Agents loom, shoulders squared, keeping the crowds in the stands in line – in their seats, unable to leave, forced to witness the horror going on in the great circular structure. A woman tries to throw herself over the side onto the floor itself, trying to get to the gladiators – she's shot immediately, and dragged off by a Militiaman. Someone in the stands faints, and is also carried away. In the midst of the violence, the loud, creaking, metal-on-metal grinding sound of the gates to the Arena being closed splits through the air. Outside, a crowd has been gathering - and it is not a peaceful crowd. Atop the barrier overlooking the main entrance, a Militiawoman shouts that they'll be next against the wall if they don't disperse. Someone in the stands is screaming, “Stop, stop!”, being pulled away by two Gediron temple aids, consoling him by saying they've proven themselves to the gods, now. On the Arena floor, a branded gladiator doubles over and vomits, horrified by what she's done. A hooded figure tells her to get up, or to go on the other side.
A uniformed Militiaman falls from the edge of the Arena wall onto the battlefloor, lifeless, crumpled. Gasps and cries of confusion ring through the air, and in the royalty boxes above, people jump to their feet. After the agent, another black-clad figure falls – no, jumps, drops down and lands in a crouch before rising to his feet. It's a human man carrying a strange straight-bladed sword in one hand, covered entirely except his face (which is plain-looking, fair skin, brown hair). Murmurs of recognition ripple through the crowd, but they aren't widespread. He walks to the center of the Arena, throws his sword on the ground, and raises both hands. In surrender.
Captain Argo rises from his seat, standing at the edge of his viewing box. He, and the other Militia agents with him, are stone-faced. For a moment, it seems like this is what they wanted: a vigilante whose head they can take, instead of the lives of everyone else. Silent tension grips the crowd, clinging to the mad hope that now they've gotten their way, and it will be over.
“Your attempt at nobility has come too late. Kill them all.”
(This is, still, what they wanted.)
Screams of terror break out in the holding cells as every gladiator is rushed out onto the Arena floor, Militia agents following them. The vigilante in the center looks grim, even as two prisoners, armed, rush out to his side. Shouting from outside the gates intensifies, accompanied by the sounds of bottles and rocks being thrown at the walls and gates. Panic wells in the stands. The city councilwoman from Raven's Gate shouts, “No!” and reaches forward, as if trying to get the attention of one of the agents in charge, but she's violently pulled away. An unmasked, brown-haired Militiawoman standing next to Captain Argo looks stricken, but then turns away, back to her job.
Suddenly, the crumbling composure of the Arena at large snaps. The main gate is broken open, and like an erupting volcano, a flood of civilian protestors run inside, shouting, screaming, some carrying signs, some carrying weapons. They storm the Arena, clashing with gladiators and Militiamen alike, pitching the situation into chaos. Up above, the politicians are suddenly ushered out, but it's too late – in minutes, this has gone from a horrifying lesson that could have been controlled to a full-blown riot, and they're already coming up the stairs.
THE RIOTS BEGIN:
A uniformed Militiaman falls from the edge of the Arena wall onto the battlefloor, lifeless, crumpled. Gasps and cries of confusion ring through the air, and in the royalty boxes above, people jump to their feet. After the agent, another black-clad figure falls – no, jumps, drops down and lands in a crouch before rising to his feet. It's a human man carrying a strange straight-bladed sword in one hand, covered entirely except his face (which is plain-looking, fair skin, brown hair). Murmurs of recognition ripple through the crowd, but they aren't widespread. He walks to the center of the Arena, throws his sword on the ground, and raises both hands. In surrender.
Captain Argo rises from his seat, standing at the edge of his viewing box. He, and the other Militia agents with him, are stone-faced. For a moment, it seems like this is what they wanted: a vigilante whose head they can take, instead of the lives of everyone else. Silent tension grips the crowd, clinging to the mad hope that now they've gotten their way, and it will be over.
(This is, still, what they wanted.)
Screams of terror break out in the holding cells as every gladiator is rushed out onto the Arena floor, Militia agents following them. The vigilante in the center looks grim, even as two prisoners, armed, rush out to his side. Shouting from outside the gates intensifies, accompanied by the sounds of bottles and rocks being thrown at the walls and gates. Panic wells in the stands. The city councilwoman from Raven's Gate shouts, “No!” and reaches forward, as if trying to get the attention of one of the agents in charge, but she's violently pulled away. An unmasked, brown-haired Militiawoman standing next to Captain Argo looks stricken, but then turns away, back to her job.
Suddenly, the crumbling composure of the Arena at large snaps. The main gate is broken open, and like an erupting volcano, a flood of civilian protestors run inside, shouting, screaming, some carrying signs, some carrying weapons. They storm the Arena, clashing with gladiators and Militiamen alike, pitching the situation into chaos. Up above, the politicians are suddenly ushered out, but it's too late – in minutes, this has gone from a horrifying lesson that could have been controlled to a full-blown riot, and they're already coming up the stairs.
The Militia opens fire into the crowds.