Psylocke woke very slowly. She felt heavy and sluggish, like she had overslept. She turned over and reached out for her nightstand to her turn her clock around. Her arm caught air and fell against the side of the bed. "Hmm?" she mumbled. She opened one eye and noticed that her nightstand was gone. Then she noticed that the room was not hers, and neither was the bed. She pushed herself up, patting her hair down to her head. To her left and right she saw fifteen bunk beds lined up next to each other. There were people sleeping and sitting up to talk all around her. The morning light was glowing orange as it touched the windows. She looked down, and noticed a man sleeping in the bed below hers. She frowned. Am I dreaming? She wondered. She looked down at herself and noticed that she was in a black, loose fitting bodysuit. Then, she caught sight of two metal bracelets on her wrists. Binders? "What the hell is going on?!" she shouted. The sleeping bodies in the room started to stir. A woman on the bunk next to hers shushed her. Psylocke scowled at her. "We're on Tattooine. I can tell from the two suns." "Tattooine? How did I get here?" Then she remembered the pet store, and the sonics, and the cold woman's voice that taunted her on a ship. "Am I dreaming?" she murmured. "This is no dream," she woman said nonchalantly. We've all been brought here, but no one knows why." At that moment, a Twi'lek dressed in red and golden metal entered the barrack. He was high above them, walking on a balcony near the ceiling. "Welcome, gladiators" he bellowed. "Some of you are here by choice, and some of you are not. There is only one way to leave. The first is by winning ten rounds. The second, is in a body bag. There is no way to escape." Gasps and murmurs erupted throughout the room. Psylocke kept silent. "We will call each player out when it is his or her time. We will then read you the rules and take you out into the field. With that he turned and left, leaving thirty stunned faces staring after him. "Rounds? Gladiators? What is he talking about?" "He talking about us," a man on her right answered. He was older than she, and a bit disheveled. "This must be the annual gladiator tournament and we're the players." "Huh interesting." She pinched herself and frowned.
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