***

The enormous halls of the fortieth floor were a sight for my sore eyes. The number of soldiers here were equally fitting and easily filling the large space. I believed the fortieth floor was where the slaves were kept, tied, and unfed so they can’t run.

I guess the rumors were not true.

Everywhere soldiers marched or dueled or exercised, putting time and effort while they were still safe.

The duelists were occupying a whole hall. The protocol to find an appropriate partner demanded one to greet a soldier of interest by shaking the clubbed ends of their antennae, pulling legs to test strength, and butting heads to compare will. Those already in a match played with strict regulations to cause no unnecessary loss of life or injury.

No blood was to be spilled during the duels, or limbs torn.

Nearby, a pair was dueling under the watch of a dozen young soldiers. They butted mandibles and compared strengths. They were even in strength, and the winner was surprisingly decided in a split second when the solider with one red antenna flipped her opponent on her back.

Nurses rushed forward the moment a winner was decided. The duelists were separated and each thoroughly checked for wounds and injuries, while a second pair from the watchers took their place in the ring.

There were many such rings where soldiers dueled and purged their itch, each accompanied by a dozen or so watchers, both young and old.

To my left were soldiers marching, changing formations at the signal of their sergeant. The three divisions hard at work had more young ants than old warriors, creating more problems with every iteration than results. But that’s why they were practicing, to improve. It was better to fail in training than on the battlefields; the knowledge was learned with experience and loss. They practiced as if their life depended on mastering the formations, which was a fact both true and sad.

The next chamber hall was occupied by marksmen firing at a faraway target. The target was moving and the marksmen missing as much as they were connecting.

I tried to keep my mind occupied with the details, but I couldn’t keep that up as we approached the slope leading down to the forty-first floor. It had an ominous smell to it. No one sane would have gone down there.

I hoped the soldiers posted at the junction would stop Princess, but they didn’t. All excitement left my body when we stepped into the tunnel. Cold washed over me. I felt my body growing sluggish; or as it really happened, my metabolic reactions growing stale. The change was small, but a direct result of the drop in the ambient temperature of this part of the city.

So it was true. The city really doesn’t spare any expense or care for the slaves. I scented out loud, for there was no one to hear me there. The scent echoed in the tunnel, repeating over and over, becoming distorted the longer it stretched, before completely breaking down into incomprehensible motes and getting absorbed by the dirt walls.

All I had heard were stories from the workers and caretakers that sometimes brought food down this low. We were essentially entering the slums of the society where parasites crawled. They called it the hub of infections and diseases. Everyone was supposedly crazy down there. Well, anyone would go crazy if kept trapped in a tight space for a long time.

I wavered. I hadn’t put my life on the line only to be imprisoned there in the end.

You are right. She is putting you there for good. A small unforgiving voice rose inside me. I ignored the voice, but couldn’t ignore reality. Even the scents down there were different.

The halls were full of those wounded and in pain. None was infected, but many were dying. These were the soldiers, workers, and warriors who had survived life-threatening wounds but were otherwise worthless to the city. Most were recuperating, while some had healed physically but lost their minds.

Princess walked past them, going deeper into this hell hole. I closely followed her closely with shaking steps.

I was so engrossed with myself I didn’t notice how quiet she had gotten. It was a failure on my part.

The scent of pain in the air was oppressively dense. I developed a headache simply by being there. Away from the injured and the wounded lived the healed and the disabled. She took me past from them. They were lazing, unresponsive to even the Princess, and her allure. I was appalled! How bad must things be for them to have lost their will to live?

The deeper we went the large our surroundings became until it opened into an enormous antechamber, a cavernous empty pocket glowing with a constant brilliant light.

In there, the temperature was normal, a mild 30 degrees Celsius. As enormous as the chamber was, it was still packed with ants, all marked by various degrees of disabilities… grunting and straining? There was no pain in the air, but the smell of blood, and screams of anguish. They fought, drawing blood, tearing limbs and ripping carapaces!

So the stories were true! They are really crazy!

I almost turned back when Princess stopped me.

You can see, right? So look carefully. They are fighting, but they haven’t gone crazy. Princess Tiny interrupted my thoughts. I had leaked them out again.

It’s alright. She said. You have been doing it since I met you.

I followed her words —not out of respect, but to take my mind off the hundred gruesome ends I had thought for myself. And what I found when I looked, really looked? The slaves were fighting, yes, and hurting each other, for sure, but not killing anyone. They were practicing? How ironic was that…

They are preparing for war — preparing so they could return and enjoy another chance at a respectful life. Princess explained.

This is practice? I wondered what kind of a spectacle they would put on display when their life was really on the line. So they weren’t insane? Good for them. But I didn’t want to have anything to do with them. They were considered the lowest of the low and I belonged to that part of the city. A few words weren’t enough to wash away my biased opinion of them.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

You have courage, She praised. I’ll give you that. But you don’t know how to fight. There is no point in harming yourself over protecting me. How long will you last like that? That’s what we are here for, your first real job. You will be learning from them —she pointed her antennae toward the slaves who were battered and bruised and fighting like their life depended on it— to protect me without getting hurt.

We got in their midst. Scraping shoulders with a few we pushed past. There was no order to their madness.

The slaves stood still when they sensed the princess. Some excited, others dreading their time had come, while a few were happy.

There were a lot of them, each one in a condition worse than the other.

Some had no eyes, only scars of acid damage left behind. Others had missing limbs, and not just one or two! There was one who was barely standing on her three legs. Another looked fine from the left side but had excessive acid damage on the other.

They were soldiers, all more than a generation old. And among them was one who smelled of age and had a bare face with no mandibles. She was the only one I pitied. She was sitting alone on a ledge by the right wall, watching rather than participating.

The worst of all was the warm welcome they gave us, especially me. I didn’t speak up my mind, but my disgust was open for them to see and sense. That, however, only intensified their familiarity with me. I wondered.

They tapped my head in a disturbing fondness, reading me for all my worth. Most of them were from the fourth generation. That was how it was. Ants didn’t get to live long; especially those who worked outside: the solders, harvesters, foragers, and the explorers.

But the one with no mandibles was different. She was of age not just from the body, but also smell. Everyone had a faint lingering smell of fungus to them, but she stank of the stuff. The fungus grew everywhere, covered the walls, and even the ground in some places. I could see workers actively cultivating it, putting pieces of leaves near the glowing warm crystals for them to ferment.

Princess dragged me behind her and took me to see the aged warrior who definitely looked unhappy to see her.

It’s you again. The aged warrior said. What do you want this time?

Nothing, elder, Princess lied; it was a deliberate one, meant to ease the tension. I have only come to check up on your health.

The aged warrior was thwarted. A princess dragging a worker around, have you no conscience! Want me to take care of him, too?

Yes, She said to my disbelief.

See! She’s really putting you away for good. The little voice enjoyed my discomfort. Let’s run away before it’s too late. It gave a piece of advice that I could only ignore for now. Runaway to where? My mind wasn’t thinking straight. Of course, I blamed that on the slaves, too.

I shook my head clear just in time to notice a pair of rough and long antennae trying to touch my face. I tried to squirm away, but the princess pulled my abdomen and put me back in front of the aged warrior.

The antennae —to my discomfort— moved from my face to my head, and then down my neck to my chest. They were long enough to comfortably arch over the back, wormed around my chest and tapped my leg joints, checked between the plates of my bottom shell, and swatted my bottom. I asked the princess for help, which she rejected. She looked to be enjoying my misery.

The antennae left me feeling violated.

The aged warrior shook her head. I sense your mark on him. You don’t want to put him here, do you? She asked the Princess, straightening her antennae for the princess to take. Princess Tiny approached her and their antennae mingled, initiating an internal connection.

I gasped as a few of the broken mercenaries approached. They didn’t interfere and the princess came out of I.C soon enough. She staggered a few steps back, tired. I felt for her right there. I knew how demanding the I.C could be —especially when one was rough with its use. Her pain didn’t make me less concerned. However, one thing I knew for sure, she had done it out of care.

Missing mandible, The old warrior counted my disabilities one by one. Lame leg, and broken antennae—

Wait, what? I wasn’t expecting the third one. My antenna isn’t broken. I released. Instincts pulled my antennae to the jaw for cleaning, while inside I grew worried about my future.

Haven’t you been releasing your thoughts out loud? The old warrior said, her voice growing ominous. That’s a sign. The bad news is that the injury won’t heal and sooner or later you are going to end up losing the antenna. You want me to say what that means?

I shook my head and she continued. That leaves you with two choices; you chose us and get beaten very badly, every day, all day until you learn to fight without a mandible, walk without a leg, and sense without an antenna; or you could choose to leave. I wouldn’t be any happier by either of your choices. I don’t need you. She lay bare. And from what I have learned from the I.C, you don’t want to be here either. That’s perfect. My claws are already full keeping these guys busy enough so their minds don’t wander. I don’t need a kid midst them who can come and go, sparking their rebellious minds.

I looked toward the princess, ritualistically polishing my precious antennae on the hairbrush at the ends of my forelegs. She left the decision to me. Did I agree? Did I even have a choice? The notifications, said the little voice. It was growing brazen with my doubts. I pushed it back down, telling it to find a way around them and it turned somber. ‘I am not a coward!’ I told it and myself; raising the question whether the statement had some semblance of truth, or was it just another lie in the end.

I was still undecided when someone approached us from the other side of the cavern. It was a soldier, a young lad who had only a single antenna hanging over his head. I wondered how it hadn’t gone crazy yet. The aged warrior clapped her forelegs and made me regret my indecisiveness. Running would have been the better option, but I stayed and now she wanted me to fight the soldier.

Let’s see how you fare in a fight. She scented, which didn’t make me feel any better about my circumstance.

The soldier trotted past me and directly went for the princess. I thought he was going to attack. I pushed him. He staggered.

What are you doing little one? He scented, angry emotions spilling. I was giving you such a great chance to run away! Why are you still here?

I thought you were going to hurt her.

--Hurt Princess? He was offended. I wasn’t going to fall for the old hag's words. Just so you know they were coming. But I can’t let you get away with what you just said —not in front of my lovely princess! The old hag will not stop calling me a coward if I do. Get ready. We are fighting.

My life as a worker was lonely and tiring, but I would have rushed back to it if the option was available. I would have finished my community service and become a harvester or a forager, and lived a normal life. Anything would have been better than this.