Marching away from him was a group of...could it be soldiers? They had on metal helmets, plates on their chests, and guards on their arms and legs. They carried big metal shields, spears, and there were red feather things on their helmets. It looked like they were wearing red skirts. Spot shuddered at the thought. One of them, who's feather plume was larger than the rest, was barking out orders. From his voice, Spot identified him as the man who had pushed him aside. Making a mental note to confront that one about that once he'd figured out what was going on, Spot stepped out onto the street.

For hours, Spot wandered around the streets of this strange city. By the time the sun was high in the sky, Spot had decided that he must be in some sort of inferior civilization. These people spoke with some sort of weird English, their accents resembling those from Little Italy, were obviously so dumb that they couldn't figure out that metal and sheets were not clothing, and Spot didn't even want to get into that Vomitorium idea. Plus, everyone looked at him like he had 3 heads! Honestly, what did they have against Brooklyn...besides, he was Spot Conlon, no one treated him like he was inferior. Finally, Spot noticed a sight that made his jaw drop open in awe.

There, in the center of a square, carved painstakingly out of a lump of that stone - marble, that was it, was a man. The realism was amazing. He stood regally, one arm outstretched, the other folded across his chest. As Spot studied this sculpture, the face in the stone began to transform. Soon, it was a face that Spot knew and loved. His own. Yes, that was much better. Sandaled feet, royal robes, laurel wreath adorning his head...the only adjustment that needed to be made were the eyes. They required a bit of paint so everyone could bask in his gorgeous orbs and argue for years upon years about what color they really were.

Spot was snapped out of his daydream when he noticed the inscription on the statue. Slowly, the face returned to the original. "Emperorah Diocletian, 285 A.D." Spot read aloud. All mental registration of the date was forgotten as Spot was filled with rage. Who was this Diocletian, and who did he think he was, having statues of himself made? He was NOTHING compared to the awesomness of the mighty Spot Conlon, high Overlord of Brooklyn! Spot decided that it was time to seek out this Diocletian and show him a thing or two.

"Ey you!" he called, pointing to the person nearest him. "Wheah can Ise find Diocletian?" The man stared at Spot, fully taken aback. Then a crack in his visage came, followed by another. Soon, the man was smiling - no - laughing at him! How dare he! Spot was about to stomp up and wallop the infidel for such an disrespect when a certain cry pricked his ears.

"Come one, come all! All who thinks he is daring, brave, and strong, come and sign up to be a gladiator! Show off your splendor before the Emperor!" Spot perked - this was more like it. Here was the perfect chance to show this Emperor who the real head honcho was. Spot marched through the streets until he found the source of the beckoning voice. When he arrived, Spot found himself faced with a giant stone structure. This one was not marble, but it was fabulously impressive none the less. It vaguely reminded Spot of the Sheepshead Races; from the inside, the shouts and yells of an excited crowd emanated.

There was a line of men who had responded to the gladiator challenge. Normally, Spot would have shoved his way to the front, but there were some things that he wanted to think over, so he tolerated the wait. 'Foist off, Ise needs a good name,' he thought to himself. 'All these othah guys gots fancy names and I need somethin'...ah,' Spot snapped his fingers. 'That's it. Spoticus Maximus. Sounds like all the othah guys' names, but it's got a special ring ta it.' Finally, it was Spot's turn in line. The Gladiator Recruitment Officer (they had those back the, ya know *wink*) stared at Spot for a second before guffawing.

"And who might you be?" he asked in a grumbling voice after calming.

Spot drew himself up to his full height. "Spoticus Maximus."

The man shook his head and made a rumbling sound, like he was trying to suppress a laugh. "You want me to let you--some strange, little boy from a strange country by your speech and dress--be a gladiator?"

Spot recognized the insult in this pudgy man's words, and he would not stand for it. "Lissen heah," he growled, eyes flashing. "I ain't little, and I ain't no boy. I could whip any of the so-called 'men' ya got signin' up heah, so I SUGGEST that ya let me in befoah I gotta get mean."

When Spot was done, he gave the lesser-life-form his Spot Conlon: Leader of Brooklyn glare. No one could stand against the horrific intensity of his all-powerful glower. Wonder of all wonders, the man appeared unaffected. Smacking his lips, the rumbling sound flared in his chest again.

"Whatever you say, little man. But don't you worry, I have the perfect place for someone as grand," there went that rumble, "as you." He handed Spot a folded piece of paper. "Take this, and go that way." Scowling, Spot followed the man's pointing finger. He knew that the man was making fun of him...pat...patronizing, that was what the Mouth called it. But Spot didn't have the time to beat the large, grumbling man down. He needed to find Diocletian as soon as possible, and save his strength. Even the glorious Spoticus Maximus needed to conserve his strength.

Spot strutted towards the entrance to the bit stone arena that the man had been indicating. There was another man, this one taller and leaner, guarding the door. "Welcome to the Coliseum," he proclaimed when Spot approached. The Brooklyn leader gave the guard the piece of paper. The guard snorted, but directed Spot inside. Inside. A very interesting place. Spot was ushered through many rooms as various measurements of his were taken. Armor was slapped onto him, and a sword and spear thrust into his hands. At the end of all of the flurry, Spot was thrown into a little room, resembling a holding cell, with a door to outside. There were a few others in the room with him.

"Ey, 'ey!" he hollered, "what's going on?!"

Another young man around his age, who was standing beside Spot, answered in a quivering voice, "We're waiting for our turn out in the Coliseum."

Spot adjusted his breast plate. "Coliseum?"

The boy nodded, and jerked his thumb towards the outside. "Yeah. Out there." He extended a hand, "I'm Salmoneus."

Spot hesitated for a moment, not sure whether or not to spit into his palm. Figuring that this boy wouldn't know that that meant, Spot stuck out a dry hand in return. "Spoticus."

To Spot's surprise, Salmoneus clasped Spot's forearm in some sort of weird shake. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Spoticus. If only we had longer to commune."

Spot was about to reply when he heard his name being called. Nodding to Salmoneus, Spot stepped forward. The crowd split in the middle to let him pass. Spot followed the sound of his name until he was outside. It was all that he could do not to faint in awe. There he was, in the center of the largest arena he had ever been in (though he'd never been in an arena before, but this was bigger than he'd ever imagined.) He was surrounded by a roaring crowd, about the size of New York City's population, seated up in the stands.

Spot barely had time to regain his composure when he heard footsteps behind him. If it was possible for his mouth to catch any more flies than it already was, it did so now. For behind him was a woman, like he'd never seen before. A tall woman with raven black hair and entrancing blue eyes. She was dressed in a strange combination of leather and metal. A sword rested in a scabbard on her back, and a metal Frisbee thing hung on a belt at her side. When Spot regained the power of speech, he demanded, "Who're ya?"

The corner's of the woman's mouth curved upwards in a mysterious smile. "I'm your opponent."

Spot scoffed, "Youse kiddin' me, right? I ain't fightin' no woman!"

The woman's face darkened in anger as she whipped out her sword. "Don't talk. Fight!"

Reacting quickly - just quick enough - Spot drew his sword and scarcely blocked each of her wild attacks. It didn't take long for Spot to realize that he was outmatched. With a sword, anyway. It wasn't fair. He hadn't gotten any practice time. Besides, swords and spears weren't real weapons. If he had his cane and slingshot, this insolent woman would be defeated by now. Deciding upon a different course of action, Spot dropped his sword and rushed to the other side of the arena.

The woman stopped and stared after him, amused, like a cat playing with a mouse before descending for the kill. Spot raised his spear and was preparing to throw it at his adversary when she tossed the metal thing from her belt at him. It zipped through the air, collided with his spear, broke in clean in half, kept going, crashed against the side of the arena, bounced back, and in one swift motion the woman caught it.

"Hey!" Spot yelled. "What's with the round killing thing?!" For an answer, the woman took a few running steps towards him, then launched herself off the ground in a stunning flip.

"Ay-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi!" She landed right in front of Spot and confronted him with her sword. Frantically, Spot tried to ward her off with what was left of his spear, but that didn't last long. The woman slashed right through it, and with a rapid kick from her, Spot was on the ground. Heart thudding, Spot gazed around him at the crowd. They were cheering extensively, giving a thumbs-down. Spot wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but he knew that it wasn't a good thing. Not for him, anyway.

And there, above him, sword pointed at his chest, was the woman. Her eyes glittered in anticipation. "Noooo!!!" Spot screamed, "nooo!!!" Ise don't know how I came ta be heah and why Ise heah, but please take me home! Please! Ise beggin' ya!"