The gymnasium at the Academy of Technology and Self-Defense was a massive, highly-advanced dome structure. Long florescent lights stretched across the ceiling and the hardwood floors were polished to a shine. There were speakers and large monitors surrounding everything. High above the tall bleachers was an observation room with a large, floor-to-ceiling window with a direct view into the gym.
In the observation room were four members of the ATSD executive board, all lined up in a row of plush leather chairs. Mr. James was pudgy and short with a bald head and a smoky gray mustache. Ms. Dawes was a woman of style who was brushing her brown hair and smiling at the reflection of herself in the window. Mrs. Warren had her arms folded, the most annoyed of all the members. Her black hair was wrapped into a bun so tight that you could see strands of it pulling out of the scalp. At the end of the row was Mr. Taylor, the youngest of the bunch.
“Am I the only one in this room who feels this is a complete waste of time?” Mrs. Warren asked.
“Perhaps,” Mr. Taylor replied. “But there's something a little intriguing about this match.”
Mrs. Warren sneered. “What are we doing organizing a match that puts George Dean against some cretin from the city slums?”
“George Dean?” Ms. Dawes interjected. Her voice was as soft and feminine, the complete opposite of Mrs. Warren. “No one told me this fellow was going to face George Dean.”
“As usual, Ms. Dawes, you didn't read the memo this morning,” Mr. James said, almost coughing the words. “Pry yourself away from the mirror every now and again and you might be able to focus better.”
“Quiet!” Ms. Dawes snapped back at him. “Shouldn’t you be at your nursing home resting or taking your medicine or something? I’m surprised you got here on your own without the assistance of your oxygen tank.”
“What was his name again?” Taylor asked.
Mrs. Warren read from the folder. “David Johnson. Black male. Age: 14. Height: 5’8. Weight: 167 pounds. Transcripts from East Central High School report below average grades in both science and math. Several suspensions and other behavioral issues are also noted.”
“Well that’s not good,” Ms. Dawes said. “What kind of weapon is he supposed to bring to this match if he's not smart enough to build one?”
“Exactly the question I posed to Principal Nelson when I asked why he agreed to have this match,” Mrs. Warren said.
At that very moment, the doors of the observation room opened and in walked Principal Nelson, a tall man with a full head of sharp, closely cropped black hair. Beaming with a warm smile, Principal Nelson was far younger than the members of the board.
“Sorry I'm late, ladies and gentlemen,” Nelson said. “I presume everyone is excited about the match?
Mrs. Warren’s ever present frown hardened.
“I know, I know,” Nelson said with an open smile. “But I thought it would be a good idea for the academy to branch out and find new talent. You never know what’s out there.”
“But why him, Nelson?” Mrs. Warren’s voice whined and she shook her head with displeasure. “Why David Johnson? He's from the slums. He's got no parents. No home training.”
“His file does show several suspensions, Nelson,” Mr. James said plainly. “One more and he'll be expelled from East Central.”
“All the more reason to see if he's got some talent,” Nelson said. “If he does, then we'll be able to give him a scholarship and a new opportunity to do something positive with his life. We can open his mind like no other educational institution in the world. Isn’t that the goal of this academy?”
The board was silent. Principal Nelson took a few steps passed them towards the large window and looked down to see two figures walking through the double doors of the gym.
“Ah,” Nelson said. “They’re here.”