Out of the frying pan...

It the bowels of the arena, Signar had been ‘directed’ by more robots to a new cell. This one was slightly larger, slightly brighter, but a cell none the less. The robots would not speak to him, and he gave up after a half an hour of trying. He decided to just lay down and concerve his energy. He wasn’t sure how long it had been before he had an actual visitor.

“Do you have a name, Dirt Man?”

Signar regarded this newcomer. He was alien to him, as were most people. He wasn’t half of Signar’s height, but there was something in his eyes that indicated experience, and danger even. “I am called Signar.”

“You can call me “Z”, I’m your new owner, and I want to make sure I haven’t overpaid. Stand up.”

“You can’t own others.” Signar struggled with the foreign concept.

“You can here.” Z corrected, “And I do, and it’s going to take several fights for me to make back my investment in you, so it’s in both of our interests for you to keep winning. Now stand up!”

“No.” Signar made a guesture that was very rude if you lived on Creeateen you’d know exactly what it meant. Actually it didn’t take a translator of any sizable talent to understand.

The guard bot that had until now just stood motionless, extended it’s electric prong and jabbed Signar with medium voltage. Signar grimaced, and decided this wasn’t the mountain to crumble over, so he stood and began to take in every feature of Z, so he wouldn’t kill the wrong person later.

“I don’t know how things worked on your world, nor do I really care. What I do care about is making credits, and I imagine what you care about is getting your freedom. We can both achieve these goals only if we work together. Or I can shock you into compliance, but I have no love of hurting people.”

“Ironic.”

“It is indeed. So what do you need?”

“What?” Signar was taken aback by the question.

“Obviously I can’t give you your freedom, I don’t own all of you, but a large enough percentage to mean I can do some good before your next fight. Do you need something? Food? Medicine? Clothes? What do you need to get your strength back?”

“Water.”

“I can manage that. Anything else?”

“What can you tell me about the next fight?” Signar sat back down, whatever visual inspection Z needed, that was going to have to be good enough for now.

“This one is sentient I’m sorry to say. It won’t be as easy to kill. It’s a Stinge.”

“I don’t know this word, can you describe it to me?”

“Typically they are as tall as you, probably half your mass. Fast, oh and they spit plumes of fire.”