I hesitate for a moment, considering how to phrase it. The arena is at the center of everything here, the reason we’re all being tested, trained, and paraded around like prize fighters. I need to know what I’m walking into.

  "Have you been to the arena?" I finally ask, leaning forward slightly.

  Nova's expression shifts, the luminescent patterns on her skin dimming as if pulling back into herself. She walks to the viewport window, staring out at the alien landscape before answering.

  "Thirty-seven times," she says, her voice heavy with something that isn't just experience. "My first match was three months after arrival. I thought I was ready, but nothing prepares you for the real thing."

  A construct forms in her palm, light swirling into the shape of an arena—far larger than the training chambers I’ve seen. Tiered seating surrounds a central combat zone, the layout shifting to reveal different terrain configurations.

  "The real arenas are massive, built to hold thousands of spectators. The factions have their own seating areas, their own betting systems, their own victory celebrations." The model rotates again, exposing hidden underground chambers. "Before each match, we wait down here, like animals in a cage, prepped and paraded before they send us out."

  Nova turns back to me, her eyes now a deep violet. "What they don't tell you during training is how the crowds affect your powers. Their energy, their bloodlust, it somehow amplifies abilities beyond normal limits. I've seen fighters perform feats in the arena they never could during practice."

  Her fingers trace one of the luminescent patterns on her arm, following its path up to her shoulder. "This marking appeared after my third victory. Each win in the higher circuits earns you these enhancements—biological modifications that increase your value to sponsors."

  She steps closer, studying my face. "The matches range from simple exhibitions to death contests, depending on the stakes and the sponsors involved. My record stands at twenty-nine victories, six defeats, and two draws. Each defeat costs you privileges, status... sometimes parts of yourself."

  Nova creates another light construct—this one showing two combatants locked in battle, their powers colliding in spectacular fashion. "The most valuable fighters aren't just powerful—they're entertaining. The aliens crave novelty, unexpected tactics, dramatic reversals of fortune. A quick, efficient victory might win the match but disappoints the audience. Sponsors prefer fighters who understand the performance aspect."

  She dissolves the light model with a gesture. "Tomorrow's observation is just a preview. If you impress the right sponsor, you'll advance quickly through the ranks. The question is," she says, reaching out, her fingertips leaving trails of light as they brush against my chest, "are you fighting to become their champion, or do you have other plans?"

  The intensity in her eyes tells me she's asking about more than just my combat aspirations.

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  I study her for a moment, considering my next words carefully. "What are your plans?"

  Nova's luminescent patterns pulse with increased intensity as she considers my question. She moves to a hidden panel in the wall, retrieving a container of iridescent liquid and pouring it into two glasses.

  "They call this 'stellar nectar,'" she says, offering me one. "Reserved for fighters who've earned favor. It enhances sensory perception temporarily."

  She takes a sip, the liquid leaving a glowing trace down her throat before settling. The patterns on her skin brighten in response.

  "My plans..." she says, her voice lower now. "At first, survival was enough. Then advancement, privileges, status." She gestures around her quarters. "But after my twentieth victory, I began to see the larger picture."

  Nova steps closer, her opalescent eyes locking onto mine with newfound intensity. I nod along, trying to keep up. Is she talking about strategy? How to play the game and climb the ranks?

  "There are weaknesses in their system," she whispers. "Blind spots in their surveillance, patterns in their security protocols. With the right abilities, the right timing..."

  Huh? I blink, trying to piece it together. Weaknesses? Patterns? I figured she meant something like manipulating sponsors or rigging fights, but the way she’s framing it…

  She creates a small light construct showing what appears to be a schematic of part of the facility. "There are ways out."

  The words hang in the air. I shift slightly, my brain catching up just a second too late. She isn’t talking about winning at all!

  She dissolves the light model quickly.

  "I've been gathering allies, carefully, selectively. Enhanced humans with complementary abilities and similar ambitions."

  I exhale slowly. Nova isn’t just another fighter trying to score more privileges. She’s talking about rebellion!

  Nova's fingertips trace a pattern on my arm, leaving tingling trails of light.

  "Their biggest mistake was enhancing us, thinking they could control what they created. Some of us have developed abilities beyond their measuring instruments, beyond their understanding."

  She looks at me with calculated assessment. "Your telekinetic abilities are already exceptional, and clearly still developing. In the arena, they'll become even stronger. You could be valuable to my coalition... if your ambitions align with ours."

  I don’t answer right away. My mind scrambles to keep up. I’ve barely figured out how this place works, and now she’s talking about fighting back? I haven't even fully mastered my powers yet!

  Her luminescent patterns form intricate sequences that seem almost like code.

  "We're not just planning escape," she continues. "The aliens have facilities across Earth now. Thousands of humans being processed, enhanced, prepared for their games. Liberation requires more than just breaking our own chains."

  Nova steps back, studying my face. I try to keep my expression from giving away how fast my thoughts are spinning. I’ve only been focused on surviving, learning the rules, maybe even finding an edge. But she’s talking about tearing the whole thing down!

  "Tomorrow's observation is crucial. Impress the right sponsor—one with access to restricted sectors—and you'll accelerate our timeline significantly."

  She moves closer now, her body radiating warmth and light. "So tell me, Gary—are you content to be their gladiator, or do you want to burn their arenas to the ground?"

  Damn it lady, I just came here to get laid, not get caught up in some rebellion!