But Creed made sure that didn’t happen to him. He kept his thoughts to himself. Outwardly, he looked like the perfect meta specimen. He stood six feet, two inches and weighed in at two hundred fifty pounds. He could bench press nine hundred fifty pounds. He was solid muscle, responsive, accurate and a highly trained martial artist and weapons expert. More than just physical agility, he also had mental agility. To call Creed “intelligent” would be an understatement. To call him “deadly” would be accurate.
The crowd’s roars echoed louder off the cement walls of the locker room in which Creed stood. It was time to begin; time for Retribution.
One deep breath was all he allowed himself before he turned toward the door and marched across the room, opened it and jogged down the hall.
Stepping into the arena was mind-blowing. This was the first time he had seen it from this point of view. Previously, he was in the stands where the rowdy crowd stood now. Life was very different from this vantage point. It was terrifying, surreal and eerily energizing. He stood bracing himself against the blaring lights, the deafening crowd and the vibrations of adrenaline cutting his body like ice.
Then he saw his opponent.
Oh no...no, no, no is all he kept thinking as realization sunk in. There, across the arena, stood his own flesh and blood. He had been pitted against his brother, Gavil.
Memories flooded Creed as he watched his brother’s mouth twitch slightly in what was most definitely a smile. Powerful memories of his brother’s numerous “lessons” that left Creed bloody and broken on the ground, ripped through his body. Time and again the two boys, who had been told they came from the same donor parents, had come to blows. Nothing Creed ever did was good enough for Gavil.
Then, as puberty sneaked up, it was Creed whose body transformed so dramatically. Creed, who had grown up as his older brother’s punching bag, was taller, stronger, faster and smarter than Gavil now.
Gavil would have none of it, though. He continued to torment Creed with vicious beatings until the day a year ago when Creed had enough. It was a taunting like any other. Gavil was snickering as he covered Creed’s dinner in sand and laughed and ridiculed him, just as he had countless times before. But something was different that night.
Something snapped inside Creed. He attacked Gavil and beat him to a whimpering, bloody pulp.
The boys had not spoken since and seemed to mutually work to avoid each other on the campus. Their paths didn’t usually cross because Gavil was two years older than Creed and slept in a different part of the men’s dormitory.
Creed felt avenged and empty at the same time. He knew nothing of his life outside The Facility. Gavil was his only connection to the world beyond the compound. He only knew they were born overseas, in the Americas. All Creed remembered, though, was life here in their German compound.
But Gavil was two years older and had more memories of when they were brought here. Creed always wanted to know what happened. Who were their parents? Why did they give the brothers up? Did they have a family somewhere? He wanted a brother to love, instead he had Gavil and he couldn’t stop himself from feeling only hatred for him.
These thoughts churned through Creed’s mind as he watched his brother casually stretch as if preparing himself for an easy run. A deep, bellowing horn blew, sucking all the noise from the crowd as if in a vacuum. Commander Oldham’s familiar voice echoed around the silent faces.
“Welcome! We’re here to witness the Retribution of two worthy metas. Twenty-year-old Gavil Young is defender and eighteen-year-old Creed Young is the new-comer. As some of you may know, this Retribution is especially interesting because not only are the two opponents similarly matched in abilities, but they are also blood brothers,” Commander Oldham’s voice rose appropriately for the juicy announcement and the audience responded. Screams of wild excitement crashed like waves over Creed.
“It’s time to begin. Retribution-ers, you know the rules. This is hand-to-hand combat only. No weapons, no reprieve, no mercy. To the death! Begin!”
Creed hadn’t taken his eyes off his brother since the moment he first saw him. So, it came as no surprise when Gavil ran to attack even before Commander Oldham’s order to “begin.” The younger brother stood in the ready position and calculated his response. One quick movement to the side and Creed stood watching his brother fly by, trying to stop his momentum, before crashing into the wall of the fighter’s pit.
Gavil face was pale with rage. He stopped for a moment and shook his hands, rolled his neck and sneered, “Hey there baby brother. I was kinda hoping it would be you in here with me. Seems like a good day for you to die,” Gavil curled his thin lips at his brother. “Well, as good as any other.”