• Ranny stood still, biting his fingernail as he watched the crowds of teenagers and adults alike surge forward, pushing each other forcefully to get to the list that had just been posted. The list would determine who was fighting, what round they’d been placed in, and which side they’d be on. His mother and father had been assigned to opposing teams once, and his mother had been powerless to help his father as they each struggled to stay alive. She’d watched him die, and as that round had been Death only, with no Resurrections, Conversions, or free lives, she’d watched him stay dead as the battle raged on around her and her side. By the time it was over, her side had lost, forcing the survivors to join the ranks of the Rai, the winning, opposing side of that round. It wasn’t that life as a Rai was any more difficult than it had been when his family was part of the Shing clan, as once you belong to a new side they must treat you with the same kindness as if you were any other original member, but making the change always took some getting used to. Ranny still had trouble speaking to some of the other Rai children knowing that any of their parents could have been the one who killed his father in the Box.
    The Box was where the teams were pitted against each other, determining which clan would gain new members. Everyone fought their hardest to win new people in order to prevent their clans from being erased and replaced with newer, bigger clans. Ranny could hardly remember the name of his original clan; it had been changed so many times throughout the numerous fights. And now, he feared it might be changed once again. A new list had been posted for the first time in months, leading everyone to hope that maybe this time, they were over for good. But of course, they weren’t, and a long white piece of scroll was tacked to the great wooden gates that guarded the Box. As the people around him pushed and shoved, Ranny saw that members of his clan, the Rai, were looking strangely uplifted. He knew this could mean two different things: the first, that the Rai had miraculously slipped through the net of being obligated to fight, or that they had been chosen once again, but were scheduled against smaller, weaker clans for the first round.
    Ranny knew that the latter was most likely true, as the Rai were the strongest clan, the most eager to fight, and regrettably, the most frequently chosen. He decided that he could not stand the wait any longer, and began to force his way through the crowd to get to the list. As he struggled to get closer, however, this proved impossible as most everyone was taller than him, and no matter what he did, no one would move aside enough for him to make it even a few steps forward. Then, Ranny felt a hand place itself onto his shoulder. Startled, he looked up to see a girl of about seventeen with raggedy brown hair streaked with white looking back down at him with a grim smile on her face.
    “What’s your clan name?” she said, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly. As she said this, Ranny noticed four small lines of scars snaking their way down from the corner of her left cheek down over her mouth.
    “Rai.” Ranny was puzzled as to why she wanted to know.
    “Wait here,” she said. “I’ll go and look for you. What’s your ranks?”
    “Ranny. Trebylow. Age eleven, clan of Rai, fought once, converted sixteen times through family.”
    She blinked. “All right, Ranny Trebylow, I’ll be right back with the news. You’re much to short to make it through this crowd without being trampled.” She turned and shoved her way through the seemingly endless wall of people, making it look as easy as cutting butter with a heated knife. He stood and waited patiently, while the girl scouted the list for his name among others of his clan. She returned swiftly, breathing hard as though she’d just run a great distance instead of traveling a few feet to read a scrap of paper.
    “Bad news, Ranny. Your clan is put down for six primary rounds, all of them Death, but the last three have an added Resurrection thrown in. those overlords are getting more and more demanding for the amount of pain and trauma we all have to suffer through.” She noticed his face melting into an expression of fear, and quickly added, “But, I’m fairly sure I only saw your name up their once.” She reached a hand up to wipe strands of hair from across her face, revealing another set of scars across the back of her hand. She caught him staring, and produced a sad, half smile.
    “From my third battle. It was the first and only time my clan was converted, but it was enough to erase us. Lucky it was the Shings that beat us. I’d have hated to go to any other clan.”
    Ranny’s next breath caught in his throat. This girl was from his old clan! He’d thought it’d surely been wiped out by now, but was glad to hear that some strand of it still held on.
    “What’s your ranks?” He asked cautiously.
    “Stasworks Majon. Age seventeen, clan of Shing, fought fifteen times, converted once through battle.” She frowned. “Soon to be ‘fought eighteen times,’ as that bloody list has me down for three more rounds.” She began to push a path for the both of them through the crowd. Ranny followed close behind her until they finally broke through the wall of bodies back out into the open space in front of the Box.
    “Well,” She sighed. “It was nice meeting you, Ranny of Rai, but I have to get back to my Trench. I hope to see you again, but I’m praying that it wont be when we’re all trussed up in armor with swords, running at each other howling.”
    “Trench? You’re an engineer?”
    “Of a sort. I mostly deal with designing weapons, but they’ve refused to let me actually make any since I got these.” She gestured to the lines on her face. “I’ll admit, that one was a bad idea. Never try combining a sword with strands of lasers.” She shuddered at the memory. “But it does give me motivation to make better weapons for my clan. I’ve sworn to myself that I would never let another clan I belong to be erased by the Rai.” She swallowed quickly and stammered, “Oh- I mean- not that there’s anything wrong with being- ”
    “It’s alright.” Ranny waved his hands. “Personally, I kind of hate being one of them. Everyone’s so scared of the fighters, but they’re really nothing more than beef cakes with swords and metal helmets.”
    Stasworks laughed. “I like you, Ranny. If it wasn’t programmed into the armor, I know I would never try to kill you in the Box.”
    Ranny let a small laugh slip out. It was the first time he’d laughed in a while, and the action felt strange and alien to him. “Yeah, Stasworks, I wouldn’t try to kill you either.”
    She reached out and ruffled his red hair. “I’ll see you around.”
    As he watched her head off in the directions of the Trenches, he saw a mother kneeling on the dusty ground with her young daughter. They were both young for their generations, the mother looking to be about in her twenties, while the girl was only around seven or eight. The mother was sobbing as she rocked and hugged the girl, but although the girl had surely been selected to fight, she showed no signs of emotion. Her cold, gray eyes stared blankly ahead at her awaiting fate, knowing deep down that unless her round included Resurrection, there was no hope of survival. Ranny turned around to block the sight from his mind, but as he started back towards his home in the rocky hills, the mothers haunting cries echoed around him, like something sinister humming in his ear.