Jonas awoke the day before the bet feeling as he usually did, hungry and obsessive. The stirring noises of the slaves waking up told him it was still early, and the changing of the prison guard told him that breakfast was on its way. The conversation with Pride was like a memory from a different lifetime, and he knew that he didn’t have time to dwell on what he learned, he needed to focus on understanding what Pride meant to him.

“Morning,” Simon said through a stifled yawn.

“Let me have your porridge today and you can keep the apple,” Jonas said as he began doing his morning stretch routine.

“No problem,” said Simon, he felt fortunate that Jonas hadn’t heard his stomach growl in protest.

“I’ll pay you back, tenfold,” Jonas did indeed hear the rumbling coming from his neighbor's belly, but he shamelessly prepared to take his food anyways. The gang lackeys began by taking the old trays and replacing them with fresh new ones, the food was cold, dry, and pitifully portioned.

Simon picked up the bowl of porridge and slid it through his bars and into the waiting hands of Jonas who accepted the gift with an expression of gratitude. The rat-faced man watched enviously as Jonas ran through two bowls of white mush and inhaled a beaten red apple like it was air. Simon picked up his ugly apple and was about to take a bite when he decided to go all-in and gently tossed the apple through his bars and onto the floor of Jonas’ cage where it rolled swiftly to the young man’s feet.

“You have to at least eat something,” said Jonas as he picked the apple up and tried to give it back.

“No worries, young man,” said Simon, “I’ll be fine without food for a few days, the worst thing that happens is I’m not in the mood to talk so much.”

“Or you’re driven mad by hunger and resort to cannibalism,” and Simon couldn’t help but nod in agreement, that was probably the worst thing that could happen.

Jonas shamelessly finished off Simon’s apple and then dared to belch loudly, causing the other slaves in the room to shoot him glares that were both angry and jealous. Later, just before the slaves were brought to the training room, Brow had stopped by to pay Jonas a quick visit.

“Tomorrow’s the day, Slave,” he stated the obvious, “If you lose, you’re fucked,” and Jonas noticed he looked slightly antsy.

“No shit,” said Jonas dully, “Do you think I don’t know that?” Normally Brow would have beaten a slave who spoke to him in the tone, but in this case, he couldn’t risk doing irreparable damage to a slave who may just be the key to his future successes. Instead, he glared devilishly at the caged teen and went on with his own business.

“Ready?” Jonas asked Simon as they were both let out of their prison cages.

“Not really,” mumbled Simon as he focused on not falling over, it seemed that his steps had grown heavier, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to not pass out. They were led into the arena room where Ahmed was seated cross-legged in a familiar-looking sandpit.

“Simon, you’re up first,” said Ahmed. Simon wobbled into the sandy arena and faced his sparring opponent. With his fists to his face, he threw a jab that was parried so easily Ahmed could have mistaken it for the punch of a child, and in return, he threw his punch that Simon tried to dodge but it was as if he had been moving in slow motion.

“What’s your problem today?” Ahmed looked at him strangely.

“Just feeling a bit sluggish,” he mumbled as he forced himself to his feet.

“Stop giving your food to the fat one,” said Ahmed nodding towards Jonas, and Jonas nearly responded in protest but quickly stopped himself as he realized he was being trolled.

“Well,” said Simon, “Food’s a bit overrated anyway, I can still spar,” but the next few minutes told Ahmed and Jonas that food was rated just as it was. He couldn’t punch or kick, let alone wrestle, and out of all the attacks that Ahmed had sent his way, he managed to dodge one, and that was only because he half-fainted and fell away from the attack.

“Fucking pathetic,” spat Ahmed, “Jonas you’re up,” and he watched as an energetic Jonas hopped up from his spot and began bouncing up and down, clearly full of boundless energy.

The fight began and Jonas and Ahmed began exchanging bone-crunching punches which the veteran was able to parry most of, and the rookie was less fortunate. However, Jonas was finding it much easier to eat his opponent's attacks without flinching or being knocked around, which allowed him to skillfully return the attacks at the cost of being hurt himself.

‘This is the only way,’ thought Jonas as he ignored a painful jab to his ribs and returned it with a hard punch to Ahmed’s cheek. Although Simon’s brain was numb, he was sure that he had counted at least five or six times that Jonas landed a clean hit on Ahmed, and he was beginning to feel confident that his friend could win the bet, however, that thought was temporarily halted as he watched Jonas get sent flying with a backbreaking toss that nearly tore his arm out of its socket.

‘Will one more day make a difference?’ Simon wondered as he watched Jonas slowly crawl back up from out of the sand and roll his arm like he was trying to rewind it. He could see Jonas being successful if everything fell into place and he got lucky, but he also could see it being a huge failure if Ahmed took the fight seriously enough to put everything he had into it.

After they were finished sparring and exercising, a very bloody Jonas and a very wobbly Simon were led back into their cages where they would spend the rest of the day in an extremely boring fashion.

“You’d think they’d use us for slave labor or something,” Jonas said to Simon as he sat calmly in his cage, waiting for his fractured bones to heal themselves back to normal.

“Nah,” said Simon, “First of all, we’re in the sewers and there isn’t much we could be used for,” and this point Jonas found extremely reasonable, “Secondly, the Hurts gang is dedicated to cage fighting and they do everything in their power to both please their fighters and keep them in the best shape.”

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“I could see that,” said Jonas, “Those fighters walk around without chains, eat proper meals, have their private quarters, and can talk back to the gang members with impunity.”

“Exactly,” said Simon, “Thirdly, it would require more food, more supervision, and more opportunities for slaves to escape.”

“So we just wake up, eat shitty food, get our asses kicked for a few hours, then just sit in these cages until the next morning where we repeat it.”

“You’ve got it,” said Simon, “That’s the life we slaves live and that’s why it’s so important to be a dummy slave for a fighter that isn’t a complete scumbag.”

“How did you get assigned to Ahmed?”

“Easy,” said Simon, “He wanted to practice against someone who had long arms because if you haven’t noticed, his reach is much shorter than normal people and he lost a few fights because of it.”

“No shit,” Jonas looked a bit surprised at the revelation, “He’s been using you to improve his spatial sense?”

“I assume so,” said Simon, “It’s not like I’m going to improve his cardio, right?”

“Nor his durability,” quipped Jonas as he rolled over and began doing his sets of pushups.

“Add one more set for being a dick,” laughed Simon as he rubbed his belly and tried to eat the food in his imagination, whatever goodies fighters were given, “I can’t wait to eat something good.”

“Don’t forget,” Jonas said through heavy breaths, “Even if I win the bet tomorrow I’m not going to be treated like a prizefighter.”

“I know,” said Simon, “But it will convince Brow that you're worth something and he’ll choose you as his new fighter, train you up, and then you’ll be able to work your way into the top ten at least.”

“Don’t worry,” said Jonas, “Tomorrow night after I’ve won, I’ll make sure Brow brings us something delicious to eat.”

“It better not have a tail,” Simon laughed, and Jonas smiled at him.

“Simon, can I ask you something?” Jonas had finally decided to give in to his curiosity.

“No, I don’t have any more food,” Simon smirked, “Just kidding, ask what you want.”

“What do you think my Pride is?” and Jonas still hadn’t been able to answer that question. He knew the solution was simple, but sometimes simple solutions loved to hide in plain sight.

“Your Pride?” Simon made a thinking face, “I’m guessing it’s the things you’re proud of, and the things you’re confident at doing,” he scrunched his eyebrows and continued his musing, “How would you feel if someone told you that Drake was a good-for-nothing, brother-abandoning, scumbag?” and Simon got his answer at once as Jonas’ Sin Scars began to glow brightly and his fists clenched violently. However, Jonas relaxed after quickly realizing that he had overreacted and laughed.

“I’d feel like my pride had been insulted, just like now. Okay, I see your point,” and he took a deep breath and expelled the negative energy he had just felt.

“See,” Simon said, “That feeling you just felt, I think that’s your Pride, and it doesn’t just extend to your brother. I’ve seen you get arrogant loads of times, all the crazy shit you do, and the fearlessness, it all comes from your Pride, doesn’t it?”

“You know, Simon, I think you might be a genius.”

“I think you might be right,” and Simon shrugged his shoulders. It seemed that Jonas had been searching for an answer that he had known all along. There were things in his life that he was proud of, things that he loved, things he was passionate about, and things he was confident about. The emotions he had for them, that was his Pride, and it was those emotions that he needed to fuel his Sin. Although one question had been answered, it opened the door for many more. Jonas thought about all the things he was proud of, right until he finally fell asleep.

There was anxiousness in the air, or perhaps it had just been the smell of piss that woke Jonas up from a dead sleep. Like a time-traveler who had gotten stuck in an infinite loop, Jonas began the day with the same routine he had done every morning that entire week, and it quite possibly seemed that even the same conversations were taking place over, and over again.

The only difference about that morning, in particular, was that Jonas woke up oddly quiet and only mumbled a stifled good morning to his neighbor and good friend Simon.

‘He’s trying to get in the right mood,’ thought Simon who took no offense to the fact he was being ignored. Jonas began stretching a bit harder than he had done the previous days and he even did a very light workout, which caused his muscles to peacock outwards and swell up as if he had inflated them with air.

“Do I look bigger than before you met me?” Jonas asked as he finished a set of upside-down push-ups, and he had to bend his knees just so his feet wouldn’t stick out the top of his cage.

“What was your weight before dying?”

“I was one-sixty,” said Jonas as he tried to recall the last time he had stepped on a scale, “I think I had thirteen percent body fat.”

“Well,” said Simon, “I took a health science class at University, and if I had to guess from looking at your body right now, I’d say you were one-seventy and ten percent body fat.”

“Crazy,” said Jonas, “You think I gained ten pounds?”

“The lighting in here is shit,” said Simon, “But if you had one of those nice ceiling lights like you’d find at a gym, people would start asking about your routine.”

“I feel like I’m abusing a power that I don’t fully understand,” Jonas freely admitted because Simon had already known about both his Sin Scars and his extraordinary ability to recover from damage.

“That’s because you are,” Simon said seriously, “Every time you use Sin to heal yourself, you’re slowly but surely changing your personality.”

“Huh?”

“Your personality,” said Simon, “Don’t forget, it can become easily corruptible, and if you’re lucky you’ll end up just a psychopath like Garth, and if you’re unlucky you’ll completely lose yourself and turn into a Maldread.”

“I’m still not sure what a Maldread is,” said Jonas, as he imagined a Maldread to be a sort of vampire that cannibalized humans.

“Just imagine this,” said Simon, “A creature with Garth’s violent tendencies and the impulse control of a toddler.

“Jesus!” exclaimed Jonas, “So it’s just a mindless killing machine?”

“Not just killing,” said Simon, “From what I’ve heard but not seen myself, Maldreads will kill, rape, cannibalize, and even torture their victims, and that’s not to mention the fact that a Maldread is a hundred times stronger than a normal human and could destroy an entire neighborhood in a few minutes.”

“I assume the government has to do something about them, right?”

“Probably one of the only things that will cause the government to get involved,” said Simon, “They usually don’t give a shit about anything as long as you don’t target their officials, get in the way of their business, or cause huge public disturbances.”

“Good to know,” said Jonas, “Don’t turn into a Maldread.”

“Be careful of your Sin usage,” said Simon, “That’s the lesson to be learned here,” and he couldn’t help but glance at the cross-shaped Sin Scars on the back of Jonas’ hands.

“I feel fine though,” said Jonas, “Just this last week I’ve healed through a broken spine, ribs, femur, foot, fingers…” he trailed off as he tried to remember what other bones he had broken, “There was the forearm fracture from when Ahmed punched it, also there were about twenty broken noses,” he looked at Simon and added, “Am I forgetting anything?”

“Your entire skull being smashed in should count, no?”

“Oh shit,” said Jonas as he nodded his head, “Almost forgot that one.”