The Threadmill

  Ha ha.

  Ha ha.

  Echoes of their cruel, mocking laughter boomed through the training arena. Bouncing off the walls and ringing back in my ears.

  It shattered the fragile peace between the four groups.

  A cruel reminder that strength gives privilege.

  Ha Ha.

  Ha Ha.

  Blood stained the floor where we trained to become the best versions of ourselves.

  But he continued to laugh; they continued to laugh.

  He entered the space, not even acknowledging my presence.

  I didn’t mind it.

  It was better the fewer people realized I was in the same space as them.

  I stepped off the treadmill, my eyes flicking instinctively to see where he was.

  He got on the treadmill tucked in the corner. Despite having an artificial teleportation mechanism, he was surprisingly fast. Not as fast as me, but still faster than anyone else in the arena whose main abilities weren’t speed.

  My eyes flickered down to his steps.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Thud. Thud.

  The soft hum of the air ventilation vanished under the pounding of his feet.

  The water station was close to where I had been running minutes before. I grabbed the cup from the station and poured myself a cold drink of water.

  I chugged it down, parched from thirst.

  Holding the glass in my hand, I stood frozen. Thinking about what I should do next.

  Should I continue training or head out?

  I didn’t want to spend any extra time with this insufferable man.

  I didn’t want to waste my time by skipping training.

  I needed to get better.

  I needed to get faster.

  I glanced back at Skarvek.

  Crunch.

  The plastic cup in my right hand was squeezed instinctively.

  I needed to get better.

  Faster.

  Stronger.

  I had to.

  I must.

  ???