Chapter Text

From rags to riches. That was the promise The Gauntlet offered. If you wanted to make your way in the world, you had to compete. Typically, only people that were able to afford enhancing themselves would compete in the arenas. Now that’s not to say people without enhancements participated, but rather most of them didn’t make it past their first match-up. You could chalk that up to the fact that they were outclassed in almost every way by every other contestant competing, but me? I never saw it that way. I grew up in Toronto, which would be fine had I been born into a family with any sort of social presence. My mom worked fast-food, and my dad worked as a mailboy in an office building. Easy to guess correctly that they never took part in The Gauntlet. We never had enough money to get food for everyone, and we definitely didn’t have enough money to get a nanomachine printer. But that last bit didn’t really matter much since The Gauntlet was always publicly televised on every public screen in the city.

I wanna say I was about 13 when I started to realize I wanted more from life than just sitting in a trashy apartment hoping my folks could scrape together enough money for food. I spent most of my days outside, freerunning over buildings and through alleyways. Spent a few nights in jail due to trespassing when their drones saw me and shocked me out of the air a couple of times, but that never stopped me. Maybe a year or so later, I started getting serious with my running, entering small competitions here and there when I could pick enough pockets to get the entry fee. I didn’t win much at first, but eventually after getting shat on so much I started to pick up more advanced techniques, and started to win those small competitions pretty regularly until they told me I was too good to be running in them. My winnings from those competitions were able to support me and my family a bit better, and we didn’t go for days without eating since I started. When I told my folks I was looking to go pro, they were supportive but understandably worried. If I kept going down this path, their little girl was surely going to enter The Gauntlet and get herself killed while the whole country watches.

I knew that I stood no chance of winning against one of the hunters in The Gauntlet if I entered. I’m a thrill-seeker sure, but I’m not an idiot. I started out small, taking part in the Legacy Gauntlet, the original version of the game that Zhu created so many years ago. It wasn’t endorsed by the mainstream Gauntlet anymore, but more for people who wanted to get their thrills and five seconds of fame without the risk of death. Most people didn’t take the Legacy Gauntlet seriously since there was no real threat, but I took it to heart. If I was going to stand any chance in the real thing I needed to start learning and preparing now. The Legacy was no real challenge for me, running through a maze with someone trying to tag you. I failed plenty at first, but once I learned the rules and the tricks, I lost less and less, until I placed first in the league for Toronto. Now, The Legacy isn’t nearly as big or important as The Gauntlet, but it can still get you some places. With my family no longer worrying about skipping meals because of the monthly payments from the league, I was able to focus less on keeping up my wins and more on training myself for the real show. I thought about being a hunter but quickly decided against it. I was not at all built for or training for hunting. I was made to run.

After the year of supplemental income from the league was starting to come to a close, I knew it was now or never. I went to the city’s Coliseum, met with a talent recruiter, paid my entry fee, and sat down with an interviewer to talk about my participation in the upcoming season of The Gauntlet for all of Canada. They broke down the seasons for me, what happens when someone loses, all the rules, and just the basics of actually competing in the tournament.

The seasons would break down between all competing countries, with the grand champion from each participating city in the country moving on to the world championships. There are four seasons split up throughout the year, to provide extra contestants when some inevitably die and are lost to The Gauntlet. By the end of the season, the runners with the most wins and least losses in their belt would move to the championships. Once in the championships, all those runners will be placed into a team to represent their country and will be paired with a finalist hunter from the country to form that country’s team. The last country standing wins. The championship has one season, one team from each competing country, and is based off elimination. The hunters for each team are chosen from finalists by the country’s judges, with no contestant input. Typically the hunter that earned the most kills on top of their win/loss ratio was picked. In the championships, though, the game was much more high-stakes than it already was. Each team competes until their team either doesn’t have enough players to continue, or all the other teams have lost. That means that in each match if one of your teammates dies, you go into the next match with fewer people than you did in your previous match. Once a team is reduced to two runners, they are disqualified. In the championships, it was a guarantee that at least three people from each losing team would be going home in a casket.

None of that mattered to me. I needed to know how to win, and when to run. Teamwork was important in the country-wide games, but staying alive and keeping wins up was more important if you were aiming for the world title. I knew that, and so did everyone else that signed up. During your participation, you weren’t allowed to leave the Coliseum. Everything you needed or wanted would be provided for you within the confines. There were personal locker rooms, and there were common spaces and even fan spaces where the contestants could interact with the people that were rooting for them. There was never any privacy, however. Upon signing up, you needed a special piece of augmented nano-tech that helped The 3 televise the games, and that made them as interesting as they were. Hunters got a nano-cam implanted in both of their eyeballs, while runners got a neural link to an external nano-cam that was always close behind them. The hunter’s camera was simply for broadcasting, but the runner camera was for gameplay as well. While at any point the screen could switch from a runner’s first-person view, it could also switch to the neural-cam’s view in third-person. The same was available for the runners, though it was less straightforward than flipping a switch for us. It was like having a third eye that you could see out of, and see yourself moving normally like you would any day, while also having your normal point of view. It was intense. A lot of people aren’t allowed into the gauntlet as runners for the simple fact that their minds aren’t strong enough for the link. To test this, they give you a series of interviews. The first two are more medical, and mental related to see if you’ll be compatible, while the third one is a personal interview, for the introductions of the contestants.

“Please state your name, city of residence, and occupation.” The man’s voice echoed in the empty room, as I faced only a camera, with my newly administered runner’s mask. Everyone got the same gear at first. Didn’t matter who you were, it was all the same drab clothes. If you survived past your first game, you got to pick your wardrobe.

“I’m Josie Ranger. I’m from Toronto, and I freerun for a living.” The silence as they took notes was short, and they ushered me into the next question briskly.

“So, Jo - may I call you Jo?” This voice was a different one from the monotone voice that came before. This voice belonged to the interviewer that would be televised with me for my interview.

“Sure, I don’t care.” I gave a shrug as I let the words slide off my tongue. Most people would be nervous about the interview, and truth be told so was I. But if I showed any kind of weakness I’d be mince-meat.

“Alright, Jo. So, before we get into the reasons you came to The Gauntlet, let’s take care of some formalities. You said you’re a professional freerunner, is that correct?”

“Sure is.”

“Excellent! We would love to know who your sponsor is in this event. That is to say, what brand and type of augments are you going to be sporting this season?”

I blew a small puff of air out of my nose as the words filled the room. “I don’t have any.” This time, the silence was longer.

“Really? No augmentation? And why is that?” It sounded like genuine intrigue, but I knew he couldn’t care less about my story.

“I’m poor. Opted for the cheaper, more old-school way of things. I worked my ass off.” My response got a chuckle out of him, as he readied his next question.

“That’s fantastic! Would you mind flexing for the folks watching at home, miss Jo?” I shook my head and gave a small laugh myself, and flexed my bicep.

“Wow! Quite impressive, Josie! Now with that kind of all natural muscle and figure, what made you choose The Gauntlet instead of, say, a modeling job?” I scoffed. This was a stupid question.

“Would you rather sit in a room all day getting your picture taken for meaningless praise, or actually make your mark on this shitstain of a rock?” My abrasive answer definitely caught him off guard.

“Oh, my! Well, when you put it that way I suppose it really sounds like there’s no better option! Best of luck to you this season, ma’am. The world will be watching!”