Page 17 of This Cruel Fate

He scoffed. “I know you don’t expect me to believe that.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” Xolia argued, hating that he saw through her so easily. “She’s my friend.”

“Not a good one if she lied to you.”

That stopped Xolia short. If she thought about Rowan’s lies, she would have to think about her own. “Shouldn’t you be focused on your re-election campaign?”

Atlas’s hands tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. “That’s not important to me.”

Xolia’s jaw dropped, but before she could ask a question or even mock him, he continued with a small shrug that was too controlled to be genuine. “Anyway, I’m glad that you came out here with me. I know we’ve never been friends, but we are the only people who understand each other.”

It was her turn to scoff. He was referring to the fact that they were the only two variants who could wield more than one element, but Atlas’s abilities had been celebrated by Silas while Xolia’s second element had been forbidden. She may as well just have control over water. What weirded her out more was the almost amicable disposition from Atlas. Other than the apparent tenseness about his future, he had been almost cordial. She regarded him warily. “I don’t think anyone would think we were similar.”

At that, Atlas glanced at her before turning onto the highway, taking them out of the city proper. “I’m just stating facts. Who else could relate to you about your powers?”

“You were allowed to use all of yours,” she retorted. Bitterness that had been long buried surfaced. He would never understand what it had been like for her.

“So it’s not exactly the same, but we’re still different from the rest of them.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Atlas didn’t push the issue, not that Xolia would’ve listened to anything else he said. He turned off the highway to a road that was still familiar after all this time. There was a brief stretch of agricultural land they passed through before turning left to a walled-off complex. The Atalian Variant Barracks. Her old home.

Her heart thundered harder in her chest the closer Atlas brought them to the rusted gates. Memories washed over her. She had never thought she would step back on the property. Involuntarily, she leaned forward in her seat.

He braked and shifted the car into park. “Wait here.”

She narrowed her eyes at the command but remained in her seat. Atlas got out and opened the gate, the rusted hinges creaked loud enough to reach Xolia through the closed doors. Many of the streetlamps that used to illuminate the microcity were broken and dark. Atlas disappeared past the car’s light as he opened the gate all the way. He hopped back into the car to pull through and stopped to close the gates behind him.

“How has this stayed a secret?” Xolia couldn’t stop herself from asking.

“With the amount of people that know about it? It’s not kept a secret.”

She hummed, but he didn’t elaborate, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of telling him he was right. They pulled into the main part of the city; the parts that were illuminated revealed plant life reclaiming the sidewalks and streets. What was once a hive of activity and variants running to and fro was now derelict and deserted.

They parked near the old housing barracks. The same building that Xolia had lived in from the time she was twelve to seventeen. Silas had managed to take over the barracks from the government and had used it as his base of operations up until that final day. That seemed a lifetime ago now.

Atlas was quick to grab a reflective helmet and jumped out of the car while Xolia hesitated. The past slammed into her. All the tiny moments she had laid to rest when she went into rehab wormed their way back up. Things hadn’t been simpler, but they had been straightforward. There had been a comfort and consistency in her past that Xolia missed. She could stand to admit that to herself.

Pulling herself into action, she followed Atlas to the center of the complex, a large arena that was once the training epicenter of the whole space. She had fought Atlas many times within the walls. Two lights by a side door showed two guards. Their arms were crossed, allowing them to flex their muscles. When they caught sight of the pair approaching, they flexed even more, bulbous veins popping out of their necks. Xolia was no stranger to variants like these; they spent all their time building muscle mass, to the point where their veins were popping and healing in a never-ending cycle. They were growing out of their bodies and continually being pushed back inside their skin.

She curled her lips in disgust but didn’t say anything. Instead, she pulled her mask from her back pocket and tied it around the back of her head. It covered her nose and mouth, dropping down below her chin. Atlas had a full-face-covering, it was hard and reflective and completely obscured his face.

Atlas took the lead, stepping in front of her, and brought his index finger to his forehead and dragged it down to his neck. Once he made it to the soft and exposed skin of his neck, he dragged his finger across it. It was said to have been the last gesture of the final variant king before his public execution at the directive of the Risian Democratic Congressional party when they had started their reign. It was a well-known story amongst variants, but Xolia had never seen it used.

The guard on the left nodded. Their password was correct. “Numbers?”

Atlas shook his head. “Newcomers.”

The guard on the right smirked. “Fresh meat? Inside and to your right.” He pounded a heavy fist against the door, and metal scraped as the bolt slid across the lock. A masked figure opened the door and ushered the two of them into the dimly lit hallway. There was no going back now.

Chapter Nine

Both Atlas and Xolia were silent as the usher pointed them down to the right, the direction of the old locker rooms. Peeled paint revealed dull-gray cinder blocks. A cloying smell of sweat permeated the hall, and it only got stronger the closer they got to the locker rooms.

“Here.” Atlas stopped and entered through a break in the long wall. She rolled her eyes; he spoke to her as if she wasn’t acutely aware of where everything was. But she had no other choice but to follow him.

In her time away, the rows of lockers had been stripped away, leaving the room bare. It was stuffed full of other masked figures, all fighters, she presumed. Another employee, or whatever the people who ran the fights were called, sat at a small folding table. He waved them over and handed them each a numbered adhesive.

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