Cap now sat in the holding cell with all the enslaved gladiators of the arena.
Around him sprawled a collection of "competitors" from across the galaxy, most as unwilling participants as himself, while others had come here as broken souls, preferring a place where they could at least die with some semblance of honor.
Thankfully, his uniform had held up reasonably well, though it now sported a new addition: a metal tracking bracelet around his left wrist.
Steve had carved ten marks into the metal sheeting as the days passed. His hair had grown noticeably longer and hadn't been trimmed in weeks.
He looked somewhat unkempt, lacking access to hygiene products or safe razors he felt comfortable using.
So he simply let it grow. Though it was getting increasingly... uncomfortable.
"So you're the leader of the Avengers," said the speaker, a male Togruta sitting on the bench across from Steve Rogers.
"In a way," Steve admitted. "I typically lead the team, but any of us can take command when the situation requires it."
"How does that work?"
Steve shrugged. "It just does."
"Interesting dynamic," the Togruta said thoughtfully.
"It's not as complicated as it sounds," Steve explained. "Once you understand how the team functions, it becomes natural."
"If you say so."
"Rogers."
Cap looked up at the approaching guard, who banged his baton against the cell bars.
"Showtime," the super-soldier said cordially.
The same Devaronian from before gave Steve a disinterested look. "Your turn."
Steve sighed and stood up once more.
He'd become quite popular lately, which wasn't necessarily a good thing. It meant he rarely got genuine rest periods.
It wasn't every day audiences saw someone dispatch a nexu so efficiently.
"How's our star performer feeling?"
Steve said nothing, simply walking forward without looking back.
"I must say, you're more impressive than most. But that will only make your eventual death more entertaining for the crowd."
"I'm not going to die here."
As he walked toward the arena entrance, Steve selected several items from the weapons rack mounted along the corridor.
From the varied collection of arms and equipment, he chose a pair of spiked bracers and a battered shield.
As much as he missed his vibranium disc, he had to work with available resources.
Events proceeded swiftly after his introduction to the roaring crowd. Moments later, the entertainment began.
Steve Rogers found himself questioning everything about his current situation.
How exactly had he ended up in this world, this galaxy, this universe?
Steve looked up just in time to see a six-legged shadow looming over him.
He secured the bracers around his forearms and gripped the shield handle, ducking just in time to avoid a razor-sharp claw strike.
The super-soldier rolled repeatedly, grabbing the makeshift shield from his back while trying to evade the creature's attacks.
He raised the shield defensively, barely blocking another sharp appendage that nearly punched through the metal.
Steve grimaced as the pointed limb came dangerously close, but after a moment, he composed himself. Feeling the creature struggle to retract its claw, he used his enhanced strength and leverage to pull it down as it tried to withdraw.
He now faced his current opponent directly.
It was a massive crab-like arthropod with six legs, three eyes, and a pair of razor-sharp mandibles that looked capable of shearing through steel.
Which was why he immediately drove one of his spiked bracers into one of the acklay's compound eyes.
The crustacean screamed in agony and struck Steve in the abdomen with one of its powerful legs, sending him flying backward to crash against the arena wall.
Steve quickly regained his footing, gritted his teeth, and charged toward the enraged acklay.
"Come on!"
Steve cleaved through the acklay's defenses...
Steve grew more exhausted with each passing day. If this pattern continued, they would eventually wear him down completely, leading to his inevitable death.
High above the captive audience of these gladiatorial games, the arena's proprietor sat in his private viewing box.
He was a scarred human male whose features bore testimony to a violent past. His attire was ostentatiously expensive, treasures he'd acquired through years of plundering and purchasing the finest goods available.
What had once been an enthusiastic expression had devolved into bored indifference.
"Captain America is quite the competitor," observed one of the boss's entourage.
"Too good," the human said dismissively.
"Why is that problematic?" asked a Zabrak aide.
"In a few more matches, he'll have killed everything we can throw at him," the human said with frustration. "I thought we were getting a broken veteran, not some pseudo-Jedi super-soldier. That damned droid cheated us."
"But Boss, we haven't paid the full amount yet, have we?"
"Where's the excitement in this?" the human asked in exasperation. "The danger? The fear of losing?"
"We've actually lost significant credits in recent tournaments," said a blue-skinned female assistant, consulting her datapad. "Many patrons have been betting on Rogers to win. In fact, more people have taken substantial winnings from us because of his success."
"That's the gamblers' problem," the Zabrak said with a cynical smile.
The colosseum boss tuned out his entourage's banter, groaning in frustration after watching Steve execute a perfect spinning kick.
The leader, wearing a tired expression, simply announced his next decision.
"Release the Corellian Hounds."
Instantly, new creatures entered the fray. Steve spotted them and immediately adopted a defensive stance.
All the while, he remained unaware that one of the thousands of spectators in the stands was watching him intently.
She was a woman with striking magenta hair, emerald eyes, and pale skin that seemed almost luminescent.
She wore a form-fitting dress designed to accentuate her curves for the many wandering eyes throughout the arena.
The woman soon began moving through the crowd, pulling a communication device from her belt to place a call.
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