TFP: Legends Never Die

Chapter 5: Cynderfire

I beat myself up for orns after the failed escape. How could I have missed the one opportunity I was given to get out of this hell hole?

As a result, security had tightened, especially when it came to me. I couldn't so much as pace in the cage they put me in anymore. There was barely enough room for me to stay curled up, much less move around. Each of the four walls plus the ceiling was electric, adding to my misery. If I accidentally stretched or shifted in the wrong way I was shocked.

In addition to that, there were now five hefty chains shackling me to the ground at any given time. I learned that whenever they needed me for fighting, the magnetic locks on them released. The chains would drop to the ground, and if I didn't move fast enough I would be prodded with another shock. Down the hallway, into a reinforced chute, and into the arena. I dragged the chains with me to every destination, one around each of my ankles and the last attached to my neck cabling. The chain attached to my neck cabling connected to a heavy-duty muzzle, strapped around my helm and only allowing me to open my mouth enough to refuel. It was never taken off.

There was no escape, and it was slowly being beaten into me every time I was summoned. Every time I exited my cage switched from putting on a show to literally battling for survival. The chains weighed me down and tired me out easily, making every second count. I couldn't tire myself out too soon or else I risked slipping up. Any critical hit would be a fatal one with time.

I had to keep pushing through. There was no other option besides offlining, and as much as I hated my current existence, I wasn't ready to end it. I would either die or be sold, there were no more illusions that escape was an option. Even if I did manage to get out, I would be dragged back or killed. I would never see the blue skies of Cybertron again unless it was paired with the metallic sand of the arena.

Even then I could not do more than glance at the arena before I was forced to fight, a delicate balance. Especially now, when I was set up for failure. If I took too long, my energon levels drained, and I would not be allotted extra. We had to make do with our rations.

At the same time, a quick mauling would decrease my value too much, and they would just shoot me in the chute outside of the arena. I'd heard enough shrill screams and panicked Predacons to know that it was neither smooth nor swift.

We always mourned silently, even for those we'd never spoken to. We suffered together, we formed brotherly bonds, and we hoped to never see each other on the opposite side of the arena. Everyone here had each other's support.

Except for me.

After Nightblade escaped, attitudes changed. Attitudes turned nasty after the security measures were updated, and despite the fact that we were all housed together, I was pushed aside and to the bottom. I was solely blamed, and Nightblade was gone.

No one else would spare me a moment, and the lack of direct interactions was affecting me. Everyone talked over me, ignoring me for all except to hurl insults.

All of the beastformers were fitted with electric cages, although no one of the same frame class as me was forced into a cage this small. None had chains shackling them down. I was serving my punishment, and the other gladiators knowingly added to it.

Patrols increased as well, and in their wake, they left hushed tones. Conversations halted whenever unfamiliar ped steps walked down the row, waiting to see who would be pointed out. Some moved willingly, others had to be forced from their cells.

It was becoming unbearable to us all, even those not as affected as I was. We could smell the increased fear and stress on the guards and knew other parts of the arena had to be lacking. The general lack of stimulation was enough to make us retaliate and place further stress on the guards.