There was once a story told by my mother, of our past, our present, and of our future. It was a story full of pain, despair, and hope. I don't remember the specifics exactly, but I remember it was sad.

Legends say that the Creators created our world, but from what? They speak of how they built our world from the blood of the last, but what was our world before? What did we look like? Who were we? We may never know. Unless...

The story told of someone who could change things. Someone who had enough power and charisma to shape the view of us Diggers and save them. Who knows who came up with this prophecy, or if it even was a prophecy or, rather, an delusional fantasy created by some helpless soul who needed a figment of hope in their miserable life.

Who knows.

But, as I stared at my little sister, or whatever gender she foolishly believed herself to be, I noticed something.

The way she shuddered from bodies, but didn't hesitate to kill an Announcer who attacked a young Digger girl. How she's always full of optimism, passionately spreading my dreams of being free to the most hopeless of Diggers. How she said she will never leave my side.

Sometimes, I think maybe it isn't just a tale. That, if given opportunity, my darling sister, Alex, could change the world.

...

"Vond, can I become a Contestant?"

I looked down at her strangely. "What? Who was telling you about them?" I bit my lip nervously.

"Another Digger, she said her mother left to become one to save her. She said that Contestant Winners eat like Creators! They sleep in beds covered in soft cloth and can rest all day long! She said it was heaven!" Alex smiled up at me.

I paused for a moment to think. "Alex," I finally told my little sister, "do you know what Heaven is?"

"Er - No, I've just heard people use that word a lot when they say something is nice." She frowned.

"There was once a story told to me by our mother, a couple of days before she died," I said softly.

"Really?! What was it about?" I sat slowly onto the stone floor. My muscles were aching from the training from Kaynes, practicing to become a Contestant. Though, I hadn't told Alex yet about my desire to do so. She was still just a kid, she wouldn't understand.

"It told of our past, our present, and of our future," I said calmly and motioned for Alex to sit on my lap. "The Creators created our world from the blood of the last, shaping our stone walls and empty ceilings. They even creating us Diggers and Announcers, making us do what we must to survive. Being our saviors, we worshiped them. Even as they cut us down, we worshiped them-"

"-That's not a very good story, Vond-" Alex interrupted.

I continued anyway, "-But that isn't the end of the story. It says that sometime, someday, someone is going to save us from our saviors, the Creators. Set us free."

"But..." Alex asked confused. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Alex, nobody knows if this story is true. But, that doesn't matter. What matters is that this story gives the otherwise hopeless men, women, and children a chance. They will never give up, because, someday, someone might save them." I paused. "Being a Contestant is the more blatant sign that one is given hope; One is so finished with life, or so determined to save someone, that they are willing to fight over one hundred people to death, not once, not twice, but five times. Just for that small chance of saving their self or someone they love."

I thought of myself and shook my head to clear it. Turning my face toward Alex and looking deeply in her eyes, I said firmly, "You must not be that person. Someone who gives up and becomes a Contestant. There is always a chance, always hope. You can never give it up. Promise me that."

Alex, startled by the sudden burst of power in my voice, nodded.

I breathed out a sigh of relief. "Good. You never know," I said as I side-glanced at her, "you might even be that legendary figure." Alex laughed, and I laughed alongside her.

We spent the next section of time before the working siren laughing together.

...

I walked into my next Contest with a stone-hard heart. A new Announcer led me there now that Hamal was dead. She kept her eyes down throughout our encounter with each other.

Before I walked through the doorway that led to the giant stone room where I would fight, she whispered to me, "Your name is Alex, right? Goodluck. He would have wanted you to hear that."

How did she know my name? I thought to myself.

Still reeling from Hamal's sudden demise, my mind was in a daze throughout the fight. It was like I was out of my body watching from above as my limbs moved on their own. I didn't have to think as muscle memory took care of it all.

Person after person, as I murdered them, they looked at me, afraid and shaking with fear, in their last moments.