You dozed on the wooden cot, as there wasn't much else to do in the cell that you and your fellow slave shared. The roar of a crowd sounded like distant thunder, and it crescendo-ed in what you assume was one of the performers executing the other. You tensed at the noise, wondering if it was your fellow cell mates demise that they cheered. You'd tended to half a dozen gladiators at this point, cleaning their wounds, keeping them company, and tending to other 'needs' as they requested, whatever kept them sane and happy. Human slaves sometimes found themselves in the job field of being gladiatorial caretakers, and it was honestly better than what other positions were out there. Besides the occasional caretaker being squashed or eaten, deaths in this field compared to other jobs were slim. doors opened and chains rattled as someone was being guided back to their cell, you sat up and scooted to the edge of the cot so you were visible. The cell door swung open and a wolf in roman style armor glanced at you before moving to the side to let the monstrous, muscular gladiator that was your current job lumber in. He was a good head taller than the wolf soldier, and only wore some armored greaves and a loincloth. He was a large...
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