The Ascension

Ian jolted upright as he struggled to catch his breath, as light and shadow eddied across his vision. For a moment he remained still when he heard loud screeching over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. There was an irony taste coating his tongue, deepening with each dry breath that left him. It felt as though he'd been without water for days and the lord knew it wasn't a pleasant sensation in his mouth.

He was upright, knees drawn to his chest in hopes some form of a memory would relieve the trembles that shook him. But he only drew blanks as he took in his surroundings. Rows and rows of seats and a dozen of windows that showed the constant flashes of endless grey stone walls. It didn't take a rocket scientist to piece together that he was on a train; it roared as it barreled along the tracks like a bullet set loose from its chamber. The real question was where the hell was he going?

“Hello?” Ian’s voice was hoarse, croaked. No one probably could hear him because he couldn't speak no louder than a whisper or a whimper. From what he could see, there wasn't anyone else in the other rows. Not a single soul. And at the end of the aisle, there was a blood speckled glass door that led to another section.

His stomach twisted in a knot. What the hell was he doing here? And why was there blood everywhere?

Reflexively, he looked at his hands. Clean. No scrapes or cuts.

Next he fished in his left pocket. Nothing. Not a single ticket. Then the other. His hand brushed the edge of a zip lock bag

Pulling it out, he took note of the small knife inside. Taped on the handle was a number.

Ian carefully pulled the paper off, unrolling it completely: cabin fourteen. He glanced up at the flickering sign at the end of the aisle. Cabin twelve. He was in cabin twelve. Though all the blood that covered the glass door wasn't exactly making him want to move on to whatever the slip of paper was guiding him to.

Something wasn't right, but what else was there to do? He could either stay and wait for something to happen, or he could act head on.

Ian tapped his foot several times nervously, weighing his options. Leave or wait. Leave or wait.

His stomach rumbled, an emptiness he hadn't noticed. He licked his dry lips and took a deep inhale before standing up and moving to the door.

He went to slide it open and someone got to it before he did.

Ian jumped back, and the other, a woman with blonde hair and green eyes jumped back as well. She had a sword in her hand. Red flecks on her face.

Could she have killed someone?

He drew his knife from the bag, she raised her sword, pointing it at him.

“I don't want to have to kill you! Put it down!” The woman hissed, eyes feral.

Ian’s grip tightened on the knife. “For what? I wasn't the one who just stepped from a murder scene. Look at you, you're covered in blood.”

She wiped her face with a free hand, then wiped it on her dirty white t-shirt. There were small tears and holes along her sleeves and sides. “Number!”

“What?” Ian’s brows creased. Who the hell was she and why was she demanding things.

“What number did you get, idiot.”

“Oh, uh. Twelve.” Said Ian, giving her another look over.

She signed, lowering her sword. “We are on the same side.”

Ian stepped forward, confused. “Same side, what do you-”

An arm hooked around the woman's throat, yanking her back over the threshold of the door. Ian lunges to help without thinking, slashing the arm. The man howls, releasing her.

She rushes to Ian’s side, her sword ready and aimed.

“You little brat.” A raspy voice. They step inside, bald, littered with various tattoos on their face and arms. And they were shirtless, wearing baggy jeans and no shoes. “She killed my fucking partner.”

“You what?” Ian asks just as the man lunges at him. He leaps back, the man’s knuckles barely grazing his jaw. Even so, it throbbed like hell.

“He tried to shoot me!” Snapped the girl.

The man laughs, a twisted grin splitting his face. “That's what we are here for. To kill. Until one of us left standing.”

“You're sick.” Ian spat out, keeping his distance. But the man kept inching forward.

“Sick? This isn't my game. And you aren't innocent. Everyone here has done something to earn their spot for another chance at living. Sometimes the medicine they use makes us forget.” He pounded the side of his head with his fist, laughing. “Guess you're lucky to forget.”

He jumped and Ian flinched. He has to do something. This man would kill them. He could see it in the man's cold twisted eyes. That bad feeling you got when the hairs on your arms raised, a warning before the storm.

“If that's true we can wait it out, right?” Asked Ian over the rattling of the tracks.

“Look around you,” Snorted the man. “It ain't stopping unless one is left standing.

The woman jumped over a seat and slashed her sword across the bald headed man's chest. Ian went for him too, swinging for the man's chest. But he blocked it with his arm, flesh splitting open. Before Ian could even strike again, the man had his throat around his neck, slamming him so hard against the ground light splintered his vision.

He was knocked back to a different time.

“What if you don't come back?” His little sister asked. Her small face twisted in a bunch of sadness.

“I have to go. You want your mother to get better right? If I go. I have a chance to save her life.”

“Promise me.” She asked, grinning that little toothless grin he adored.

His eyes shot back open. The man was punching the hell out of him. He felt his lip splitting.

The woman screamed and stabbed the man in the back. He got up and slapped her. Hard. She went flying onto her back, coughing and gasping.

Ian scrambled to his feet and ran, hearing the man following him. He was up on a seat before he knew it, unhooking the exit to the roof.

He pulled himself up. Wind whipped at his hair, nearly stealing his breath when he climbed on top. Lights flickered by and the world was colors melding into one another from how fast they were going.

“Thought you could run away?!” The man again.

Ian whirled around. “I don't want to hurt anyone.”

“I do!” Growled the man. “I'm not going back to death row for nobody. If I win, I'm out. New name. New everything. I can kill again too.”

He had Ian’s knife he dropped. Throwing it, it sank into Ian’s shoulder.

He dropped down, hissing through the pain. His sister. His sister.

The man kicked him over onto his back, then pulled the knife free.

Ian cried out.

“One more after you and I'm going to be a fucking legend. Thirty people.” Lifting the knife above his head, the man swung down.

Ian rolled, biting down the pain that left him in agony. Metal struck metal. Ian pulled at the man's leg and he teeters, losing his footing, and flies over the edge.

A scream. And nothing. Not even a splat.

The train slowed.

“It's just us now.” The woman said.

Ian sat up, pressing a hand to his wound. “I won't hurt you.”

“I don't deserve to win. Do it.” She closed her eyes.

“Please don't make me do this.” His voice cracked.

“I killed someone in cold blood. Do it!” She yelled, brows furrowing.

“On purpose?” Ian inhaled deeply.

“No. But I should've known better than to run around with people who had guns. Wanted to be infamous. Bad.” She turned away from him, opened her arms and jumped over the edge.

Ian pressed his face into the crook of his arm, sobbing. The train slows even more than before. A robotic voice blast from speakers he can't see.

“Congratulations. You have won the Ascension.”