When they entered the team's bunker, the Doctor said her sonic screwdriver scrambled whatever feed might be used to monitor them, hence why the Sponsors didn't bother bringing reinforcements. This allowed them all to get better acquainted, the Doctor decided to start with why they lived in such a nice domicile compared to their locker room. Max explained to the Doctor how, due to the nature of competitive sports, they were only allowed to live in a customized housing unit, a few hundred feet from the dome. It also was near the facility that housed the Sponsors, or at least that was where they came out when it was time to collect.

"So, you're trapped like animals in pens near a meat grinder," the Doctor said as she leaned back and took in all the news Max told her. "Was it always like this?"

"Not at first, no," Max said, she was the only one willing to talk to the stranger. "It happened about a year after the sport got underway. Rift Fighting became popular and suddenly a Sponsor came, he offered up money they say, more money than anyone's ever seen. They claim to just be in advertising but upper management vanished right after the deal. We've only seen the Sponsors ever since. All smiling, stuttering, and cold." Her voice grew deep with bitterness. "Once they zap you, they just drag you off into the dark. Sometimes, they don't even zap you and the screams carry down the halls. It's worse that way, especially when they stop."

The team looked down at the floor. Despite their clean-living quarters, it was clear that they basically lived as prisoners, slaves of the Sponsors.

"Well, Max, you and your friends seem smart enough to decide to take a ship and steer it, if my understanding of this quadrant is correct, anywhere the Hell else. Why stay?"

"It's not that simple," Frank said, massaging his semi-fixed shoulder.

"Never is." The Doctor leaned forward with a sigh. "So, what's wrong?"

This time, Lamina explained. She picked up a nearby remote and pressed a button. A digital screen popped up on the adjacent wall. It featured a collection of faces, all human, but some had green lights over their profiles. A slight shimmer in their eyes and a blank-soulless gaze explained the rest.

"We aren't the original crew," Max explained. "Every few years, the Sponsors come to our planets, drag us out of our beds. They like when we try to fight." She closed her eyes, the pain of that nightmarish night still clearly haunted her. "We're told that if we don't comply, they'll target our loved ones. I was luckier than most, never had a family, so… they didn't give me an option, just a quick zap." She breathed deeply, the Doctor could not imagine the strength it took to overcome that pain and lead these fellow prisoners. Max's shoulders shuddered as she struggled not to shed tears.

"You know what's really funny," Max said. "I actually kind of like playing this damn game."

The Doctor looked around, no longer seeing athletes but survivors who persevered through Hell. She'd do everything possible to make sure they wouldn't suffer any longer. Whatever Max saw when she looked at the Doctor brought a smile to the young woman's face.

"Wow, you hear something straight out of horror vids and all you do is give me a look like 'Bring It'. You're a tough one to figure out, Doc."

"I don't have anything near your strength," the Doctor said. "But I can make sure you don't need to use any more of it. With your permission, I would like to offer my assistance." She offered Max her hand. The reluctant Captain eyed the hand with confusion.

"Why do you think you need my permission?"

"Because this is your life, Max, and your choices must always matter."

Max almost wanted to laugh, but stopped. The Doctor wondered how long this woman, any of them, had ever been given anything remotely close to a choice. She gripped the Doctor's hand with strength built on a will to fight to the end.

"Okay," Max said. "Help us."

The Doctor nodded, and got to work.

"Lamina, can I have the remote?"

Lamina gave the Doctor the device and with a flash of the sonic screwdriver, the screen shrank and the space was filled with many other teams, also trapped in this game.

"There's something I'm not getting about all of this," the Doctor said. "They take players who are critically injured and upgrade them, make cyborgs that are faster and stronger, so why get more prisoners?"

"The upgraded ones don't stick around," Freddie said. "I've been stuck in this the longest, they took my brother when he started asking the kinds of questions that left two options, a place on a team or an unmarked ditch. It's crazy, how much I wish you weren't so good at sports, Frankie, you might be better off." He took a moment and continued.

"I heard rumors, they're soldiering them up, making some kind of army. They keep a few on the field, just to wreck the rest of us but never too many to keep the game feeling, get this, 'artificial'. We got a bunch of the bots, those ones you saw who we benched. That's our way of making sure we're not adding to the problem. We only know what happens to them, because Janice went through the procedure and we never saw her again."

"You say they're being turned into soldiers," the Doctor said. "So, they take people with physical prowess, make them gladiatorial celebrities so no one thinks anything's odd and slowly cycle them through this madness to make more warriors. Is there a conflict? I don't recall there being a need for soldiers in this century."

"In this what?" Max said.

"N-Never mind," the Doctor muttered. "Point is, what war is going on?"

"Not sure," Freddie said. "They do enough to keep us fed but we don't even know what year it is until the annual big match against the best of us."

"42 days and counting until 3013, Happy New Year." They said in monotone unison.

The Doctor had something to look into, but right now this nightmarish factory needed to be shut down.

"Is there ever a time when you can interact with other team members?"

"No," Frankie, "The Sponsors limit our interactions to only matches, we don't even have a cafeteria."

"But is there a spot used for something, like say, a cosmic disaster?" The Doctor got a sudden itch in the back of her mind as a plan formed.

"Yeah…" Frankie said. "I think they mentioned something in the guidelines in a brochure a fan wanted me to sign, that was the only bit of reading I've had in three years. I think it said that in case of like a meteor shower or whatever, there's a special shelter built up for us to use. Ours is separate from the crowds though, don't want to spoil the grand illusion of entertainment." He spat out on the floor, a smirk made the Doctor believe they weren't going to be the ones to clean the carpet.

"Okay," the Doctor said. "Well, I believe I have found the best way to misbehave. But it'll take some work. For one thing, Max, I need your help."

"W-What can I do?"

'You're the team Captain, that means something to the fans in case we run into civilians. Plus, I bet you've all studied the readout of this place in an attempt to escape. I'll get all the details from you in a bit but I need you, Max, to show me about and help me know where this factory is, if they're desiring players then you might be pre-coded for entry."

"That's a bloody one-way trip, Doc." Her voice became jagged. "I thought you promised we'd be safe?"

"In this kind of madness, all I can do is promise to help. But if we do this right, Max, I think I might be able to make sure no one else suffers. Together, we're going to end this."

Max fumed slightly but calmed herself, clearly options were limited but the Doctor reminded herself to not be so clever as to be deceptive to those she's trying to help.

"Fine," Max said. "What do you have in mind?"

This made the Doctor grin.

"I'm going to make it rain."