3 Roll Call

"Get, you lazy bastards! It's time for rollcall!"

The incessant banging of steel is our usual alarm. Loud as it is, it's usually not enough to break out our tired bodies from much-desired sleep, but once you regain a bit of consciousness and realize your situation, you bolt up immediately as panic fills your chest.

"Get up and get going!"

Everyone's morning is like that. You're woken up by your own panic, and the loud sound is just a reminder.

However, it's different for me. I'm almost expectant as I dart out of bed, like a child before a school trip. If I wasn't so deathly tired last night, I might have stayed up like a child as well.

 "Jay." I call out to my still cellmate, shaking his shoulder. "I know you're up. Come on, let's get moving."

He shakes and writhes a little, giving me a dead glance before returning to his vegetative state.

I suppose it can't be helped for now. I think. The banging and calling is getting louder, so knowing the consequences I shove my arm under the prone Jay, pull him off the bed and forcefully bring him along. I do my best by pinning his limp arm around my shoulder, carrying him like a soldier with a wounded foot.

I waddle past the ringing guard and approach the main clearing again, where all the slaves are grouping up, getting checked in at their corresponding handlers.

I don't think Jay can check in like this, I think while looking at my unresponsive friend. Even now, he's just limping along, drooling with a blank expression.

Checking my line and confirming it's decently long, I sigh and waddle over to group five with Jay in tow.

A few of the others give me odd glances. Seeing someone go unresponsive after a bout in the arena isn't uncommon, but seeing someone dragging around their unresponsive friend certainly is. Not to say everyone here is friendless and heartless, it's just that it's a particular type of person that end up in the arena

It goes like this. People healthy enough to move decently, mine more and get more cards, avoiding the arena and earning slightly acceptable food. Those people also share some of their cards with friends, so they don't end up in the arena.

In other words, those who end up in the arena are usually people with weaker physicals and fewer friends. Part of the reason for the arena's high death count.

So yeah, the lively ones and their lively friends can usually avoid the arena. Me and Jay are part of that 'lively' category too, at least in terms of physical health, but because of my system I visit the arena often. Jay, on the other hand, meets quota and lives on.

Except for yesterday.

Lining up at the back end of group five's line, I stare at the others. Most of them keep to themselves: a few curious glances, but the interest doesn't last long. 

"Hey Jay, are the guys that stole from you here right now?" I whisper to him. He peeks up from the ground and glances forward, then gives a little shake. 

At least he responded. 

"Hey, you there." I hear from next to me. Looking left to group four's line, I see a tall man with beige white hair call out to me. A recognizable face, even if his eyes are covered by long bangs.

"121, yeah?" He says. "What're you doing over here? Aren't you group one?"

"I'm helping my friend." I say, reorienting Jay. "You have trouble seeing through those long bangs of yours? Because I thought it was pretty obvious."

"It is a little hard to see, but doesn't doing my bangs like this," he says, flattening his hair. "help me stand out less?"

"Maybe to colourblind people, yeah." I say, deliberately looking at his white hair. "Besides, you say 'stand out less' like everyone doesn't already know who you are. What do you want, 177?"

"Oh, you know me?" he says. "Happy to hear the famous arena maniac, 121, knows me." 

"I hate that nickname. But yes, I know you."

177, one of the four regulars in the arena. Well, I say regular, but no one shows as frequently as me. Still, they have each survived the arena a decent number of times. I think 177 was supposed to have gone three or four times?

But even without that, he would be famous just by his hair colour. A dim, beige white, a clear contrast among everyone's various shades of brown and black.

The only other person in this entire facility with that kind of stand-out hair is Ronovan, with his streaks of dark yellow.

"Well, since you know me, that'll speed things up." he says, leaning out of his line to whisper to me. "Come over to the bathrooms after the noon bell. I want to talk."

Afterwards, he leans back to his line and doesn't initiate conversation again.

"Hey Jay, was it him that stole from you?"

He doesn't give much of a reaction, which I guess means no. While that does give me some comfort, I still don't like this.

I've had a reputation as an 'arena maniac' for a while now. Even if we're in different groups, he's had plenty of time to reach out to me, but he chooses now, when I'm only three cards away from getting out of here?

I've tested multiple times and confirmed no one can see my system screen, but his timing is still very convenient. Perhaps...

"open menu" I whisper. A light-blue, digital screen manifests in front of me, emitting a soft glow that doesn't get a reaction out of anybody.

Discretely, I move the tip of my pinkie to touch the edge of the screen, then flick it over. It flies through the air, passing through several people before stopping right in front of 177. 

...No reaction. I think. Moments later, the lines moves and he walks through the screen, once again without any reaction.

"close menu."

That's comforting, at least. 

Depending on Jay's condition, maybe I'll go talk to him. It is a bit suspicious, but it's not like the bathroom is that discreet a location. Worst case, I'll just run away.

Before long, I check Jay in and drag him along to group one just in time for me to check in. 

"Alright you bastards, it's time to announce this week's quota and rewards!"

After everyone's checked in, we're all brought to attention as Head Handler Ronovan makes this week's announcement in front of a podium. The grotesque, burned half of his face is slow ands till like tar, while the other half is loud and expressive like a jolly uncle. 

"The quota for this week is Seven cards! Foiled cards count as two, Royal Rares count as three, and S-rarity cards count for double!"

Murmurs ripple throughout the crowd, before being quickly shut down by the handlers. 

Seven? We just had five last week!

This is too much. People are still tired from last week's five-card quota, and now they expect us to find seven?

On average, we'd expect a two or three card quota. Five is a huge number, and they know it. It's a number usually reserved for when they want a lot of victims for the Arena. But seven? They've never done seven before. It's like they're trying to kill all of us off.

"For every card above the quota, you'll get to pick an item from catalogue one, or a deluxe meal! And if you get a Royal Rare, you'll also get a three-card deduction from next week's quota, same as last week! A summonable royal rare gets you a six-card deduction!"

At the mention of a Royal Rare, Jay clenches up.

The bastard who stole from him must be laughing right about now, huh?

"Also, in the afternoon there will be an early roll call! At that time, I want the numbers I'm going to say now to come see me!"

"89!"

"116!"

"121!"

"177!"

Me? 

And what's this now? This is also something they've never done before. And all the numbers they called... including me, it's the four 'regulars' of the Arena.

"That's it! Now get to work, you bastards! There's quota to be met!"

As Ronovan steps down, people start freaking out and running towards the tunnels. A seven card quota? You'd have to work day and night, cut short on sleep and put forward every last bit of effort to even have a chance of meeting that number.

I glance at the despondent Jay on my shoulder, who's been shaking ever since the seven-card quota was mentioned.

I tighten my arm around his shoulder, giving him a good shake.

"We'll live through this." I say.

Just three more cards.