It was all Elytra could do to not voice her incredulity aloud. Biting back the expletives that more accurately captured her feelings on the subject, she instead said, "What."
Pryseia smirked like she knew what was really running through Elytra's mind.
"Are you unsound?!" Elytra hissed, "You're basketing all your hopes of escape in me?!"
"Of course not. I'll be there to help. But you're going to have to be the one who gets in that mech."
"Why? Are you incapable yourself?"
That got an actual laugh out of Pryseia, thankfully not one loud enough to draw the attention of the guards.
"I say this with no arrogance, but I am the most capable mech pilot in this place," she replied, and Elytra could feel the truth of her words, "Be that as it may, that mech isn't mine to command."
"And it's mine?" Elytra shot back.
A nod was the only answer Pryseia gave her.
"I take it the reason for that is something you can't share?"
Pryseia turned to fully face her then. "I promise you, when we are no longer under the threat of surveillance, I will leave no question of yours unanswered. Unfortunately, escape hinges on discretion, and so I must be discrete."
The truth of that settled as heavy as gravity. That was something that eased Elytra's nerves somewhat. So far, despite being vague, Pryseia had been nothing but honest with her, and with how terribly she'd been treated since her capture, she would take any kindness she could get. She scoffed at herself on thinking that, however, as she had barely been polite, not even kind in return during the course of this entire conversation.
"Elytra Cerci Setula Clypeus, fourth in clutch," she said, touching her left hand to her forehead plate briefly, "Thank you for saving my life."
"I'm sure you'll return the favour before this tournament comes to a close, Elytra." Was Pryseia's confident reply.
Before either of them could continue the conversation, a chime rang through the room, and everyone's collars began to gently tug them away. With a wave of farewell, Pryseia headed off towards a growing knot of her own kind, while Elytra stepped into line with hers. Soon enough, they were all led down empty corridors to their bare rooms, the lights dimming enough to give the vague impression of sunset.
"Training will begin in the morning," the yellow and black baithaizan informed from the display a few moments after Elytra entered her cell, "Please retire to your bed as soon as possible. A rested body is a successful body!"
Elytra could not stop her eyes from rolling as the display faded back into being a useless clock.
With nothing else to do in the featureless confines of her cell, especially with Pryseia's warning of constant surveillance fresh in her mind, Elytra went through as much of her evening routine as she could with the supplies given to her. She also discovered that the shower doubled as a toilet when she crouched in it to retrieve the plate polish she dropped in the stall, and a small hole irised open beneath her. She supposed it was efficient, but she found it weird none the less. Just another oddity that set the baithaizans apart from her own people.
Changed into the sleepwear provided, Elytra settled down on the bed, and the moment she did, the lights immediately shut off, while the clock display dimmed to almost nothing. Without the faint light it cast, the room would have been sent into a sensory-depriving level of darkness, and Elytra wasn't sure if that would be a blessing or a curse.
With no cushions, no blankets, Elytra tossed and turned until sleep finally dragged her under. Her dreams were filled with the echoes of everyone she'd lost, and everyone she'd killed.
She didn't get much rest.
A blandly pleasant jingle roused Elytra from her restless sleep who knew however long later, the light brightening enough to mimic dawn.
"Welcome to your first day of training, combatant!" The yellow and black baithaizan announced from the display, "Breakfast will be served in an hours time. Please prepare for the day."
The clock that remained when the alien faded away was still as meaningless as it was the day before. Elytra glared at it. They could psychically force the understanding of multiple spoken languages into her mind, but they couldn't do the same with numerical systems? With the care the baithaizans had shown them, the thought probably hadn't crossed their minds.
Not knowing how long one of their hours were, she rushed through her morning routine, pleased to find that the persistent headache from the day before had broken overnight. She then discovered than an hour on this world was clearly longer than those on the world she'd grown up on, because she was left with too much time on her hands, time enough to spiral into a bout of catastrophizing and guilt that she didn't notice the summons to leave her cell until her collar gently jerked her forward. Outside, she fell into line once more, and her group was once more led to the dining room.
Bare walls, sourceless light, tables and chairs built only for function, food and liquid that may as well have been tasteless, captives eating quietly while shooting wary glances at the guards who patrolled above them, a repeat of last night's dinner. Elytra was not looking forward to this becoming the norm for however long this tournament was going to run.
She sought out Pryseia across the room, and found her a handful of tables away from her, powering through her meal with a military precision. She sent Elytra a wink when she noticed her stare. Clearly this oppressive atmosphere wasn't dampening her spirits, but Elytra felt like too many meals like this, and she'd either fall prey to disassociation or mania. Both sounded appealing at this point.
As soon as the last diner finished, their collars once again had them out of their seats and down another featureless corridor. She thought, at first, that they were being brought back to their rooms, as they brought them to a hall of doors where they were peeled off into, one by one, but it wasn't her cell that awaited her when she stepped inside.
It was still a cramped space, to be sure, but instead of a bed, there was a complicated chair in the centre of the room, the far wall dominated by screens that showed a simulated outdoor scene. Once the door slid shut behind her, a baithaizan appeared on screen. This one was mottled tan and orange with vibrant green eyes, and the uniform they wore had a rigid cut that screamed military.
"Welcome, combatant," they said with confidence, rather than the bland affectation of the announcer and display guide, "To the cockpit of a T0-K4Y Bipedal Assault Unit. Take your seat to begin the basic tutorial tutorial."