Notes: A.Ceretta: The actual big battle won't be for about two/three chapters, but there is a fight in the next chapter, I'm working up to the really brutal battle because this is going to be a short fic. Rogue isn't as adjusted as she thinks, which will again get shown in a couple of chapters. Basically, I'm trying to set the dark theme of the fic first and detailing the situation. The other prisoners won't feature much in the fic, it's Rogue-centric and focuses on her experiences. And yes, the X-Men have figured out Rogue is missing, but I'm keeping it in her point of view. And thank you! Sangofanatic: Thank you! I've actually already written up to Chapter Six, so I will be posting fairly regularly, or I hope to, but I have this tendency to be a bit of a scatter-brain.
Chapter Two
The Cage was around fifty feet in diameter, sunken into the ground so that the crowd could watch from above. The top of the dome-shaped cage just came up to the railing on the lowest tier, meaning that if they wanted to, the crowd could touch the heavy metal bars, maybe even throw something through the holes. Power containers ran all around The Cage, meaning that none of the fighters could attack the crowd with their powers. The dirt floor was permanently stained with blood, bodily fluids, and thicker things. Fights were messy, and so were the deaths.
Rogue glared half-heartedly at the guards as they pushed her into the Cage. It wasn't as if she needed pushing, she was one of the few fighters who went peacefully into the Cage. Her opponent was forced into the Cage behind her. It was the new girl, the one who'd arrived yesterday. The fight bosses were usually better at giving her stronger opponents, this girl wouldn't last five minutes against the Rogue.
Raising an eyebrow, she turned to look up at Mark Adams, the big fight boss who organised and controlled this hell. She let the question show on her face, silently asking why he was giving her a newbie to kill. He just shrugged, and turned to talk to the lady standing beside him.
Rogue had to wonder just how the police were handling the mutant disappearances. No one really much cared if a couple of mutants vanished, but they always had around thirty fighters, with newbies coming in every other day or so; someone had to have noticed by now. But then the weapons were tossed into the Cage, and she forgot to wonder about what the police were doing.
The weapons were nothing special, knives, bats, crowbars, things like that, things that were easier to use for wounding rather than killing, and nothing that could be used against the crowd. Rogue was always thankful that they let her use weapons, because she didn't want to have to use her powers to kill.
The girl, Rogue thought her name was Terri, looked around wildly, pressing her back against the wall of the Cage, as far away from Rogue as possible. She looked terrified and confused, and Rogue didn't blame her. The other fighters had tried to explain what her life was going to be like now, but Rogue didn't think she'd understood, so she tried again.
"Kid, you gotta listen to me," she said quietly, her voice scratchy and hoarse from disuse. "You're going to have to fight me, kid, okay? Because if you don't, you're gonna die. Pick up a weapon, and attack me. Come on, kid, you don't want to know what they'll do to you if you don't fight."
The girl didn't listen to her, she just fell to her knees and began mumbling, pleading, begging. Rogue sighed, and picked up a knife from the floor. The least she could do was make the girl's death as quick and painless as possible, but if she didn't put on a good show, she wouldn't get her night of luxury, and she desperately wanted a bath.
She was barely a foot away when the girl suddenly rolled to her left, grabbing at a baseball bat. She staggered to her feet, bat held in front of her, and her wild gaze was filled with fear and determination. Rogue wasn't sure whether to feel glad that they would give the crowd a good show and thus, give her a night of luxury, or sad that the girl would fight and thus, force Rogue to hurt her. Still, she was glad that the girl would fight, meaning that she was safe from the guards' torture.
She never really felt anything when she fought, it was as if part of her brain just shut down. She moved, she thought, she reacted, but she didn't feel. She looked out from a stranger's eyes, someone not a part of her. She remembered everything, but couldn't really remember actually doing it. It was as if someone else had possessed her body and used it as their own, only letting her return when her opponent was dead.
She remembered grabbing the bat from the girl's hands and throwing it away, she remembered flipping the knife for a downward strike, she remembered feeling the cool steel slide into the girl's body, finding the heart and shredding it, she remembered the body jerking and going limp, falling to the ground and pulling her with it, and she remembered pulling the knife out of the body, but only when she was standing up, taking a step back from the body, did the stranger let her back into her body.
She blinked and looked down at the body, watching the blood well up and run down the girl's side in streamers of red, to pool on the dirty, stained ground. The crowd was cheering, and some coins were being thrown down at her, some hitting her with a short, sharp jab of pain, but she noticed none of it. The girl's face was tear-streaked, and more tears hung on her thick lashes like tiny diamonds, sparkling in the harsh light of the Cage. She looked innocent and fragile like a broken doll.
The door clanged open, and three guards walked in, guns and stun batons held at the ready. She looked at them with dead eyes, and waited to be lead out of The Cage. The pool of blood was slowly creeping towards her, but she made no move to step out of the way, watching as it puddled around her feet, gleaming dark crimson in the light.
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Twenty minutes later, she was reclining in a rusty, metal tub that was about a foot too small to be comfortable, submerged in lukewarm water. She stared up at the ceiling, not flinching away from the glaring light of the naked bulb. The girl's large, hazel eyes haunted her mind, softly accusing and harshly pleading. She wasn't sure why she couldn't forget the girl's eyes, she usually had no problem forgetting her victims, but there was something about this girl. The memory of her kept forcing its way out of the deep recesses of Rogue's mind.
Rogue sighed and stood up, water trickling down her thin body, and she grabbed the small, scratchy towel from the floor, wrapping it around herself before stepping out of the tub. She ran her hands through her hair, squeezing it to get some of the water out, and walked out of the bathroom.
The luxury room wasn't much, with a small table, chair, and mattress. There was a warm meal sitting on the table waiting for her, mashed potatoes, sausages, and mixed vegetables. There was a diet Coke beside the plate, and a glass of water. It looked like heaven, but Rogue wasn't interested in heaven tonight.
Still, she sat down and ate the meal, and drank the Coke and water, and fell down on the thin mattress, still wrapped in the towel. This was her reward, she thought, her reward for being a killer. She wondered why she had been given the mattress, it hadn't been a really good fight, it was over with in five minutes, she hadn't done anything to deserve the treat. But the thoughts drifted away as a numbing wave of sleep washed over her, brushing away all thought, all emotion, everything.