I KNOW BLITZ.

That’s what Rhea would say to anyone who’d listen. Rhea’s known Blitz before the girl even knew herself.

Rhea was no idiot. She knew Blitz hated her (not that Blitz really gave an effort to hide it.) But considering how useful Rhea had been, was she wrong to expect a little more appreciation?

Rhea descended the stone steps, walking right into the gladiater pits. These cells used to contain all sorts of ninjas from all sorts of tribes. The best fights were when Arths were condemned to fight one of their own. Unfortunately, that led to the Katana War, one of the most devastating wars the Kor ever fought, which resulted in the Kor population shrinking to only a fraction of its original numbers. The Kor territory also decreased by half, making it the smallest tribe yet.

So they’ve resorted to technology. They had gravity forces and invisible triggers all over the outside walls. The Tesak or Lisica would be circling them. It was in their nature to strike when their prey is at its weakest. The Kor needed to slowly recover from their battle injury without danger.

Now, however, their protection needed an upgrade. It was a disgrace to see arrival ninja come in and out without a scratch. What enraged Rhea was that this tribe was mocking them. None of their documents have been taken. A scout.

If this kept up, the Kor would collapse in no time. Rhea had tried to make the stealing sound innocuous, when it was the complete opposite. Their best techie, who was perhaps the only person who could program the defenses, had died, which comes back to the reason why Rhea was visiting the pits in the first place.

Today the pits were turned into a prison, run by guards who were failed ninjas, too slow or dumb to promote. To avoid a catastrophe, Rhea made sure these guards got some of the best services. The dumbest can be the most destructive.

The ninja guards bowed at Rhea’s arrival. Their heads lowered at different angles, their timing was horrible, and their uniforms hung down in a horrible mess. At least they show a sort of respect, Rhea thought, unlike some people I know.

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Rhea marched on, aiming towards the end of the corridor where the windowless stone cells resided, which were once reserved for the most insane gladiators. Air was let in through tiny holes in the ceiling. Food came from a tube in the wall. The toilet was a hole. The bed was a ledge.

Rhea turned to the fourth door. The number 847 was lightly etched into the stone. She took a deep breath, produced a single key, and entered.

“Rhea. I was hoping I could die in peace.”

“The feeling is mutual, Obriskrity.”

Obriskrity’s room was the only one that did not reek of human feces. Somehow, she had managed to make the bland room seem nearly…comfortable.

“I see you have been making yourself at home,” Rhea commented.

Obriskrity gave her a wry smile. “As much as I can. I’ll never know what home really is.”

Though the two were seemingly calm, a tense electricity was in the room. Rhea stood silent, unsure of what to say. Obriskrity looked calm, as if waiting for her opponent to make the first move. Finally Rhea asked, “Have you been well?”

“You call this well?” the prisoner waved her hand at the space around her. “Really, sometimes I can’t tell if you are joking or not.”

“You’re well enough. Alive, at the very least. You owe me that.”

“Truthfully, I’d rather be dead.”

Rhea laughed a horrible, short laugh. “Well, you can always commit suicide.”

Obriskrity look Rhea in the eye. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Really?” Rhea said this in a mocking tone, but she knew the answer.

“Don’t pretend.”

Rhea sighed, all sense of purpose draining out of her. “Well, have a nice life.” She made a move to leave.

But Obriskrity did not stop her. She still sat on the floor with a placid smile. “Well, why aren’t you going?” she asked innocently.

“Aren’t you going to stop me?”

“No. Because I know you can’t leave. I know you are in trouble. I know you came to make me an offer.”

Rhea turned around. “Really. And how exactly do you know that, Obriskrity?”

The prisoner laughed—laugh that sounded like a dolphin’s squeal, twenty times magnified in the acoustic room. “Please stop. Stop with the ‘Obriskrity this, Obriskrity that’. Admit it. You’ve come to seek your big sister’s help.”