Jennifer8

[ QUOTE ]
Michael hadn't missed after all.

And as the dust finally cleared, the announcer's voice once more boomed through the arena...

[/ QUOTE ]

Penny stared for a moment. She completely missed the announcer's voice, which was declaring her the winner of Round Two. Hotaka was unconscious. And now that the dust was clearing, she could see that Michael appeared to be unconscious too.

How had that happened?

But then her training took over, and she knelt over Hatoka's prone form. She had no cloth but the orange jumpsuit: after some effort, she was able to rip off one of the sleeves, which she tore into several strips. It wasn't the greatest solution for a blaster wound: but with surprising quickness she had the wound bound. Infection would be a worry, but it would prevent him from bleeding to death.

Michael was next. She didn't have enough cloth to patch up his wounds, but settled on wrapping the worst, leaving her with a sleeveless jumpsuit, and him with a sort of bright orange headband.

It was only when this was completed that she looked up and saw the medidrones beginning to float onto the field. She worried about this: did the Zig have any real medical facilities to speak of? What would happen to them, since they had lost the match? But she knew better than to argue with the medidrones, who looked well-armed, and in a few moments the prone combatants were being loaded onto stretchers.

She turned around in a slow circle, becoming aware of the crowd again, wondering what would happen now. She had completely missed the announcer's statements. She spotted the three drones, red, blue, and yellow, running back to the entrance. Though two of them were wet, none of them looked particularly worse for wear.

Then she saw that there was something in the door they were running to. It looked like the Mastermind Droid Control Prototype Mark Two. Was this the next fight? Did he intend to enter the Arena? She looked nervously for her rifle, but it was gone, and so there didn't seem to be much to do but wait to see what came out, which she did, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

(Tags all!)

[ QUOTE ]

Quite a few of the points where the thing's structure had been composed of large collections of rotten roots seemed to strain already...

[/ QUOTE ]

The golem would have given Penny a much harder time if it had been truly solid. As it was, though, it was rather crumbly. She had not wasted the time she had spent sparring with it, for she had been studying its structure, as well as "warming up" to new and previously undiscovered skills.

Now, after a few additional study-punches, she began going at it for real. Her face darkened, not with anger, but with simple concentration. Penny was more comfortable fighting with her feet than with her hands, almost like a kick-boxer. She jumped and kicked at the golem's weak points, her manner quite determined. For the most part, her blows landed solidly, further crumbling the already-unstable golem.

From far below them, it was possible to hear blows, lasers, and splashes as the drones sparred too. Penny, whose senses were less acute than Hatoka's, didn't seem to have noticed, concentrating on finishing off the golem, and doing a fairly respectable job of it. Hatoka, however, could tell that the drones were fighting directly below their position: presumably one or both of them were tracking their movements somehow.

Penny spun around, delivering the final blow to the golem, intending to crumble it to pebbles by shattering its central rotten-root structure. But at the moment her foot connected to its chest, a laser beam pierced the unstable floor, and continued right through the thin ceiling above, bursting through it, sunlight cutting through an abrupt shower of dirt and pebbles. A piercing smell of ozone followed instantly in its wake, combined with the pungent scent of chemicals. Penny had been correct - whatever water was down there was contaminated. The force of the blast, while it didn't strike her, was enough to throw her unexpectedly back.

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FLASHBACK
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"It's ready."

The pungent smell of chemicals filled her nose as the water in the tube drained away. Below her feet were holes, and they swallowed every drop of the water in which she had floated, only moments ago. She reached out her hand and it met glass.

There were men talking. Their faces were obsured by the wet glass. They made noises. The noises had no meaning; they were just sounds. It took several moments to realize that the noises were coming from the men, and not spontaneously generated by the air itself. One of the men wore blue scrubs and a white coat: the other wore a business suit.

"When will the programming be completed?"

"It's completed now."

The other man had an expression on his face, but they had no more meaning than the sounds had. It was only the other man who recognized the expression as doubt.

"I thought the thing was supposed to be intelligent at the end."

"It is - she is," the other man corrected himself. He came to the tube. On the other side, there was a square with glowing lights. He touched some of these with his fingers, in a definite sequence. The glass slid down into grooves in the floor, and she stumbled. She didn't understand where the glass had gone.

"It is not," the other man was looking displeased. "Look at it, I've never seen a stupider-looking thing in my life!"

"What do you want?" The white coated man was looking displeased also. "We only induced consciousness twenty minutes ago! What were you doing when you were twenty minutes old?"

"Don't get smart," replied Suit. "It has to be ready for the swap on Friday so that it can be smuggled into the Zig. You hear me? If it's not ready Friday - "

"It'll - damn! She'll be ready! All right?"

"Language skills? Motor functions?"

"Look - " Scrubs was clearly annoyed by now, "You're really pushing this. It'll - dammit, she'll be able to walk and chew bubble gum at the same time. She'll have language skills and whatever recollections we are able to generate with the personality overlay between today and Friday. But you are pushing too fast, we won't be able to make it airtight, at the very least she will have huge memory holes, and if the overlay begins to disintigrate - "

"By that time, we'll have what we need, and it doesn't matter what happens to it after that. "

"Lot of money down the tubes." Scrubs frowned.

"Acceptable losses," shrugged Suit. "You have the contraband?"

"On the table." Scrubs went to a jar, filled to the brim with a molten, blackish goo. He poured it out onto a metal tray, where it moved around rather eerily. A black smoke seemed to rise from it.

"Doesn't look like much."

"It'll do what we need. She can pass as normal long enough to get it in. She'll get it in."

"Hmph. She had better." The box attached to Suit's hand was not a part of him after all. He set it down on the table. It opened. It was full of squares - white, yellow, pink. "Now, what's it's serial number? I need it for the computer geeks."

"I'll mark it now." Scrubs went over to a taller box, with more glowing lights. From this he removed a much smaller cube, with a thick cable. He flipped a red switch on the cube, and it made an ominous humming noise. After a moment he took her hand, rotated it, and placed the box firmly on the inner bend of her wrist.

She had not felt pain before. She tried to jerk her hand away but he held it quite firmly for that single, critical moment. When he took the box away, she could see the series of sybmols it had left behind, burnt a foul-smelling, crunchy black. The interior of the cube had a series of numbers, glowing orange with heat...

+++++
END FLASHBACK
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Penny fell backwards, landing on her rear, coughing. The flashback instantly faded into a tangled collage of unrelated pictures, many of them having to do with glass and green water. She could smell chemicals, but there was no water here: there was dust and dirt, the bright red flash of numbers - no, of lasers - lasers here - where - ?

She coughed, without even the presence of mind at that moment to try and scramble backwards, out of the way. Though it would pass quickly, at that moment she was completely disoriented, not knowing where she was, or what was going on.

[ QUOTE ]

"Lesson two: using your weapon requires only concentration." Hotaka hinted ominously, "But concentration requires discipline. The earth is a powerful ally, but no match for a disciplined foe. Be that foe now, and strike down this stone."

The assembly of dirt and rotten roots threw its first punch...

[/ QUOTE ]

Penny, in the past, had had a good Sensei. It was unlikely that she had been a star student, or even an outstanding one; but somewhere she had studied and practiced an art at which she had far more interest than actual talent. That much was obvious when she obediently began sparring with the golem.

And she felt much better about sparring, in a match where no one would get killed, than fighting to the death for the amusement of someone she didn't know, in front of huge and terrifying audience. That also was obvious in her immediately improved performance.

Given a small space of privacy, when not in the spotlight or under constant threat by robots or gladiators, Penny was actually pretty good at sparring. She planted her foot in the chest of stone golem, hard enough to stagger it backwards a couple of steps - which was impressive, given the differences in weight. The sort of spin-kick she used was not something to try and impress him, or to be fancy, but the best way to use her weight to her own advantage.

Yet there was something in her movements which was unpracticed, very fresh and new... too new, far too new. It was as if her mind remembered training, and classes, and perhaps even actual live combat, but her body and muscles had never before encountered the demands which were being asked of them. Her mind remembered how to kick, how to dodge, and the best way to make use of her slight strength and weight: but her arms and legs lacked follow through.

She had concentration - which came only with experience - and determination as she struck at the new foe. But she had nothing else. Hatoka could see her shaking her head - she knew when she missed, though she didn't seem to be at all concerned about being knocked off her feet on such occasions. She must have had some considerable practice, but her hands and feet had somehow not participated. As if they were running through these moves for the very first time. It was an extreme and blatant contradiction, and made no sense at all.

There was something else. There was a marking on Penny's left wrist, likely something she hadn't even noticed herself. It looked like a number, not large, but raised, as if it had been branded into her skin.....

[ QUOTE ]

Frm the burst of pebbles and dust peeled the form of another battle drone, a speck of blue pant on its frame.

A moment later, Hotaka landed on top of it, planting his feet firmly but lightly on the machine's shoulders. If the drone had any sensors that enabled stress and weight calculations, it would now realize that the martial artist weighed a great deal more than his frame let on. Indeed, it was far too much for his suspected body mass.

Lucky for the drone, it had chosen a patch of stable ground to come down on - which, all things considered, was a likely reason Hotaka was now perched on its shoulders.

"How very interesting." he commented to Penny, letting himself slide into a crouch, "I wouldn't have done that..."

[/ QUOTE ]

Penny frowned when he shattered more of the wood. For a moment she looked sad at its fate.

She stepped backwards when the drones landed, and almost fell, her foot punching through the unstable ground in another place. Penny was by far the lightest thing in here: this unstable ground would have already collapsed if the drones had moved too much. The drones appeared to be aware of this, as they paused. She thought perhaps they were calculating where they could safely stand.

There was no fear in her face when she looked at Hatoka, perched so gracefully on his blue droid. "Well," she smiled, "You're better in the Arena than I am." It was not a statement meant to be flattering, but rather a simple observation of a fact. Her blaster was pointed in his direction, but more out of a sense of obligation than any real hope of hitting him. "Personally, I would be just as happy having a civil conversation while these two make a show for the folks upstairs," she nodded at the yellow and blue drones. "Of course," her face was thoughtful, "that might be a short fight."

With her shoe, she kicked a loose pebble into the new hole her foot had just punched through the ground. "A real short fight." It was several seconds before a tiny THUNK was heard, with an audible splash. "About eighty feet," she mused to herself thoughtfully. "Something wet... don't think it's water though... at least not good water." She rolled a bit of the old, rotten root in her hand, watching how it crumbled. "Poor thing," she mused.

Her eyes had not left Hatoka's face. She was more interested in sizing him up than in winning this particular battle. There was something in her eyes... as if she was thinking of a day beyond today, when his services might be required.

As if she was thinking of an old saying... something about losing a battle... but winning a war...

[ QUOTE ]

Next, the prototype assigned each drone to a combatant as an ally. The red drone would assist Michael, the blue drone would aid Hokata, and the yellow drone would help Penny. After making sure that they wouldn't actually accept orders from the prisoners but instead simply act in their best interests, the prototype ordered the door opened.

[/ QUOTE ]

The drones scurried off and took their places. But they had barely arrived when another beep indicated that another message had been sent to Prototype.

It was from Doctor Crain, also known as "Stitches," who served as the medical examiner for the prison. The various activities at the Zig - both legal and illegal - usually kept him pretty busy.

The preliminary autoposy report was relatively straightforwards. Blade's cause of death was strangulation, following a serious malfunction of his cybernetic arms. Most of the data listed on the report was very run of the mill: height (after decapitation,) weight, blood type, and an inventory listing of the items on the body and in the room. The inventory note had an asterisk, and because of this asterisk, Prototype had been included in the list of interested persons to whom the report had been mailed.

It looked like a simple enough note. Experiment in progress at time of death (removal of armor from Prisoner 42200179) appears to have been unsuccessful. Note to Prototype: please retrieve armor during interrogation session scheduled for 1700 and deliver to Medical Examiner's office for inclusion in autopsy report.

Simple... except that Prisoner 42200179 wasn't wearing the armor. He could see her quite clearly through the drone's remote camera, and there wasn't a sign of it. Nor was there any notation of its presence in the room inventory list.

Though it was standard procedure to record all comings and goings in the Zig, the footage of Blade's 'Experiment' was scrambled. Penny could clearly be seen being brought into the room, and strapped down onto the table, but when Blade turned to get his tools, the picture suddenly turned to snow, and remained that way, for several hours. The next available footage was the hallway footage which had been shot when the guards had opened the door.

The Zig was technically on what might have been called an "orange alert." Without an actual assailant - other than Blade's own robotic arms - the Zig was using precautionary protocols rather than a full-scale lockdown. Herding most of the prisoners to the arena was a convenient way to keep them all in one place, and under the watchful eye of scanners, while cells were searched and entry and exit points were scrutinized.

And in the interest of watching the matches, it seems that Prototype, himself, was the only one in the Zig who had been alerted to two diametrically opposed pieces of information.

[ QUOTE ]
BIC: The sharp stick that Penny nudged with her foot snapped cleanly in half, revealing that it was hollow due to rot. The rest of the sticks were most likely in the same condition and would hinder her not in the least if she fell the rest of the way into the pit.

[/ QUOTE ]

"Well, that's something," Penny grunted to herself. She tried to let go of the rifle and swing down, but the tangling of the strap made this impossible. She grumbled to herself, then tried to yank it free, only to find that it had jammed more firmly than it appeared. "Uh - uh - uh - " She swung hard, inching the rifle downwards, until it finally broke free in a shower of dust and pebbles.

It was a good thing that the spikes were old and rotten, because her landing was far from graceful. However, the old wood shattered under her weight, and she emerged from the fall with nothing worse than a few bruises.

[ QUOTE ]
"This unit has been assigned to aid you for the duration of this fight," said each robot to its temporary ally and then waited for the prisoner to make the first move which the drone could follow up on.

"At the very least this shall provide useful tactical data," the prototype said to itself as the battle continued.


[/ QUOTE ]

"Will you accept commands?" Penny asked the yellow drone, but it gave no response. "Right... that's what I thought."

On the one hand, she was hardly in a position to refuse whatever aid had been provided. On the other , it wasn't her droid, and if it had been programmed not to accept commands (something she certainly would have done, should their positions have been reversed) then it would be doing anything it damn well chose. Likely it was the droid that had been assigned to stun her to unconsciousness should she somehow emerge from the match without being killed (something she considered unlikely.)

The droid turned its gun upwards and took three shots at something overhead - Penny couldn't see what - and she presumed it missed, as it spun around, trying to track.

It gave her a good chance to study the droid, up close and personal. It had certainly been created by the Gray prototype. She could tell exactly how it had been fitted together, power core, weaponry... she could have disabled it, perhaps, if she had had any tools. The blaster certainly wouldn't hurt it... and what point was there in attacking it anyway? She would never be able to use it in any meaningful manner before she herself was immobilized, and likely punished for damaging it. No, best to let it do what it would for -

Her thoughts were interrupted as something under her shoe heel crumbled. She lifted her foot to see another hole underneath it, a much smaller one - but much deeper. The ground was thick here, thick enough to support the weight of the drone... but there were telltale cracks around its feet and her own foot, which had been standing very near one of the old, rotten roots, had almost punched through a particularly weak points. It seemed that there were layers of pit.

"Hm... interesting."

The droid turned to look at her, but her attention had been distracted, for at that moment, with a burst of stones and dust, there was something else in the pit with them.

(Tag someone!)

[ QUOTE ]
"Ah, we would like me to make the first move?" Hotaka chuckled, "Very well."

Hotaka ducked low in a flash, easily weaving away from Michael's blasts, lifting his left foot and driving it back onto the dirt with force.

The earth seemed to explode under his foot, a quickly propgating fissure of rock making its way to Penny in only a heartbeat with the intent of knocking her down.

This didn't seem to be the point, however, as Hotaka leaped from his position not a moment later, following the wave with almost the same speed...

[/ QUOTE ]

[ QUOTE ]
Michael spotted a pit between Penny and Hotaka as the super leaped into the air. Michael took a knee and waited until Hotaka was directly over the pit, and fired off a burst intended to knock him off course. He winced, even as he knelt, with the pain that was returning to him. It took all of his strength to put his shots on target.

[/ QUOTE ]

The ground crumbled very well... very well. Too well. Hatoka's fissure easily shot forwards. Cracks ran out from it in every conceivable direction, almost as if they had been standing on glass, and not earth at all. The floor of the Arena was loaded with pits, one of the things which made fights there so difficult. Many of the pits had simply been covered over with a light dusting of earth. The fissure was collapsing the coverings as it went, so that gigantic holes and craters opened explosively in its wake.

Out of the corner of her eye, Penny saw the flash of a blaster, and guessed that the Council soldier was shooting at the Asian martial artist. That could potentially work to her advantage. Not much of an advantage: two unpowered humans wouldn't be doing much against a paranormal. Still, she would take what she could get. Michael's shots might give her a bare moment to act.

Penny swung her rifle around. She was clearly familiar with the weapon, and had a good knowledge of how to use it. She took three shots, but not at Hatoka. Instead, she fired at the crumbling ground.

She herself was surprised at how fast the ground shattered under the blasts. The earth was completely honeycombed with holes, not just near Hatoka, but near herself as well. In the depts of some of the holes, something glittered - spikes maybe? - but there was no time to study, the wave of earth was here.

She did the only thing she could: she jumped.

The jump was clearly the jump of a normal human, not as high or as fancy as a paranormal could have made it: but it served its purpose. The wave passed underneath her feet, harmlessly rising and falling, and failing to knock her down. But the ground split in its wake, and so there was no place solid to land, as Hatoka had undoubtedly intended.

She did the best she could, lighting on an edge, on her toes. Unfortunately, the lip of the fissure was every bit as unstable as it appeared. In that crazed instant, she didn't see Hatoka, but it was difficult to see anything through the clouds of dust that had risen up. Her plan had been simply to crumble the ground in her area, to make it more difficult for him to land safely near her.

While she couldn't see him, and therefore couldn't predict his landing, the ground-crumbling portion of the plan appeared to have worked better than her wildest dreams. She had had no idea of the number of pits which honeycombed this area. She didn't see anywhere he could land and still have solid footing.

The thought had no sooner come to her than the ground under her own feet crumbled away.

It was the rifle that saved her. By sheer luck, it was too long to fit, and wedged itself hard in the walls of the crevice. She lost her grip with her hurt hand, but managed - barely - to hang on with the other one. She might not have even managed that, except that the strap of the rifle had gotten awkwardly tangled around that arm.

This gave her a good look at the underground portion of the arena, along with her own swinging feet. She would have expected for Hatoka's crevice to have the approximate shape of a 'V', with a wide mouth, and narrow bottom. That wasn't what had happened. There were so many pits around that the fissure had simply opened them up, as if the tops had suddenly been popped from a long line of bottles.

The pit she was dangling over did indeed have long spikes. But they weren't metal: they were wooden, as if something had grown here, then rapidly died. They looked almost bambooish. She had no illusions of what they would do to her without the armor.

But they were rather widely spaced, and she was dangling far enough where she could almost reach the tallest one with her toes. If she could kick it out of place, she might be able to land between the spikes, without killing herself, and if she could do that, perhaps Hatoka might have a hard time following her.

Presuming, of course, that he had to land in such a way as to make a second jump, and presuming she could do it before he could get down here, and presuming the rifle held her weight that long...

A lengthy list of things that could go wrong ran through her head, as she swung her weight and kicked at the center spike.

[ QUOTE ]

Hotaka smiled generously. Now all the little pieces came together. Things so minute a normal human would never even notice them. But then, Ryuu wasn't.

And now he knew what to teach.

She had an energy pulse gun. The Archon had one too. Not much of a threat there. The arena floor itself was the only dangerous thing right now.

The threat had been assessed. It was minimal.

"Then let us begin." Hotaka declared, his smile becoming a slight grin as he cracked his knuckles...

[/ QUOTE ]

Penny bowed to him politely.

She knew, of course, that she had little chance against him beyond, perhaps, sheer luck.

But it couldn't be helped now. She supposed it must be ridiculous, at such a time and in such a place, to subscribe to any principles of honor: but it was so deeply ingrained in her that she didn't have it in herself to leave them now.

The bow completed, she stood and waited for him to come at her.

+++++

Elsewhere in the prison, Gears had not appeared at the arena to watch the matches. He had not responded to the summons by the prototype, nor even replied to the message. Such a lack of response was absolutely uncharacteristic of him.

But perhaps it was understandable.

He had not, after all, received the message in the first place: his blackberry beeped disconsolately where it lay on the floor, some three feet from his outstretched hand. The elevator doors endlessly opened and closed on his left ankle. There wasn't a mark on him, unless you counted the vivid purple of his face, still stretched into a grotesque expression of horror.

Gears was dead.

[ QUOTE ]
"Ah, is is you." Hotaka commented with a wry smirk to Penny, "I see they were successful in removing the unremovable armor. A shame..."

[/ QUOTE ]

She shuddered a little at the remark - she was not yet ready to discuss how the armor had been removed.

A shame? She thought about this. "I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "That doctor - Blade - " She shuddered a bit at the name, but went on, " - he's already dead, and I am not sorry for that. I suppose," her face was almost meditative in its thoughtfulness, "That that means I belong here."

She was not afraid in this place, not for herself at any rate. It was as if his comment had contained an underlying meaning for her, and she was musing on its consequences.

Although Penny had been the first to win her "round one" match, she was not the first to be pushed into the "round two" section of the arena. The doctors saw her first. A splint on her broken arm and a large cup of regenerative syrup was considered sufficient medical attention, and as soon as she was on her feet again, she was shoved into the new area.

It took her a moment to coalesce her thoughts. The syrup was powerful stuff, and while it would heal her broken arm in few minutes, it did tend to make one rather light headed.

When the sensation cleared, she looked around to see where she was. This was a much smaller section, but looked more lethal. The floor had been made into uneven sections, with nasty falls in awkward places, holes which looked suspiciously as if they held spikes, and other nervewracking things. Not a great place to fight.

For she was certainly here to fight: she had been given a blaster, but no shield, which was a relief as she found them large and awkward. She wondered if the suppression fields were off in this area, She suspected that they were but, having no powers herself, she had no way to tell.

There were a couple of prisoners here already. Michael was here, and an oriental gentlemen she didn't know. She nodded at both of them rather nervously.

Sorry about the long post - I couldn't resist!

Here is how I picture the Arena working:

ROUND ONE:
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Single matches against an opponent of your choice. Show off your skills! No suppression fields, no guards to be annoyed - the Arena is yours for the taking! Pick your favorite monster (A T-Rex! A Rikti drone! An extradimensional alien!) Whatever you want to fight - go out and beat it up! Show it who's boss! Whoever wins the Round One fight (I.e., anyone who wants to) gets to move on to...

ROUND TWO!
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Now comes the fun part - the winners of Round One fight each other! Pick a partner, PC or NPC, take the gloves off, and go get 'em! The winners of this round get to go to...

ROUND THREE!
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The winners of Round Two must now team up as they meet their most dangerous opponent (and I am not telling what it is, heh, heh, heh.) They must work together - or die seperately.

Have fun you guys!

Jen 8)

Penny got up, and had a moment to look around.

She was in a tiny cell, if it could be called a cell. It was really more like a tank, with gray metal walls north and south, and glowing force walls east and west.

In front of her was an arena. It could not be called anything else. It had a dirt floor, but its walls were clear - transparisteel, though she couldn't tell much else about it. Along one end of the arena were a series of red doors. Along the other end of the area were a series of blue doors. Her own "door," if it could be called that, was blue.

It looked as if the arena was divided into sections - she could count at least three. She was in the first section. This section had a dirt floor, and there looked like there were weapons around the walls: shields, blasters, swords, spears. Everything an Arena gladiator could ever want.

What alarmed her, however, were the stands. They were clearly cells, very small ones, with prisoners subdivided so they couldn't fight among each other. But the placement of the tiny cells made the prisoners look like what they were - an audience. In fact, she could see guards still moving prisoners into some of them. She could see - sort of - the other pens down her row, and saw with some surprised that other prisoners were being herded into them too. She noted that - like herself - they had been fitted with collars, and a big red square had been attached to the back of their jumpsuits. Pulling at her jumpsuit, she tried to read her number, but she couldn't see it.

She was distracted from this by a roar from the crowd. She turned to look, and saw that one of the the red doors was opening.

Beyond it was a - thing. A mechanical thing. She couldn't recognize it at first, and squinted at it, wishing for her glasses.

Then she recognized it. It had almost certainly begun its life as one of the robotic droids in use by the Council - no, she corrected herself, by the Fifth Column. The Council had rounded off those squarish nose-cones at once. This thing was old.

But it had been heavily modified. Its legs had been removed, and it had been fitted with treads, like a tank. It also seemed to have been fitted with every type of armament that Penny could think of. She could see multiple missle racks, guns of every conceivable description, ray beam emitters, laser diodes, and what looked suspiciously like flamethrower mounts.

The Arena, it seemed, had an announcer. For no sooner had this monstrosity entered the Arena than a voice boomed from overhead. "And now the Arena champion, victor of seventy-eight straight matches - the MARK IV EXECUTIONER!"

The prisoners cheered. Penny supposed that they liked the bloodshed - and she could see dried blood everywhere. She wondered if she would learn to like it too.

The force shield in front of her abruptly dissolved. At the same time, the shield behind her was moved forwards several feet, shoving her abruptly out into the Arena. "Aaaaand the challenger!" Roared the Announcer. "PRISONER 42200179!"

Again, the crowd cheered, which alarmed Penny far more than the monstrosity now rumbling to the center of the arena. Always shy, she was terribly nervous among crowds of people. The cheering so alarmed her, in fact, that her immediate reaction was to stand and stare, overcome with stagefright.

"Yes, automated combat is the purest combat of all!" Shouted the announcer to the cheers of the crowd. "Executioner, engage!"

It rumbled forwards threateningly. Penny was so absorbed that she barely ducked the spiked balls it threw at her. It seemed that the Executioner was programmed not to kill too fast, so as to give the audience a grand show.

"Executioner, cancel!" boomed the announcer. Executioner retreated back to the center of the arena, withdrawing the weapons it had extended.

From the top of the dome somewhere floated a little silver thing. This, she recognized when it was almost on top of her, was a camera. It looked like it had a microphone.

"If you want to beg for mercy, now is the time!" Boomed the voice of the announcer.

Penny looked around at the faces, and the big lumbering hulk in the center. She didn't want to be here. But what choice did she have? "Let's do it," she shrugged, and was startled to hear her voice magnified to almost the same volume as the announcers.

"Bravado!" cried the announcer. "But Bravado won't protect you from this! Executioner, engage!"

The former Mark VII Fifth Column combat droid rumbled forwards on its treads, shooting a long stream of flame to announce its coming. This time Penny was ready, and moved. The napalm liquified the metal balls which it had shot earlier, and left long flaming puddles in its wake. A moment later she heard the rattle of the chain guns, and increased her speed - it was deliberately missing. She still had to dive out of the way of the missle it fired next.

The missle missed. The shockwave didn't, as bits of shrapnel were scattered in every direction. Penny was picked up and blown across the arena to land hard against one of the walls, sliding down rather limply to the ground.

Her ears were ringing, her head was spinning - she couldn't remember where she was, or what she was doing. But then she felt the rumble behind her, and it all came back. She looked up to see she was facing a clear wall. There were things strapped to it - a shield and heavy duty blaster were the closest. The sight of them brought back her situation with a rather sickening swoop.

Neither the blaster nor the shield would do her any good, she thought despairingly. The former Mark VII Fifth Column combat droid, in its change to the Executioner, had had such thick armor plating put on it, simply to be able to withstand the backlash from its own weapons, that there was no way a hand weapon could -

Wait. Former Mark VII Fifth Column combat droid?

And she had it suddenly, like a shooting star that flashed through her mind, leaving her blinking and coated with stardust. She realized what they had done, what they had to have done, to make the Executioner into the monster that it become - and the weakness it had to have.

She grabbed for the shield, but it stuck. She had to give it an enormous tug to free it, and when she had it free, it was much heavier than she thought it would be. She overbalanced and fell, and the shield stuck with a THUD in the dirt. A moment later it was blown back into her as the line of slugs went right across it. She was blown back into the wall, and heard a sickening CRACK. She had broken something, but she couldn't immediately tell what. There was far too much adrenaline in her system now to be able to distinguish what was hurt. That wouldn't last long, but for now it might keep her alive. She tugged at the blaster, and it came off easily in her hand. Luckily the Executioner chose to throw more spiked balls. One of these barely crossed her leg, leaving a trail of warm, wet liquid squishing in her shoe, but she didn't have time to pay attention to that either.

She planted the shield in the dirt and braced it, with her feet against the wall. The shield deflected the flamethrower nicely, and something else that made a huge BONG and another dent when it hit. More slugs followed, but this time Penny was prepared for them, and held the shield better. She could hear the Executioner rumbling closer.

She had a chance to check the blaster. As she had hoped, it was really a small-vehicle weapon, and fully charged. She held the shield grimly as more volleys bounced off of it. The Executioner was still rumbling towards her. The shield was heating up, getting hard to hold, and warping alarmingly from the beating it was taken, with bits and pieces shot off.

Finally she could wait no longer. The shield wouldn't hold. She waited until she could hear the hum of the Executioner switching weapons, and then stood and hefted the shield with all of her might. The Executioner turned briefly, blasting the shield to ribbons with a spectacular display of laser weaponry.

It was enough. While the Executioner was distracted, Penny charged it, and flung herself down under its treads. It didn't stop in time, and rolled directly over where she lay.

Not one of the big men, muscular villians, or super-strength prisoners that the Executioner had killed could have tried such a stunt and lived. But Penny was small enough to fit in the gap between the two tank treads, and when it rolled over her, she found herself looking at its belly.

The belly that had once belonged to a former Mark VII Fifth Column combat droid, and which still bore the original markings - including the maintenance panel, complete with handle. She reached up and grabbed it, holding on with all of her might.

The Executioner stopped, confused. It had learned any number of ways to kill its opponents, using slow and painful methods. But no one had taught it how to attack something which was positioned between its own treads. No one had shown it how to cut at itself, or hack at itself, or blast something it couldn't reach. Penny had found the only safe spot in the entire arena. The Executioner rumbled back and forth, confused.

They had vented the old panel, which was logical, but more than Penny had dared to hope for. It was difficult to manipulate the blaster with one hand, while being dragged around. It took several minutes to get the blaster set to overload. When it finally made its high-pitched, warning whine, she put the muzzle of the blaster against the venting holes which had been cut out of the panel, and turned her face away as much as she could.

On her left hand side, a star suddenly burst into life in a single glorious moment of brilliance. She had expected the pain from her hand, and when she looked back she saw that the barrel of the blaster was now white-hot and melting, and even the handle had reddened. She had an instant to register the image before reflexes took over and she flung it away with a cry of pain, her eyes watering. There was a hole in the panel. Not large... but large enough for her arm.

The arm of the jumpsuit didn't offer much protection. Gritting her teeth, she tried to avoid the molten metal as she reached a hand through, grabbed a handful of wires, and yanked hard. The Executioner emitted an electronic scream, whipping around, but failing to dislodge her. It wasn't until the third or fourth handful that she could distinguish the voice of the announcer, barely audible over the rumble of the Executioner's treads: "Executioner, cancel! Cancel!"

The Executioner paid no heed. Much of its complicated voice-command circuitry lay on the Arena floor in bright bits of twisted yellow and red.

Penny growled, pushing her hand in further and feeling around. The wire was all very interesting, but it wasn't what she wanted, if she could only reach far enough - Ha! She had been right.

There were fluidics after all.

Even with the whirling, it didn't take her long to find the releases. Whoever had made it had replaced the time-consuming ratchet gaskets with finger-released ones, something she herself would have done, knowing the misery of trying to service a ratchet-gasket fluidic.

She worked from the top down, as high as she could reach, trying not to let any of the heated liquids get onto her skin. The first fluidic released a gush of fortunately-cool water: the second was scalding, the third almost steam. She could only release five or six before she had to withdraw her hand, crying from the pain, trying to move to shield herself from the output of the vent now. She hoped it would be enough.

The Executioner went completely mad.

As Penny had suspected, the machine produced staggering amounts of heat. In seconds, four other fluidics had burst, unable to cope with the stress placed upon them. The Executioner left long trails of bright pink fluid in its wake as it charged randomly around. It discharged every weapon it possessed - the worst thing it could have done, but then it was no longer capable of considering its actions. Missles flew into the air to burst harmlessly against the transparisteel dome of the Arena. Bullets ricocheted in every direction. Sheets of flame rose and fell, pierced by lasers, microwaves, and rays in every shade of the rainbow.

Finally the Executioner focused upon a target for its robotic wrath. The malfunctioning AI determined that the greatest threat in the arena was a section of unoffending wall. The Executioner roared off in search of vengeance, and Penny decided - correctly - that it was simply time to let go. Again the treads passed over her, as the tank thundered away, its original opponent forgotten.

The adrenaline was wearing off. She was hurting now. But she could make it - she had to make it. She had no choice.

The Mark IV Executioner, victor of seventy-eight arena matches, disappeared in the center of a truly spectacular explosion, just as Prisoner 42200179, staggered rather unsteadily to the opposite wall. The shockwave caught her hard and she lay where she fell, semiconscious, the pieces of her former opponent raining down around her ears.

Penny didn't know it yet, but she had made it to Round 2 - and won the right to fight other prisoners.

Penny woke up in Solitary.

She shook for a while, her knees up to her chin. It was some time before she could think clearly under the weight of panicked and muddled emotions.

But she remembered something, something she had seen after Blade's ministrations had proved briefly fatal: a light. Something better and purer than this place - than any place. It was only a vague memory: but the recollection had a calming effect. After some time, she felt better, more in command of her thoughts, and looked around to see where she was.

The solitary cell was bleakly dreary. It was dirty and contained only a sink, toilet, and mattress. But there were worse places to be, and so she turned the mattress on its cleanest side (which wasn't saying much) and sat on it.

She knew that Blade was dead. She was glad of that. She knew that they had removed the armor and couldn't help but smile when she considered the likely consequences. She wondered what would happen to her now - she had no idea how long she had been "down" after Blade's assault. Perhaps they would keep her in this cell for years and years...

But as it happens, they didn't even keep her in the cell for minutes. It seemed hardly a moment before the door opened with a CLANG, revealing several red-and-white clad members of Longbow. They looked nervous when they pointed their guns at her, and she did not resist as they shooed her into the corridor.

She had expected the hoots and catcalls she had heard earlier. But instead there was silence. The other inmates stared at her, and there was whispering, "Is that her?" "Did you hear what happened to Blade?" "Is it true?"

This was a new development, and she considered it as she walked down the hallway, under careful scrutiny from the guards. It seemed that she had something that could be the beginnings of a reputation. Interesting.

"In here," one of the guards said, indicating a rather ominous looking black portal of a door.

She looked nervous. "What's in there?"

The guard smirked in spite of himself. "Your first arena match." He shoved her so hard that she fell into the doorway, flat on her nose, and by the time she had picked herself up and looked around, he was gone.

The guards came back, at five AM, just as promised.

They had expected that Blade would have been successful in removing the armor, and so he had been. They had expected that he would have had his fun with his subject once the armor was off, and so he had.

Penny was dead.

But only temporarily: Blade's table was very efficient at reviving its victims, which accounted for a large part of the terror attached to this place. Even now Penny's nude body convulsed as the electrical arcs shot through her unconscious form, restarting her heart, and bringing back a thin, threading heartbeat. None of this was unexpected or unusual.

What was unexpected was the sight of Blade himself.

He knelt in a corner of the room, on his knees, gurgling slightly. The garrotte had sliced deeply into his throat; blood was everywhere. But even this sight, as grotesque as it was, was not unusual in the Zig.

What was unusual was Blade's killer.

One end of each wire was wrapped around Blade's robotic arms. Blade was quite dead, of course: no one could lose so much blood and live. But his robotic arms continued to move slowly, inexorably outwards, continuing to pull the wire tighter. It must have taken Blade some considerable time to strangle. He had probably been dead for an hour or more, but the arms still moved outwards.

As the guards stared open-mouthed, Blade's head popped right off, rolling across the room to lodge itself in a corner. The wire, no longer constrained by his spine, twanged to instant, guitar-string tautness.

Then, and only then, did Blade's body fall, an island in an ocean of blood.

Shortly after this, there was considerable excitement. Penny, unconscious, was removed from the room. Her armor - which had been the point of the entire exercise to begin with - was not missed, which was just as well.

As it was nowhere to be found.

Penny was led down various winding corridors. She still had a pretty good idea of where she was in the facility.

When the door opened, she saw she was facing an extensive laboratory. In it was a heavily-scarred man, whose hands had been replaced by mechanized ones. "Now Penny," said one of the guards, as they picked her up and strapped her onto a table, "This is Doctor Steele. Around the Yard, he's known as Blade. He'll be removing that armor."

Penny was too new to the prison system to be familiar with the name Blade, with his reputation among the other prisoners, or with the impressive death-toll which had accumulated in this room.

He commented to the Doctor, "We've got to pick her up at 5AM sharp, Steele - be sure you're done."

"Oh, I don't imagine this will take too long," Blade answered calmly, and lit the arc welder.

Hi everyone, wanted to post quickly -

I will be busy for a day or two (Sorry about that) as real life has unexpectedly interfered. However the RL news is GOOD news!

I will be back as quick as I can!

Jen 8)

[ QUOTE ]
Michael tried to interpose his body between the droids as soon as he heard the Mastermind Droid Control Prototype Mark 2 start his apology. He took two blasts, one in the chest and one in the head and went down, not moving. One of his men immediately moved between the droids and the girl, the other froze, waiting to see if they were to be left alone instead of charging to Michael's aid. If he were shot down, there would be no one left to assist him and there would be two down.

Michael's breathing was shallow as he laid on the floor, his left leg twitching slightly and then falling still.

[/ QUOTE ]

Penny heard the tell-tale hum of the tasers powering up for a second round, and thought fast. She hastily dropped on top of Michael, interposing her body between him and the other guns. She wrapped her arms around him tightly. She didn't know it, but Michael's actions, and her own, had deprived the Droid of the head shot it had wanted.

The force of the next bolts slammed into her hard, but she was already prone, and Michael's body acted almost like a sandbag, helping to absorb the kinetic force of the blast. The energy of it splashed harmlessly off of her shoulder. Two more struck her side and back, but had no more effect than the others had. Even so, the simple force of the blows had made her head spin: she was far more vulnerable to being thrown around, or stunned, than her suit was.

She held very still, closing her eyes - which wasn't very hard, considering how her ears were ringing. There was no telling whether or not the Drones had bio scanners, and if they did, they would know she was not unconscious. But there was a chance that they might be satisfied, and leave...

[ QUOTE ]
"I'm not too sure, but the attack drone with the gun raised, don't exactly look like it wants to play nice."

Twilit walked back to a more shadowed part of the room where he could get a broader view. He wanted to be able to see the attack drones with armed lasers.

[/ QUOTE ]

"If it didn't want to play nice... we would be dead now."

She watched him curiously, wondering if he realized precisely what this being was capable of.

[ QUOTE ]

Twilit looked at Penny when she asked the question to the Big-Robot-In-Charge with a raised eyebrow. He walked closer to her and asked in a whisper "Why you bein' so nice to that heap of metal anyways?"
"I really hope it didn't hear that..." He thought to himself after.

[/ QUOTE ]

Penny looked surprised at the question - genuinely surprised, as if the idea of acting any other way hadn't occured to her. "I wanted to know more about how it had been programmed," she mused thoughtfully. "It could have killed us by now, but hasn't, so it seems likely that it is just here to do its job - whatever that is. I think things will probably get ugly later - " She frowned at the nearest attack drone, "but I thought... why rush something like that?"

Then she stopped, as if a terrible thought had only just now occured to her. "Oh dear - if I talk to it, am I 'siding with the enemy?'"

[ QUOTE ]
The prototype tilted its head and looked at Penny, ignoring the other questioners as they had neglected to address their questions specifically to the prototype.

"I use a blank template model impressed with general codes of conduct and extensive knowledge of laws. A human conducts interrogations and personnal conferences, so I am not privy to which style of psychological evaluation that they use," the prototype said to Penny. "In regards to eye wear or any confiscated items: They shall not be returned until your successful rehabilitation. If eyewear is required for normal operations, then a new set shall be procured for you. Since Prisoner 834207 does not have a medical reason listed in his file, he shall not recieve new sunglasses."

"Yo, smart guy," grunted the guard at the door to Dr. Greene. "A little hint. You want the bot to talk to ya, you gotta address it by name. It really likes the name Grey, by the way."

When Penny had looked at the battle drone, it had stared right back at her with all five of its glowing red photoreceptors. The drone's left arm flexed slightly, revealing congealed blood stuck on the end of its mace-hand.

The drone situated behind Twilight Pistol took one step back and raised its right arm. Currently the laser was set to stun only and it would fire given the slightest order from the prototype.

Finally, while it had been talking, the prototype was persuing several lines of inquiry regarding the rescricted data in Penny's file. It needed to know as much relevent data as possible. The less surprises, the better.

[/ QUOTE ]

A human interrogator might easily have become suspicious at Penny's "file" - if it could be called such. Those few bits and pieces which were not out-and-out classified were so heavily redacted as to make them completely useless.

Officially, Penny had no birthplace. No education. No previous life at all, as if she had simply materialized on the dock where flier 723A had made its journey to the Zig.

Nor did it seem she had had a trial. While Article 14A was mentioned, (it was required for the system to permit incarceration,) there was no mention of anything else. Article 14A allowed sentencing by a panel of judges rather than a jury of peers: but no judges were listed. No time, date, or place for the required hearing. There was so little listed about judicial participation that there was some reason to question whether the Paragon Justice Department had been involved at all.

Penny's file had been constructed - there was no other word for it - to send her here and keep her here for the rest of her natural life. Everything not relevant to that singular goal had been buried so deeply that no trace of it remained.

And it seemed that someone (who? Their name, like everything else in the computer, was classified) intended Penny to have a hard time. CLASSIFIED (the proper noun which appeared in place of the standard authority sign-in) had specifically scheduled her for interrogation this evening with the Mark 2. This was in spite of the note on the medical section of her file which read, "Successful induction of amnesia." Who had induced it? CLASSIFIED. For what purpose had it been required? CLASSIFIED.

It was ridiculous to schedule such a prisoner for an interrogation session with the Mark 2, as it was extremely unlikely that the prisoner would be able to produce satisfactory answers to questions, even if they were cooperative. But there it was - CLASSIFIED either wanted to check the thoroughness of his/her work, was hoping that the prisoner would earn severe punishments right off the bat, or both.

Another entry had been added for the morning: Penny was also scheduled for an Arena match. That entry had been made since she came to the Zig, and was made not by CLASSIFIED, but rather by CO 4157862.

The entry was not surprising. Correctional Officer 4157862, sometimes known as "Gears" by his fellow officers, was a great lover of robotic combat. It was largely due to his influence that the current interrogation bots had been added to the Zig in the first place. He was keenly interested in the Mark 2 prototype, was nosy enough to keep constant tabs on its activities, and had the authority to schedule such things as arena matches. He had probably figured that anyone worthy of specialized attention from the Mark 2 was worthy of specialized attention in his favorite killing grounds.

Given all known variables, Penny's chances of emerging victorious from the match were very low. The addition of glasses to correct her poor eyesight would enhance them significantly. Standard protocols, however, would normally take several weeks to produce such an item. The Mark 2 could override these protocols and produce them himself, if he chose to do so. He could also choose to make the prisoner's life extremely unpleasant.

There was a lot going on, and though it was unlikely that the prisoner was seeing much of it, she seemed to be doing well at hiding this. One prisoner was dragged off to solitary; another soon took his place. The other prisoners around had fallen mostly silent.

"Query, Mastermind Droid Control Prototype Mark 2:" It was an interesting phenomenon that Penny seemed perfectly comfortable in talking to him. It suggested cooperation on her part, but also suggested a background or familiarity in robotics or AI technology.

Did such a background exist? CLASSIFIED.

"Do you answer to the nickname 'Gray,' and if so, by which name do you prefer to be addressed?"

This type of courtesy was an uncommon thing in the Zig. While it could have been put down to simple naivete, the extensive robotics background seemed to be the more likely explanation. After all, it was easier to cooperate with an interrogation 'Droid - or with any robot, for that matter - if one understood the general parameters under which it operated.

[ QUOTE ]
Twilit paced around a small part of the room before heading towards the girl in the armour.
"Hey girl, Penny was it? You would'nt happen to have any dice in that suit of yours would ya? Say, why do you get to keep your armour...suit....thing anyways?"

[/ QUOTE ]

"Oh - er - " Penny looked mildly alarmed at being addressed, as she always did. "It's damaged - it doesn't come off any more - the seam got fused and now it's one piece..." she brushed nervously at her arms. "I mean - anything that would get it off would be fatal - and that would require the death penalty and that's complicated..." She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "I suppose they think it's easier to assume that I'll die here, and then they will just pull it from the incenerator... afterwards."

For the first time her face gave a brief hint that she might once have been something more than a simple techie. She was troubled, but she showed none of the signs of terror that a completely untrained civilian might have displayed.

His first question, it seemed, had caught her attention last. "Er... dice? Like, gaming dice? No, no dice... why?" She seemed genuinely perplexed as to why he would want such a thing in such a place.

[ QUOTE ]
"Welcome to the Ziggursky Maximum Security Prison," said the prototype in its standard monotone. "Depending on the severity of your delusions, your stay here may last as little as one year or as long as your entire natural life. Upon returning to an acceptable state of mind, you shall be released back into society. However, research into your files indicates that only a few of you shall be exiting via the main door. The remainder shall most likely perish in some fashion and be cremated and buried on location.

"My designation is Mastermind Droid Control Prototype Mark 2. You shall refer to me as such until it has been deemed that you may address me by a shorter form. As I am here to test my functionalities in a wide variety of circumstances, I have been giving full dispensation to injure troublesome prisoners in any way of my choosing, provided that you remain alive afterward. In extreme cases I am fully authorized to kill you. However, the other guards will not hesitate to shoot to kill if I am not around.

"Since some of you are currently in Ziggursky for the first time, I shall be accompanying your group to most areas for the first week."

The prototype finally stopped speaking and looked around at the newbies.

"I am glad to see that I was not interupted. In this case, I shall be pleased to answer any questions you might have regarding your stay here."

In the background, one of the guards facepalmed and slipped a couple of bills to the guard next to him. Apparently they had been betting on whether or not this batch would be quiet for the whole speech.

[/ QUOTE ]

Penny's file, on the Zig computers, was two pages long. The first page held mostly biographical data: height, weight, gender, color of hair. The second page held a single word: CLASSIFIED.

And no one at the Zig had the power to open the file, from the Warden on down. The Warden did get an extra line, directing him to apply in person to Paragon City intelligence for any declassification request, and that was all. No length of sentence was mentioned. No charges. No trial. Her "caution" level, (which was an absolute requirement for all prisoners and one of the only accessible non-biological pieces of data in her file,) was one more commonly given to far more dangerous things, such as Rikti attack drones - this, in spite of the fact that the "Known Powers" field flatly stated, "None."

She didn't seem afraid of the small hovering drones, leaning forwards to examine one more closely. There was at least one reason why such courage was partially justified - the body armor. The file on her body armor was far more extensive than the file on Penny herself.

It was so good, in fact, that it was unlikely that the Mark 2 would be able to hurt her, at least not without expending some concentrated efforts to do so. Anything capable of getting past the body armor would probable kill her outright. The lesser armament on the small contingent of floating drones had no chance at all.

She had been a techie. Her former profession, along with everything else, was classified, but it was apparant from her question. "Query, Mastermind Droid Control Prototype Mark 2: upon what protocols are psychological conductions evaluated: are you using the Jung-Feingold or the Grayson models?"

The question revealed extensive knowledge of the judicial system, extensive enough to be aware of the sometimes-bitter divide among Paragon City psychological workers on how to evaluate paranormals. Jung-Feingold was in more common, particularly for those with greater power levels: but Grayson had gained some significant ground in the last few years and was considered a more appropriate model for non-paranormals.

She paused. "And how does one qualify to get one's glasses back?"

She had good reason to ask. Among the notes in her file were the results of her eye exam: her vision was extremely poor. Had her "caution" level not been so high, her glasses would already have been returned.

Come to think of it, her "caution" level seemed excessive, now that she was available for direct observation. Extremely excessive.

But you are so GOOD at breaking rocks!

Tee hee!

Everyone who wants to be in the cell can be - hooray for character introduction and exposition! Grey, I presume you can be in a nearby cell, maybe within talking distance, if you want to jump in too. (And if not, your cell is too far away. Rats!)

Work detail coming up soon!

[ QUOTE ]
As much as he hated it, Dr. Greene was getting unnerved. This place, labyrinthine and monolithic, was like some twisted psychologist's image of hell. A place designed to break him, a place designed to kill his hope.

He attempted to make his way towards the young archon, but was viciously kicked down by one of the guards. Another one slammed the handle of the shockstick across his back. "Stay in line, " screamed the guard, over the maniacal cackling in the background. The train of prisoners was haulted as the guards roughly dragged Julius up to his feet. Before they resumed marching, he said to Michael, "You're pretty clever, boy, but you weren't clever enough to keep yourself out of here. Are you clever enough to keep your imbecile philosophy to yourself while you're in here?"

A guard flicked his tazer menacingly at Dr. Greene, and the march continued.

[/ QUOTE ]

The tour was a long one, and there were several purposes behind it.

The first, of course, was to break the hope of the new prisoners. The Zig was a relentlessly dull and gray place, a series of squat, ugly buildings, bars and guards everywhere. Security measures abounded. No point in even trying to get away.

The second was a combination for the guards, and the older prisoners. It was a morale boost for the guards to be able to strut more successes, more criminals off the streets, and share in the afterglow of someone else's victory. For the older prisoners it was to reinforce the hopelessness of their situation: the guards, triumphant, had caught more of those that might have been their comrades.

For the security systems, it was a continuation of the registration process. The chips embedded in the jumpsuits registered with scanners placed at various points, as the computer systems verified prisoner data.

In spite of the bleak prospects of the future, though, Penny almost seemed to be gaining hope, instead of losing it. This was due to a simple internal phenomenon: the after-effects she had experienced in the flier were wearing off. Though her memory still had large holes, she felt as if she was waking up, as if peviously-disconnected synapses had linked back up again. She felt awake.

And, to her own surprise, she found she knew quite a lot about the Zig. She was fairly certain she had not been here before; but somewhere she must have seen the blueprints for the building. She could vividly recall the blueprints, in blue and white lines, and was pleased that the places on the tour corresponded to the diagram that she recalled. Most things were exactly the same ("Cafeteria," "Gymnasium,") though other things were presented in an alarmingly different fashion than diagram labels, ("Arena" not "Stadium," "Pit" not "Depleted Uranium Holding Tanks and Reprocessing Facility.")

The tour helped to jog her memory somewhat. She soon became interested in the security doors, which were opened by a code the guards entered into keypads. The guards got the codes from small calculators they carried on their belts. It occured to her, after they had gone through several of these, that she was familiar with the algorythym which ran them, and that held her interest for several minutes. The final result of the calculations would be a ten digit number, and she thought that, given time, she would be able to work out the results.

It didn't occur to her to think of this in terms of escape. Rather, it was an interesting exercise in mathematics. Though the sequence of ten numbers would take weeks if not months to work out, the first digit wasn't that difficult. "Seven," she muttered to herself at length, as they stopped in front of yet another security door. She looked hopefully to see if she could tell what number the guard was punching in, though he had already admonished them not to try memorizing the codes, as "they change every time."

But he was too far away, and besides it was hard to see around the Brit, who was directly in front of her, and large enough to block her view. She was marginally disappointed not to be able to check her theory.

The tour ended at several large holding-pen sort of cells. These, Penny knew, were temporary, where they would be housed overnight until their permanent cell placements, work details, and individual security measures could be worked out.

Here they were sorted into several groups. Penny was shoved into a cell with the Brit, several young men who looked suspiciously like they had previously belonged to the Fifth Column, the two rather skeletal fellows including the Giggler...

Well, no, she hastily stopped herself. That was something she would have to be careful of. Names were one of the things which would easily be lost in the Zig - and it was important to keep them. An element of resistance, useless resistance perhaps, but something. She would not surrender her identity as easily as that.

So, she looked around the room and methodically corrected herself. She had been placed with Michael Helsinger, Marcus Kirke, Keith Smith, Dr. Julius Greene, and Harelequin Fear, along with a few others ... hm. Hadn't he given a different name earlier? She couldn't recall, and was annoyed with herself for that.

The holding pens were within sight of some of the other cell blocks, which housed some of the older prisoners. The guards left at last - this area seemed to be patrolled rather than guarded outright - and they began hooting and shouting, several of them calling out what sounded like bets. That didn't sound promising either.

She looked around at the holding cell where they would be spending the night. There weren't enough bunks for everyone, and Penny didn't have the desire to fight for one: she would likely sleep on the floor. Would the guards come for the fight? Probably not, unless there were actual casualties. Though she didn't expect to be hurt - the body armor was ridiculously good stuff - it was a depressing thought nonetheless.

"Er - Doctor Greene?" She said to Greene, who was standing nearby. "What philosophy?" The guard had mentioned it specifically, and she was curious.

Oh, a cafeteria should certainly be on the list! I am not as sure about a gym (can't those convicts get plenty of exercise from breaking rocks in the yard!) but think we could work it in somehow.

Great stuff! Anywhere else?