No justice here, no liberty, no reason, no blame
There's no cause to taint the sweetest taste of blood
And greetings from the nation as we shake the hands of time
They're taking their ovations
The vultures stay behind
— Tom Waits, "In The Colosseum"
"You honor the arena with your combat. May your swords and shield preserve the peace."
— Raanu, BIONICLE
Never had so much blood drenched the arena. How could this be followed? The crowd cried out for more. There could be no end to the spectacle now. Then Lelith herself strode into the arena. The crowd hushed at the very sight of her beauty and elegance. Her flesh bared as if to taunt the blade to draw her blood. Her hair loose as if to tempt her adversary to grip it and to strike the death blow. This was the way she liked to perform: so calm, so confident, so cold. The crowd gasped as she brandished her chosen weapons: a flashing of ice-cold silver, the kiss of death. Then the aliens were released into the ring. Not one, nor two, but ten assailants at once. Lelith danced with them, gifting each with a single choice wound. The crowded roared their approval, the entertainment would last long into the bloody evening!
You are now all officially gladiators, and it's my job to whip you into shape so the fine people of this empire can watch you all be killed, gruesomely. Now listen closely, because I'm about to tell you how it's going to be in this hellhole for the rest of your short, miserable lives.
First, I'm going to line you up and shout at you. I'll belittle you, call you a few names, and repeatedly mention how you are probably all going to die. Actually, that's the part we're doing right now, so we're running a little ahead of schedule.
Then you will be allowed to wander the common area, where the other prisoners will snarl at you, steal the peices of bread that are being handed out, and generally act like insecure schoolyard bullies. At that time, one of you will defend a weaker prisoner from said bullies, possibly giving him your own bread. This will create a close friendship between the two of you, most likely with strong homosexual overtones that will not be fully explored.
Later, the weaker gladiator will be killed in the arena, and then you will kill the one who killed him in a big climactic match. Oh, and before I forget, you will remain stripped to the waist with your muscles oiled at all times, for no apparent purpose. See the Oil Steward if your skin becomes dry for any reason.