“Tip 1. More javelins and spears missing. If aimed you, sidestep. Contestants believe exercising free will. Do not allow uprising.”

“Tip 2. If contestant rushes, produce shock stick. Most cases not proceed further.”

“Tip 3. If proceed, brutal force necessity. Trueblood not spilt. If contaminate you, leave arena and report cleaning bay immediately.”

“Tip 4. Bring rag. Lights heat and agitate arena, required wipe away excess perspiration. Stay presentable. Hail The Royal Guard.”

“Tip 5. Use shock sticks liberally on creatures. Trained to expect pain afterwards. If contaminate, report cleaning bay after arrange funeral.”

“Tip 6. Children curious. Try to remove glasses. Point out to steward. Not urgent. Child will learn valuable lesson.”

“Tip 7. If ice storms or electromagnetic interference, follow procedure. Everyone evacuate quickly. Glass breach with fans is suboptimal.”

The hollow metal voice gutted out its last as I looked down at my hands, more like leather than the gloves themselves. My armour fit better every day. I didn’t like that. Pushing my nose up to the glass I saw the lines of benches and pillars surrounding the icy pit. It was built into the tall sheer volcanic mountains, and lit by the red sky. The wild dogs howled.

Behind me I could hear a struggle with a mask, but I could only carry on staring. Physical contact was prohibited. No one would tell us why. I briefly turned to look at them struggle, but we met eyes.

“Hail The Royal Guard.” they said automatically, with a stiffening posture and a rehearsed salute.

“Hail The Royal Guard.” I replied, my voice dripping with semi sarcastic enthusiasm.

“Name. Rank. Position.” they said, feigning an authoritarian confidence.

“TC115. White Footman. Outer Left Flank.” They were words I didn’t have to think about. I spat them out, threw them up. I said them with a tightening of my chest. Once they’d left my mouth I stood stock still, knowing full well what else I was meant to reply with.

“Information?”

“31 kills.” As I said it, I felt bile rise in my throat as a slideshow of each one played in my mind. I clenched my jaw. “Name. Rank. Position.” I knew there was no way of getting around asking.

“ML863. Green —“

“Wait,” I said. In that moment I tried with all my might to remember the feeling of skin on skin. There were faint wisps of free-falling in love buried in my mind under the snow. I blinked my eyes like I was emerging from a darkened room into the bright light of day. I looked around. “real name.“

A pause. “Real name. I’m —“

“Rejected. Information… unnecessary. ML863. Green Footman. Inner Left Flank.”

I shut my eyes. We all acted like the ice was in our bodies. And I don’t know whether we couldn’t melt it or we couldn’t admit it that, once upon a time, we were a normal temperature.

They started walking away, as rigid and mechanically as possible. I could see them straining. It was a calculated effort to be invisible.

“Be careful out there.” I said. I almost gasped myself as the words came out my mouth. They turned around, rigidly, and stared.

“I…” They trailed off. Their shoulders, so wide, seemed to shrink and slouch. Their eyes, unblinking, started to blink. Their hands started to tremble, not because they were scared but because they were so tight, a knotted ball of sinew. They started walking over to me, with purpose and long stride, increasing in speed.

I’d love to say that I thought of something profound, as I was sure I’d gone too far, agitated too much. I’d crossed the white line, but all I thought was I knew I’d do it again the next time i a heartbeat. I clenched, turned my face away and shut my eyes. But they didn’t brandish a weapon, they simply wrapped their arms around me. For a couple of seconds, I could hear the birds singing, could see the dust shaken off curtains. They let me go and walked back away. All they did was echo back to me my own words.

“Yes. Be careful out there.”