It is like déjà vu, like stepping into a nightmare. The sounds of the arena, the metallic smell of blood in the air, it all brings back such horrible memories. Since it’s midday, there are no fights taking place yet and so no crowds to satisfy. It means I don’t need to worry about accidentally being thrust into an arena anytime soon. It also means I have plenty of time to plant my device and plot my escape. We need everyone in the arena before I set off the device because we only have one chance to destroy the city and the people within it.

But it also means the place is more or less silent. The only noises I can hear, other than our boots as we march along, are the crazed screams of the prisoners deep in the bowels of the arena.

The slaverunners lead me far underground, along winding corridor after winding corridor. They seem thrilled to have found me and keep grinning to one another, rubbing their hands with glee. I despise every single one of them. The farther I go underground, the stuffier it becomes. The prisoners kept down here aren’t afforded any kind of ventilation system, and the air is thick with the smell of sweat, urine, and terror. The cries become louder the closer I get to the cells. I try to keep my emotions deep inside, but my heart breaks for them.

As I go, I mentally map out the whole route, every corner we turn, every staircase we descend, committing everything to memory. I’ll need to know the exact route to take to get back to the surface when the time comes. Five minutes is all I’ll have to escape the arena before the bombs obliterate it. So the whole time I walk, I take mental pictures of every single twist and turn, every little chink in the brickwork, anything that will help me find my way to the surface.

It grows darker and darker with each new corridor I’m led down. The place is lit only with emergency lights which bathe everything in a grimy dark yellow light. It’s hard to believe how harsh the light is on the surface down here.