The Survival Games

Chapter nine: Ashes Beneath the Vultures

The alley reeked of rot and metal. I stepped over broken glass and kicked aside a crushed tin can as I made my way toward the border of Sector 9. Four bulging garbage bags dug into my shoulders, the stench clinging to my clothes like a second skin. The rusted walls of the slums closed in on either side, their jagged outlines blotting out the night sky.

I walked through the dark alleyway to throw out trash. I kept my head down, eyes alert for any dangers.

Around me there were trash fires burned in rusted bins. Old men gambled in corners. Children without names fought over mouldy bread.

As walked I thought about the brutal game I had participated in. I have too many questions. Why? Why has the game appeared? Is it because of the disaster that started seven years ago? What this the rule for getting chosen for the games? is it randomly or do I have to do something to get picked? Thinking all of that has given me a headaches.

I then shook my head. I have no answers now, but I am sure that I will find these answers through the games I participate in.

As I passed through a rusty door on the alley's far end, I paused. Voices floated through the cracked wall beside me.

"You hear? Red Vultures just took one of the Ash Monsters' old warehouses," said a rough voice. The speaker was thickly built, tattoos crawling up his neck.

"Yeah?" another answered. Similar build. Bald head gleaming under the flickering light. "Maybe they're aiming to take the whole slum. Start running the show."

"Could be," the first one replied. "But if they really piss off them off, Iron Fangs and Ash Monsters might just team up."

I froze. My thoughts raced.

After listening to their conversation, I began thinking about the current situation in Sector 9. 

Currently there are three gangs in Sector 9:

Red Vultures—they controlled the weapon trades and drug routes. Brutal. Efficient. Dressed in crimson.

Iron Fangs—the pit bosses. Known for their savage discipline, they ran the underground fighting rings where people were torn apart for scraps.

Ash Monsters—ghosts of the black market. They bribed the guards, trafficked in forbidden tech, and kept the cops out of Sector 9 entirely.

They each ran their territories like miniature kingdoms, extorting "protection" money, running their rackets, and keeping the people under their boots. They also did drugs, organ harvesting and sneaked weapons for people in the upper levels.

None of it was secret. Everyone knew what they do. But here in Sector 9, everything came with risk. So they are required in the sector as they can 'protect everyone' who can pay for their protection money. 

The three gangs had always maintained a tensed balance. None of the gangs trusted each other, but they understood the necessity of peace. They suppressed each other's ambitions in a fragile stalemate. On the surface, things looked calm—equal. But now? Now it seemed that façade was cracking.

The Red Vultures ran the part of the district I worked in. Neo—yeah, him again—was part of their crew. Every time something went well for his gang, he'd come sniffing around me like a rabid dog looking for someone to bite. Probably figured it made him feel big.

No wonder Neo was puffed up like a rooster.

If Red Vultures were kicking off a war, the Ash Monsters wouldn't just roll over. There'd be blood.

And maybe… maybe I could use that.

I reached the waste heaps. The sour stench of rot hit me full in the face. I didn't linger. With a grunt, I hurled the four bags onto the pile and turned back toward the restaurant.

Back to work for now.

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Back at the eatery, the air was mixed with sweat, heat and oil. The dining floor buzzed with low conversation and clinking utensils until the door creaked open.

Then silence.

Everyone turned.

A tall man stepped inside first—red hair slicked back, a jagged scar tearing down the right side of his face. His left arm was inked with a massive black dragon that curled down to his knuckles.

Four Red Vulture members followed behind him.

Neo was among them, smirking.

Madam Grelza—our boss—spotted them and plastered on a fake smile so wide it nearly split her powdered face.

"Ah, Sir Daemon!" she chirped, practically singing. "What an honor. What brings you to my humble little place?"

Sir Daemon. The Left Hand of the Red Vultures. I'd only heard rumors about him until now. They didn't do him justice.

He gave a half-smirk. "What, no welcome for me?"

Madam Grelza paled, her smile faltering. "O-of course, of course! I didn't mean any disrespect. I'll get the room ready immediately."

She turned and glared at me like I'd done her wrong. "Take Sir Daemon upstairs."

I nodded silently and led the group up the creaking staircase to the secret room above the kitchen.

It was a secret VIP gambling den. A mini bar lined one wall. There was dim red lighting and low, thudding music from cheap speakers. Girls dressed in sheer fabric swayed lazily by the poles.

Daemon threw himself down on the largest sofa, legs spread wide like a king in a ruined palace. Two woman dressed lightly quickly sat left and right next to him. He placed his hands on their shoulders and smiled. 

His men followed, fanning out around him.

"I'll bring food and drinks," I said.

He waved dismissively. "Go."

As I turned to leave, Neo stepped forward.

"Wait," he said, grinning too wide.

Daemon raised a brow.

"What is it?" Daemon asked.

"I want to play a little game," Neo said.

Daemon's brow furrowed at first, when he heard Neo speak, then he leaned forward, intrigued. "A game?"

Neo nodded. "Something fun. A little entertainment while we celebrate our win."

I frowned my eyebrows. This wasn't about fun. It was about humiliating me. Again.

He always had to prove something. I don't understand what the point is in bothering me.

From the past 'conversations' we had, Neo seemed to hate being compared to me, when we were kids. He said that I was always being the smarter one, quieter and better-looking.

Neo hated that. From that moment, he decided I was the enemy. And now, with power behind him, he wanted to crush me under his heel.

I didn't want to play any silly games with him as I don't feel the point and him trying to show off to others he is better than me is getting annoying.

"I have work to do downstairs," I said flatly. "Customers are waiting down stairs."

Neo frowned but quickly pasted on a smile. "Come on. Don't be rude. The Left Hand's here to celebrate. Can't you give him a little face?"

Daemon's gaze shifted between us. At first, I saw annoyance in his eyes—probably because Neo answered for him. But the mention of respect stroked his ego.

Without me replying, Daemon's nodded slowly "I'll talk to Madam Grelza about it."

I knew that I didn't have a choice. I gripped my hand into a fist.

I stared on the floor and my thoughts drifted into space. This is what it feels like when I am not strong enough. I NEED TO BECOME STRONGER. It's the thought I always told myself. 

A moment later, Madam Grelza swept in with two waiters carrying trays of food and drinks. Daemon

Her voice shrieked like rusted metal. "I heard you called, Sir Daemon! What is it you need?"

Daemon and his member felt goosebumps around their arms.

Daemon winced. "Speak like that again and I'll throw you outside the Sector."

Everyone froze.

Even Neo stopped smiling.

Madam Grelza's face went white. She started crying.

I knew why she was so scared because outside of Sector 9 meant death. Ever since the disaster monsters, mutated creatures have began spawning everywhere. This was why—

"Forgive me, forgive me. Please, don't. I'll speak properly." Madam Grelza's cries broke my thoughts. 

Daemon rolled his eyes and pointed at the food and drinks. "Put it down and get out of my sight."

She did as told, bowing again, then scurried off like a rat with the two waiters .

He turned back to us.

"So," Daemon said lazily, eyes gleaming. "What's this game?"

I said nothing.

Neo smiled.

He had a plan.

And I knew—whatever it was—it wasn't going to end well for me.

But I'd survived worse.

To be Continued.....