Page 166 of The Bonding Games: Part 2

I’m snapped back out of my thoughts by the Showmaster’s voice just like I was the first time I was in The Dome. And once again, I seem to have missed a good portion of his speech, but I focus on his words now rather than what happened after that, because as much as I love every single part of Ezla, the sight after she and Tate were done with those who chose to go against her yesterday was not pretty, and I think it’s enough to turn most people’s stomachs.

Certainly not Tate’s, though.

The only thing it turned was his libido all the way up.

Some people in here are stood up, while others are sat down. The Showmaster fits into the former category as he leans forwards in his chair towards the microphone built into the narrow ledge-like table lining the front of the viewing box.

The deafening roar of the crowd isn’t as ear-splitting in here, muffled for the higher-ups . . . for us—I don’t think I’m processing that fact very well—and I’m thinking that’s what has cut off Peter mid-speech. He continues now in his usual pompous tone as the audience in the stands quiets down enough, except now I can hear it without the microphone warping his voice in here, without that echoing quality to it, and it sounds nowhere near as intimidating as it once did.

“Settle down! Settle down now!” he calls out, and I can hear the muffled ping-pong effect as his words reach far and wide. His tone is almost cheerful, but it’s not out of place, and I can admit that he has always been very fit for his role.

I’m sure I should feel guilty for my lack of guilt when I think about the very obvious fact only he’s oblivious to that his title won’t be his for much longer.

I’m still a little lost on what he’s just said, but Ezla confirms my suspicions when she sends down the bond, making my cheeks heat less from embarrassment and all because it’s just her as always, He has passed on our story to the globe along with the news about the cancellation of the Game they were expecting to see today. The world will know what a mess Joseph was in his last moments, how utterly pathetic and worthless he was, even if it is still better than he deserves. I am satisfied.

And I can feel that she is. She wouldn’t want anyone to know about all of her vulnerable moments, and not a single one of us asked her to share them. No one deserves to know about all she’s been through, and her story doesn’t need to be shared to prove Joseph was a monster. The blame on mental health changes things, could make some feel sympathy for him, but I think when he’s acted in such extreme ways, that will be hard for people to consider, especially when his actions affected the globe’s favourite Bonded group. But even for those who do find some sympathy in them, I know Joseph would have hated it. He despises vulnerability, and if he were here to see the world thinking he was severely unstable, that he wasn’t the all-powerful leader everyone believed him to be . . . it would be his worst nightmare.

“I understand how upsetting this news is, but we must move forward!”

I blink.

Cooper seems to snort internally, however that’s possible. He certainly has a way with words.

“We cannot linger on such tragic events when there are so many great things to come! I, for one, am incredibly excited! Would you like to know why?!”

The crowd switches up in an instant. Like magic, any lingering devastation, rage, or confusion becomes anticipation.

I try not to wrinkle my nose. I don’t consider myself a judgmental person, but the elite living in this region are just . . .

Unbelievable, Cooper supplies as the Showmaster starts to explain all of Ezla’s plans. There’s not an ounce of amusement left in my brother’s tone, just pure disgust.

At least poo-eyed Joseph is getting the treatment he’s always deserved. Imagine the tantrum he’d throw if he found out Techtis dismissed him like people would a fly. Tiger’s words are paired with a supervillain’s laugh.

Fuckin’ right, Tate agrees, smirking. He’s not looking at the crowd outside, the one we can see through the one-way wall before us—only Ezla.

It’s only ever Ezla.

And that’s something that’s never changed. That never will.

Some things have, like his acceptance of us, the way he’s started to treat all of us like brothers, but his obsession and love haven’t—well, unless you consider the fact that they only seem to have amplified by a hundred and the growth just keeps on happening every hour of every day. But the point is, he’s just as devoted as he originally was, just with subtle differences that allow this Bonded group to function perfectly. And I think that’s the same with all of us.

I think a part of me worried that the Games would change me—and they did. But it was all for the better, and who I am remained completely intact. Ezla’s changed the most, but even she kept a hold of herself. She didn’t lose herself, just discovered new parts of herself. And I can’t believe I was one of the men who helped her find those parts.

“. . . no more Exots and Evots! But what there will be . . . is colour! Freedom! An empress who you all know and love, and her five bonded men!”

Blinking back to reality again, I take in the crowd down below, The Dome surreal from this perspective. We seem so much closer to the red, white, and green shapes dotting the ceiling to create the night-sky effect—we seem so much further from the arena floor, where, only a week ago, I wasn’t sure I’d make it out of the maze that sat at its centre and expanded outwards, dominating a good portion of it.

The audience has gone wild again, and there’s an overload of emotions I can feel radiating from them even in here through the thick walls. There’s more confusion and anger, and there’s a lot of it, but there’s also excitement. And it’s not the hope I’m sure the rest of the region is feeling, that enthusiasm no doubt all because of the words “Ezla” and “empress”, which me and my brothers never thought for a second they’d reject the idea of when she’s always been an idol and loved by practically everyone, Exots, Evots, and Neutrals alike—though I’m sure there will definitely be wariness and fear in there for a long while, because their adoration doesn’t mean they’re oblivious to who she is—but I know they are.

I know people like me back in third school are crying, weeping in joy. I know there are millions of people out there celebrating already, watching this on TV and thinking thank you in every shape and form. I know there are parents, ones just like the Exot man from the Avri labs, who are sobbing their hearts out, bombarded by so much relief and joy at the fact their children won’t be separated from them by the social classifications, or fed to The Bonding Games to be obliterated.

Some Evots and Exots cut off contact with their families completely over the years, the classifications tearing them apart, but maybe they won’t be so scared anymore, and they’ll return home. I know the ones who chose to keep talking to their relatives will be overjoyed, unable to believe they no longer need to take the limited, frowned-upon visits to an opposing Zone. And even if all this wasn’t now possible, in the position I am now, I could’ve immediately . . . I can . . .

I blurt it out before I lose the courage: “Will you come visit my parents with me? I-I want them to meet you!”

Eyes humungous and heat crawling all over my face, I stand and stare at Ezla dumbly. She herself glares at anyone outside of our Bonded group whose attention was drawn our way by my outburst.

My eyes dart all over my brothers. “A-and you. I’d like you to meet them too. I’d like them to meet you. I, uh . . . I’ve not had friends over since, uh, the only one I had . . . Aider . . . so . . .” Feeling more and more stupid as I try to explain myself, my hands grow clammy in the gloves meant to prevent that, and I twist my fingers together. “I just want them to see the great people I now have in my life. I want them to know how happy I am, and to—to . . .”