Mirror: Chapter 21

"Do we have a deal?"

Alita could feel the rage inside freeze over, it immobilized her body and mind.

How can I make a decision like this?

Giving up Ido, her father, was an impossibility. Of all the turmoil in the last year, he was the bedrock. Without him, she had no home, and she was terrified her identity would crumble without an anchor.

The idea of betraying Adem sent icicles across her skin. He was supposed to be one of the good ones, and return that good back to Iron City. This horrific place managed to mangle him, regardless, and she only now felt like she pieced him back together.

"I envy you, such a wealth of choices," Sarah purred, "You could just turn away from them both? After all, you don't need either to break into the pro motorball circuit."

Once she realized plasma coated the Damascus Blade, Alita had to expend precious concentration to smother it.

"Hello? Alita?"

The no-presence tone ceased, and Ido's voice pinged. For a moment, Alita believed her panic had cracked her mind, and she was suffering an auditory hallucination.

"Alita? Are you there?"

"Dad?!" she breathed, and the words spilled out like a flash flood, "Dad! Razor's on the way! You have to run!"

"Pardon?" Ido asked, "Honey, I already left. I'm on the way to the factory to collect Razor's bounty. He's not going to be a threat to anyone, anymore."

The feeling rushed back to Alita's face, and she laughed uncontrollably, "Oh thank goodness."

"I've been a hunter-warrior since before I met you, give me some credit, child. I'm coming to the arena right after the factory."

When the call ended, Alita grinned viciously, "Razor failed. You are so screwed."

After sneering for several seconds, Sarah opened her arms wide, "Well, I'm at your mercy then."

Yes, Alita's immobilization continued.

I can't accept a disqualification for fighting off-track, but I can certainly kill her here. She's threatening dad, and she's trying to kill Adem. What kind of person am I if I turn away now?

Disqualification. If I get removed from the motorball game, then any chance of avenging Hugo disappears. I can't tolerate it!

"What's the matter? Am I in your pretty little head? Seriously, did me stealing your face mess you up this much? I didn't get this far without--"

"So why don't you attack Alita?" Adem's synthesized voice interjected.

The two women glanced at Adem's mirrored mask.

"Adem," Sarah cooed, "You came back after running away. It's been too long, big brother. Do you still recognize your little sister? Don't you think I'm beautiful?"

"Your personality doesn't measure up to your looks."

Sarah's eyebrows twitched at the cooly delivered line, "Well, at least I can put my best face forward. Can you say the--"

The clicking disconnection of his mask made her fall silent, and he revealed his expression.

Disdain.

Sarah's eyes widened in recognition. She had seen Adem before and completely overlooked him, because she had forgotten what her brother had looked like. His revelation was irrefutable proof, any connection they had was severed, and she had no sway over him.

When he replaced the helmet, Alita hunched forward like a wolf about to pounce, "He's only putting it back on for your sake. After all, the only thing you see is yourself. Well," she chuckled, "not anymore."

"I'll kill you both!" Sarah screeched.

"I already asked, why don't you try it?" Adem said, "We both know why. You're a marionette, only worth something when someone's pulling some strings."

It was obvious it was taking a tremendous effort for Sarah to recover her composure, painting on a pleasant smile. With a click of a heel, she spun and sauntered away.

"On the track then," Shark growled as if preparing for a feast. He followed after Sarah.

Once they were gone Alita spoke suddenly, "Adem, I know she's your sister but if you don't end her--"

"Do me a favor," he said, his hand lightly gripping her wrist.

"Anything, of course."

"I want you to do it. I've been protecting and caring for that monster for so long that I'll hesitate..."

"I understand," she said, her hand filling in his, "I will."

---

What do we do now?

In the hours that passed, Ido arrived and boosted her morale. With both her father and her coach repairing Adem, he would be in top condition in no time.

"Kid," Coach muttered, his hands and Ido's hands competing for space in Adem's chest cavity, "Go check with the commission about any other rule changes."

Walking past the other pits gave Alita the impression of walking across a firing line, and all of the other contestants were there to execute her.

If this were a fair game? Her and Adem could take the win without an issue.

Nothing was fair, she ultimately concluded. Everything has been a fucking mess since Hugo died, and I dragged him right into it. Both of them.

If I had gone for the win that night instead--

She stopped herself.

There's no way I could have abandoned him, huh? As soon as we raced against each other everything happened because that's the only way it could have happened. Fate's a well-oiled machine, it seems.

So I'm meant to lose, then? I can't win and protect Adem at the same time. I suppose I can be happy with this, dropping out of the league and living a life.

"Motorball contestants! This is your twenty-minute warning!"

The instant she returned to the pit, the cybersurgery was completed. Adem was on his feet, locking his helmet into place.

"Ready?" she asked.

"I was reborn ready."

She gave him a light shove and then facepalmed, "How can you be so cool and corny at the same time?"

The rolled into the main hall, lining up for final pole position. The gossipping stopped at their arrival.

They're strategizing against us. Me and Adem against the world? Fine. I won't hold back one bit--

"Number 12, Alita, good luck."

One of the motorcentaur racers in front called back, one of the Quick Triplets. The other two gave the same sentiment. There was no tone of mockery.

A pig-shaped racer slurred the same through his oversized tusks. Then another, and another.

"I don't understand," Alita whispered.

"We only now found out about the rules being rigged to screw you over. That pisses us off."

"The iron ball didn't even try to slow us down," one of the Quick Triplets admitted.

"We might think you're a pain in the ass," Mr. Tusk-Faced-Piggy-Head said, "And for the record you are, but we know you deserve a higher echelon than this."

"And we respect Racer 12," a gruffer looking racer said, with a spiked mohawk, "Nearly one-hundred games and never killed anyone. Well, except Devil Knives."

"He was a kill-junkie shithead, and kill-junkies get what's coming to them," Pigman McBacon said, throwing his ball to the floor, "I wanted to kill him myself, we all did. Racer 12 was just the one to pull it off."

"Then you'll help us?" Alita asked.

Everyone glanced at each other, trying to think of a way. They could gang up on Shark and Sarah, but they were passed specs, and most of the racers were sportsmen, not warriors. Plus, it would be detrimental, since the game-fixing would be obvious.

"Grudge match protest," Adem's voice cut through the silence, like the ringing of a bell.

After one second of contemplative silence, the hall exploded into chaotic banter. Racers accused each other of ridiculous made-up faults and demanded a duel, which was readily agreed to.

"I don't like your teeth!"

"Your wheel is too loud!"

"I'll teach you for smelling my lunch!"

Someone even demanded a fight because they saw a cloud in the sky yesterday.

"Adem? What is going on?" Alita asked.

"Wait, your name is Adem?" Capt. Boar-Head-Ball-Smash interrupted. The entire hall fell silent and stared at Adem, "Well, nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise."

"And he speaks too! Now my motorball career is complete."

Laughter erupted throughout the hall.

Team names were systematically called, and racing teams rolled into the assigned pole positions.

"Coil up and make a dead sprint for Sarah, I'll take Shark," Adem said, leaning into a runner's stance on the final pole position.
"What if someone attacks?"

"They won't," Adem declared confidently, "I went through a protest like this when I first started racing. The commission has a quota from Zalem, but they make their money off the betting. Can't run bets if no one picks up the ball, but it technically follows the rules, so the commission's hands are tied."

So we have a shot.

"Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you, this is my ninety-ninth game."

Fate really is a well-oiled machine.

Red!

Yellow!

Green!