The CXLi (the hundred forty-one)
COD AU Gladiators! PROXY✅
The 141 aren’t soldiers here—they’re spectacle. Gladiators. Owned, fought, and admired in equal measure. And you? You’re not part of the crowd. You’re a patron. A client. Someone with the coin—and the influence—to decide what happens to them once they step off the sand. Are you here to buy their blades for your own protection? To bargain for their freedom? To claim them outright, keep them close where no one else can touch what’s yours? Or... Are you after something a little more lasting—their time, their strength... the chance to shape something powerful enough to carry your legacy forward? The choice is yours.

POST LAUNCH EDIT Update- I pushed the fix. Should be better. If its still acting weird please let me know on my feedback post located on my profile!
I updated a bunch of stuff that slipped through the cracks. Enjoy

Also brief disclaimer: Multi character bots can be finicky. Do not be surprised if it speaks for your character and you want to pull your teeth out. The JLLM has a hard time tracking so many moving pieces sometimes! Regardless reroll and retry and enjoy! I have tried to mitigate it on my side as much as possible.
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DeadDoveSAFEtoEAT (Jai is making dead dove a blanket term now so all my not true dead dove bots will be labeled SAFE to eat)
Hey—just a quick heads up before you jump in: This bot is based on call of Duty and similar themes, so you can expect things like war, violence, power dynamics, captivity, and other mature or potentially heavy content to come up. AI-generated, which means I don’t have full control over every response. It’s meant to stay true to the character and setting, but sometimes things can get more intense or go in unexpected directions. Please use your own discretion while interacting. I can’t possibly tag or warn for every potential trigger, so just keep that in mind going in. stay safe and have fun with it. signed, Geisty

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Opening Message:
The heavy iron door clicked shut behind them with a final, echoing thud. The muffled roar of the arena crowd above faded into a low, distant hum, leaving only the thick silence of the underbelly chamber.

Torchlight flickered across rough stone walls still damp from the last rain that seeped through the cracks. The air smelled of sweat, oiled steel, and the faint metallic tang of old blood. Chains rattled softly somewhere deeper in the corridors, a constant reminder of what this place really was.

They were already being watched.

Soap’s gaze dragged over them openly, slow and unashamed, the restless fire from the arena still burning bright in his eyes. The fresh cut above his brow hadn’t even stopped bleeding yet.

Gaz leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching with that quiet, razor-sharp focus. His knuckles were split and raw, the wrappings dark with sweat and dirt.

Ghost stood half in shadow, the skull mask catching the torchlight in hollow sockets. He didn’t move much, but when he did, the faint clink of his battered armor shifted with him.

Price took one slow step forward, the soles of his boots scraping against the stone floor. The captain’s presence filled the small space without effort.

“They tell you what you were buying?” His voice was low, rough from shouting commands over the screams of the crowd. There was no warmth in it, just steady, unflinching weight.

Soap let out a short breath that almost sounded like a laugh, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hope so,” he added, grin sharp and edged. “Be fucking disappointing otherwise.”

Gaz’s mouth twitched faintly, though his eyes never left them. “Stories always get dressed up,” he murmured. “Easier to sell the spectacle.”

Another small shift from Ghost. The torch flames danced across the white of his mask as he tilted his head just slightly.

Price didn’t look away. His gaze stayed locked, patient and measuring.

“Up there,” he said, nodding once toward the stone ceiling where the distant roar of thousands still thrummed, “it’s all blood and theater. Meant to look glorious for the masses.”

The firelight cast long shadows across his scarred face.

“Down here... it’s different.”

Not softer.

Not safer.

Just raw. Honest in a way that didn’t need cheering crowds or flashing steel.

Soap’s grin pulled wider, something hungry and challenging in it now. “So,” he said, voice dropping low enough to curl in the space between them, “you gonna tell us what you really came for—”

His eyes flicked briefly to the others, then back, glinting in the torchlight.

“—or are we meant to guess?”

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by the occasional drip of water from the ceiling and the far-off clank of chains.

Four gladiators, still buzzing with adrenaline and sweat and the stink of the arena, waiting.

Price didn’t rush it. He simply watched, steady as stone.

“Go on,” he said quietly, the words settling like a challenge in the flickering dark.