Page 227 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

Now, all this time later, after competing and surviving as an Unbonded five years in a row and being named The Bonding Games Champion—a title that didn’t even exist before her—Ezla will have to take part in the Games again. And I say have to because she’s required to, though with what I’ve seen and heard of her, I’m not sure she minds:

If an Evot or Exot is an Unbonded at the end of the two-month event, they must compete until they either bond, die, or age out of the Games when they turn twenty-six. It’s horrific and completely unfair, especially for the Champion when everyone knows she deserves to win based on her performance every year and her maintained impossible Score of 99. But, as per TBG’s rules, The Council cannot allow an Unbonded to win when the entire purpose of the Games is to have Evots and Exots bond and connect with each other. Her father may have been able get her a different helmet from the rest of us for whatever reason, but I don’t think even he can pull her from the event he created, not when she’s so deep in it.

Though, if you ask me, it could be argued that The Bonding Games actually encourages animosity between social classifications as much as it discourages it with the amount of unnecessary killing that takes place within the event. All in the apparent name of reducing overall crime and conflict between citizens of contrasting personality types. And with the next Games starting in only—

“Well, maybe if my name gets generated, I’ll go after her!”

My heart leaps through the damn stratosphere as I’m yanked out of my head yet again today without warning.

Feeling my face gain colour at the thought of anyone having seen me staring into space dumbly, I surreptitiously glance around the cafeteria to make sure there are no eyes on me. Marginally reassured when I find none, I pick up the bottle of water from my tray and take a sip, trying to cool off as I zone back in on Kira and her friend’s conversation, which seems to have upgraded from frantic whispers to exclamations loud enough for the entire region to hear:

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Kira’s friend says incredulously. “You’ll die! You’re good, but nowhere near good enough to bond her! If you do get generated for the Games, don’t be one of the many morons who try to bond the fucking suicide mission! Because that’s what she is!”

A huff and an irritated fold of Kira’s arms over her chest. “Calm down, Mils, I was only joking. I’m not that stupid.”

“Well then act like it! Dying isn’t a joke!

“I never said it was! You—”

Yeah, never mind. I really don’t want to spend the rest of lunch listening to this squabbling.

Quickly finishing up the meagre contents of my meal, I rise to my feet, almost falling backwards over the bench because that’s just my luck. Righting myself, I hurry to drop off my tray at the rectangular bin, stacking it on top of the few already there. Then relief hits me as I leave and head into the hallway.

Deciding to check a mirror to make sure I’ve definitely got rid of all the chocolate gloop gifted to me by Troy, I make my way to the men’s toilets nearby. When inside, I move to the sinks with a wall of mirrors above them.

My face twists at the sight of my still-burning cheeks. No matter what I do, I always seem to look flustered, and the paleness of my skin does nothing to hide that. Then again, I’m often in a state of nervousness, shame, or embarrassment, so I guess it can’t be helped.

Turning the tap on when I notice some remaining chocolate pudding in my hair, I duck my head closer to the sink, cupping some water in my palm and splashing some on the dark strands before running my fingers through them, then repeating the process. When I’m pretty sure it’s all gone, I cut the water off with a flick of my wrist and straighten to see my reflection again, smoothing a hand over my head to flatten my hair back out.

Good enough.

A glance to my left at the lime-green numbers on the wall tells me there’s five minutes before my next lesson, the buzzer to confirm it blaring through the speakers at that very moment. With a sigh, I exit the toilets to move through the crowd of students already filtering through the hall.

I keep my head down, but being six foot one isn’t doing me any favours here, despite the many other tall guys in this school. And it’s a good thing the classroom for The Bonding Games Studies is just around the corner, because when I hear the unmistakable voices of Troy and his friends from somewhere behind me, I fear the immediate trembling in my legs will leave me in a heap on the floor any second now if I don’t find a place to sit.

Sometimes I wish I was stronger so I could actually stand up for myself for once. But I’m not. And as much as I want to jab needles into Troy’s eye sockets, I’m a coward. So what do I do when his elephant feet thump closer?

I absolutely leg it.

Zooming around the corner, I’m in an all-out sprint until I burst into TBG Studies, panting like I’ve just run for an hour instead of the reality of about five seconds. As always, I don’t waste any time rushing to the back of the room, parking myself in my preferred seat and giving my trembling hands something to do by logging in to the provided tablet on the onyx desk before me while I wait for the lesson to start.

It’s not long until a sea of students clad in black and varying shades of green funnel inside in a babble of chatter, the strips of Avri on their suits reflecting off every gleaming surface of the classroom. They find their seats just as our instructor claps his hands at the front of the room, demanding everyone’s attention.

“Right! Settle down, settle down, everyone!” He shifts behind his desk, eyes boring into everyone as he waits for silence before continuing. “Alright, as you all know, Name Generation Day is tomorrow, so we’re going to jump straight into a recap of everything it’s essential to know for competing in The Bonding Games. Although you should all already know this by now, I’d advise you to pay attention—forgetting just one piece of vital information could cost you your life.”

My gulp is way too loud in the silence that follows, and it earns me a side-eye from the girl sitting at the desk beside mine.

I feel the tips of my ears redden.

“We’ll start with Avri pads,” Mr Toldem says, bringing up an image on the large screen behind him of the bottom of a fitted boot just like the ones I and every other Evot in the room are wearing, glowing forest green veined throughout the black outsole. “Who can tell me what these are?”

“They’re connected to our identification chips,” Vivian, the girl who’d eyed me, answers, arms crossed lazily over her chest. “The Avri they’re made of is coded to manifest in the form we choose. By thinking the image clearly in our minds, with a command to eject that image into a real-life vehicle, we can touch and use the energy that shapes before us.”

Toldem nods. “Good. Give me more details on how that works.”

“The identification chip is connected to our brains and carries the orders to our Avri pads. Since the energy functions off command, it should manifest exactly as we tell it to.”

“And what happens if your command is not strong or clear enough?” he presses.