Mav and I exit the train station in silence. A pair of black-armored officials trail in unison. Long-ended guns rest in their palms—Superior standard equipment. The air is noticeably cooler than when the day began, and it’s started to rain. I don’t bother asking for an umbrella. The cold drops of rain against my skin match my mood just fine. 

People have begun to gather in the pedestrian plaza just outside the Colosseum. The indoor-outdoor stadium was designed to mimic the fluidity of the ocean and take advantage of the Union’s tropical weather. It features a translucent glass roof that covers the stadium proper and adjacent public squares. The hundred-foot-tall ovular video board that hovers over the roof surrounds the city in a world of color and sound. 

Every fall, the Chase kicks off with an opening ceremony challenge. Not only does it prepare teams for what’s to come once the Chase officially begins, but the challenge is used primarily to determine seeding. The scenario takes place in the form of virtual reality, and the video footage is displayed inside and outside the Colosseum. This year’s opening ceremony happens this weekend, so all the screens capture the essence that is the Chase.

Back when I’d spend most of my time at the Palace, I could see the Colosseum from my bedroom window. Truthfully, I could see pretty much any building from my bedroom window, but the unparalleled entertainment destination stole my attention unlike any other. I would set aside my homework, or whatever activity I was indulged in, and watch the turbulent rotation of commercials, renowned winners, and footage of previous year’s highlights that would play on an endless loop. If I closed my eyes, I could picture myself walking amongst the victors and holding the crown. I wanted to follow in my father’s steps, and my grandparents before him, more than anything in the world. 

For a second, and only a second, I feel the old joy of those moments seeping into my bloodstream. But then the triumphant sounds of victory and colorful lights unexpectedly disappear, snapping me out of my trance. I look up. Through the steady downpour, I can see that every side of the Colosseum is now black and displaying life-like images of the world’s First Lady. My mother.

The site of her casts a shadow across not just me but the entire stadium. We are reminded that today—a day that usually is marked with festivals and parades, happiness and aspiration—there is misery in these streets. It has soaked into the white paving slabs surrounding the stadium and drips down the tinted glass walls. It is in the shops that were once loaded with designer apparel and now house tissues and umbrellas. It is in the bordering plazas and small cafes where people would gather in packs after enjoying the garden trails or hanging out near the river adjacent to the stadium. It is sketched in the face of every mother and father, son and daughter, whom Father has forced to dress in black, pay their respects, and turn away as their beloved queen drops to the ground forever. 

All the faces but my brother’s, that is.

No matter how many times I reach for his attention, Mav remains silent and detached. He doesn’t even bother to respond to the folks who stick out their wet hand for the two of us to shake as we make our way through the plaza. I can’t decide if he’s holding in pain or . . . wait, what am I thinking? Of course he’s holding in pain. The real question is whether or not today will kindle it or finally release the weight that has been slumping his shoulders for a decade.

When we reach the roped-off section of the Colosseum’s open-air entrance, I’ve almost calmed the anxiety churning my stomach. That is, until I hear the sound of a gun cocking. In a daze, I look on as the two officials lead us away from the atrium, down a wavy staircase, and through a tapered corridor with a ceiling that gradually slopes lower. Pull yourself together, Easton, I tell myself. You only get one shot at this. We then proceed through a series of golden arches that lead into the cool, dark cemented basement under the stadium. The officials stop in their tracks as a sliding metal door appears at the end of the furthermost hallway. 

“Is this it then?” Mav asks, reaching for the door handle with one hand, leaving the other to droop over the pistol. The rain has turned his hair into strings of straw, and the foundation on his face has begun to run, revealing the razor bumps that cover his cheeks. I’ve never been one to hide my imperfections with makeup. One of the many ways in which I stand out from my Elite peers. “Is our mother on the other side?”

“Yes,” responds Edsel, the male official who has been in charge of protecting Mav and me since birth. His voice is deep and distorted due to the face-concealing black helmet with a silver overlay that all officials receive upon graduation. “You have twenty minutes. Not a second more. Your father was adamant about that one.”

Mav elbows me in the gut. “Shouldn’t be a problem, right, Easton?” 

I roll my eyes.

Jayda, the female official who has been with us the past few years, opens a small metal box on the door. A blue light scans her face. “When you’re finished, or when you have reached the allotted time, Edsel and I will take you to the stadium bowl.” She nods in my direction. “Make every second count.” 

As soon as Edsel and Jayda position themselves under the golden arches down the hall, I begin panicking. The thoughts accelerate in my head. I try to calm them, but I can’t. My breathing becomes more rapid, more shallow, and my heart pumps like it’s trying to escape.

I’m not ready for this. I mean . . . who could be? To know the exact time and place a person is about to die just isn’t normal. And quite frankly, it isn’t even human. 

I have to do something. Even if it’s just delaying the inevitable.

Just as Mav is about to slide open the door, I grab the handle and throw all of my weight in the opposite direction. He’s strong and reacts quickly. I have to use all the remaining strength inside of me to keep him from entering the prison cell, and even then, my wet hands prevent me from gaining any real grip.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” He angles himself low to the ground, like that of a player in a game of tug-a-war, and begins yanking repeatedly. 

“What does it look like!” I snap, shifting my body so that my legs are now firmly pressed against the cement wall for extra leverage. Water drips from my hair and into my mouth. It tastes like chemicals. “I’m trying to stop you from killing Mother!” 

“There’s nothing you can do to stop this. Mother made her choice. Now she must lie in it.” His face is bright red. I can feel his heart beating through his fingertips. “It’s about damn time, too. She’s been shady ever since you decided to give up the presidency. Honestly, I wish she would’ve just died on the cliffside. It sure would’ve saved all this drama. I’m supposed to be training right now.”

I can’t help but believe he’s referring to the day I deleted. 

My entire body shakes as I squeeze the handle tighter and tighter. I’m pretty certain I’ve already popped multiple blood vessels on my palms. I probably only have a few seconds before my hands give out. “How can you say that?” The door cracks open, revealing a small ray of light. I try kicking Mav in the shin, but it’s no use. I can now see Mother’s head through the doorway, and the rest of her body appears ever so slowly.

I force myself to look away.

“I don’t think Father thought this one through. An event like this is going to set the world back years. It’s not ready to handle the loss of its beloved queen.” Mav chuckles, causing a moment’s lapse in power. It’s the opportunity I need to close the gap. What I didn’t expect was for Mav to release his grip entirely and step to the side. I fly into the wall and smack my head against the concrete. “What horse shit. She’s anything but a queen.”

I leave a bloody pair of handprints on the cement floor as I gather myself and block Mav from attempt number two. “You know, you’re such a jerk. What made you like this?”

“Oh, shut up.” He leaves only an inch between our noses. His eyes, fueled by the ashes that have hardened his heart, are clouds of smoke, matching the smell of his breath. “I am the way I am because of you. How else did you expect me to claim the throne for myself? You were the chosen one the day you were born. All because of the connection Mother and you had.”

“I, well . . .”

“I don’t think she ever cared about me. If she had, she never would have devoted herself to you and left me to fend for myself. I was forced to live under the ever-growing plague that shadowed me with hate, and the worst part of all—you never did anything to stop her. Not once.”

With my back tightly pressed against the door, tears flood my eyes at the worst possible moment. “I tried. I really did. But she said it was for my own good. The closer we were to each other the harder it was going to be for one of us to give up the throne when the time came.”

“Bullshit! You never tried anything.”

“Mav,” I say, my lip quivering, “please . . .”

“The only thing you cared about was keeping me close so that I would protect your secrets.” His eyes are now pink and puffy. “You tricked me into thinking my life would ever turn out like yours was about to. How stupid I was. If it wasn’t for my loyalty, you would be joining Mother out there today.”

“I . . . I never meant it that way.” My heart aches like it’s been punched. “You have to believe—”

“I thought if I protected you long enough,” Mav interrupts, “you would recognize that the best thing in your life was right in front of you. Boy, was I wrong. You never loved me, did you?”

My fingernails bite my palms as I stare at my brother in disbelief. How can he seriously believe that? Especially with the countless memories pulsing at the back of my head. 

I suddenly picture the severe thunderstorm that cut through the Union eight years back. There’s Mav curled up next to me, tucked tightly inside the covers and panting as we watch the waves crash against the Palace’s glass walls. He was afraid, not just of the storm, but of what was to come as our training picked up. My singing used to be the only thing that would calm him. So that’s what I did. I sang. And when I was done, he made me promise him something. 

I can still hear the fright in his whisper: Promise me that you’ll always be there for me. That you’ll never leave me.

Of course, I said, reaching out my hand. I’ll never leave you.

I question whether I took the promise as seriously as I should have. As Mav did.

“It’s all whatever,” Mav says, wiping away the memory. He withdraws the handgun, leaving me momentarily perplexed. Its shape appears to be from an age well before ours, maybe even before the Union began. I don’t see the metal chamber designed to convert energy-rich gas into bolts of intense plasma that can melt through pretty much anything. Instead, there’s a mechanism meant to launch what I’ve heard are called bullets. I can’t help but wonder why Father has given Mav a gun straight out of the twenty-first-century weaponry vault. “Today marks the beginning of a new era. I can’t wait until you pull the trigger, so I can watch the life drain out of her eyes once and for all.”

I stare at my brother in even more confusion than before. “What are you talking about? Why on earth would I ever pull the trigger?” The thought alone has me sweating. I once again unbutton my collar, allowing fresh air to cool my neck. At this point, I wish I could take the suit off entirely. My coat is wrinkled from the rain, and my pants are stained from falling to the ground. “You’re the one with the gun, Mav. You’ve clearly come to carry out Father’s order.”

“Don’t you remember?” He holds the pistol under my chin now. It’s almost as if I can hear it whispering my name, begging me to do what must be done. And for some odd reason, hearing its call feels oddly familiar. “The only way you’ll ever be able to compete for the Presidency is if you kill Mother. That’s what Father told you on the cliffside two years ago.”

I am beginning to think I should’ve played the entire memory while on the train. “I have no idea what you are talking about. There’s no way that’s true.”

He grins, revealing his crater-sized dimples and white-straight teeth. “Let me guess . . . you deleted the memory from your Soul Card?”

“So what if I deleted the memory,” I stammer, turning red. “We’ve all done it. Wasn’t that the point of the technology in the first place?” 

Mav rolls his eyes. “Sure, if you’re weak.”

“Like you haven’t deleted any of the painful memories from our childhood. As much as you talk about neglect, I bet anything you can’t even name specifics.”

Mav paces back and forth like his brain demands energetic expenditure but without telling his limbs what to do. Suddenly he starts talking. Talking like he doesn’t have the time for what needs to be said. His sentences are fragmented and not one of them connects together. He’s in some mental free-fall, almost as if all his pain is spewing out of his mouth unchecked. My own words bounce off him like rain repellent. 

When he’s finally able to regain control, his fingers are white-knuckled, holding onto my white blazer with one hand and shoving a gun into my ribcage with the other. “I grabbed the gun because you and I both know you wouldn’t tried to get out of killing her. But I can’t let that happen. I need Father to see you fail him all over again.”

He squeezes even tighter now. The pain in his eyes resembles a wasteland of a planet. No water. No plants. Not even land. All I see is dust and bits of debris haloing around each of his pupils, waiting for the black hole in the middle of his eyes to swallow the remains. The images quickly inject sadness into my veins, and my heart sinks until it’s pushing on my bladder. “Don’t you see, Easton? It’s the only way Father will fully accept me as the heir-apparent.”

“You’re forgetting one thing.” I finally push back on Mav, causing him to lower the gun. “Even if what you’re saying is true . . . I don’t want to become president. I’d never walk out there in the first place.”

“You’re underestimating the situation.”

His statement leaves me momentarily dazed. Before I can snap out of the trance, Mav slides the door open, shoves me inside the cell, and tosses the gun at my feet. “Stop playing games already. Give it to me straight.” I lunge forward, but in doing so, I nearly lose four of my fingers.

“I think you’ll find that turning around will provide you with all the answers you need,” Mav calls from the other side of the door. “I’ll see you out there.”

The hairs on my arms stand tall at the sound of a chair creaking and the feeling of footsteps growing closer. “What about you? Are you not going to say goodbye?”

“I said goodbye to Mother a long time ago.”

Next Chapter: Chapter Three