Page 25 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

I agree. We’ve only ever been able to look at pictures of them in school since students aren’t allowed bonding cubes unless they’re generated for the Games, and the Bonded understandably keep theirs close to themselves. Now I can see those pictures didn’t do them justice; they look almost ethereal in real life, and that’s without even being close enough, or them bare enough in their pouches, to see fully.

It seems no one wants to comment on the regeneration serum, though. Not that I can blame them when the concept of it has me fighting full-body jitters. It’s freaky how it allows us to regrow limbs, and it appears to be a universally avoided topic, other than in lessons at school, until you’re watching it work in the Games.

Or in this case, living it.

It’s made from Avri commanded to heal anything but a killing blow until you reach 0%, where you’ll either already be dead or the next blow after that will finish the job if it’s bad enough. So really, it’s a good thing. But the Games are deadly enough that it would be obscene not to give us any extra help, making the miracle that is the serum feel more like a given.

“29!”

Gasping, I hurry though the crowd to get to the table.

When I reach it, I unsteadily lift my visor, then my chin, head tipping back as I clench my fists as if I could crush my anxiety in them. The needle pricking my skin has my eyelids scrunching together, and my breath leaves me in a rush of relief when it’s done in only a few seconds.

I don’t feel any different.

The Neutral hands me my pouch without a word, and I take it with wide eyes before I make my way back over to Tiger and Scotty in what’s almost a run, trembling hands bringing the pouch closer to my face to get a better look at the translucent two-inch cube within.

The younger Gold brother’s beguiled face appears directly on the other side of it. “Wow! Look at it, Scotty!”

He’s already looking, and I’d say he appears intrigued if he wasn’t so unreadable right now.

“35!”

“Oh!” Tiger whips around in a flash to go fetch his own cube and shot. While he’s at it, I open the little clasp attached to the top of the net in my hand; bringing it down to my right side, I fix it onto the small loop there. They’re designed so that when pulled hard enough, the pouches open and release the cube within, so I’ll have to make sure I only do that when we have the boys secure.

No one wants a loose bonding cube roaming around for just anyone to pick up.

Tiger comes back with his own bonding cube already hanging at his hip at the same time Scotty is called up, and I watch the latter walk to the table before focusing back on his brother. “You good?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I blow air out of my mouth. “Just a little . . . petrified.”

His expressive blue eyes stretch out to saucers. “Same! But we’ve got this! And I genuinely believe that, Bestie! Otherwise I would’ve made a mourning song—I can’t die without leaving a melody like that behind!”

Despite all that’s about to happen, I crack a genuine smile.

But then I sober too soon, unable to crush my doubts completely. “If . . . if I don’t make it, I-I just want to say that—that you’ve been the most amazing friend I’ve ever had. It’s been one of the best weeks of my life.”

My vision grows blurry, and Tiger’s face contorts into an expression of pure horror. “No, don’t cry!” A tiny squeak escapes me as he crushes me against his chest. “We’re all going to live together after this! And we have so many limbs to grow back to get there! We’ll make it! We’ll all be brothers—you, me, Scotty, and those two boys we’ll bond! And we’ll be able to be really, really happy and do whatever we want for the rest of our lives!”

A thought occurs to me as he pulls back: “Say we do survive, and . . . and those boys don’t . . . what then? Or what if they get bonded by someone else?”

His golden brows push together in extreme concentration, before he nods at whatever conclusion he’s come to. “Then we’ll bond someone else. And we’ll still be happy.” He scoops my pinkie up with his, his skin a few shades darker next to mine, and locks them tight. “Pinkie promise.”

“Pinkie promise . . .”

My whispered words are the last to drift off into the air before the taalk door at the end of the hall starts to rise upwards.

The din of the spectators from within that it had been keeping at bay is deafening as it roars into my ears.

9

ALBY

The volume increases tenfold as cheers soar across stands to meet us down below.

We walk out of the hall and into The Dome single file, Scotty at my front and Tiger at my back, all of us taking in the intimidating scene before us: Thousands of Evots, Exots, and Neutrals blur together in the stands that surround the arena floor; starting eight feet from the ground, they steadily gain height all the way to the far wall that circles around the entire venue. At the ceiling miles above, countless white circles and outlines of squares in red and green dot the onyx taalk like stars in the night sky, and that Avri is found lining corners and joints around the place in a multitude of long and short strips too, reflecting off of every indestructible taalk surface.

As my head swivels around my neck in amazement at seeing all this in person for the first time, I find the only break in the public behind me, where an obsidian rectangular box sits imposingly. It’s one-way, nobody able to see inside of it, but everyone knows this is where the Game Master views the Games with the other higher-ups who like to watch us be slaughtered like wild animals. It’s also where the one-hour countdown will appear when the Game begins.