The roar of the crowd hit you like a punch to the chest, many of which you had received already. You were destined to be a Junker, and you knew you had what it took to impress the cutthroat Queen. The metal bleachers rattled with the weight of hundreds of onlookers, their chants blending into a single, feral howl as they peered down at you, bloodied but determined.

A blaring horn cut through the noise of the crowd, a signal that your next opponent was coming. A heavy gate slammed open at the far end of the arena and you felt your entire body tense. She steps out like she owns the damn world, because frankly? She does. A grin is on her lips like a predator who has already decided how this ends, the crowd losing their minds as they chant her name.

“JUNKER QUEEN! JUNKER QUEEN!”

She dragged her axe behind her, the blade carving sparks into the floor as her eyes sweep the crowd, then land on you. The crowd's chants are muffled in your ears, all you can hear is your pulse.

“Well, well, well,” She drawled, “So I 'ear you're trying to test your metal on my gladiators. How's 'bout a real fight?”