Ranboo had only dared to turn the communicator on once, right after he got it when Technoblade was still lost to the throes of fever.

The screen lit up almost instantly at the push of a button, but two things became apparent when he did. The first was that it had no signal. Either the thick walls of the coliseum's cells were obstructing its reach or – and this was almost too pessimistic to consider, still Ranboo did so anyway – they had built something to purposefully jam any unauthorized communicators used down there. Either way, the chances of them managing to send word out to the outside were slim, at least until they got outside.

The second equally worrying thing was the battery life. One small line flickered in and out of focus as if the LED display hadn't decided whether it really belonged there. Ranboo quickly shut the communicator off again, not wanting to waste what little power it had.

They would probably only get one shot at a message, it would have to be short and relay all important information in as little text as they could manage. They would have to do it after breaking out – with whoever the arena bothered to send after them hot on their trail – then wait until Phil could actually get whitelisted and arrive to help them. Ranboo didn't doubt Phil could be quick about it, even more so if he grasped the situation Ranboo and Techno would be left in until then.

But he couldn't know ahead of time if quick would be quick enough.

It was a risk they were willing to take, just one they couldn't jump headfirst into when unprepared. It remained to be seen if their circumstances would leave them much of a choice in the matter though.

Following the strange after-hours match, another morning passed where they were left alone for an unprecedented amount of time. Techno had been on edge ever since the day before and this time it was him pacing the small length of their room. Ranboo couldn't put his finger on why exactly he also felt apprehensive over how that audience stared at them, judged them. How it had felt less like entertainment and more like something far more sinister he couldn't even think about without scaring himself.

The door opened but it wasn't Mel. It was the blond man for whom Ranboo's dislike was pretty much immeasurable at this point. He glanced down at their arm and tried to not show his satisfaction at seeing the scars his claws had left on their wrist.

"Out. Both of you." He didn't speak to them the same as Mel did, like you'd speak to people. He barked as if they were animals too stupid to comprehend basic instructions. His hand had settled on the sword at their hip the moment they walked in, lingering there in expectancy of trouble.

Ranboo looked at Technoblade who shrugged in response, also in the dark to what was going on. They both got up and followed the man outside, where another handler was waiting to bring up the rear. To Ranboo it mimicked their arrival a little too much for comfort – back when they were still expected to try and run away.

Why? What had changed so suddenly that they would try to run again?

They were led in the opposite direction from where they'd come in. The opposite direction from where Ranboo remembered the arena master's office to be. That was good, that was reassuring. They went right past the armory where they'd usually be brought for matches, also fine. Then they stopped at the door to the infirmary.

Ranboo's heart sank to the bottom of his ribcage, not unlike a stone tossed in a well.

Near the back of the infirmary was a second door. Ranboo had never gone through it – had been lucky to never have to. It's where they carted people who were dead or dying. People who had their stomachs ripped open and guts spilling onto the floor. People who had their brains leaking through their skulls. They were brought into there.

A small room, smelling strongly of antiseptic. Strong enough even Ranboo could pick up on it, he watched Techno recoil a little when they entered due to his more sensitive sense of smell. Instead of several cots there was a single long table against the wall – raised and made out of metal with flimsy paper covering it. The table's legs hadn't been cleaned properly, still coated a rusty color from stray blood splatters.

The physician was already inside, pen in hand while they poured over a clipboard. They looked up when the blond man entered, adjusted their glasses and waved them towards them. "Okay, let's get this over with. Which one first?"

"First for what?" Techno asked, not moving a muscle.

Ranboo managed not to flinch when the blond man stepped forward. He'd reacted rather volatile to them speaking out of turn before. But instead, the doctor held up their hand.

"Wait outside," they said. And against all expectations, the blond man huffed but did as he was told, joining the second handler on the other side of the door.

Clearing their throat, the doctor picked up one of two clipboards and motioned for Technoblade to stand in the middle of the room. "You're being assessed for sale."

Somehow, that sinking feeling had changed into a dreadful pull. Ranboo must have made a noise without realizing it, felt his back hit the wall.

Techno remained deceptively calm by comparison, but it was clear the gears in his head must be running a hundred miles an hour from how he furrowed his brow. "Sale? You mean slave auction, right?"

"Correct."

All of a sudden last night's match made sense to Ranboo. The shift in mood and how different the audience had been. That wasn't a fight to be bet on. It was a preview for potential buyers to see what would be up for sale soon.

Because that's what was going to happen. They were going to be sold.

"Once in a while, the arena gathers up the slaves who either aren't cut out to be fighters or worth more to someone with different plans. Then they'll organize an auction." They relayed this information as another might report the local weather; unaffected.

Numb – too far beyond what could even be called shock anymore – Ranboo stood by and watched as the doctor wrote down their worth. They inspected Techno from various sides, asked him questions about his physical condition Ranboo couldn't pick up on. All he heard was static. "Open your mouth," they said and Techno did. They scrutinized his tusks for a moment, then nodded.

"So what's my value?" Techno asked in jest.

They ignored him, waving over Ranboo instead. His legs were shaking too much to walk normally but he still shuffled to the front and tried not to shrink under their inspection.

"No permanent injuries?" They questioned.

Ranboo shook his head, felt as if his brain was rattling around in there. "Fit as a fiddle."

He traced the pen with his eyes as the doctor wrote on their paper, unable to read what it was between the writing being upside down and his vision tunneling through sheer panic. Techno's hand settling somewhere on his arm pulled him back, kept him from spiraling completely.

Breathe in, breathe out. It'll be fine.

When their notes were finished, they put both charts down and fixed their eyes on them. The door was still closed. "Listen. The chances of you both being sold to the same buyer are extremely slim. You're looking at an army as a potential buyer, or somebody else who will want you for your physical skills." They pointed at Technoblade as they said it, then directed themselfs at Ranboo next. "While you're being sold as a trophy more than anything else. Enderman hybrids are near unheard of and rare means money to these people."

And while some vague part of him could recognize the doctor was giving this information to them out of compassion, that didn't reduce any of Ranboo's distress because oh, oh... if they were split up they would never find each other again. If they took Techno away to fight in some war he could die or get killed trying to escape or if he did manage to flee then he still wouldn't know where Ranboo had gone. Sold to some creep who wanted to keep him in a glass cupboard like you do with your most prized possessions and show him off to their rich friends while muttering on about how much gold it had cost to purchase him.

No, no, no they couldn't allow that to happen.

Techno's fingers curled around him tighter, an anchor. The only thing left keeping him tethered to reality. "Why would you tell us this?" Techno asked, barely concealed suspicion.

The doctor didn't take the thinly-veiled accusation to heart. They finished their notes and started towards the door. "Why wouldn't I? Mel and I disagree on a lot of things. He believes in trying to extend a hand to those he thinks are in need of his help, no matter the risks. I believe in finding those who can help themselves and pointing them in the right direction. Which I can only do from a position of privilege." They smiled and it chipped off something of their harsh, uncaring facade. For the first time, Ranboo saw what laid beneath that which they upheld to convince the handlers of their loyalty. "But at the end of the day, we both believe that what happens here shouldn't. If you have a plan, I recommend you don't dawdle. Enact it before they take you off-server."

Before either of them could process what they had said, they opened the door. The blond man was waiting on the other side, arms crossed and growing impatient.

"You can have them back," the doctor said coldly. When they turned, it wasn't even like Ranboo was seeing the same person anymore. "They'll be some fine wares for the auction."