The next time Elytra came to consciousness, she found herself on the floor of a dimly lit cell big enough for a bed and little else.
She stood hastily, grabbing at the collar around her neck, but before she could even begin to try prying it off, the lights brightened and a pleasant jingle sounded from behind her. As she turned, a display blinked to life near the ceiling, showing another alien like the announcer from the arena. Their skin was covered in splotches of yellow and black, their attire far simpler than the robes the announcer had worn, while their eyes were a burnt orange colour. They opened their four arms in what looked like a gesture of welcome before they began to speak.
"Welcome, contestant, to your quarters for the duration of this tournament," the alien beamed with the placid cheer of a public service worker, "When not engaged with matches, training, feeding, or mandatory socializing, you will be spending your time here. A bed has been provided to suit the specifications of your species, as has the rejuvenation chamber below."
As one of their arms gestured down, the outline of a door lit up on the back wall, a small rectangular light in the centre of it.
"On top of maintaining hygiene, the rejuvenation chamber can be used to heal minor injuries. Major injuries will be treated by our highly qualified medical staff. You will also find an assortment of outfits within the chamber. Returning them to the rack will have them cleaned. Food will be served in… 2.7 hours… after which will be a period of mandatory socialization. Please take this time to attend to your ablutions. We look forward to your participation in this tournament."
The image of the alien faded away, leaving behind what was clearly a clock counting down, but Elytra couldn't bring herself to care. Instead, she screamed, trying to pull the collar apart with all her might, but it remained indifferent to her efforts. She sank to the floor, her scream tapering off into sobs as the events that led her to this place flashed through her mind.
Alien ships in the skies of the colony world she'd been born on.
Foreign troops flooding the streets, firing on anything that moved.
The orbital bombardment that levelled centuries of construction in a matter of moments.
Watching her family being vaporized as their home was reduced to molecules.
Walking straight into the enemy's line of fire, hoping for death and being imprisoned instead.
The holding cells with the dimensions of a coffin.
The suspended animation.
Being forced into and out of consciousness for who knew how long.
The arena.
The fight.
The aliens who now lay dead at her hands.
It was all too much.
For the first time in longer than she realized, Elytra fell into unconsciousness all on her own.
She wasn't sure how much time had passed when she came to on the floor of her cell again. The clock near the ceiling was useless to her, as the way her alien captors told time was very different from how her own species did. The outline of the door was still lit, but she didn't know if that was a deviation or the norm.
Nothing about these aliens felt normal.
The brutality of her capture, the needless force they levelled against her home, and the bloodsport she'd been thrown into, it all felt at odds with the benign appearance and mannerisms of the few members of this race she'd seen. The baithaiz or whatever it was they called themselves. And capturing people to pit them against one another so that the captives could have the "privilege" to fight and die for them!? How did that make sense?
Maybe this "mandatory socialization" would provide some answers.
Elytra stood and went to the door. When it didn't open at her approach, she touched the glowing rectangle in the centre of it, and the door immediately slid off to the side. The room within was more brightly lit, but like the room outside, like the arena she'd been forced to fight in, it was all stark white colouring and featureless decor. Directly across from the door was a mirror above a counter with an inset sink. The counter had no doors, but the shelves were neatly lined with personal hygiene items - soap, brushes, plate polish, cleaning cloths, things that would not doubt be too harsh for her soft skinned captors. To the left was what looked like a shower stall, and set into the right wall was a clear panel, through which she could see an assortment of outfits hanging. Touching the panel had it sliding aside like the door had, and Elytra saw that the outfits were labelled. Sleepwear, recreation, training, combat. All of them as blandly white as everything else in this place.
The clear panel closed on its own the moment Elytra stepped away to stare at herself in the mirror, hands clutching the rim of the sink. She looked like shit. The pink of her flesh and purple of her carapace were washed out to pastel shades, and she knew it wasn't just the harsh lighting in the room that was responsible for that. Her clothes were torn, burnt in places from her initial abduction, and they looked… old. Like they'd been stashed away and forgotten in storage for years. Just how long had she been in and out of suspended animation? She was splattered with colour, the rainbow hues of the blood of those she'd been forced to fight. Well, except for the paths her tears had cleaned down her face. Her body still ached, but now there were brighter flares of pain from the numerous wounds she'd taken. Glancing down, she saw that her hands were mostly fine, beyond being covered in the blood of others. The plates of her knuckles had proven to be an advantage against the majority of other aliens, who had no such natural protection.
Against her will, she heard their cries ringing through her mind. Her people, koleopterans, were psychically sensitive, especially to the flare of psychic energy unleashed when a person died. Those who worked in professions where death was commonplace often underwent training to prepare and defend against these outbursts, but as a courier, Elytra had no such training. Unguarded, the dying moments of those in the arena had flooded her mind, and it was only her focus on staying alive that kept them at bay.
But now, in the solitary confinement of her cell, she had nothing to distract her.
She took a deep, shaking breath, trying to call on the assorted grounding techniques all koleopterans were taught as children, hoping they'd be enough to quell the worst of it.
Centre her mind.
Focus on her physical body.
Breathe.
Don't think about blood.
Easier said than done.
She shoved away from the sink as another wave of anguish crested through her mind, turning towards the shower. She knew, metaphorically, the stain of what she'd been forced to do would never wash from her soul, but she could at least get physically clean.
It probably wouldn't help all that much, but it certainly couldn't hurt.