Coliseum Fighter|2|Various x Fighter!Reader x Levi

    The room Hitch led you into looked like a courtroom that got refurbished to fit the Coliseum.

                Where the jury usually sat were some wooden bleachers that were put behind the wooden railing of the section. Some uniformed people with crests stitched onto their vests were sitting on the bleachers; some sitting up straight; some leaning towards the railing in interest; some standing quietly at the end of the benches.

                The opposite side was like a mirror image, except for the little side door in the corner, where you saw a foot disappear as the door shut; looking like it was part of a dragged body. You were pretty sure you say some bandages on said foot, like the ones you had on your foot and hands.

                Feeling a hard elbow to the ribs, you turn to look at Hitch, who pointed to something in front of you. Following her finger, your eyes fell on a raised podium that was meant for where the judge was supposed to sit. It was now occupied by a man who was sitting in the shadows, leaning on his two clenched fists. Somehow, despite not seeing his face, you could feel his eyes on you and Hitch; but mostly you.

                Slowly letting your eyes fall from the judges’ platform to the mat that was placed in the middle of the room, you instantly noticed the bloody splatter that was streaked across the material. Now you knew why the foot that was dragged out of the side door wasn’t walking for its own body. Nobody could be walking after losing that much blood.

                Out of the corner of your eye, you say Hitch smile, an arm guiding you towards the centre; towards the mat. You guessed it was going to be your blood splattered against the mat soon.

                “Is this the Fighter in question?” asked the man sitting in the judge’s podium.  The question made it sound like it you were on trial; how fitting.

                “Yessir,” Hitch replied, no longer smiling. Her hand was twisted over her heart in a sort of salute.

                “Interesting,” the man replied, “I thought your fellow attendant said it was a boy.”

                “That’s the other one, sir,” Hitch corrected. The room went silent, the figures in the jury’s seat seemingly leaning forward silently in eager interest. It wasn’t an atmosphere you were used to; usually, everyone would be chanting your opponent’s name, or screaming for a fight, or applauding the arrival of the other Fighter. Here, it was a dead air; the only tension was the buzz in the air that was similar in between two chess players.

                “Does this one fight well?” the man inquired. You glanced at Hitch, still in stiff salute.

                “She served as a filler Fighter in her previous fights, sir; a meat sack. Most of her fight plans were on a semi-defensive level; always priming her for near misses to make her opponents’ defence look good.”

                “And the other part of her fight plans?”

                You could see Hitch visibly wince. “Her other plans was to not retaliate as her opponent beat her up,” Hitch answered.

                “You didn’t answer my first question.”

                Hitch shifted uncomfortably, still not looking at you. “I-I don’t know how well she fights at her full potential, sir.”

                The shadowed man leaned forward, falling into brighter light, and you inclined your head in surprise. You recognized the face; it was Nile Dok, head of the Military Police, the very organization that was supposed to be ratting out these underground Coliseums. Well, that was what was set in the law anyways; the law didn’t matter too much these days. You should’ve expected it to, if only the light had shone a little brighter on the massive banner that was draped over the wall behind Nile. The banner showed a green silhouette of a unicorn’s head, complete with a white horn and mane; the insignia of the Military Police.

                “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to watch her fight without background statistics. Rather exciting actually,” Nile remarked, not looking as excited as he was letting on. “What’s your name, Fighter?”

                You were about to say your real name when your memory flashed back to the conversation you had with Hitch in the back room.

                “I’m F-117,” you deadpanned. Nile nodded in acknowledgment; you had remembered.

                “Promising start,” Nile said. “You could be the beginning of something good.”

                “Step onto the mat,” he ordered, waving at the mat at the centre of the room. You complied, curling your toes to familiarize yourself with the feel of the material.

                Nile brought his hand from the direction of the mat to the side door at the corner of the room.

                “Good time to test the other rookie out too,” he commented, flicking his fingers up as if gesturing for something to come.

                As he commanded, the side door opened, revealing a freckled Fighter about the same age as you, wearing nothing but baggy shorts and bandages on his hands and feet.

                Stepping onto the mat, the boy stood there, hands at his sides, rotating his feet to warm up; jumping a few times.

                “F-117, meet your opponent, F-112. He will be your opponent.”

                The freckled boy put his fists up in front of his face, readying into a defensive stance, while you looked around the room. Everyone had their eyes on you and the boy, but there were no cheers or shouts. Just silence.

                Looking up at Nile for the gesture to start, like what the umpire would at a regular Coliseum fight. But out of the corner of your eye, you saw the freckled boy attack.

                You had only seconds to react.