Authors Note: Special thanks to D.X for the edit. Sorry for the wait on this one, it took me a while to get it right, and I wanted to deliver something that was worth the 71 chapter wait that came before it. I hope you enjoy!

Eyrn was practically fuming. Iron Maiden had forced a draw – she’d known she was going to lose, and she’d forced the draw. It was a low-down dirty thing to do, and she had done it out of petty spite, or so Eyrn felt.

“She knew she was going to lose and she had a hissy fit! The nerve of that woman! Oh, I wish you’d let me in the ring with her, I don’t care how much armor she has on, I don’t care how mean she looks! If there’s anything I can’t stand Sarge, it’s a sore loser!” Eyrn paced back and forth.

The match had ended in a tie, and the players had been given a two hour reprieve as the match officials decided how it would be handled. There wasn’t a contingency plan in place for a tie-breaker – this match wasn’t supposed to end in a tie.

Darren would likely have had a lot to say on the matter, but he couldn’t be bothered at the moment, as he was fast asleep. He had taken a piss, drank his weight in water, scarfed down something full of carbs and energy, then passed out on Eyrn’s folded up tee shirt that she’d left lying about during her costume change. He didn’t seem to care about the ribbing he would likely receive later, he was far too sleepy.

“Sarge…Sarge? are you listening? I can’t believe you’re not…” Eyrn paused as she noticed Darren’s light snoring. She smiled faintly and shook her head. “I can see you’re absolutely livid. I will take your stunned silence as complete and utter agreement.”

Eyrn slumped into her dressing room chair and threw her head back. She had to respect Darren’s gumption; being able to sleep at a time like this was incredible. There was so much riding on his win or loss. Well, probably loss; Eyrn couldn’t see any way he could win this.

If he let her fight for him, she would put up a valiant fight, but likely lose to the superior combatant. Though if he let her do that, his reputation would be tarnished, everything he worked for would go down in smoke, and billions of Titans across the galaxy would leave comfortable in their assumption that humans were incapable, weak, and in constant need of titan assistance, nothing more than pets.

Of course Darren would opt to face the champion himself, though he knew he’d have no chance in hell. Iron Maiden would not forfeit, Iron Maiden would humiliate and destroy him. There was no question about it, she would never have forced a tie breaker if she wasn’t dead set on winning. She was a five-time defending champion. She seemed dead set on a sixth.

The minutes on the clock seemed to crawl by for Eyrn. Darren was going to make use of every last second of sleep he could get of course, but as if he’d set an inaudible alarm, seconds before she had planned on waking him up, the sergeant began to stir.

“Mmm’up.” Darren groaned and sat up; his makeup was messy and streaked from the sweat of the match, he looked like hell, but of course as a soldier he had seen worse and lived to tell the tale.

“Good morning sunshine.” Eyrn grinned, spinning her chair a bit and leaning her elbows on the table.

“I miss anything?” Darren asked, yawning and clearing his eyes of sleep.

“I dunknow. I mean I would, ‘cept they don’t let us watch nothing in here, remember?” No news feeds, short or long term communications, or calls of any sort. It was a security precaution to preserve the integrity of the match. The players were not even allowed so much as a visit from a coach during matches

“Right.” Darren cleared his throat; he stood up, albeit with a little less spring in his step, and faced the mirror to make sure he was still wearing enough make up to cover himself decently.

“How ya gonna get through this one?” Eyrn asked, her tone downcast.

“Same as I always do, don’t lose.” Darren insisted, satisfied he looked half-decent.

“Not sure that will be as easy this time.” Eyrn admitted grimly.

Darren looked plainly to Eyrn and shook his head in agitation. “If you think any’a that was easy Twat I swear’t god im’na kick your arse here to Tuesday.”

Eyrn chuckled lightly. “You know what I mean.” Eyrn sighed. “She isn’t going to bow out, and now more than ever I can’t help. What’s the plan?”

“I don’t got one.” Darren said flatly.

Eyrn kept quiet. She couldn’t think of anything either, no loop hole. No trump card, nothing.

Darren pulled his eyes away from the mirror and stepped to the edge of the table. “Let’s go kid, destiny’s calling and I don’t plan to be late.”

***
Grand Diatati Arcturus Minokus rubbed his chin. The meeting room was quiet, and nothing but the dull hum of the air purification system broke the still smoky silence. It was slightly warm in the room; the youngest member of the AMBO judiciary panel loosened his tight-fitting top button and squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

“The whole point of the Cataclysm was to insure we did not suffer a draw. You understand me? We can’t have the Grand Imperial Tribute end with a pathetic walk off!” a well-dressed man who sat among a group of white-collared executives spoke in a loud and commanding voice.

“Iron Maiden will not simply walk off.” said a Dunnermac positioned to the right of the angry man. “It is not her way.”

“Right, rather we have a humiliating animal rights tribunal on our hands when she slaughters the little whelp. You understand how expensive a full HOS audit and investigation can be?” a balding man to the well-dressed executive spoke, though his eyes remained fixated on a data pad before him.

“We can swallow that Dieuouvtins Gallet.” Grand Diatiti Minokus spoke up, though he remained in deep thought.

“Oh, it’s not just the cost of the audit we have to look forward to, Arcturus, but the revenue we will lose from her apparel and paraphernalia. This is not going to look good on her, she’s going to take a lot of heat for this,” Gallet, the Executive Vice President of AMBO for Finance, generally handled the business end of the organizations affairs. As per usual, his hands were working behind the scenes.

Arcturus remained silent, the tension in the room thick as fog. “Our first and foremost priority is to maintain the integrity of the game. We have permitted The PuppetMaster to play in the manner to which she is accustomed until this point, there is no reason to restrict how she wishes to do so now. If The PuppetMaster wishes to allow her human prop to stand in place of her, we have no grounds to….”

Gallet slammed his fist on the table, then in one vicious motion stood and pointed towards Arcturus. “Gorram cut the shaka Minokus! We are beyond the point of kayfabe and formalities now! Everybody in this room knows that human is the one who has been winning matches, the only ones still in debate about that are the blind or the stupid!” Gallet calmed himself, and slowly sat down. “You can stop being pretentious, you’re not fooling anyone.”

“AMBO polls show Puppet Master’s popularity has taken a dive since her…sorry…his win over Felltree, however interestingly enough early polls are showing that this year’s Tribute Final has the greatest viewership we have had in the Grand Tribute era,” the well-composed Dunnermac finally said. He had waited for a bit of quiet; Dunnermac were not the kind to interrupt.

Gallet’s scowl grew as his counterpart began to go further into statistics and numbers and social trends in an attempt to explain why such statistics existed in the first place. Gallet rubbed his forehead with his hand and spoke in a low, disgusted voice. “I don’t care if they like the little skeet or not, I don’t care if it gets caught in the spokes of a Vegatron! Do you understand? I care about the reputation of this organization! Ladies and gentlemen, we need to find a solution that does not end in a public relations nightmare!” Gallet sighed and waved a hand in the air. “The Cataclysm was supposed to prevent this.”

Minokus crossed his arms, and his the masklike visage he had been wearing up to this point slid away, his thoughtful expression slowly twisted to a disturbed and angry one. “Forgive me Dieuouvtns Gallet, are you angry that the ‘little skeet’ had the nerve to win, when you’d rather he didn’t?”

“Well, that would have made things a whole lot easier. He’d have gone down against a superior foe in a fair….”

“That round was anything but fair,” Arcturus said. “Any other player would have walked off the platform as soon as they saw the starting forces. I certainly would have.” Arcturus didn’t raise his voice, but the cold fury behind his statement landed like a blow from Iron Maiden.

Gallet was quiet, but stared down Minokus with a menacing look. The Grand Diatati met it coolly. “I truly hope that I am wrong, Mr. Gallet,” he said. “I truly hope that my suspicions are unfounded. For if they were right…well, for an AMBO official to tamper with the AI to allow for an imbalanced match – that would not just reflect poorly on him. That would destroy the league, and the sport. It might end in criminal prosecution – and that’s if the sports books on Grelau don’t get to us first. I hope against hope, Mr. Gallet, that you did not cheat to assure Iron Maiden a victory, that you did not cheat to ensure a Titan would be crowned champion.”

Gallet was stoic and quiet as he composed himself, fixed the cufflinks on his sleeve and readjusted himself in his chair. “What you suggest, Grand Diatiti, is preposterous. And the proof is that the match ended in a draw. Clearly, the match was fair to both sides. If you have anything further to say along these lines, I shall have to request that my attorney be present. We wished to avoid a tiebreaker, let’s leave it at that.”

Arcturus resisted the urge to fire back at Mr. Gallet; there wasn’t time for that now. He would deal with Gallet in due time, when he was sure. It was an insult to Iron Maiden, to the Marionette – yes, he reflected, the Marionette – and to the sport itself. He was a fellow champion. He knew how he would feel if he was in their shoes. He hoped that his apology would be enough.

“Well, it seems neither of our honored competitors felt obliged to acquiesce to your request Gallet, so now we have to decide how to go forward.” Arcturus sat down slowly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I suggest we allow the match to proceed as it shall.” the Dunnermaac demographics director said.

“I already told you, we would have an Animal Rights nightmare on our hands, besides we can ill afford a championship with no winner.” Gallet waved his hand dismissively.

“I do not understand. Either Iron Maiden will win, or Puppet Master will win, one way or another, there will be a victor.”

“No, I wish it were that simple.” Arcturus spoke up, his tone once again pensive and thoughtful. “As Dieuouvtins Gallet so colorfully explained, if Iron Maiden destroys the Marionette she will suffer in popularity. The sport will suffer. Tol-Bot is about honor and respect at its core. It will be dishonorable, and worst, it will be boring.” The elderly man turned in his chair to look at the three men in the room, one at a time. “It doesn’t matter that there will be a victor; there has to be a battle. An easy win would be as disappointing and as disastrous as no win at all.”

“No matter how clever that human is, there’s no way what happens next is going to be anything less than a mockery. It will be like a shaar killing a tupp on live broadcast.” Gallet, who had calmed down sat back in his chair and rubbed his temples.

“Gentlemen,” a female voice said.

All four men in the room turned quickly to see who that voice belonged to. Three wondered who possibly could have been allowed to enter a confidential meeting, who, short of the Empress — could possibly have the sway to barge in on a confidential meeting without a swat team hot on her tails.

Arcturus Minokus didn’t wonder. He’d invited her.

“Senator Tarsuss?!” Dieuouvtns Gallet asked in a mixture of shock and confusion as he stood.

“Ahh, Lady Tarsuss, I was starting to think you weren’t going to show!” Grand Diatiti Minokus smiled and greeted Senator Tarsuss with a broad smile and a hearty laugh.

“Darling, it’s rude to turn down an invitation, you know that.” Pryvani Tarsuss smiled as she closed the gap between them, trailing her was a young-looking titan with golden eyes, long red curls and a bright, almost contagious smile, though she was quiet, she looked about ready to burst unless given an opportunity to say something.

“I don’t mean to be rude Senator, but I’m afraid I have to ask what exactly is going on? As you are aware judiciary meetings are strictly a private affair.” Gallet struggled to compose himself before the heiress; she was said to be a ditz and a bit of a dim bulb, however the presence he felt off her now was anything but ditzy and dim, and actually quite intimidating.

“Dieuouvtins, Senator Tarsuss is here to help solve our problem.”

***
“I don’t understand, why are they delaying the match even longer?” Naskia asked from the relative safety of the kitchen, though it was difficult to hear her over Loona’s screaming and the sound of the broadcast over the projector.

“I don’t know.” responded Kymie, wincing from the noise pollution; the uncomfortable look on her face suggested all the excitement was making her nervous demeanor even worse.

“Still, that was a grand match, couldn’t have asked for better.” Dr. Niall Freeman said from his perch on the smooth counter-top.

“Says the man who thinks Tol-Bot is just a silly video game?” Nonah teased, as she pulled her face out of a half-eaten Mossaberry.

Niall cleared his throat and adjusted the buttons on his shirt, sending back a dismissive look. “Right, well…the fervor of the…well it’s rather hard to focus on anything else with all you…I mean it’s all we’ve been watching every night this mo….I don’t need to defend myself to you!” Niall shot back and crossed his arms over his chest.

Naskia giggled and shook her head, whispering over to Kymie. “I think somebody’s caught the Tol-Bot-Bug.”

Kymie snorted a laugh and nodded enthusiastically. “Clever pun! Bug….Tol-Bot…and the last match was against the insectoids!” Kymie over-analyzed the joke, taking away from some of its humor, but replacing that with an ironic bit of her own unique brand of unintentional humor.

Naskia nodded slowly and sighed softly.

“Here is what I think happened; the match was clearly fixed, so now they are trying to find a way to disqualify Sergeant Av…owwww!” Niall grumbled as Nonah pinched him in the shoulder.

“Kayfabe.” The young human chimed in with a sing song voice.

Niall grumbled and rubbed his shoulder, narrowing his eyes. “As I was saying, no doubt they are looking for a reason to disqualify PUPPET BOY!”

Nonah shook her head and swallowed a mouth full of berry, her face and lips red from the fruit’s juice. “I don’t think so, it wouldn’t take them this long, besides that wouldn’t be in line with AMBO’s best interests.”

Niall looked down to Nonah with a bit of apprehension and no shortage of condescension, of course now that Niall had even a MILD interest in the game he was overnight an expert on it and simply could not be proven wrong, because of course Dr. Niall Freeman was always right!

“I believe Nonah may be right.” Kymie squeaked and timidly stepped forward.

“I’m listening.” Niall shifted his weight and looked form Nonah up to Kymie.

“Well, AMBO does favor drama, because drama is ratings, ratings are money and money is influence. Now, its clear Marionette didn’t cheat, but even if it were remotely possible that he could have, exposing him would be more lumat to the face than letting it slide.” Kymie made sure to avoid making eye contact of course.

“Surely you’re all on about honor and the spirit of the game?” Niall asked, unsure he was convinced.

“Yes, that is the first and foremost tenet of Tol-Bot, and had he cheated he would be dealt with severely, we’re just saying AMBO wouldn’t intentionally cook up a story about it, because it’s one of the last ways they would want to see this tribute end.” Nonah said, then took another bite of her snack.

“Right, because exposing the human cheater is an anti-climactic end to what has been a remarkable Tribute. They won’t let it go down like that.” Kymie said, almost smiling.

Niall nodded, he felt elementary for not knowing all there was to know about the game already, though he’d never show it. “I suppose that’s possible. Still doesn’t explain what’s taking so damn long.”

Naskia looked from person to person, frustration growing in her eyes until she could take no more, in a bit of a whine she exploded, raising her arms to the sky in a motion of annoyance. “How is everyone an expert on this but me!?”

The others chuckled at Naskia’s apparent frustration, however went silent when Loona burst into the room, her face red, her eye wide and her fingers clutching the doorway arch as tight she could. “They are going to fight!” she shouted, hardly taking a second breath before running back into the living room.

“What?” Naskia said, jogging after her. “Hey wait!”

“Well of course they are going to fight, isn’t that the point?” Niall asked, unsure what the sudden excitement was.

“No, they are going to fight now…each other!” Loona yelled back.

“I think we’d better go see what’s what?” Niall asked, then looked to Kymie.

Kymie gently gathered up Niall and Nonah and shuffled her feet quickly after Naskia.

***
“Are you sure this is going to work, Senator?” Gallet asked, looking onto the mess of fiber optic cables, wires and circuitry that sat at the heart of the playing field, below the very spot the match officiant Arcturus Minokus himself stood, attempting to assure the crowd that the show would in fact go on. They had gone over the specifics of the plan over a dozen times, but it still didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

The red-headed titan, who was now quite greasy and dirty from having spent a majority of the last couple hours working hastily-yet-carefully while suspended above the arena where most of the lighting, sound and holographic systems were located. She cleaned her hands on her blue uniform and removed a tassel of hair from before her eyes, leaving a black streak of grease along her forehead in its wake. “Not only will it work, but it will work like nothing you’ve ever seen!”

Pryvani Tarsus chuckled and turned to the eager young Titan. “If Myona says it will work, I have the utmost faith that it will.”

“Well, the circuitry is old, and this technology is new, the holographic interface on your old series 300i unit is antiquated, but that’s not a problem, you just need someone really small and skilled to get in there and manually mesh the CPU’s together, it takes real precision. Lucky for you I have the perfect assistant for the job!” Myona exclaimed, looking to the massive CPU unit before them.

“You don’t pay me enough for this you know!” A tiny voice spoke out, amplified by a small communications device strapped to Myona’s hip.

Myona herself simply giggled, covering her mouth with her hand and shouted back into the processor, “Don’t be sour Shaar, it’s for a good cause!”

“It’s always for a good cause, everything is always ‘amazing’ or ‘spectacular’, you’re like a newborn pup you know that?” The voice over the com interface sounded off once more, sarcastic and dry.

“Myona, how much longer until you and Shaar have things working?” Pryvani asked, looking to Gallet, who was watching the time on his data pad impatiently, and a bit nervously too.

“Shouldn’t be too much longer, we just have to integrate the two Holo-matrices and we should be golden.” Myona said with optimism.

“This would be easier if his notes were written in a language I could understand! Honestly, who writes like this! Did he think he was writing an essay?” Shaar complained from within the CPU.

“Dr. Freeman never imagined his hard light interface would be used like this, if we had more time I would have flown him down personally to install it. I’m sure I’ll hear no end of this from him regardless.”

“Humans.” Gallet sighed, they were doing this for a human, using a human as labour, working on technology crated by a human, the whole thing made his head spin just a little.

“Amazing species, are they not?” Pryvani said with a satisfied smile.

Gallet eyed Pryvani for a moment and sighed. “Let’s just get this done alright? There is a lot riding on this you understand.”

Pryvani’s expression became much more serious as she looked over to Myona and crossed her arms. “Dieuouvtins, you’ve absolutely no idea.”

***

“Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests of all species! Today we have for you a truly unique, one of a kind event to bring culmination to this simply spectacular climactic and historic Grand Imperial Tribute!” The high-energy announcer waved an arm before him, as he sprung to life on the center of the play-field. The spotlight was upon him, the preparations had been made, now it simply came time to let history happen.

“Fighting for a record sixth title, the reigning champion, AMBO ranked number one player, perhaps the greatest player in Tol-Bot history! Some say she is half machine, others say full! The terrible, the unforgiving, the undefeated, undisputed ruler of the ring, reining universal champion The-Iron-Maiden!” The steadily rising announcer’s voice reached its crescendo as he spun on his heels to present none other than the Iron Maiden herself, stepping out of shadows into the spotlight.

The metal-clad woman towered over the announcer; she wore the same uniform she always wore, which of course was also regulation AMBO approved combat armor. It served to tighten her image, and maintain a uniform appearance even when tie=breakers were in question.

Iron Maiden didn’t wave to the audience, she didn’t even so much as acknowledge the announcer, she simply stepped out, cracked her neck from one side to the other, and stood, ominously still, waiting, her visor looking off into the distance where she knew her opponent would soon be standing.

The announcer turned back to face a section of the crowd, which was now stomping their feet, cheering, and beating their fists off the stand rails like a deep bass drum beat.

“And the challenger, an amateur rookie from Orion. Formerly unknown, but now a common-place name in households all over the empire! Like a mortal among gods this unlikely challenger has climbed the ranks, defied the odds and left a wake of sore, defeated and humiliated players in their wake! Shrouded in mystery, controversy, but no less one of the greatest players this circuit has ever seen! The PuppetMaster!” The announcer motioned to the place where the petite woman would have been standing, however there was nothing.

The mixed cheering and jeering went on for some time, until it was soon replaced by whispering, a wave of mummering overtook the arena, that is until a man stepped out of the shadows, dawning a full set of Tol-Bot battle armor, the helm held under his arm. The painted white face was none other than the Puppet Master’s Marionette, only he stood a few short of a unit tall, still significantly shorter than the towering woman before him, but it was no human, at least not in size.

The audience was both confused and in awe of what they were looking at. There were many whispers heard throughout the stands when the Marionette walked out.

“It has to be some sort of trick?” Whispered one spectator to another.

“This can’t be permitted can it? Do the rules allow this?” Said another.

“Who’s that?” Whispered a few.

“Ladies and gentlemen, hold your questions please, I assure you the player you see before you is none other than the same player you’ve been watching sweep through this Grand Tribute! The PuppetMaster’s Marionette! Brought to you today, scaled up in size by the wonder of modern technology!” The announcer, was quite excellent at delivering an animated, rousing speech to both excite the crowd and build anticipation.

The crowed was still unsure how to react, there was a great deal of muttering and a low rumble of whispering.

“Positioned all across the playfield are Grelau Cybertainment HLM modules. That’s right, using the wonder of Hard Light Projection technology, the Marionette will face off, against the Iron Maiden in a fifth round combat spectacular!

There were a few more cheers this time, but the overall sense of uncertainty was still in the air. Would the human be hurt? Was this even legal? How could the Iron Maiden fight a projection, would that even be a fair fight?

“It’s the battle armor that gauges the damage dealt, not the player, it doesn’t matter if she is hitting a titan, a pole, or a hologram, it’s the armor that decides how hard a hit was, and the damage it was likely to deal.” One man whispered to his partner, who was furrowing her brow to understand what was going on.

“This doesn’t look good Senator.” Gallet muttered, looking up from his below stage vantage point at the confused and muttering crowed.

“Patience Dieuouvtins, just give them time, they’ll come around” Pryvani Tarsus replied, clenching her palms together tightly; at least she hoped they would.

The match officiant looked from one combatant to the other, there was a bit of a lost look on the man’s, before he could explain the terrain and match rules however, a loud bass beat began to sound as the Iron Maiden beat her right foot against the ground in a rhythmic style, the sound amplified by the nearby sound systems and microphones.

It was generally a beat the audience would initiate; it would start as one, and slowly build until the whole arena was unified together in a deafening beat. At first, it was simply Iron Maiden, alone, but slowly fan after fan began to do the same, the murmuring was soon drowned out by the beat, until the whole arena was filled with the chorus of the thumping, drumming, tribal rhythm.

A smile returned to the announcer’s face, and he sprung to life once more, shouting into his voice amplifier to be heard over the roar of the crowed which had once again been pulled back into the excitement of the night’s events.

“Our combatants’ arena will be randomly generated. Scattered throughout the field of play will be various tools, crude instruments and basic melee weapons our players can find and use against one another. There is no time limit, points are awarded for style, ferocity of combat but ultimately the last player standing will come away from this the new, AMBO Grand Tribute CHAMPION!” The Announcer bellowed, and the crowd erupted into a fit of screaming, cheering and applause.

“Players, do you understand the rules?” The announcer turned to Iron Maiden first, who simply nodded, then to the Marionette, who nodded as well.

For Darren, this was about as strange as could be. While he knew he wasn’t physically there, present in the room with them, it felt like he was. He could see, hear, he could feel all as if he was standing in that arena in person. It was a bit to get used to, but the excitement, the anticipation, it was easily enough to distract him.

He had gone over the rules many times, he knew how this worked; first to sustain what the AI considered a lethal damage level, or first to reach a score of 25 for style, creativity and technique. They would be placed in a randomized setting, it could be an abandoned city, it could be an ancient temple, or it could be an open field. They would have to locate one another, and use any and all tools at their disposal to dispatch their opponent as quickly as they could. The armor absorbed most of the actual physical damage, the weapons were blunted sparing weapons, and as the announcer had said, there was no time limit.

“Fighters to your platform, when you hear the three-chime alarm you may begin. As always, play with honor.” The announcer nodded to each player, as the platform he stood on lowered, and he vanished beneath the center arena, as the holographic AI began to spawn the playing field.

***
Darren watched as the vast arena before him soon began to fill up; before he could get a very good look at what was going on, four walls began to erect around him, blocking both the arena, and the crowd watching him from the stands. It was almost quiet within the four walls around him.

One single chime rang. A year ago – or was it two? – he had been nothing more than Master Sergeant Darren Avery, a soldier like many others. A year or two ago, nobody knew his name, he wasn’t a super star, a celebrity, there were no ‘Army’ playing cards, nobody fought to get a glimpse of him on a busy street. He was just an average person, working at a job that ‘didn’t exist’ at a place ‘that wasn’t real’, looking after a person who ‘was just an urban myth’.

Two simultaneous chimes rang. A few Imperial months ago, he was nothing more than a snack, food to be eaten and digested by a nobody, a rich, entitled university girl’s indigestion. A few Imperial months ago should by all rights have been the end of his time.

Three consecutive chimes rang out, and before Darren the holographic wall presented a doorway. At the conclusion of the chime the barrier vanished, and without a breath of hesitation Darren sprung to life, jogging into the next room.

Through thick and thin, he had risen above everything this screwed up universe could throw at him, he had overcome adversity, extreme prejudice, he had climbed out of the miry muck, out from under the oppressive heel of a world that thought he was nothing more than an object, and made something, did something, he would leave a mark, regardless of the outcome of this battle. Darren had changed minds, slowly, through pain, blood, sweat and tears, but he had changed minds.

Bedra, Aisell and her sisters, Degu, Tapp, and all the other nameless faces who were watching him, a human being, press their undisputed champion of their most beloved sport to the nines, forcing her into a fifth round, against insurmountable odds. He didn’t have to win.

He had already won.

Darren’s eyes did a quick scan of the area, he was in some sort of crude-looking abandoned bunker, which by the looks of it had not been inhabited for quite some time, as there were cobwebs on the walls and a thick layer of dust and sand all over the place. Darren knelt down and picked up a pinch of the gritty sand, then dropped it with a chuckle. “This has to be a joke.”

The bright light was seeping in from all the cracks and crevices spread out throughout the bunker, it took a little bit of muscle but Darren was able to clear the debris that was covering the door, and slowly open it, trying to make as little noise as possible. The flood of light illuminated his surroundings, a wave of dry heat hit him like a metric ton of bricks, and he squinted under his visor, stepping out into the desert landscape they had spawned in.

An abandoned titan military outpost, in the middle of a gigantic desert. “Heh, someone up there’s got a sense of humor.”

Eyrn watched form the player’s box, where she had stood many times before, but this was the first time she did so alone. Darren had always been an arm’s reach away, but now he may as well been miles away. The choking grip of apprehension nagged at the back of her mind as she could only think of Daemon. How helpless she had been to protect her friend, she had been right there and had been helpless to do anything, how then could she be of any use like this? All she could do was watch Darren like everyone else, on the gigantic overhead projection, invisible to the players inside their simulation.

“Maker her bleed Sarge…show ‘em metal can bleed!” Eyrn balled a fist as she watched Darren surveying his terrain, as he had done so many times before, so careful, a lifetime of training coming back to him as if it had never left him. Any signs of the weak, morose, defeated man who had come out of Keeran’s stomach and spent months serving for absolution was gone. All signs of exhaustion from the endless match they had fought hours before, cleared away by total and complete focus.

There were certain limitations from being stuck in a hologram so to speak, nothing really smelled right, not that smell would do him much anyhow, as he wasn’t exactly in the room to begin with, he also had a hard time adjusting to controlling himself from another room, but the more he put that out of his mind the easier it became.

The helmet took some getting used to as well, for one thing it tinted everything sort of like he was wearing sun glasses, but on the plus side it had a sort of short range radar capability, which since he was sure Iron Maiden was wearing similar armor, she likely had the same. It would scan the area he was looking, display the temperature, and some random schematics on what he was looking at. Though outside, the blowing sand seemed to mess with its functionality, he could still see well enough.

Iron Maiden wouldn’t waste time, it wouldn’t take her long to find him and when she did she would go right on the attack. She knew these arenas, they were random every time, but she had played this game much longer than he had, she had a feel for the way the AI worked, it was likely she was already narrowing down on his position, so if Darren couldn’t go on the offensive, he would mount one hell of a defensive and be ready when she found him.

Darren headed back into the building and scratched around for whatever he could find. Mostly it was rusted medical equipment, empty storage crates and a few rotted sundries. But among the trash he was able to find a hunting knife, a rolled up length of medical tape and gauze, something that looked like a wrench with a heavy blunt end and an easy gripping handle, and an old tarp that looked to be covering a bunch of old crates.

“Not a lot’t work with.” Darren spoke quietly to himself. The wheels in his head were turning, trying to figure out what to do with resources at hand.

The sand was sure to leave a trail for Iron Maiden to follow no matter where he went, there may be better supplies elsewhere, but that ran the risk of being caught flat-footed. Darren was relatively confident in his hand to hand capabilities, but if she’d spawned in a more lucrative position and had been able to find something more useful than a wrench, a tarp, some tape and a hunting knife, he would need all the advantages he could get.

“How’n the hell do you hide form a big iron bitch in the middle’a the desert?” Darren wondered, by the looks of it walls were of little use with the visor technology, though an idea came to him, one made him smile ear to ear under his helm. “Where all eyes would never think to look.” Darren whispered, and gathered his supplies.

***
Darren could not have been more on the ball when it came to predicting Iron Maiden’s tactics. While she may have been slow and methodical during early round combat, smooth and calculating when she had to be, during combat she was as stream-lined and task-oriented as could be. She would methodically search him down, area by area until she found him, and then she would attack.

He had seen her combat round against Dibilique. They had fought in an industrial complex over automated machinery. Dibilique had hardly surveyed her terrain before Maiden was upon her.

Some said she cheated, that her visor was rigged; the truth however was far more daunting. Iron Maiden knew how her opponents thought, she had an amazing feel for the field, and she was just very good at predicting her prey’s next move. Darren knew this sense all too well, you either had it, or you didn’t. It could not be faked, it could not be taught, not easily. It was something you developed and honed over time. Iron Maiden was a hunter, a predator, and he was her prey.

His visor was nonfunctional with the sand blocking his view, he couldn’t breathe well, he could ill afford to give maiden any hint as to his location, though he knew she would be upon him soon enough. She was quick. She was relentless, she was a machine.

His body temperature was starting to rise, though he tried to convince himself he really wasn’t there, buried in the ground, waiting for the technologically advanced grim reaper to come harrier him into the next world. It did little good; the simulation was as real as it had been on Archavia when he sat in the quiet little tavern in North Ireland with his friends.

It was hot. It was dry. It was quiet. He couldn’t rely on his senses; he had to trust something far more vital, his instinct. When Iron Maiden was upon him he would have very few actual clues to work with. His window of opportunity would be small.

He could feel his heart beating through his chest. His pulse racing, his mouth was dry. The strangest things began to float through his mind, to distract him from what was taking place, though as nice as an escape would be, Darren forced himself to push it aside, to focus on what he had to do. But doubt, it crept in like a snake.

Perhaps she saw him already, had watched him bury himself in the sand, and was standing above plotting his downfall? Burying him alive perhaps! Or looking for the right weapon to stake him through the heart with! It was too quiet. Things were too still! If she didn’t know he was here, then perhaps she was looking in a totally different area?

Darren’s breathing quickened, his throat tightened. Would he suffocate while she was off, checking barns and bunkers for him? He would be a laughing stock, the human who buried himself. Iron Maiden wins without lifting a finger!

Darren shook his head and battened down in his hiding place. The visor protected his face from the sand, it obscured his vision, but he could still hear! He could still hear her slow, methodical, careful footsteps as she approached. He could feel the sands shifting around him as she drew nearer. She hadn’t spotted him, he didn’t think anyhow.

Darren could wait no longer, he hadn’t the luxury of being cautious, if he were to do this, he would need to take the open window presented to him!

The sands shifted and Darren tore through his shallow grave to life, his arm clutching the knife swung up through the sands, and he shanked the Iron Maiden in her thigh with the blade.

While the blade did not puncture her skin, it stuck to her Armor as it would if it were a real blade, an electric shock momentarily stunned the great warrior, as the armor around her “wound” tightened and constricted and limited movement to simulate an actual attack.

Darren sprung from his knees to his feet and wasted no time; though injured, Iron Maiden also shook off the moment of flat footed vulnerability and went on the defensive.

And so they danced. Darren threw at her the best hand-to-hand training the Army had to offer. He went in fast – mobilize, incapacitate, dispatch! But Iron Maiden refused to make it that easy.

The Veteran warrior ignored the knife in her side and blocked each of Darren’s advances with her arms. He came in fast and furious, without giving her a moment to mount a counter-offensive. She backed away slowly as he advanced. Quick, fierce blows, hard powerful kicks, like a well-oiled machine.

The crowd cheered and threw up their arms, not a soul was left seated as the two players went at one another. Even the match officials were locked on task watching in amazement as the rookie had the champion on the ropes, the screaming, cheering and jeering was so loud, the play by play was drowned out completely by the spectator’s excitement.

Eyrn pumped her fist and leapt into the air at the sight before her. “Get her! Tear her oily metal heart right out! Get’er!” Eyrn screamed, leaning on the rail that protected her from plummeting to the arena below. “Kill her Sarge! Kill her!”

If her teeth could be seen, Iron Maiden’s would be bared and grinding against one another as she struggled to regain control of the situation. Never in her career had she allowed herself to be so careless, so reckless as to be caught in snare like a water-skeet! Then again, nobody had ever set for her a trap so simple and obvious that it hadn’t even crossed her mind that it was a trap in the first place!

She ducked, she feinted, she blocked, she redirected the force of his own attacks away from her using skill and accuracy. But with the pain in her side, and the restricted movement form his well landed strike, she just couldn’t get enough of a break to fight back, only control his offensive.

Dispatching somebody with an automatic rifle, or a projectile such as a grenade was one thing, sitting behind the controls of a machine while a make believe army went to war with another make believe army was simple. But attempting to dispatch another person in hand to hand combat took a whole lot more than most were ever willing to give.

Wounded, though not actually bleeding, Darren’s opponent fought as if her very life did in fact depend on it. The ability to turn ones killer instinct on, and off, was something most soldiers took a lifetime mastering, and even the best of the best often found this ability just out of their reach.

As fast as Darren came at her, looking for a way to control the situation so he could end it fast, Iron Maiden held on steadfast against him.

Her wrists blocked his advances, thick powerful forearms attached to an equally as impressive well sculpted frame. Her armor was custom built for her, it hugged her, almost as if it was merely an extension of her skin.

Darren pushed her further back, if he could corner her, then she would have nowhere to go, he would wear her down and then go in for the killing blow.

He didn’t realize he was being baited, until he lost his footing on a well-placed trip wire, and fumbled to catch his balance.

“Shit!” Darren cursed, the moment was brief, but it gave her just enough time to brace herself and pull the knife out of her leg.

Iron Maiden flipped the knife around and took it by the handle, now she could go on the offensive.

Darren eased back slowly as the knife wielding warrior approached him, cautiously at first. Unarmed she was a fierce opponent, armed and with an advantage over him, she was deadly.

“Well, come on big lady, let’s dance you and I!” Darren grinned to himself though his visor masked it. He hadn’t had fun like this in years.

Armed combat, with all restraints pulled out, the fear of seriously injuring your opponent taken off the table, shit like this was what it was all about!

“Where’s this crap been all my life?” Darren laughed.

He expected Iron Maiden to come at him with the knife, it was the ruthless, logical thing to do. In fact it was almost a sure win. So when the metal clad warrior threw the blade into the dirt, Darren was quite taken aback.

Iron Maiden, intended to end this one hand to hand. Which did explain why she hadn’t bothered acquiring a weapon for herself.

Darren found himself on the ropes as Iron Maiden turned the tables on him so suddenly it left his head spinning. She was not only large and hit like a brute, but she was fast, much faster than anyone her size had any right to be.

Darren swept low with his legs, hoping that the old proverb ‘the bigger they are the harder they fall’ rang true for possibly-cyborg brutes.

Iron Maiden pivoted and caught her balance, taking advantage of her opponent’s lower posture to deliver a potentially devastating drop kick to the side of his neck. Darren rolled and sprung to his feet a few meters away, a little too quick for her maneuver.

Iron Maiden was not known for long drawn out combat rounds, she almost always came in hard, fast, and brutal. This round had already gone on long enough, so ending it was first and foremost on her mind.

“Come on big lady, this can’t be all ya’got!” Darren goaded, he wanted to take this bloody helmet off, it was hard enough to get used to controlling your own body remotely, but doing it with a big Darth Vader suit was just cumbersome.

Iron Maiden looked square at her competitor, it was hard to tell from under her armor, but she almost looked just close to winded. She wasn’t standing as tall as she had, and she was clearly favoring her side where she had been ‘wounded’.

“They say you’re a robot, others say yer some kinda unknown species. Know what I think though? Yer just another average, run of the mill, arrogant titan.” Darren grinned, if she couldn’t see it, she would sure hear it. “And yer about to lose to a tiny, little, unremarkable human! Yer getting yer ass kicked by a goddamn pet!” Darren began to laugh.

“You really shouldn’t count your chickens before they hatch!” Iron Maiden said, in her deep, billowing robotic voice.

“Did you just say….” Darren hardly had a second to comprehend what he had heard, when the Iron giant was upon him in full force.

Darren shifted his weight right, allowing Iron Maiden to move into his range, he used her own momentum against her and taking the knife he had picked up when he rolled to avoid her drop kick, he dug the blade into her abdomen, mid belly.

“We’re here, we’re not going away, we’re stronger than ya’ll think…and we never forget.” Darren whispered and dug the knife in deeper for good measure.

The crowd watched as Iron Maiden fell to her knees, her health indicator began to fall quickly. She had been hit with a bleeding critical hit, it was only so long now until she collapsed. All was silent as they watched what appeared to be the first ever Rookie Grand Tribute champion, dethrone the best player the league had seen in generations.

“Oh, snap!” Eyrn nearly leapt as she watched Iron Maiden’s score drop and Darren’s rise.

Darren always knew it was foolhardy to smoke your victory cigar before the fat lady sung, perhaps it was exhaustion, jubilation, or the fervor of the moment that distracted him from following his baser instincts. But in the second it took him to turn his back to her to begin to walk away, Iron Maiden pulled the knife from her belly, stood up, and stuck it into the back of her opponent’s neck.

Darren’s armor tightened around his throat, for a second he couldn’t breathe. He tried to turn around, but he couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t speak.

The crowed stood, eyes wide, a unified gasp escaped their lips as Puppet Masters points stopped rising and fell to zero.

Darren felt himself falling, he felt light-headed, and then nothing.

Iron Maiden herself had little time to enjoy her apparent victory, seconds after the Marionette hit the matt, she felt he armor tighten all around her, and then she too fell to the ground, both players, as far as their armor was concerned, were dead.