Future Gladiator

Seventeen year old Burnet is brutally taken from her home to become the face of the Government Gladitorial Division. Her story will unravel both her past and her future and force her to make decisions with both consequences and rewards. Friends will become enemies and enemies may be the exact opposite of what they appear.


18. Maroon and Grey

I slowly move my eyes away from the nameplate to look at the armour resting on the mannequin, my armour.  My eyes don’t seem to want to move away from the shoes at the bottom of the mannequin and I know why. I have never seen such ferocious looking boots. Polished silver spikes sprout from the bottom of the soles in such a way that I’m sure I’ll never look at shark teeth and think them deadly ever again. It was the colour of the combat boots that attracted most of my attention however. They were a deep maroon and looking up at the armour in what I intended to be a brief glance, I confirm my suspicions that this must be the colour of all my armour. It is.

I survey the trousers first as they lead into the boots. My hand grazes the material as something about the material catches my eye. The shiny appearance to the leggings had hinted at some sort of waterproofing but as I rub it between my two forefingers I notice that not only is it thicker and stronger than it looks, but also elastic which strikes me as extremely odd. I don’t see how having skin tight trousers is going to act as a deterrent to a blade or any other attack. They obviously want us to be shredded to pieces then.

As I reach up to look at the upper half of my armour I notice Shell being led away from her mannequin by a servant who mutters something about part of her amour being in the room next door. I shake my head and turn back to my own armour. Shell’s probably being given something superior to all of us, which is no surprise. All she has to do is bat her eyelashes and simper and she’ll get anything she wants. Ugh.

I can feel my eyebrows pulling together as I notice the upper section of my armour. A maroon leather vest lies over a thin shirt of the same colour as the leggings. The sleeves of the shirt end above the elbows and I notice that it also has cut-outs over the shoulders and part of the upper arm. I’m going to get some extremely weird tan lines.

I turn around and notice that all the others in the room have been hidden out of sight by patterned screens as they change and I sigh in relief. I doubt I’d have exactly wanted to get changed without my privacy. That is one part of my dignity I refuse to give up although I doubt I’ll be in the position to make that choice for much longer. A servant shuffles over and with some surprise on my part, pulls a screen out from a recess in the wall and pulls it around in a semi-circle encompassing both myself and the mannequin.

I take one last deep breath and then begin to change into my armour.

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