The Games.

The boy stood in the back of the crowd, popping up on the tips of his toes to try and see over the crowd. 

“He goes in for the punch but ooh!!!” the announcer commentates, watching as one of the fighters’ body-slammed the other to the floor. The entire building shook from the force. 

You see, these were no mere wrestling matches. Heck, they weren’t even gladiator games. They were much more dangerous than that. 

The matches were won by popularity, the more the fighter pleased the vip viewers, the more strength they received. You may be wondering how this happens, frankly scientists aren’t sure about it either. But all people knew was that strength, stamina, and other attributes, could be gifted to the fighters by sheer willpower. Only a few people knew HOW to obtain this willpower however…and those who did seldom used it for good, only minor donations of 10% or maybe a 20% boost to your health or metabolism if you’re lucky. Most of their donations were put towards the games.

“Oh, we seem to have an anonymous donation from the VIP section!” said an announcer. The crowd cheered in excitement as the body-slammed fighters muscles doubled in size. He roared like a beast and hefted the man over his head then threw him to the ground with enough force to crack the floor. The crowd went wild.

“Lemme see! Lemme see!” the boy said trying to see above the cheering fans. He only saw snippets of the action: fists rising in the air then raining down on their poor opponent followed by wild cheers and shouts. 

“I don’t think he’s gonna recover from a beatdown like this, Brad!” the announcer said.

“Don’t be so sure, we have an incoming donation from our sponsor, Mr.Aeron himself!” 

Multi colored spotlights weaved figure eights on the stage. Their light ignited the smoke that was pumped from smoke machines to enhance the excitement. 

The formerly pummeled man suddenly grew to 12 feet high, towering over his opponent like a skyscraper. His biceps were now as thick as a normal man’s waist. 

The boys eyes widened. 

“Run!” he shouted, but the poor 7 foot fighter didn’t hear him over the roar of the crowd. And even if he did, he didn’t listen. He mustered his strength and punched his larger opponent square in the stomach. 

The guy didn’t budge. He just grinned down at the man for a second, then literally and gruesomely punched his head off. 

His neck snapped back and his entire body was flung back 20 feet. His head tore off with ease and flew out into the audience butt naked where a “lucky” viewer caught it as if it were a baseball at a baseball game. 

“I caught it! I caught it!” the guy shouted happily.

The 12 foot man raised his arms in victory forming a “Y” shape. He walked around the stage to take in the applause. 

A few special doctors ran over to the decapitated head and began channeling healing donations. 

It wasn’t enough. Though the boy could make out a new body growing out from the head, nobody could seem to bring him back to life.
    “What a shame… it seems fighter number 1 didn’t make it.”

“It does happen from time to time, doesn’t it, charles?”
    “Indeed brad. Indeed.”

The boy was absolutely horrified. 

“no….no….NO!!!!” he ran to the man, the doctors tried to stop him but they were drained from donating him health.
    “Stop! He can still make it!!!” the boy cried.

“It’s alright little guy… it was just his time…” they chided.

The boy screamed, screamed harder than he ever had. Put more heart into it than he ever had. And in that instant, he felt something leave him. Some part of his being he hadnt felt until it was gone. It felt like he had taken out his own heart. 

The man suddenly gasped for breath.

“Get back! I need some water and antiseptics, stat!” 

Doctors and astonished fans crowded around. The boy stumbled away aimlessly, then collapsed. His vision blurred, his hearing dissipated until the only noise was the weak pounding of his heart in his chest. Then everything went black.

The boy woke with a multitude of life support machines hooked up to him. The walls were so white that they hurt his eyes. It hurt them almost as much as the blindingly bright lights overhead. He tried to shield his eyes with his hand but discovered he was too weak to do so. He simply groaned and closed them.

“Good morning.” a voice who he assumed was his doctor, said. 

It was a calm and welcoming voice. Not like the gruffy gangsters he had come to know on the streets. 

“How are you doing?”

“Ugh.” he groaned in response.

“Well, since you’re awake, someone is here to see you.”

He thought for a moment. Who would come to see him? Certainly not his parents. They wouldn’t care. Who could it be then?
He found the strength to look up and viewed a girl about his age. So roughly 13.
    “Hi?” he managed to croak out.
    “You don’t recognize me do you?” 

He shook his head weakly.

She smiled

“I’m the fighter you saved.” 

The boy thought he was hallucinating.
    “But your-”

“Not a huge man? Yeah, I only look like that from the strength and testosterone donations. They all fade a few hours after the fight.”
    “Oh.”

She rubbed her arm nervously.
    “I felt bad that you like… got hospitalized. But, thanks for the donation. You saved my life.”
    “No problem.”

She smiled
    “You’re a moron. What’s your name?”

“Bryan.”

“Cool. I want you there next month.”

“What? Where?” he asked confusedly.
    “At my game.” she slid a VIP ticket next to his hand. He looked at it with astonishment.
    “This is worth thousands!!!” he said, visibly baffled.

“Then you better not lose it” she smirked, then walked out.