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The cell was nothing like an actual room, but it was much nicer here at the arena than they were at the prison. The prison... Hunter hated it, and it had been his place of residence for several months. Now, being proven physically fit, he was brought to the arena to fight to the death in a gladiator style duel. It was the governments way of controlling over crowded prisons, and to wrack up money when they aired it to the world.

Everyday he ate, trained, and rested systematically. He had not fought yet, but they were getting him ready to. Hunter knew there was no way he would ever live, even if he won the first many, there would always be another fight until he was defeated, and killed. His train of thought was interrupted as the cell door opened and new prisoners were tossed in.

"How's it going?" He greeted them casually.

Jacob hated being poked, especially when it was the tip of a large rifle. He cursed under his breathe at the guards whom corralled h to his new cell. Although the building was nicer, and tidier than his former prison, it still reeked. The repulsive smell of sweat and blood filled his nostrils, quickly making him gag. As he, and his group of prisoners neared a bend in the hallway, he struck. With his still-shackled fists he knocked the rifle barrel away from the nearest guard so it was no longer against his back.

After he had done that, the chaos had started. Men were stumbling over each other trying to get to Jacob, none actually using their weapons. At the dazed guard he swung his hand into the mans temple, rendering him unconscious. Without the slightest bit of hesitation Jacob continued fighting. His right knee came hard into the other guard's gut, making him stumble backwards and fall down. By that time the hard wooden butt of a rifle came crashing down onto Jacob's skull making it throb in pain.

"Keep moving!" Shouted the infuriated guard that had struck him. Jacob just rolled his eyes and carried on their walk as if nothing eventful had even happened. He grunted as he was shoved into the, rather nice, cell. Spitting to the side he nodded in approval, as if anyone cared. At his cell mates question he returned with a scowl. "Peachy." He grumbles.

Watching passively, Derik was quite amused at the ruckus his fellow prisoner had stirred. With a large grin spread across his face, he trudged along the long, and narrow hallway. Glancing at the man whom had started the chaotic fight, which only he took a part in, and did a fairly good job at it. He admired his fighting techniques, but could easily point out the many flaws it had. When he, and his group, neared the door they were supposed to be put in, he sighed.

Derik growled as the guards shoved him through the large open, double metal doors, that would hold him until his death. He remained silent as the man who was already taking residence in the cell, spoke. A small chuckle slipped past his sore and chapped lips as the man snapped at the other. Figuring he should greet the new guy, he spoke.

"Ya' know, being thrown into a cell to fight to the death isn't exactly ideal, but better than nothing." He shrugged at his own remark.

Hunter shot Derik a look. "Nothing as in no captivity? Roaming free, not being the state's pet? No, I think it is worst than nothing." Turning his gaze back up to the newcomer he spoke directly to him. "Welcome to the arena. Stop getting yourself abused by the guards and you'll have a much nicer time... until you die." Although some may have thought he was making a joke, as a prisoner another cell over chuckled, he was not. His face portrayed no smile.

Jacob sneered at the new one. "I don't need to be in here to take abuse from the government," He spoke in an wickedly angered voice, "it happens just enough from outside the bars." After hearing his defiance against the government, the closest guard stuck Jacob with the hard wooden butt of his weapon. With a low grunt he hopped forward rubbing his back.

"Introduce yourselves later, get ready for the arena," The highest ranking guard spoke with a heavy English accent. "From what I've heard, the people you're facing will be a wee bit of an obstacle." With that lingering in the air, the pack of guards slam the metal doors shut, and you here the clicks, and clanks of metal locks.

Derik didn't have much of response for either one of his partners remarks. Moving backwards, he settled his gaze on the furnishings, trying to divert his thoughts from the cold hands of death. Shuttering at his own dark thoughts, he strode around the room keeping his eyes glued to his feet. His mind raced through battle tactics, and what weapon choice would be best for his weight and agility. A question worked to the top of his busy mind and just slipped from his mouth. "So," he spoke through cracked lips, "do we train together, or do we all have separate schedules?"

Hunter looked from face to face. "I've studied what happens here. First we train. They will let us into a court yard to practice what we wish with dull and or fake weapons. We fight only melee, so the audience can get more for their money and won't get hit by a bullet or arrow. Next we actually fight a tournament, elimination by death. Winner lives to fight another day." Anger hinted in the man's voice as he spoke. "Everyone understand?"