ion grew weary. He paced back and forth, back and forth in his cell, thinking. His mind was always running, always trying to figure things out, how he got in the Game and how to get out. All he knew was that this planet, though inhabited by humans or human-like creatures, was definitely not Earth. Perhaps he had crashed here in a spacecraft... he did remember screaming... fire... metal hitting stone....

But that's all.

He stared at the intricate tattoo designs on his arms, like black fire but everyone's were different. It was so the Gamemasters could tell them all apart, know their strengths, their weaknesses so they could bet on who would win the next set.

A set was three battles fought in a row, one Game-piece against another or two others depending on how the masters saw the odds. It was brutal and though all Game-pieces were human, they were treated as animals, living in cages like jail cells and eating all their food from dog-bowls.

Rion sighed, preparing himself. He was to play a set today, brutally pitted against another Game-piece. Where they all came from, he didn't know, but what he did know was whenever one Game-piece died, the next day tow more seemed to come out of nowhere.

There were millions of them. All trapped, all with similar yet different arm-tattoos, all with the same electric-shock collars around their necks that sent pain shooting through them when they didn't do what the Gamemasters wanted. If that didn't work, they were taken to Solitary for further punishment. No one ever came back the same.

They always broke.

Rion looked out from his cage. A Gamemaster was coming. A tall man with blond hair down to his back like all Gamemasters. Rion's hair was red, a rarity, and cut shaggy, sticking up in places all over his head.

The Gamemaster opened his cage and grabbed Rion by his arm, digging his claw-like nails into his flesh, making Rion wince. They walked in silence and Rion knew what came next. He would enter the Arena and be pitted against some other unsuspecting soul. They fought women against men, young against old, sick against healthy. They didn't care.

Today, Rion was set to fight someone of his own age and health. Some other 25 year-old who managed to keep fit even while whips lashed their back. He wasn't told if the opponent was male or female but he guessed it didn't matter. Here, wherever "here" was, both men and women seemed to have quite equal strength. Either way it would be an equal match.

Rion shivered. He hated playing sets. He hated fighting. He hated this whole damned existence because a fight in a set is not just who wins the most matches, it is who is last standing.

A set isn't just a fight. It's a fight to the death.

A sword was shoved in Rion's hand and the Arena door shut behind him. The crowd cheered and applauded as the opposite door opened, revealing his opponent....

Mummy, Mummy look what I've found
Saskia! Where did you get that? Put it right back where you got it from
But I can't
Why not child? You must get rid of it, we don't want that here!
But Mummy, it was a present

Saskia's head was throbbing as she peeled her eyes open and for once she was glad for the dense obscurity of the cell. She tried to sit up, half-way there when she realised what a bad idea that had been. Her head spun wildly, the world swirling around her, feeling as though her brain was smashing around against the insides of her skull, threatening to burst through her forehead. She collapsed back into the cold harsh caress of the concrete floor of the cell, the thud of her head against her unforgiving support making her groan. What had happened? She tried again to sit, fighting the urge to pass out or vomit. Her head felt heavy, and her neck feeble, as if she couldn't support the weight. Fighting her way into a seated position she blinked to clear the blurring at the edges of her vision. Her body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder, every muscle screamed for her to collapse again. Panting heavily from the sheer effort of lifting her body to a seated position she tried to sift through the pieces of memory she could scrape together.

Running her hand through her hair Saskia noticed something different but not altogether unfamiliar, it was matted and sticky. Usually her short cropped hair, predominantly a dark brown, gave way to a lighter chestnut here and there and the style resembled that of a medium length male haircut except for the fringe that started more on the left side of her head and swept across her forehead. Today however when she pulled her hand away from the dishevelled mass a faint scarlet ooze laced her fingers. Oh that was right? They really had gone all out on that last beating. She chuckled softly. She guessed that's what you got for beating your Gamemaster bloody.

A present? From who?
A man with a huge sword and a cool mark on his arm and another tall man with long hair
Oh no... Oh God no...

Saskia heard her visitor before she saw them. Heavy footsteps, the faint shift of material, strained breaths. The metalic essence of blood slithered into her cell and caressed her senses. She knew he'd come. Glancing over her shoulder she saw the Gamemaster, his nose the dark black and purple of a bruise, with two black eyes to match.
"How's the nose?" She asked smugly, "Still broken?"
A surge of electricity focused in her neck before coursing through her body. She clenched her jaw, trying to bear the pain as it tore through every fibre of her being. Her head throbbed again, her heart drumming in her chest, feeling as though lightning bolts were ripping through her brain. Finally a roar of agony echoed in the suffocating silence of the cell and the electrical collar shut off.
"Don't forget who owns you, pig," the voice snarled as he signaled to a larger man to open the cell, avoiding doing the task himself this time. "Now get up!"
Saskia's muscles twitched in the aftermath of the electric shock, seizing lightly, making her attempts to climb to her feet futile. The larger man moved into the cell at the Gamemasters order, gripping Saskia's arm and hauling her to her feet, legs trembling slightly with the effort.
"Lets see you fight and win now," the Gamemaster uttered snidely, stepping to the side and letting the large 'bodyguard' lead her through the halls.

Saskia get rid of it now!
But why?
Just do it! Throw it into the river! Pretend you've never seen it!
But why Mummy?
Because they know who you are! They'll take you!

They walked in silence towards the arena, her blood beginning to boil. The arena was not where she was planning on heading; or dying anytime soon. They edged towards the entrance, the light beaming in through the gaps in the gated-door and falling over Saskia who winced at the brightness. The crowd outside watched with heated anticipation, already studying the figure standing in the ring. But there was a delay at the gate across the arena, the one that was supposed to produce the opposition. Those close could hear the dirt kicking up, watching a small cloud seep into the ring. There was a loud thud and the door rolled up just as a large, muscle-bound man stumbled backwards into the arena. The crowd cheered before they saw him run back towards the gate and pull a lithe, feisty female from the gates with a tight grip on her arm. She spun around and with a swift movement send her elbow crashing into the side of his head, wasting no time as he stumbled around from the blow. She drove a fist into his stomach, waited for him to double over before she sent her knee rocketing into his face. A sickening crack resonated in the surrounding air and blood erupted from his face, spattering the young woman, dripping into the sand, turning it crimson. A loud thud rang out as he landed in the dirt in a bloody heap, rolling around, clutching his face, as he tried to climb to his feet. He retreated back into the door he'd come out of, a katana - a sword light enough for her to weild - thrown out before the door closed. She walked over to it and picked it out of the dirt, standing to the roar of the crowd. She had not been broken.

Rion faced his opponent, studying her. She was quick, no doubt about that, but so was Rion. Blood roared in his ears and his heart pounded as he started to walk into the middle of the arena. He scanned the crowd, their plastered grins and evil laughter, their incessant clapping ringing in his ears.

He blinked, snapping out of it. He knew he had to fight and already he was deciding whether or not he wanted to die. Ah,but that's just too simple, isn't it? Death.... It's a brutal thing to think that your only choice is live captive or die captive. No freedom.

He dropped his sword.

Very well. He would fight with fist and foot. No more weapons. If his choice was be prisoner or die then he would go out with a bang, clawing and fighting, not begging or grovelling.

He kicked the sword across the arena and the crowd gasped. He smirked.At least he was breaking their rules.

Saskia let her gaze study the crowd, taking in their intense anticipation, literally on the edge of their seats as they roared and cheered, clapping and willing the officials to start the fight. She grit her teeth together, Bastards! How she ached to wreak havoc on their blood lusting heads. To break into the stands and just begin lashing out, drawing blood, breaking bones and, if possible, slaughtering them. She grinned maliciously at the idea, bright eyes beginning to scan the arena for a possible way to turn it into reality. But there was none. They had thought of that already. Of course they had; this wasn't their first set, not by a long shot.

She drew in a steadying breath, feeling the horrendous past of this place press in on her; it reaked of utter panic and despair. Sighing away the swirling memories of the arena she supposed she'd better check out her opponent, not that it mattered much; they'd beat her within an inch of her life only days ago and electrocuted the hell out her minutes earlier. She wasn't supposed to win this fight, not after what she'd done to her Gamemaster, not after being so disobedient. This was her punishment. This was to be her death bed. Whether she was at peace with that idea or not didn't matter. All that mattered was the odds, the bets, the winnings.

As she stared across the sand of the arena she let her gaze fall over her opponent, tracing invisible lines over his body which was as lean and fit as any. So she'd been given a contender; a Game-piece also determined to keep agile and strong in the face of absolute squalor. It was, afterall, the only way to survive. It only made sense they'd give her one of the best. They wanted not only a good show for the crowd to feast on, but someone capable enough of spilling her blood, someone worthy of the job.

She started towards the middle of the arena, the dirt crunching beneath her feet, the roar of the crowd echoing in her ears. But before she'd even reached the middle she watched her oponent throw his sword to the ground. She grinned at the silent challenge; to both her and the audience. She tossed her katana from hand to hand, deciding whether to keep it or discard it as her opposition had, toying with the idea. She stopped at the centre studying the man before her, slight curiosity itching at her at the sight of him. He was flaunting his disrespect for the Gamemasters right in front of the crowd. And rapidly her own respect for him began to grow.

"You place money on you to lose or something?" She teased, offering a lop sided grin, tilting her head and gazing at the man with her most unusual eyes; one an emerald green and the other a sapphire blue. Her nonchalant tone and casual body language seemed to reflect neither the seriousness of the situation, nor the reputation pinned to her name. But then again it wasn't hard to earn a reputation when stuck in this game. All you had to do was take the life of your oponent. All you had to do was survive.

"I'm only trying to mix things up." He replied, grinning. He watched her as she studied her weapon, deciding whether or not to take up his challenge.

Rion began to circle her, like tiger sizing up it's prey. Only this opponent was not prey. Not by a long shot. Here, at last was someone he could respect.

Too bad only one could leave alive.

"Would you like to strike the first blow?" He asked nonchalantly. "Or shall I?"