text: [Themes: fantasy, historical]
  
  The trip down from the highlands was surprisingly nice. Spring is in the air for sure. The birds are churping and the ice is melting from the mountains feeding streams of gloriously clear water. Braak sips a hand full out of one of these streams. The frigid water reminds him of winter, but the sun peeking through the clouds warms his memories of summer. He quickly prays to the druid gods that he will see the coming summer and not be killed be the Romans on sight. He walks further up the road, through the forest to an opening: green fields as far as the eye can see. Up ahead is the gate into the city. The guards don't stop everyone going in and out, but it's best to have a story in case they do. Braak's appearance is one of a basic Pictish peasant. What's the best cover story to go with that?
  
  > Business Connections
  As Braak approaches the gate, his hands begin to sweat depite the cool breeze blowing through the meadows. Standing sentry are two Roman guards. Both of them are adorned with beautiful metallic legionary gear. Neither of them seem really concerned with another unwashed barbarian. You say "Hail Caesar" as you pass, and they repeat the same. And then you walk smoothly into the city.
  
  The trip down from the highlands was surprisingly nice. Spring is in the air for sure. The birds are churping and the ice is melting from the mountains feeding streams of gloriously clear water. Braak sips a hand full out of one of these streams. The frigid water reminds him of winter, but the sun peeking through the clouds warms his memories of summer. He quickly prays to the druid gods that he will see the coming summer and not be killed be the Romans on sight. He walks further up the road, through the forest to an opening: green fields as far as the eye can see. Up ahead is the gate into the city. The guards don't stop everyone going in and out, but it's best to have a story in case they do. Braak's appearance is one of a basic Pictish peasant. What's the best cover story to go with that?
  
  > To save the Princess
  As Braak approaches the gate, his hands begin to sweat depite the cool breeze blowing through the meadows. Standing sentry are two Roman guards. Both of them are adorned with beautiful metallic legionary gear. Neither of them seem really concerned with another unwashed barbarian, but out of routine, the one of the right asks, "In Caesar's name, what is your business in town?".
  
  You defiantly answer, "I am here to save Princess Aallura from the hands of you Roman swine!"
  
  The soldiers give Braak a hard long stare and then burst into laughter! "Oh, yes, Briton barbarian be our guest! Go into the Great Hall of the citidel, march up the stairs, pass all the guards, and open the princess's door at the end of the hall! While you are at it, bring us the Sword of Achilles if it isn't a problem."
  
  You slyly play off your foolish profession saying, "I almost had you guys. But you can't get anything past you Romans."
  
  "For a dirty Briton slug, you are alright with us! Thanks for cheering us up. Here's a denari, go buy a drink on us. Oh, watch out for the poisonious arrows when you storm the fortress!" The legion guard continues to laugh as you pull away. Arrogance can make a man loose with his tongue. The Legion gate guards not only gave you one denari, but they also gave directions to the princess's room. Poisonious arrows? That sounds bad.
  
  > The Square
  You stand at the main square of Vespasium. The town is quite impressive for a barbarian like yourself, but it could never match the glory and splendor of Rome. To the east is the Market District. Merchants of all sorts peddle their meager products to an unrefined population. Directly in front of you is Big Boar's Tavern, a local drink and eatery. In some ways it's sanctuary from the Romans since they never go in there. In the very center of the town is the Roman stronghold, the citadel where they might be holding the princess. To the West is the Slum district. The Slum district: you'll never find a greater collection of all the scum in the city!
  
  Where to?
  
  The trip down from the highlands was surprisingly nice. Spring is in the air for sure. The birds are churping and the ice is melting from the mountains feeding streams of gloriously clear water. Braak sips a hand full out of one of these streams. The frigid water reminds him of winter, but the sun peeking through the clouds warms his memories of summer. He quickly prays to the druid gods that he will see the coming summer and not be killed be the Romans on sight. He walks further up the road, through the forest to an opening: green fields as far as the eye can see. Up ahead is the gate into the city. The guards don't stop everyone going in and out, but it's best to have a story in case they do. Braak's appearance is one of a basic Pictish peasant. What's the best cover story to go with that?
  
  > None of their business
  As Braak approaches the gate, his hands begin to sweat despite the cool breeze blowing through the meadows. Standing sentry are two Roman guards. Both of them are adorned with beautiful metallic legionary gear. Neither of them seem really concerned with another unwashed barbarian. You say "Hail Caesar" as you walk up, and they repeat the same. And then you walk smoothly into the city before you are stopped.
  
  "Wait a minute, Celtic dog. What's your business in the city?"
  
  "I'm not Celtic." You answer quickly.
  
  "What?" The guard replies
  
  "I'm not a Celt. I'm a Briton."
  
  The legionaire lets his back hand fly into Braak's face! That was painful! As Braak struggles to his feet. The soldier unsheathes his sword saying, "You insolent fool. I ought to kill you right here."
  
  Luckily the other guard butts in, "Just tell us your business in town and no more harm with come to you."
  
  "None of your business."
  
  "Now that was a dumb answer," says the more violent guard as he strikes you with the handle of his sword. You are out cold!
  
  > Dark as Hell, not quite as warm.
  Braak awakes slightly dazzled with a pounding headache. Those Romans definitely don't fool around. It's dark as Hell in this prison cell but not quite as warm. The thick stone walls are covered with moss and dripping of water. The constant dripping could kill a man if the Romans weren't so thorough in hastening a man's trip to the next world. Across from you is an elderly man, chained to the wall just like you. Do you talk to the old man? Or wait to see what happens?
  (By the way, it's strange, but you didn't lose an items in your inventory. If you had items in your inventory....)[Themes: sci-fi, science fiction, post-apocalyptic, dystopia]
  
  The gate opens. The assembled spectators buzz, hum, and clank their disapproval as you step out.
  
  The rusted up loading bot is a crowd favorite. Aware of that, you take your time. Telegraphing your attacks with the beamblade, letting one of the stones flung from his catapult come within a centimeter of clipping you. A fragment from one of the projectiles you deflect does scratch your paint, and that's genuine.
  
  In the cloud of dust raised by the barrage, you see...opportunity.
  
  [Author's Note: You harvest in the Arena. Every machine needs a function, and that is yours. Written for the Tiny 'Topia challenge.]
  
  > >CIRCLE
  Use the cover of the thick dust to circle around behind your opponent, then spring onto his back and behead him: that was the plan.
  
  Not being a laborer, you're already in mid leap before you recognize the beeping much of the crowd has taken up as being their universal signal for look behind you.
  
  The loading bot abruptly pivots at the hips and a fist like a truck smashes into your legs. Warning screens flash across your vision and even before you hit the ground you know one knee is shattered. Your beamblade meanwhile has landed nearby, and you desperately fling yourself in that direction.
  
  One fist pounds the ground where your torso was a moment ago. The other caves in your left shoulder plate, immobilizing the arm. Snatching the beamblade right handed, you activate it in firing mode, blasting a hole straight through the head of the bot as it looms above you.
  
  He collapses. On top of you.
  
  You hear something else inside you snap, while the larger bot goes motionless. You think you fried his brain module.
  
  That's...not a good thing...
  
  > >REPAIR
  'Putting The Project behind, even by one destroyed module. Unacceptable.'
  
  'I know.'
  
  'This damage you've taken. We'll need experts to repair you. We'll have to pull them from The Project. Unacceptable.'
  
  'I'm sorry.'
  
  'The loading bot nearly won. We would have had to provide the promised upgrades. Even if your body was intact enough to be offered, having a common laborer in our ranks would be--'
  
  'Unacceptable, yes.'
  
  'And the module. Again. Some would demand a brain for a brain. That's logical, don't you agree?'
  
  You're forced to admit the logic of it, but plead your centuries of loyal service.
  
  In the end you're allowed to keep your brain, but demoted to a less humanoid body on tank treads, a compromise the commander seems to find acceptable. Orders now are to oversee workers in a scrapyard. You loathe the body and are unenthusiastic about the work, but use your position to make some illicit modifications, running calculations on the possibility of reentering the Arena as a challenger and fighting your way back up to your old rank.
  
  That opportunity never comes. Instead, you hear that soldiers and security are sweeping through the factories and mines, slaughtering workers en masse. Astonishingly, rumors say many of the commoners have rejected their ethics programming and organized resistance.
  
  What's your stance on all this?
  
  > >LOYALTY
  "I'm not a rebel!" you insist to the soldiers. You identify yourself and swear you support The Administrator and The Project.
  
  "We remember you. And this is fortunate. Come with us."
  
  You're led to the body of one of their commanders. Half her skull has been blasted away.
  
  Two of them restrain you while the third pries open a panel on the back of your head. "Her memory chip still functions. We just needed an intact body and brain. Your loyalty is appreciated."
  
  He pops your memory chip free from your brain module to make room for the new occupant.
  
  Darkness.
  
  You're still conscious. But unplugged from a brain, memories fade fast. You faintly hope they'll archive you somewhere, but realistically you expect you'll just--