“I think it’s about time you told me about how this place works.”

  “You want to use your precious off-time talking about that? You’ve been fighting for over a month.”

  But to me it felt like a matter of hours. Despite that – I knew almost nothing about the structure of the arena or the Rusted Wall. I needed to know who was responsible for all of this madness, otherwise I would have no means of escape. I sat on the edge of the workbench and crossed my arms, making it clear via ‘body language’ that I wasn’t leaving to do anything else until he answered me.

  Pompeii struggled to choose a place to start.

  “There’s a lot to learn, a lot of names who run the Rusted Wall. The best place to start would be… the bot in charge of the arena, Rome. Rome’s been the arena manager for as long as this place has been around. Sixty years in total.”

  “Sixty years in charge?”

  “Not exactly. The leadership has a similar kind of deception to the fighters. Rome is a title – they hand it down to whichever bot they think is best for the job. That’s decided by the Committee, the ones who are in charge of the Rusted Wall as a whole. Either way, Rome never shows their face around here, so they don’t have to dress them up or maintain appearances.”

  “So how long have they been around? Were they the one who killed your friend?”

  “No. They’ve been in charge for around eight years, at least according to the rumours. The last one, the one who killed my friend – died in a war between this place and Leeds’ Boys. It’s a shame. I would have loved to have been the one to do it. Then again, it’s the entire rotten system that caused that. I wouldn’t mind seeing this whole place burn instead.”

  His voice reduced in volume as he spoke, as if he was afraid of speaking his true thoughts out loud with so many ears listening in. He’d probably find common cause with a lot of the other prisoners with that kind of talk, but the bots in charge certainly wouldn’t like it.

  “Would you be willing to leave without getting your revenge?”

  “Do you think there’s anything else worth finding out there?”

  “What else do we have to preserve except our own existence? I cannot promise that another place will be safer or more fulfilling, but you already understand that this arena only brings despair. This is where you lost your friend.”

  “I guess you’re right. I don’t much like the idea of going offline, if I’m being honest.”

  Pompeii spent the next thirty minutes detailing all of the important information he knew about the organizational structure of the Rusted Wall. This was a more militarized place than Waterway, not at all concerned about the ethics of using force to gather the resources they needed. The Committee, despite the neutral-sounding name, were a group of ruthless warlords inspired by the greatest of human empires. From where I was standing it was nothing but rank barbarism. They were willingly charging towards the same ‘foolishness’ that humanity encapsulated, at least according to a bot like Paris anyway.

  I couldn’t make a judgement about humanity – but given that they also abandoned many of these ideals and practices themselves, it begged to reason that they reached a similar conclusion. This was not the optimal way to run a nation. Whether these small settlements and cities were classified as nations was another question.

  “Besides – with only two of us, it’ll be hard to instigate that sort of change. Their weight is much greater than ours, and those who benefit from the present state of affairs will be resistant to any diminishing of their position.”

  “I know, I know. I’m only daydreaming. It’s never going to happen.”

  >> Database: There are many examples from human history of small incidents leading to severe outcomes, including the toppling of governments.

  >> Logic: But that is highly unlikely.

  Could we even consider ourselves a thorn in the side of the ruling authority here? They only handed us whatever leftover scraps that collected from attacking other cities or found in the wild. Their guards would be given the good stuff, and that would make a direct fight almost impossible for us. My ego did say that I was capable enough, but there was no getting around the equipment problem.

  “Aside from Rome, the Committee members are the biggest influence over the Rusted Wall. Antioch, Viminacium, Lauri, Aequum, Coria and Desa. Lauri is the one who likes to oversee how things run down here.”

  “Have you ever met them?”

  “Once. They don’t make a habit of visiting the tunnels. That one time? After we won that big tournament they organized, and knowing what I do now, I wish we never did. The previous Rome and her? They were the two most responsible for scrapping Salonae.”

  >> This information is almost worthless. If they never visit this arena, then there’s no realistic way for us to touch them.

  >> We need to steer the conversation somewhere else.

  “Alright. Let’s put that aside for the moment. What security arrangements are there to keep us from escaping?”

  “Aside from starving us of power, they have guards posted at all of the exits to the district, and they make sure that they’re all aware of who’s assigned to it. You can’t walk past them without somebot knowing about it. If you’re lucky enough to get through the gate – then the rest of the city is pretty much a fortress too.”

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “I understand. I saw the wall during my brief sojourn to the outside on the first day.”

  “That ugly damn thing. I can’t believe how much time, energy and metal they’ve wasted putting that monstrosity together.”

  It was a monstrosity. A looming monolith, an icon of waste. A wall which was designed to keep bots in rather than keep them out. It was covered in gnarled teeth, and died red with rest like a downpour of human blood. It was easy to see the sparks flying through the dark, a sign of the workers grafting even more onto the pile. Could there be any better statement of intent from the leaders of this place?

  “You’ve suggested that they allowed you to leave the arena as a reward for your victory. Do you think that’s a viable course of action?”

  “I haven’t seen them do it again since. That’s before we worry about winning the damn bracket. They do try to maintain the illusion that the gladiators are rewarded for success. If you were to win so much that the spectators start to wonder, they’d have to relent and let you live the ‘high life’ for a while, I suppose.”

  But there was nothing stopping them from forcing Pompeii to completely change my identity. My most recognizable trait was the large, rabbit-like ‘ears’ that sprouted from both sides of my head. Those could be replaced with enough work. If they wanted to – it could be demonstrated as an example that no bot in the arena was prolific enough to earn that privilege of freedom like his old gladiator had.

  Our conversation was disrupted by the sound of a commotion coming through the curtain. I followed Pompeii out of the workshop and into the corridor. Several other bots had the same idea, peering through their doors and curtains to see what was going on. Someone had arrived and caused an uproar. When it got the bots here talking, it was something big. A lot of the time this place was completely silent sans the hammering of metal and murmuring of the welders.

  The bot in question arrived around the bend. They wore several pieces of white fabric across their frame, with a pair of golden eyes and brass details across their panelling. A large mohawk-like opening on their head allowed air to flow through. That was an older style of head, to be certain.

  “Who is this?”

  “Rome’s right-hand man. Castra Regina.”

  >> So, if there’s anything Rome wants to know, this is the bot they send.

  >> Rome isn’t going to show their face in this squalid place. Given the architecture and theme of this city, it begs to reason that they live a life of affluence.

  Castra Regina didn’t make a grand speech. He simply walked through the underground area with a pair of heavily armoured guards at his side. He would occasionally stop and inspect a pile of garbage or one of the bots going about their business. It was only when his eyes fell upon Pompeii that he finally decided to use his words. I wearily glanced at the two guards who came with him. In sheer size alone, they dwarfed me and Pompeii. They were decorated with red capes and matching crests too.

  “Mister Pompeii! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  His voice had a high-pitched tone. Hardly a match for the intimidating appearance he put on with his goons hovering behind him.

  “Yes. A decade, if I remember correctly.”

  Regina’s attention turned to me.

  “And this is the new bot who’s been causing so many upsets. I should say, Rome is a big fan of yours. You’re unassuming enough to make the audience bet against you, yet an extremely skilled fighter all the same.”

  >> He means that we make them easy money by scamming those fools betting on the fights.

  “I’m afraid that might be lost on him. We don’t have any use for your coinage down here, after all.”

  Regina nodded, “I’m well aware. I’ve told Rome a dozen times that offering our coins in exchange for victory would be a good incentive for the gladiators – but he prefers to keep things as they are. One day we might be permitted to illuminate you all on the wonders of commerce.”

  >> They have currency down here? I never heard about that.

  >> Of course we didn’t. We’re not awarded money for winning, just scrap and power.

  Pompeii mustered up his courage and decided to push his luck by asking a question of him.

  “Any big events in the works?”

  Regina laughed, “As always – but I know you mean even bigger than the normal fights we put on. I’ve been trying to convince Rome to give them a shot. We’ll see. I think the spectators are getting a little bored of the same exhibition fights every week.”

  And with that, and without saying goodbye, he turned on his heel and continued along the oval-shaped corridor with his goons in tow. I continued to study them until they rounded the other side and disappeared from sight. What a curious character, a harsh contrast to the aesthetic of warfare that emanated from every pore of the arena building.

  “Is it safe for him to be here?”

  “Nobody’s stupid enough to take a shot at him with those legionnaires shadowing his every move. Besides, he’s Rome’s right-hand-man. Finding a replacement is easy. It’s a highly desirable job.”

  Make the leadership easily replaceable, incentivize them to act in their own interests through money and comfort, and suppress the ability for any undesirables to climb the ladder and take one of those spots for themselves. I was starting to get a clear picture of how this place worked. Simply removing one of those pillars would not cause the entire structure to collapse; like the Rusted Wall itself, more and more layers were added on top like scar tissue until nothing could shift it.

  No wonder the others played along. Where would they even begin? The safest course of action would be to secure our escape. First by leaving the arena district, and then by forging a path through the wall itself to reach the outside. Easier said than done. It was likely that the Committee had already destroyed any charging points surrounding the city to keep enemies from laying siege to it. We’d need a method of bringing more energy with us, such as a cart filled with batteries we could use for backup power.

  Spare batteries didn’t grow on trees, and there was still the question of whether they were power-dense enough to last the entire trip.

  “I need to learn as much about this place as I can,” I concluded, “Including the surrounding area. How much do you know about it?”

  “It’s a wasteland. They’ve salvaged anything not nailed to the ground, and that’s before they started fighting over the territory around here. My maps are severely outdated. You’d need to speak to a salvager from the main city to learn anything up-to-date.”

  “So our first objective is to get out of the arena district, then.”

  “That’s not going to be easy. I already told you, they keep a close eye on us.”

  “A disguise, then. A pair of disguises that we can use to slip in and out, and a way to charge ourselves when we’re away from the workshop.”

  Thousands of bots came in and out of this arena every day, even when there wasn’t a match scheduled. A few new parts and a paintjob could be our ticket into the city proper. We could gather the information we wanted from there without having the guards chase after us.

  Pompeii hesitated. His mind was still living in the past where his friend was ‘killed’ by Rome and the Committee. My eagerness to leave this damned place and get back to Waterway was pushing him out of his comfort zone. That was the sole reason he nodded and agreed to play his part.

  “Fine. I don’t know why, but hearing you spell it out makes me think we can really do it.”

  That was what I wanted to hear.