Page 327 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

I pause.

Yes.

“No!”

I can imagine his sigh even though I can’t hear it through the taalk.

“I’ll just be a sec, big bro! Don’t you worry your pretty little head!”

I quickly sort out my beautiful silky lion’s mane before rushing into my Avri suit and pulling on my boots and gloves, then grabbing my armoury sticks from my chest of drawers, slotting them into place with faint clicks. Lastly, I grab my helmet, holding it under my armpit while I make my way out of my room to join my little family at the dining table, who are already halfway through breakfast.

I give an enthusiastic wave as I spot Alby. “Hey, Bestie!” Then I turn to them one by one. “Tater Tot! Coops! Big bro!”

A grunt from Tate, an upward chin nod from Cooper that I attempt to mimic ‘cos that’s what the cool kids do, a shy smile and a small “hi” from Alby, and an unimpressed look from Scotty is what I get in response.

Beside Cooper on the table, I notice a small tablet, which each of us got one of when we first moved into these chambers, but it’s turned off—probably because it’s useless as hell. I’d took one look at mine when I’d found it in my bedroom on further inspection after thoroughly enjoying checking out our Bonded bedroom, and seen all it had on it was the time, an official TBG game app that’s enjoyed worldwide, where players can choose an Evot or an Exot character to play as to kill the little pixelated opponents—the Techtis Council is really overly obsessed with promoting the Games and the killing between the social classifications, if you couldn’t already tell—a few songs on a music app that are played at the Halfway Ball, and an empty contacts list which only allows higher-ups to contact us if they ever deign to for whatever reason.

Yeah, I’d tossed that thing in one of my drawers, never to be seen again.

Well, actually, it does have one useful thing: our credit scores. And let me tell you, The Bonding Games does not mess around with money. Never in my life did I think I’d have so much.

I never really cared for getting rich, but it means that when this is all over, we can live comfortably, simply be able to have fun and do whatever we want without worrying about some shitty job we probably wouldn’t enjoy. For the first time ever, we can just focus on being happy.

But still, the fact we can see our balance on the tablets doesn’t increase their usefulness when we already have card readers brought from training school to check that. Probably, it’s another one of The Council’s tricks to make sure there’s so little to do on your own that you’re forced to spend time with your Bonded group. But I, for one, don’t need any prompting—everyone in mine is such a sweet little munchkin.

After eating, we head to the Training Centre, where Ezzy waits on the other side of the transparent doors. Turning away the moment she sees us, we all have to rush to follow as she marches off to our usual room.

Damn, she really makes us work for it.

Also, the other men’s moods are really trying to smother my sun rays, and I am not vibing with that.

“Guys, lighten up; it’s not time for the eclipse yet.”

Tate’s forehead wrinkles. “What?”

“Nothing, Tater Tot,” I sigh. “But you should stop frowning so much—it promotes wrinkles.”

He scowls at me.

Fine, don’t take my advice, then.

Once inside our private training room, Ez sits on the weights bench, and we all stand around her.

She does not like that.

“Sit or kneel,” she snaps.

Oh yeah! I slap my forehead. Queens should always be kneeled before, idiot.

My knees rush for the taalk floor like two lovers meeting after a century apart, and no one else objects as they copy me.

Once she’s satisfied we’re all lower than her in one position or another, she says without inflection, “Players 22, 24, 84, and 87 are going to try and kill you today.”

We all stare, dumfounded. Maybe it’s because of the way she says it: first, like it’s a fact she’s sure of, and second, like she doesn’t have much of an opinion on the matter. Not that that’s surprising.

“A-Aider?” Alby’s voice trembles, and I cast a concerned glance his way. “And . . . Troy . . . ?”

Deadly Nightshade nods.