42 #2
The citizen tablet revealed beneath is identical until I see the back of the one in the woman’s hands reflected in its screen. Dark-green-glowing letters that I get a better look at as she raises the device spell out a very familiar name in capital letters:
ALBY WHITE
I let out an embarrassing squeak.
“Now you will turn it on and remove the reset button,” Ezla orders.
“I-I’m so sorry, but I don’t have access—”
Ezla’s hand is wrapped around her throat in an instant, her glare only promising an instant death, and I tense.
“Who does?” Cooper asks stiffly before she can tear the woman’s neck right from her shoulders, stepping closer to the two of them.
“The—the Game . . . Master!” she wheezes. She looks moments away from passing out from sheer terror as much as the lack of oxygen.
“He is not the only one, otherwise you would not have been able to work on them down here without him,” Ezla hisses. “Stop wasting my time.”
The woman’s finger points towards the dead man on the floor. “H-he could. There—”
Ezla drops her brutally on the taalk before she can finish. Yanking the citizen tablet from her hand before crouching down by the Evot on the floor, she wraps his hand around it, using his thumb to press down on the lone discreet button on its side.
The screen turns on without issue, and my eyes widen as I take in the green buttons to match the shade of my Avri cluster, standing out starkly against a black background.
There’s not many, the tablet minimalistic like all things in Techta. One is for our basic information, like our age, gender, school, and more, and then there’s another labelled ‘SCORE’. And that would’ve been it for most Players.
Except the next rectangular button reads ‘DELETE’, and another below that steals all the remaining oxygen in my lungs that the previous somehow didn’t manage to with its bold ‘RESET’.
Growling, Ezla whips her body back around as she rises to her full height. “Who else was working on this?”
“Only a c-couple,” the woman who’s still on the floor whimpers, clutching her neck. “I-I’m so s-sorry, Miss Zefron. They were only following orders—”
“I do not care,” she seethes, glaring daggers into her trembling form. “How long ago were these finished? Has anything been pressed?”
“Just ten minutes ago,” a deeper voice answers from across the room, and we all whip our heads the bearded man’s way.
“I was one of the few people working on them. We were left with specific orders not to touch the buttons once they were ready. I just want you to know, I personally didn’t agree, but the Game Master said your Bonds could be unstable, and he was concerned for your safety—”
“Shut up,” Ezla snaps, and his teeth smack together with an audible clack. “Did you honestly believe that? How dare you insult me by acting as though I could not easily defeat ten men with my pinkie finger alone.”
He splutters.
“Now,” she says, and her tone is calmer now, though it’s still lacking any warmth.
Like me, I can feel her stress has died down slightly at the knowledge that nothing’s been touched, but her rage continues to pound down the bond, and a good majority is directed at this man.
I don’t know what it says about me when I also can’t feel too much sympathy for him as he shrinks under my Bonded’s gaze.
This might not have been his idea, but it sounds as though he added that button to the tablets without much argument, if any at all.
“You will remove both the delete and reset buttons.”
The man’s gulp is loud. “I am truly sorry, Champion, but I’m not sure I ca—”
A crimson throwing star slams into his side.
“You will try,” Ezla tells him darkly as he brings his hand to his side as the weapon zips back to her, his agonised cry ringing in my ears while his other palm comes to the table before him to steady himself.
“If you cannot remove them individually, you will find another way. A button to override all others, perhaps? I do not care how long this takes, I will not allow you to leave until you have completed this task. If you are not fast enough . . .” Her smirk is death incarnate.
“Well, in that case, you will simply bleed out, will you not?”
His face pales several shades.
I feel Ezla’s delight through the bond.
Chancing a peek behind me to see Tate, who’s still guarding the door, I’m unsurprised to see him biting his lip and rubbing himself through the sinthine at his groin as his lust-filled eyes obsessively watch our Bonded at work.
“Well?”
Ezla’s drawling word draws my attention back to the scene.
The man’s Adam’s apple bobs. “I— Will the Game Master not mind—”
“The Game Master is not here!” Ezla completely loses her cool, and Scotty wraps his arm fully around her as we feel the aggressive flaring up of her emotions, a burst of memories from yesterday with it.
It’s not to contain her but soothe her, and it’s done in a way that makes it very clear Ezla still has all the power in the room as he stands at her side like a solider ready to obey any orders from his queen.
I’ve jumped along with a good portion of the room before she continues, evening her tone, “My father is no longer.”
Everything in me recoils at her calling him that, but this morning, we ran through everything and decided this was the best plan to move forward after his death.
Cooper’s face has scrunched too, the set of his jaw rigid, and I can feel his and the rest of my brothers’ emotions mirroring his through the bond.
There’s pin-drop silence in here for a few too many seconds, and I fight not to shift uncomfortably with all the eyes drilling into us, the gaping faces.
Finally, the man we’ve been talking to speaks. “Excuse me?”
“She said that motherfucking worthless, spineless fuckface is dead,” Tate rumbles, and I jump again, whipping my head around. His voice is much louder than it should be if he were still standing before the door.
It turns out he’s right behind me, a wall of muscle with his bulky arms crossed over his barrel chest, his glare scathing enough to peel skin from bone.
With the door now unmanned, I’d expect the handful of workers in here to dash right for it.
But no one moves, everyone locked in place by the revelation.
Calm, Tate, Ezla warns through the bond without taking her eyes from the man.
Do not come on too strong. You are allowed to show your dislike—with our story, it would be more suspicious to have none—but your hate of him should not be the main focus when we share this news.
Aloud, she says, “After the Showmaster, you are the first to hear this news. The events I am about to inform you of have only just passed, so, as you can see, emotions are still running high.”
There’s still not a sound, everyone continuing to gape.
I twist my gloved fingers together anxiously.
“Now, I will start by saying, you of course are aware of how much my father adored me.” Dumbly, our audience nods at her words.
“He was very loving.” I’m sure only we can hear the slight stiffening of Ezla’s voice on that last word.
Only we can feel the disgust, the nausea and hate, it brings to her.
Scotty’s arm tightens around her as she continues, “Very protective over me.” I can feel Tate vibrating with rage behind me.
“But, and I will be very blunt with you, that has recently become a problem.”
Multiple sets of brows furrow.
“Father was not prepared to lose me to these men,” Ezla tells them without inflection, one of the many truths we’ve chosen to weave into the equal number of lies.
“We have been together for eighteen years, him and I, and he was more troubled mentally than anyone knew. He relied on me more than he should have, and he was more attached than he should have been, too. His love was pure, and he cared for me as every father does his daughter, but his fame did not bring him any true connections, meaning his bond with me was all he had. And of course, with him already mentally unstable, when I was bonded in Game 1, he was thrown. He quickly found it harder to cope, and I helped him the best I could, but he was . . .” Ezla tilts her head as if thinking of the best way to word this so as to be respectful to Joseph.
No one truly knew what her relationship with her father was like despite how openly he “loved” her.
With her helmet previously on at all times and her lacking in words when they were shown on TV together—which was actually quite rare in the first place with their roles in The Bonding Games—no one would be able to gather information on it, so I don’t think anyone would be surprised if Ezla didn’t feel too much about his death considering everyone knows how heartless she is.
She could even get away with letting out a good portion of her true feelings for him, in fact.
However, we collectively decided—though admittedly, this was largely all Ezla’s planning with the rest of us chipping in with anything we wanted to add and our own opinions—that it was best to tone it down to have the highest chance possible at gaining everyone’s approval with us trying to become The Council.
We need to have the smoothest transition possible; we don’t want protests or anyone not believing our story.
And although Ezla would likely be happy with pure chaos, she’s made it clear she doesn’t want that for us.
Even now, the thought of that fact has warmth spreading through my chest.
“He was getting worse,” Ezla continues. “He . . . There were tablets.” My heart stutters at the reminder of them, the truth behind my Bonded’s upcoming lie.
“Pills made in these very labs.” Her intense gaze scans over the room slowly.
It pauses on a small woman with deep brown skin. “You. You made them.”
Her eyes widen in alarm. “Y-yes. Yes, I did. I— Was there something wrong with them?”
“No. They worked exactly as designed.”
The woman’s shoulders drop a fraction.