The sun burned down on the left side of the court, obscuring the view of the stars he'd come to appreciate. That was the only good thing about this particular spot. Around him everything from the muted murmuring in the crowd to the sharp rubber smell of the tennis balls began to overwhelm him. The loudspeaker sounded, giving off three shrieks before a voice finally spoke.

"Two hour break. After that we have one match left before we're finished for today."

The spectators in the crowd cheered and howled.

"Bloody animals." Sidduth plopped down in the seat.

Skidrith Sidduth was his full name, but no one cared. He looked across the way at the opponents. Most of them looked as beat up as he felt. He'd give anything to be back in time to three years ago. BG. Before the games. What he used to enjoy watching as a child had become a literal death match. It was an atrocity to the sport of tennis, yet there was nothing any of them could do. Except play their hearts out.

Literally.

When the games had started for this month, there'd been two teams of twelve. Now the other side was down to eight with his side at ten. And they still had nearly three damn weeks to go. Every three months it went like this. The lottery was played and the players were picked two weeks before the tournament. Aside from a few of them many of the teams hadn't been particularly gifted. Those first events had ended quickly.

The rules were simple. Don't give up on a point and don't end the game at love. Whichever side was unable to score a point during a game had a person randomly picked to be executed. If you gave up before the score was final, you were thrown to the dogs. All you could do was hope to make it out alive.

Sidduth turned away from the battered body being carted away on the stretcher. The man was barely hanging on. Hell, who was he kidding? That guy wouldn't make it out of the tunnel.

Hardly anyone did once they reached that point. Even fewer made it to the ambulance. Sid looked toward the tunnel and silently wished the mangled man good luck. Not that he'd do much now with all of his limbs missing. Back in the days when medicine was important, he could have lived a long and productive life. But these days, "the tourney" was all that mattered. Every resource went to that.

Ironic. The sport he used to love was now the stage for an eternal death match.

These rackets once considered a source of fun were now used as lethal weapons. And the balls that flew across the court showed no mercy. At least when hit well. The lines and the net were the most important thing. Staying alive was all that mattered.

*******

"Point to the red team! Love-Thirty."

The crowd roared as Sid walked back to the service line at the back of the court.

Focus on the lines.

Sid cast his dark eyes over to the man on the other side of the net, who was still trying to catch his breath. Any other time, he would feel bad. Not right now. Lives hung in the balance. Especially his.

Sid closed his eyes for a brief moment as he threw the ball up in the air. By the time he'd swung his racket, he was able to watch the ball speed down the middle before landing right on the T.

That sweet spot where the center line met the first horizontal line on the court was something Sid learned about from the tennis matches he'd watched and played as a child. Only the best backhand shot could get to it. And this guy sure as hell didn't have one.

"Love-Forty."

As his opponent looked at the sky with his hands in the air, Sid almost laughed.

Hahn couldn't help him now, assuming there were any Hahn. Surely they would've saved them all from this.

A slow death from tennis.

Sid had gotten lucky. This guy had no business being on the court. Even a couple of years of practice wouldn't be much benefit. He scanned the other side of the court once again. If he caught the left corner, he could take this game .

Five seconds later the loudspeaker blasted with the final point of the game going to him. He looked at the board. His team was leading the current set 5-2. They'd already won the first set 6-4 and the second one 7-5.

Better not to think about the fate of the man on the other side,who for his part was already running to the sidelines. For what good that would do. Sid's eyes widened as their next opponent walked onto the court. He contained his annoyance as he took his seat on the side of the right line.

The woman sported a permanent frown, but it only added to her features. The soft waves he saw in her ponytail defied the strength of her physique. Any other situation Sid would've easily asked her out. He might've even played some tennis with her.

But this was war. No time for thoughts like that. Although he wouldn't face her today, Sid knew she would be one of the few left standing at the end of this. He'd get his chance.

Sid should've been getting much needed rest in between games because they each had to play two. This rule went into effect whenever the matches reached a third set. He wasn't sure if these breaks helped or hurt even if his body was eager to take it. In the beginning, Sid thought it was a nice gesture for the Foat to allow them some rest. He learned later it was strategy–a tool used to prolong their suffering.

His teammate, Leb played a good match. But she was better. He sat, studying each stroke of her racket, every forehand and drop shot she swung over the net. Her game was top notch. In another life they could each be top players.

Still, no one cared about that here. It was win or go home. In this case, home was a hole in the ground. If you were lucky, your body would be intact when you were dumped into it. Winning

the tourney got you a four month reprieve before being put back into the lottery. So far Sid had enjoyed one of those. He fully intended to get a shot at another.

"Sid, you're up."

Sid turned away from the retreating figure headed to the tunnel. The day he faced her was something he looked forward to. Maybe he would learn more about her. He wiped sweat from his face and his brain started working again. Never mind that. Nameless faces made the playing easier. He wouldn't care if he didn't know them.

Sid took a sip of the bitter, orange concoction in his bottle which immediately got his blood pumping. He took quick steps across the back of the court. The kid on the other side couldn't have been more than fourteen. That didn't mean he couldn't beat Sid.

He would receive first. A position Sid didn't like to be in, but he'd get the ball soon enough. And as fate would have it, he got his chance. Sid was down in the set 30-40. After a long volley, the score was 40 all. One good shot would give him an advantage. Sid got a little too complacent when he got it. As sweat stung Sid's eyes, he was down 2-0 in a tiebreaker.

Sid cursed himself. Dammit. He couldn't let this game end. Not like this. Yesterday's match had been hard fought. They couldn't afford to lose anyone, not today. Sid's lungs burned, his stomach flipped from too much running. He'd made the mistake of looking ahead to a future match, it made him forget about the one he had to play first.

Sid took a breath, saw the hint of weakness as his opponent nearly fell down. He had him. This match was his. Focus and aim for the outside lines. Sid wiped his eyes again as he leaned in, waiting for the serve. The boy bounced the ball.

Once.

Twice.

One more time.

Finally he threw it in the air and swung his racket with everything. The ball flew at Sid. He lifted his racket out of reflex. A quick backhand but it sent the ball sailing to the outside corner. Right side. Sid kept his joy in check. No way the kid could get there in time.

The crowd roared as the sun disappeared. It was as if the air had escaped from a hole in a balloon. His opponent went through the motions. But whatever fight he'd had was gone out of him. With three more aces, the tiebreaker was won. 7-4. Sid watched the kid collapse in a heap. Five minutes later, he still wasn't moving.

After nearly four hours, the match for today was over.

Final score: 6-4, 7-5, 6-3.

The tradition used to be to walk to the center of the net and trade handshakes. These days, each side avoided looking at the other. But Sid couldn't help himself. His opponent lie dead on the ground, the doctor who'd run out to check his pulse long gone. The boy's teammates gathered around in a final ritual while on his side of the net, Sid's teammates came over, clapping him on the shoulder.

There were only six on the other team now, but his side had eight. They had half a day before tomorrow's match. He didn't know how they would make it through the rest of the month. But in that moment, Sid didn't care. All that mattered was getting the other side to give up first.

And on this day, he'd been able to do it.