that appreciates modern tech that I know of.

I brushed my hair a little bit to look a little neater before entering the stadium. From then on, I told myself 'I am a fighter'. I flung the doors open and was greeted by a gust of cool air. The guy at the reception counter recognised me, his dark eyes lit up with excitement. I couldn't help but wince at his piercings and nose ring. "Hello, your name is...Kay, right? Son of the Great businessman, Phil. Would you like to buy a ticket? The VIP seat is currently priced at a 100 pounds per match, a drop in the bucket for you, right sir?"

"I want to fight."

"I'm sorry...you..." The man lifts a brow.

"I wanna fight, can you please listen?" I snap.

The man's jaw tightens, and I know that I've offended him deeply. But who cares, honestly? His feelings have nothing to do with me. It's not going to earn me any money, and heck cares about his snobbish attitude. He's trying to scare me, into thinking that my future is in his hands, that I'm just some other rich kid who has no brains.

To be honest, I don't even know what on earth I'm going to do in there. I've never gone through any training, nor watched any kick-ass related videos. I had better things to do back then.

"Hey, you," the man yells, and a girl appears from inside the doors of Bloodshed, her hair pulled back from her face and her dark eyes calculating, intense. Just like a fighter.

"What," she drawls, evidently bored.

"This guy here says he wants to fight. He's from the richer part of town. Kay Will. Ever heard of him?"

The girl gives me a once-over, and scoffs. "I don't really care about those stuck-up, spoon-fed snobs, sorry."

Even though I don't know her, her words sting like someone's driven a knife into my gut.

"You willing to take him under you?"

"I'm not Razor, sorry, or like Calum, so no thanks, Larry," she rolls her eyes, and the man scoffs

That means I'm not getting in. I have to.

"Hey wait," I say, and her gaze flickers to mine, her eyes holding me in place. I swallow.

"I'm waiting, rich boy. In case you don't know, I have a fight up next, and time is money."

I almost wince at the irony of that.

"I want to fight. I need the money. I'm willing to go for training, whatever, heck if you want me to jump off a cliff to join, I'll do it."

The girl laughs, amused. After a moment of hesitation, she sticks out her hand.

"You better do well in that ring, pretty boy," she smirks. "My name's Janel."

And then I seal our deal with a firm handshake.

"Kay."