Private - Gladiator -2002- -

Marcus stared at the gladius. “You want me to go in there? A US Army private, fighting a corrupt officer in a billionaire’s blood sport?”

Lucius opened a crate. Inside, nestled in foam, was not a vase or a statue. It was a gladius —a short sword, its steel impossibly bright, its hilt carved with a wolf’s head. Beside it lay a bronze helmet with a scratched, silver visor.

Finally, Decimus tripped him. Marcus went down, his helmet clattering off. The crowd saw his face—young, bleeding, but calm. Private - Gladiator -2002-

As the elite scrambled, Marcus walked to the exit. He picked up his helmet, the wolf staring at him with empty eyes.

The Hypogeum wasn't a museum. It was a forgotten service tunnel beneath the Colosseum, where wild animals were once winched into the light. Now, it smelled of damp stone and gasoline. Flickering work lights revealed crates labeled Fragile: Mosaics . Marcus stared at the gladius

“Say goodbye,” Decimus snarled, raising both blades for a final strike.

“The op in Philippi wasn't about a warlord,” Lucius said. “It was about this. A cache of Imperial Roman artifacts that a certain general wanted to sell. Your squad found it. Then your traitorous captain, Decimus, killed them and blamed you. He sold the artifacts to a man named Antonius Gaius—today, he calls himself Tony Gage.” Inside, nestled in foam, was not a vase or a statue

Marcus went. Not for glory, but for answers.