“It’s always like this,” Simon explained with a soft shake of his head, “Each time the inspector comes by, usually actually civil and amicable people are suddenly lethargic, if not even apathetic, or, what we also had, they act as if stricken by raven madness.
“But why?! I mean, don’t they want to get out of here?! Don’t they know that this is essentially a prison?! Why wouldn’t they…” I argued, but my words failed me down the line.
Toby sighed and said, “Yeah well, it’s not like they don’t want to.”
“So then why?! Why act like that?!”
“Fear,” Toby stated matter-of-factly, while the rest of the small group lowered their heads.
Taken aback I stuttered, “What do you mean, ‘fear’?”
“I mean what I say. They are afraid.”
“But of what?!”
“Oh, take your pick. The world outside, which did not want them, the looming war, the uncertain future. I mean, you yourself have stated that you aren’t all that keen on fighting in a war that doesn’t concern you. You just want out of here, so you can get into the capital to look for a way home. Or did that change? Did you suddenly develop a great sense of patriotism for a kingdom that has done nothing but mistreat you thus far? Cause if so, I don’t know if I want to continue associating with you.”
“Well, no. I mean, my plan still remains the same. But seriously, why don’t they just scram? It’s not like we’re taken to the battlefield in chains...right?”
“Not that I’d know of, but I’ve only heard rumors and stories, so who knows what it’s really going to be like. Though, in all honesty, considering how much trouble they’re going through to feed and shelter us here, they’d be fools if they’d just let us run free.”
“So...there really is no chance at all?”
Toby shook his head again and says, “Sorry, bud. But that’s the way it is. That’s how the world is.”
And with that, the group dissolved, as life started to pick up around us again.
Back to normal, as if nothing ever happened...an entire small city pretending to be unfit to be released into the world. Shakespeare was right after all. The entire world’s a stage and we are all but actors. All their life, one plays many parts. Or something like that.

The days passed and I fell into a hole. I was given work to do, which I went about diligently, but this wasn’t my work. Not, what I was born to do...assuming there really is something like that. But at least it paid the bills, kept me fed and sheltered. All things considered, my time in the town of champions was among the best, the most normal, I’ve ever had since coming to this world. I attended the arena fights as they were announced, but took very little interest in the spectacle. It was, as if someone had blown out the candle that had guided my way until then. And I would likely have succumbed to depression entirely, if not for Martha and that fierce spirit of hers.

Once day, while slumping through the roads of the town that was now my home, I suddenly got surrounded by a number of young women. The kind you usually wouldn’t look at twice, mind you, not the stunning beauties or at least cute ones you often encounter in stories like this. Just normal girls and women, unremarkable and a perfect fit for the town. Their expression had hardened and life had taken a visible toll on their faces and skin. After it became apparent, that they wouldn’t make way for me, I stopped and asked what was going on. They told me, that ‘Selina needed to have a chat with Batman’. Naturally I told them that I was not Batman. Have never been, in fact. But they didn’t take ‘No’ for an answer, which is how I ended up being escorted to the arena, where Martha was already warming herself up for a match. And it was obvious, whom her opponent, or much rather her ‘victim’ was going to be.

They shoved me into the cage, locked the door behind me and I dragged myself towards the center of the ring, my shoulders and my head hanging low.
“Do you know, why you are here?” Martha asked.
“Because your girls dragged me here. So, what do you want with me? Because I really don’t feel like fighting you. If you just need a sandbag though, be my guest.”
‘Not like it matters either way,’ I added in thought.
“No, I don’t want to fight you. I want to fight Batman. I want to fight the man, who heard a girl cry and came to her aid, no questions asked. I want to fight the guy, who held his own against a dozen attackers at the same time. The guy, who tried to lead the people into a better future.”
I looked up at her and uttered a small ‘Heh’ before saying, “Sorry to break it to you, but that man doesn’t exist any more. The league doesn’t exist any more either. Well, it still might, but I’m out.”

Suddenly, a small stone whizzed by my head, mere centimeters past my ear. And it came with enough force that it might have knocked me out if it had hit my forehead. Or worse.
“Stop right there! Why did you even come here?! Cause you see, I’ve asked around about you. Supposedly, you assaulted some big shot aristocrat, torched a hall of justice and then just walked up to the guards at the main gate of Eregrund to get yourself brought here.”
Slightly annoyed I corrected her, “I did not assault anyone, nor did I torch anything. The only fallacy I have myself to blame for is thinking that I’d find help at the capital!”

Come to think of it, it was a little strange that Martha knew so much about my past. Though I guess it is, as it is with every prison. You only need to know the right people to learn about things that are supposed to be far beyond to reach. I mean, there’s supposedly been killings orchestrated from within prison. Getting information about someone as...unique as myself shouldn’t pose a big problem.

“Help? Help doing what? Help finding the front line? What for? Because it is the right thing to do? Because you think this is all just a dream? A game?! What is it, that lead you to the gates of Eregrund back then?!”
I shrugged at her assault of questions and replied, “I was trying to get into the capital to find a mage who could send me home. Or at least find information about someone who can do that.”
“So...you’re not looking for glory then? To ‘prove yourself’?”
I scoffed, “Lady, I’m 37. Half my life’s done and over with. In fact, my personal midlife crisis is overdue. I have a job that both pays the bills and that I like doing and I consider myself lucky for it. I have a wife and a little 7 year old son. And then, all of a sudden, I wake up here and it’s all gone. So yeah, at first I did think it to be a dream of some sort. I mean, whatever else could it be? But it’s been lasting for weeks now. If not even months, I don’t know. So yeah, maybe I once did have ‘ambitions of glory’. But now? Now I just want to wake up. Go home. Return to my life. To my family. To my silly job, where the biggest problem is dealing with superiors who don’t listen to reason and don’t appreciate my input.”

Martha nodded and then assumed a fighting stance.
I noticed and asked, “What are you doing?”
“To get home, you need to get out of here. To get out of here, you need to become a hero. Be able to make a difference. Now, you can either continue to drown yourself in despair and self-pity...or you can be the man, who charges into danger head first for a woman he doesn’t even know. Because it is the right thing to do.”
“Yeah well, I don’t think I’d do that again. That was a pretty harrowing experience and if not for you, it would—“
Martha cut me off with another stone throw, but I saw it coming and evaded to the side, just before she broke into a sprint and started attacking me. I was hard pressed to block her attacks, swift and powerful, but also clearly without the intent to hurt or even kill me.

Looking back I realize, that she merely meant to snap out of my spiral of self-deprecation. And she did it using the only means she had at the time. By fighting. It is as they say. Where words fail, violence takes their place.

The fight went on for a good ten minutes, my body instinctively doing more fighting than my mind, which merely was concerned with ‘not hurting Martha’ and ‘not getting hurt myself’. Primarily the latter really. It was not like I was in any sort of position to hurt her after all. So I did the one thing I’ve always done when facing attack. I did the turtle, withdrawing myself into a shell and waiting for the storm to pass. In my home world, it was, of course, only rarely the physical kind of attack, but much rather the mental kind. I was always a victim. A turtle. Taking the blows till the attackers tire or get bored, so they’d move on to greener pastures. Some say, that fighting back is the only way to make it stop, but what if you have no means to fight back? Of course I could just strike back. Maybe I cannot win, maybe I’d take far more damage than those attacking me, but they’d at least know that I fight back. That there is a price to pay for attacking me. That I am not just a victim to vent their frustrations again. Yet I never did. For I was a turtle. My shell protecting me from all assault, all hurt, all the pain. And I lived. Grew up. As did those who attacked me. And then they simply disappeared from my life, finding new enemies to fight against.

After a while, Martha huffed, obviously annoyed, “Fight back already, damn it!”
I looked up from my defensive position, my everything hurting and replied, “No.”
“Why?! Why won’t you fight back?! Don’t you want to get out of here?! Go home?! To your wife and child?! Or was all of that a lie? Is your determination really broken this easily?!”
“Yes, of course I do want to get out of here. But beating each other up isn’t going to help!”
Martha stood down and I carefully lowered my guard a little.
“You think you’re Gandhi or something?” she suddenly asks.
“Not by a long shot, no. But the old man was right about one thing. ‘Violence’ isn’t going to solve our problem. There is something we need to fight, but it’s not each other.”
“Then whom? Whom do you think we need to beat up in order to get out of here?!”
“Fear itself. Oh and hopelessness and despair.”
“...I’m listening.”
“Yeah, well that’s great, but could we sit, or better yet lie down somewhere first? I think you broke one bone or two.”
Martha looked at me dumbfounded for a moment, then punched against my shoulder, once again sending jolts of pain through my body, but her bright smile made it impossible for me complain.
“You really are one big wuss, you know that?! Fine, I’ll take you to the infirmary. We can talk there.”

As it turns out, she did not break any bones that day. I was just heavily bruised with a few of them being open wounds, but somehow I had managed to escape this encounter somewhat unscathed. And it was not all for naught. For I had now gained a valuable ally.