I feel a kick on the back of my head which wakes me up. I raise my head to look at the asshole that just kicked me and it is a guard staring down at me with a weapon in his hand.
"Get up!" He commands and I immediately comply. The last thing I want to happen is to get killed before the games begin. He walks away, waking up the rest. We rush to get out of the train as soon as the doors open.
We immediately cover our faces as soon as the sun hits our faces, a contrast to the darkness that always engulfed the Lower class area. As our eyes adjust to the bright sun I look around.
My eyes widen in shock as I watch the other trains arrive, each one a symbol of the vast divide between the classes. The lower class, like me, arrived in worn, crowded train with faded paint.
As the upper class steps out of their train, I can't help but stare. Their train is sleek, shiny, and modern, with gleaming silver cars and large, crystal-clear windows. The exterior is adorned with intricate designs and logos, reflecting the wealth and status of its passengers. The upper-class participants themselves are dressed in the finest attire, their clothes tailored to perfection, and their accessories sparkling with diamonds and gold.
The middle class arrives in trains that are a mix of both. Their cars are newer and cleaner than our lower-class trains but lack the luxury and opulence of the upper-class trains. The middle-class participants are well-dressed, but their attire is more subdued, lacking the extravagance of the upper class.
I never thought I'd see members of the upper and middle class here, competing in the same tournament as me. I always assumed they were too busy with their luxurious lives, too privileged to care about something like this. I thought they were the ones who had it all figured out, who didn't need the benefits or recognition that this tournament offers.
But here they are, dressed in their finery, stepping out of trains that are worlds apart from the ones I ride. It's like they're from a different world altogether. I'm stunned that they're willing to participate in something that, to me, seems like a means to an end – a way to escape poverty, to make a name for myself.
As I look at them, astonished, a girl catches my eye as she steps out of the train that belongs to the middle class. She stands out with her vibrant red hair, which cascades down her back in loose waves. Her green eyes sparkle with a hint of curiosity, and her features are delicate yet defined. She wears a stylish yet understated outfit, perhaps a bit more refined than the average middle-class attire, but still far from the opulence of the upper class.
Her red hair is tied back in a simple yet elegant ponytail, and her green eyes seem to gleam with a sense of determination. She has a subtle confidence about her, a sense of self-assurance that comes from knowing she belongs to a relatively comfortable social stratum. Despite the differences in wealth and status, she seemed approachable, with a warmth and friendliness that makes her stand out in the crowd.
She catches me looking at her and I immediately look away, clearing my throat.
We stand before the grand gates of the tournament venue, my heart racing with anticipation. As the gates swing open, a lively melody bursts forth, filling the air with an energetic rhythm. The music seems to match the beating of my heart, and I feel a surge of excitement.
As we step forward, I see the different classes converging towards the single entrance. The upper class, with their impeccable attire, strides confidently, while the middle class follows closely behind, looking polished and refined. Meanwhile, the lower class, like me, shuffles forward, our worn clothes and tired faces a stark contrast to the others.
As we all funnel into the same entrance, I notice the upper-class participants wrinkling their noses in distaste. They glance at us lower-class individuals with a mixture of disdain and discomfort, as if our very presence is somehow offensive. Some of them even cover their noses with their hands or scarves, as if to shield themselves from our supposed stench.
The music, which had seemed so welcoming just moments before, now feels like a cruel irony, a reminder that we are all supposed to be equal here, but in reality, we are far from it.
"Hi..." I jump at the unexpected "hi" I get from the same girl my eyes locked onto. She's really beautiful up close.
"Becca is my name... Why ya startled? Did I scare ya." She grins revealing her bunny teeth and her faint dimples as she leans in.
"Uh, n...n.no" She's really... close, way too close. My body starts to heat up and my ears start to turn red as I look away. I quickly cover them with my hair and she giggles. The cutest sound I've ever heard. Before I can introduce myself the intercom comes to life.
"Greetings fellow participants, welcome to the 100-year game tournament. I go by the name of Lord Helix, the previous winner of the game tournament." Gasps fill the hallway as we are still walking to the end of the hallway. The last game was 100 years ago, how is he still alive?
"He's filthy rich, its no surprise that he has found a way to remain alive." Becca walking beside me informs me after seeing the confusion on my face.
As we reach the end of the long hallway, the doors to the massive gathering room swing open, and I'm hit with a wave of anticipation and excitement. I've never seen a room so big, with rows upon rows of seating stretching out before me. The towering ceilings and walls seem to stretch on forever, making me feel small in comparison.
As I look around the room, I see three, guarded passage ways. Above them are symbols representing each of our classes. I've never seen a Lower Class symbol before. It is dull, and just black. A really accurate representation of our class.
One of the guards steps forward and places a small, round black pin on the floor right in front of us. He presses a button on top of it and a big, colourful thing as big as a building wall comes out of it. Inside of it there's a human. The human begins to talk and the voice is the same one as the one from the intercom.
"Hello? You can see me right? Waving his hand Why isn't anyone responding?" He moves closer to an extent that we can see his nose hairs. One guard clears his throat and responds.
"We can see you sir." The man moves away and now we can see him.
"Hi, I'm Helix and I'll be hosting as I've previously mentioned. So, how are you guys feeling? Nervous? Anxious? Scared? I don't even know why I'm asking, I don't care." I expected to see a scary man with scars and more, but he's just...normal...
"Well, I'll get this over with. See the passageways behind me. Once you've entered there's no going back... Well, unless you lose. Inside its where you're going to sleep, eat the food provided in certain hours. About showering, you guys are going to be escorted class by class on specific hours, same applies for when you want to use the bathroom. Its just a big room with no individual rooms so uh, yeah. Um, what did I want to say... Oh, Goodluck and um win... Yeah."
The big thing vanishes inside the small pin. The guard picks it up.
"You may proceed to your entrances. The rooms are enough to accommodate everyone. Take refreshments and get as much rest as possible because when that clock hits 0, there'll be no turing back."
The guard states as we walk to the entrances that matches our classes.