“What have you got there?” a disembodied voice says to me. It sounds like the voice of an old woman. The cruelty of the slaverunners for putting an elderly woman in an arena for entertainment is unimaginable.

“It’s nothing,” I say, not knowing whether I can trust her.

“Looks like something to me,” comes her reply.

I deliberate whether to tell her more. But then I remind myself that I’m not here to be polite or friendly. I have a mission and nothing should be distracting me from it, even if that something is just a light-hearted conversation with an old woman.

As I’m feeling my way in the gloom along the perimeter wall, I pray the other survivors don’t suss out what I’m doing, or haven’t been drawn to my movements by the nosy old woman. I can’t trust anyone, not even people who in other circumstances would be on the same team as me. I feel guilty knowing that my actions will be causing their deaths, but I have to remind myself that they’d all be dead anyway. At least this way, other people elsewhere will get to live. I shouldn’t have to turn them into martyrs, but I have no choice.

As I’m searching for a strategic place to prepare for my attack, I start to hear something that piques my suspicion. It sounds a lot like the distant shouts of a crowd. I listen intently, straining to hear over the sounds of the other prisoners shuffling around in the cell. It is unmistakable. I can hear the sound of an approaching crowd, their cries for blood growing louder and louder and louder.

The old woman who’d spoken to me before must hear it too.

“Must be a special event,” she says. “There ain’t usually fights this early in the day.”

I want to ask her how she can even tell what time of day it is, since we’re in a completely dark cell without any way of seeing outside, but I have more important things to think about. A special event could only mean one thing: the slaverunners have announced my arrival. I knew I’d be a draw for the crowds but I didn’t realize I’d be such a draw that they would move the games forward to the middle of the day. I won’t get the evening to prepare at all. They’re holding a special fight, right here, right now.

A jolt of panic races through me. I’ve barely been here twenty minutes and already the plan is diverging off course. My escape route hasn’t been planned. I haven’t had time to figure out what I’m doing.