I was intrigued despite myself.
He’d said it would test our intelligence.
It was a puzzle to me, my attention sharpening.
I hurried after him and climbed the six stairs quickly to where he was waiting for us on a small platform. I watched as he typed 1919 on the lock. Then we stalked with him inside the glass room, the floor made of only small metal grates.
He turned to face us. “I will only say this once. Don’t touch anything in here before you begin. You will have one minute to choose your weapon.” He pointed to a table outside the glass room where multiple weapons lay, and a bored soldier sat next to the table combing his hair. “Then you need to be back in here. You will fight each other to disable—your opponent must be unconscious. Try not to kill each other. Then you are required to use that knife on the floor to hit the bullseye dead center. Last, you will leave through the far door. Whoever is unconscious at the end is sent home.”
He turned on his heel and walked to the door we had come in through. “Your time starts now.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
Victor raced from the glass room to the table of weapons.
I nibbled on my bottom lip as I studied the chamber I was in. The ventilation units on the glass roof were interesting as were the scratched up grates on the floor—since it was a raised room. I glanced at my opponent. His back was to me as he studied each weapon, and I hurried to the wall and sniffed at it. My eyes narrowed at the sour smell. The room had been used before, obviously, and I knew one more reason for the vents now.
I ran to the knife and peered at it, bending, and staring. There was a tiny piece of black metal beneath it. It was a trap for the unaware if you picked up the knife.
I hurried to the other side of the room and examined the bullseye, and, yet again, there were small black metal pieces beneath each leg of the easel.
My last stop was the door. I smirked. Easy.
Then I sprinted just outside the other door, squeezing past Victor as he walked in with a bat. That simple piece of wood was frightening in his hands. I stumbled down the steps in my haste and landed on my hands and my knees right in front of all the instructors sitting in their chairs.
“Dammit,” I grumbled, not looking at them. I had been distracted by the freaking bat. The floor was freezing underneath my palms, and I shoved myself up to my feet.
I shook my hands out while I ran to the table and bounced from one foot to the other in front of it to loosen my muscles. My opponent stretched his inside the glass room. I chanted, “Little one, little one, little one.”
There it was.
I grabbed the soldier’s comb sitting on the table.
He didn’t argue, so I knew I was right.
The instructor stared at his bracelet. “Five, Four…”
I sprinted across the floor.
“Three, Two…”
I clambered up the stairs.
“One…”
I jumped into the room just as the door automatically shut on its own behind me. I grinned in pure delight. “Whew. Made it!”
This was awesome fun.
Victor snorted. “Where’s your weapon?”
I lifted the comb from my pocket. “Right here.”
Then I stuffed it back down into my pocket.
He moved in a circle around me, his movements smooth and calm, and he chuckled. “That’s not a weapon.”
“You’re right. It’s a tool.” Then I struck forward and grabbed him by his balls, even as he raised the bat to defend himself, squeezing and twisting as hard as I could. “My hands are my weapon.”
