Chapter 1: Arena

The concert for the tribute band I was in had gone swimmingly well. We'd played several heavy metal and hard rock songs, which my talent in voice mimicry and ability to near perfectly replicate notes on the guitar had been contributing to our success. We'd already gotten several offers to play elsewhere, mostly in places up north in New York.

How did we celebrate our success? How else? With copious amounts of alcohol. So much, in fact, that we were all totally wasted by the first hour of our drinking, stumbling about in our drunken merriment in our hotel room. It was a damn good way to forget the fighting I survived through in Afghanistan and Iraq.

Unfortunately, I didn't remember any of the events in the hotel. What I did remember, was waking up with a painful hangover, inside of a cage. I tried to talk (to myself really), but I found that my throat was dry and in a great deal of pain. Did I scream my lungs out last night? Regardless, I was left to my lonely surroundings.

Besides being in a cage, I found to my terror that I was totally naked, and in a small corner amongst incredibly ugly humans that were yelling and screaming in indecipherable sounds. They rattled their cages, thrashed about in anger, and generally acted... inhuman. Everything they did seemed animalistic. Now, I'd seen, and participated in, dozens of mosh pits that had dissolved into fights, and even those never got this bad.

Just what the hell is the matter with these guys? And why are they naked? Did they take PCP or something? It honestly wouldn't surprise me if they had, and this was just some "safe" drug den where addicts could go to get high, and not kill themselves. I'd heard drug addicts going to great lengths for a high. Still, something seemed off with these guys, but I couldn't quite place it.

Other than the cages, there was surprisingly little in here. Just a ceiling that barely stood over the cages. Inside of mine, was a bowl of water. That was it. Nothing else. The dirt beneath the cage, the cage bars on the bottom of the cage, and the bowl of water. Nothing for me to do now but wait until someone comes around to check on me. I settled down against the door of the cage, and waited.

5 hours later

I'd drank all the water, and I was still incredibly thirsty. No one had come by to check up on me, or any of the other people in here. People who were still tripping balls. Seriously, what did they take? I just want to know so I can call the cops on whoever took it if they were this violent and dangerous.

So, for the past 5 hours, I was incredibly bored, having nothing to do. I'd taken to air strumming, working through the finger placements of some of the songs whose pattern and rhythm I was still working out (mainly Through the Fire and the Flames by Dragonforce because that was criminally hard even without my mechanical arms and hands), and tried to get my voice back in order. The water helped with that, but I could still only manage a rasp that barely resembled speech. At least, to me. I don't know what anyone else would hear. Probably just the rasp.

Finally, when I'd given up on waiting and was about to fall asleep again, I heard footfalls. They weren't normal though. They fell into a cadence of 4, and sounded like hooves on concrete. I forced my eyes open to look at the coming arrival.

I...was not expecting that. Coming around the corner, was a dark brown pegasus with a black mane. If it stood on its' hind legs it would be just about as tall as me, but on all fours I practically dwarfed it. When I looked into its' eyes, I saw some sort of sick enjoyment that was directed straight at me. Even if the fact that there was a pegasus in front of me didn't disturb me, a facial expression, especially that one, did. I quickly positioned myself to the back of the cage, trying to stay as far away from it as possible.

Of course, that did nothing. The pegasus produced a set of keys, and unlocked the door, "Come now, Achilles. Be a good human, and don't make this difficult." Her (for by the sound of her voice it was a she) voice was low and sweet, but it had that dangerous barbed tone mixed in that scared me. As for the name thing? Well, I guess that's what she was calling me. I gulped, and took slow steps forwards, looking for any flash of movement from her that might indicate that she was going to do something.

She led me out of the cage, and I waited for an order, because right now, that was all that I could do. Follow an order. I was too terrified to even consider running. She took out a leash and collar with her teeth, and while I was beginning to wonder why she'd need a leash for a human, she spun around on her hooves, and kicked me in the stomach.

The wind left my lungs, and I keeled over, clutching my stomach and moaning. I was dimly aware of the collar being attached, and then feeling a tug from it. Not wanting to be kicked again, I struggled to my metal feet to walk after her hunched over while clutching my stomach. We passed by rows and rows of humans, all of which reached out from their cages in an attempt to grab me. Sure, they were all significantly smaller than me, but when someone was hopped up on the kind of drugs these people were obviously on, they can be a hell of a lot stronger and more violent than imagination can conjure.

Finally, I was brought to something odd. It was a massive, circular wall with what sounded to be lots of people (or ponies because why not?) on the other side. The side we were on, had a cage entrance. I was roughly shoved inside, landing on my face. While I was down, the pony got on top of me, removed the collar, and disembarked in short order. I heard the sound of metal striking metal, and a glance backwards showed I was locked in again. In front of me, was a metal plate wall.

I've got a bad feeling about this. Famous last words.

On the other side, I could hear someone talking in a boisterous tone, "Tonight, Ladies and Gentlecolts!" What did he just say? "We have for you two brand new humans for you to watch fight to the death!" HOLY SHIT! WHAT DID HE JUST SAY!??! "8 feet tall, and weighing in at 350 pounds, I give you Achilles!" Wait, he's talking about me right? I ain't 8 feet tall or that heavy! I'm barely 5'9", and only 180, and most of that are my metal arms and legs! The wall in front of me raised, and inside, was an arena. I stepped out of my cage, and was immediately bombarded by a bloodthirsty crowd cheering. Ah, hell. I'm a gladiator or something aren't I? And I have to go up against a druggie, don't I?

"And our second fighter stands at 6 feet tall, weighing in at 200 pounds, Crusher!" The announcer yelled. On the other side of the arena, another door opened, revealing a much shorter human. He was skinny, and looked absolutely terrified. Still butt ugly like all the other humans though.

"Let's see what these two can do!" The announcer yelled, and the obnoxious sound of an air horn blowing had me holding my ears and groaning. Did they just blow that in my fucking ear?

The other guy seemed to be in a much different state then me. Instead of wincing, it was now screaming in rage. He had his eyes centered on me.

Without another moment to process what was going on, it charged me, screaming in an unholy fury. Unholy... fury...

Time slowed to a halt, memories pouring through my mind. Memories I'd hoped to bury. The immortal storms that raged through the forest, the guerrillas ambushing us on trails and roads, their battle cries echoing long after they'd retreated. Firefights lasting hours, the terror of an empty gun, dead civilians laying in the street abandoned and torn to pieces. The blood dripping down my hands, the blood pooling in the soil, the blood flowing from me, and the fear of me and everyone around me dying. That same fear exploded into animalistic desperation once that small second in time dissipated into reality.

He lunged out with both hands, teeth bared, and my not too distant military training kicked in. I grabbed one of the hands, and twisted my body while shoving my shoulder into him and flipped him down into the ground. The natural flow of the move followed up with a swift and powerful stomp right on the throat, crushing his throat so thuroughly, that I heard the neck snap.

And just like that, the rush of the panic and fear was over. I was in control, I could think, and I was disgusted. Stumbling back away from the body, I sicked all over the dusty dirt, painting the ground with pale, chunky puke.

I held up my hands and looked at them. It was as if they were covered in blood all over again. Gunfire and artillary barrages started to overwhelm my very real hearing. Not again. Please, not again. I looked up from my hands to pass over the pony crowd, who all stared in shock. Apparently, killing my opponent wasn't supposed to happen.

"Well... that was unexpected. Give it up for Achilles everypony!" There were some weak cheers, but I think they were still too shocked to do anything.

"His next opponent is the Monster of Manehatten, BUTCHER! Weighing in at 400 pounds and 6 and a half feet tall, he will certainly kill our little upstart!"

The gate grinded open again, and I turned to see a monster step out. This big fucker was uglier than the devil himself. Not even his mother could love that face of his. He looked more like an ugly pug mixed with a human face. The beast stomped forwards, those tiny, squinting eyes bored into my skin. It's happening again. It's happening, and I have no control over anything but my own survival.

I wanted to say, "Tonight, you die." But what came out was the same rasp. Butcher cocked his big head, and looked confused. Then the horn sounded, and all bets were off. He charged me like Crusher, and briefly, I had to think back on how I was supposed to kill a larger opponent.

Target pressure points, and hit hard.. I sidestepped his charge, and thrust my metal hand into his back where there was the least amount of fat. He screamed angrily as he fell. Let me tell you, seeing a fat guy hit the ground is both disgusting and pitiful to look at.

He tried to get up, but his legs refused to move. Paralyzed. Sorry pal, didn't think I hit you that hard. I walked over to him slowly, as more flashbacks flooded into my mind.

Jack was on the ground, screaming in a pool of his own blood, drowning out the jungle noises around us. The gunfight was won, but he was on the ground, bleeding and paralyzed. You could fix a spinal cord if you had the money or the fame, but he had neither and the market wasn't too friendly with vets. We were days away from the nearest base if we went by foot, and our radio was shot to hell. There was nothing we could do. He begged us to put him out of his misery, so we did. We pumped him so full of painkillers, that he had a peaceful death.

I came back to the moment with a killer headache. Clutching my head with my hands, I growled in pain. I was still going to do what I set out to do, even if it hurt. I walked up to the paralyzed man, and put my metal hand through his skull.

The body stopped moving, and sagged. I could feel my eyes watery up. I'd finally finished my duty, and had made a life for myself, only to be dragged down to this shit. Alone. In the band, we were all vets from the war, and we'd all lost some part of ourselves. Henry, the drummer, lost both his legs. Lezlie, the secondary singer and bassist lost an eye and some bone from her skull. Jordan, the support singer who sang most choruses, was left blind. And Ned the support guitarist who played a double neck guitar, well, his vocal chords were destroyed and he lost both legs and a finger.

Then there was me. I was missing my arms, legs, eyes, and had been shot several times. Most were glancing blows that just looked cool, but the wounds that took my limbs and eyes crippled me to a pitiful existence until the doctors had mercy on me and gave me artificial, well, most things. My eyes, limbs, a few replacement ribs made of metal, a repair of my pelvis, and they infused, something, into my bones.

What right did I have to live when so many others died? What right did I have to have such a good replacement for what I lost even when I didn't have the money? Or even just period? What right did I have to kill brothers, sons, and even fathers? What right? Why?

I fell to my knees crying, and screamed my anguish for all to hear. In this arena, I let my soul to be seen by all as the weak thing I was. All the fear, the sadness, hatred to myself and others, and all the confusion.

And they cheered. They fucking... cheered.

And I hated them for that. I found a new source to take it out on. Them. I sprang to my feet, and got a running leap into the stands. There, I let loose. Wether I killed or not, I don't truly know. I just know I kept fighting until they'd all fled out the exits, and ponies with fighting gear blocked my path.

I cracked skulls with them until a unicorn challenged me. It stood there in robes that made it look stupid. It's horn glowed a translucent green, and light forked it's way to my forehead.

I felt pain, but it just made me angrier. I ran towards the unicorn, and punched it as hard as I could. Bones crunched and cracked as the head spun around until it was facing the same way again. The pony had the most focused look on its face as it collapsed dead on the floor, horn slowly fading away, the pain going with it. More unicorns showed up, using what I'd guess was the same trick that the last one used. The pain was weaker and weaker each time they used it, and with that, increased my resolve.

After I'd killed dozens of ponies, my rage was subsiding, and then a little prick in my neck told me I'd fucked up and let my guard down. I tore out the tranquilizer round and threw it away just as the effects started to kick in, which was immediately. I stumbled about, trying to keep my balance even as my vision started to fade out on me and my eyelids started to fall. My knees sagged inwards, and my feet went their separate ways. My knees hit the floor, and I fell backwards, staring emptily at the ceiling.