Round 3 Complete

Labyrinth Escaped!

Time: 5:12:45

Rank Increase: 1

New Rank: Rank 5 Gambler

Strength Rating Increased! 60th percentile

Audience Approval Rating Increased! 49th percentile

Credits Earned:

Round Completed 320,000

Showmanship Bonus 100,000

Total 420,000

I blinked my ethereal eyes in disbelief. That was it? After all the pomp and circumstance, I merely arrived back at the Hub?

“Congratulations, Contestant #45,590! Your vic-”

“Shut up!” I snarled, cutting off ATHENA’s patronizing monologue the moment I rematerialized.

Watching the roughshod buildings of the Hub’s ground level generate along the concrete roadway, I felt anger welling up inside me.

“Why did you take me back? I wasn’t done!” The words left my mouth of their own accord.

ATHENA replied in a stunned tone - the first emotion she had displayed aside from uncanny cheerfulness. “You completed the round, Contestant #45,590. You escaped.”

I shook my head, trying to clear the haze of frustration that overtook me. “Right. Right. New Hub improvements, tell me about them.” I waved her along.

She resumed her giddy recitation.

“As you will kindly note, the Hub has gained a new level.” I looked up. From the center of the second ring sprouted a third disc of smaller diameter. A long, glassy department store took up much of the curve that faced me. A silver-encased bistro lurked in the distance. The splendor of a neon-pink sign that read “Circassia” next to a blinking martini glass loomed over top of the chrome structure. Despite its luminance, a permanent shadow seemed to haunt the building’s facade.

“The third level of the Hub brings with it several exciting developments. A first-class bar: “Circassia,” a military surplus store brimming with state-of-the-art weapons and technology, an extensive armor and apparel department store with unrivaled variety, and the first installment of our cybernetics program: “Vulcan Labs!”

I spotted the department store and the bar - both of which I intended to visit. the order yet to be determined. But first I needed to do something about the paralysis in my right arm.

The more layers the Hub grew, the more tower-like its central axis appeared. Two metal-encased cylinders of earth rose out of the once flat slums of the Hub I first encountered. The roads ramped up a steep incline to match the difference. Parallel sets of sable stairs lined the asphalt roadway that led to the shining lights above.

But as ATHENA prattled on about simulated designer fabrics, I turned to head towards the squalor of the first floor. As much as I didn’t want to see the clipboard-wielding doctor with questionable credentials, I needed a fix for my impairment.

I followed the glowing yellow street divider for a few blocks before something odd struck me. I had never seen an automobile in the Hub. Why did such an extensive roadway exist in this instance? Just to give it a more city-like appearance? I shrugged. I would probably never know. The cracks and potholes of this layer hinted at how little they cared for automobile safety, at any rate.

Turning left at the next junction, I found the familiar swinging doors of Dr. Crass’s Clinic just down the street. I sighed as I made my way over to the concrete staircase.

Inside, Crass sat at the front desk, idly spinning in his roller chair. The blue mask that covered his face last time was lowered to reveal his handlebar mustache in its full glory. A grimace cracked the leathery skin around his mouth. He tapped at something on his clipboard with a black pen.

“Dr. Crass?”

He looked up at me.

“I need fixing.”

“Ya look fine to me.” He muttered, turning his attention back to the scrawl on his clipboard.

“What a thorough medical examination,” I grumbled internally.

“I can’t feel anything in my right shoulder, down my whole arm.” I flapped the limp appendage to accentuate my point.

The doctor sighed, a long gust of wind that rustled the ends of his mustache.

“Alright, alright. Come on over.” He wheeled himself through the velvet drapery guarding his patients’ privacy. I subdued the wave of apprehension that came over me at the sight. Bad memories.

Rows of empty cots still lined the dusty wooden room. For a purportedly high-tech medical facility, it looked like a room ripped straight out of ancient history.

A lone figure stirred in the bed closest to the door. Bloody bandages twisted around the figure’s vaguely humanoid face, although a row of misshapen lumps disguised any identifying features. The person groaned in agony, clutching at the angry red burn marks on its exposed torso.

“A mixture of plasma burns, radioactive tissue damage, and good old fashion blunt force trauma,” Dr. Crass remarked. “He escaped his attacker and crawled out of the round, but his ratings plummeted substantially.”

The doctor marked something on his clipboard.

“Needless to say, his expiration date has just about arrived.”

“There’s nothing you can do for him?” My eyes couldn’t leave the pulsing mass of flesh on the cot.

“Sure there is. It’s just, fall to a low enough rating level and well...LimeLight ain’t see much of a use to keep you around. He really should’ve died in that round - lived on a fluke.” The good doctor replied casually.

I finally forced myself to look away. That would be my fate if I couldn’t keep up with LimeLight’s expectations for entertainment.

“Your arm, then. What’s wrong with it?” Crass asked as he began rifling through a nearby cabinet.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” I said dryly.

“From the looks of it,” he turned back towards me, a spectacled device on one eye. “Minor dislocation of the shoulder pinched a few nerves in the wrong places. Just needs resetting and some nerve repair and you’ll be good to go.”

“Great. What does that involve?”

Crass stood from his chair and grabbed my right forearm. Placing a gloved hand on the meat of my shoulder, he wrenched it forward as he pushed the rest of my arm back.

Searing pain shot through the entire right half of my body and a flash of white overtook my vision. It took all of my strength not to fall to my knees.

“Fuck!” I yelled.

“Felt that, huh.”

“Astute observation,” I muttered through clenched teeth.

The doctor ignored my sarcasm. He turned back to produce a foot-long syringe from the cabinet below.

“You might feel this too.”

He stabbed the needle down through my collarbone. I swore I could feel it touching my ribcage.

A cool liquid spread throughout my upper torso, numbing the effects of his “physical therapy.”

“There, that oughta do it. Flex your hand a few times for me.”

I complied and found that I had regained motor function on my right side.

“Ahuh.” The doctor nodded. “It’ll take a little bit for full feeling to return, but there’s no damn reason for you to stand here crowding my sickbay. That’s 5,000 credits from your account - now have a good day and get the hell out.”

I checked my new total.

Credits: 505,000

Still more than I had ever seen in my lifetime. I whistled to myself as I pushed through the clinic’s swinging doors. Time for some upgrades.

-----

A glossy carbon finish on the streets refracted the blaring neon of the third level. To my right, hologram models in the windows of the department store beckoned from their podiums. One smiling projection wore thick plates of graphene laced together by carbon-weave, another a skin-tight gray-camo suit that projected an electromagnetic field from a pulsing yellow core, a third figure was housed entirely in a steel-alloy suit of armor with built-in rocket and wrist thrusters.

The golden sign above read: “Tabor’s: Not Just a Fashion Statement.”

Fitting.

Thoroughly intrigued by the selection of protective gear, I made my way to the revolving door at the front. A winding counter sprouted from the edge of the building and wrapped around the nearby corner. The white-tile floor was covered in apparel displays of varying size and type; illuminated by the fluorescent beams clinging to a high-vaulted ceiling. Lavish red carpets furnished the seemingly endless corridors of clothing like a maze of pulsing veins.

No sooner had I cleared the entrance than an attendant droid scooted over to my side.

“Good day, sire. I am Wilson! Shall I furnish you in the finest of nano-reinforced silks, or mayhaps a dashing suit of refined titanium alloy is more your style? I can see the trappings of a warrior on that frame of yours, yes indeed!” A black screen fastened to the smooth white plastic of the humanoid figure projected a series of shifting blue lights that made up the droid’s “face.” Right now it took on the semblance of a beaming smile with raised eyebrows.

“Uh. Sure?” I wasn’t sure how to respond. I hadn’t given much thought to the style of protection I was going for. As I gazed upon the rows of projected apparel, from suits and dresses to plates of military-grade combat armor, to concealment outfits and nano skin suits, I realized just how important my decision would be.

Wilson cast a pale beam at my feet, scanning upwards until it reached my forehead. After a satisfactory beep, a series of dots appeared on his face screen. Another beep and it resumed its emoticon grin.

“Gambler Class, Rank 5, Trickster variation. And with a proclivity for brutal force! Oh, I have just the thing for you, sir, please follow me this way!”

The droid raced along the carpet on the tripod set of wheels that sprouted from his alabaster base. I nearly lost him as he zipped through the blinking hologram displays.

He scooted to a halt in front of three adjacent podiums projecting their wares.

“The first:” He pointed a chalky finger at a wine-red waistcoat lined by gray ruffles around the neck and wrists. A silken pair of dusky breeches sprouted out of the bottom, ending in a thick pair of black boots. “Lo Stregone,” Wilson said with a dramatic flourish.

“Looks nice. How does that protect me?” I marveled at the frivolous outfit. It looked like something a shammy performer would wear, not a cybernetic gladiator.

The droid swiped his finger and the fabrics became translucent, revealing a complex network of circuitry and pulse emitters.

“Electromagnetic repulsion!” Wilson replied cheerily. He pressed another button with his digit and simulated gunfire erupted on the suit. The helmets cascaded off of a barely visible pulse of energy the moment they came close, clattering to the floor.

“Under the shiny exterior is an Mk. III Electromagnetic Shield. At such a rating, these fine accouterments can repel most anti-personnel ballistics and almost all small-arms blaster fire. And…” Wilson tapped at another display button and the arms of the vestment shot out daggers at a high speed.

“The lace on the wrists and neck are not just for show! They have specifically concentrated repulsion units designed to give an offensive edge to this armor. Quite a nasty trick to the unassuming! Anything that can fit within the confines of the lace can be ejected at bullet speeds.”

“Interesting…” I brought a hand to my chin. Decent enough protection, and a surprising offensive capability that could catch someone off guard. “What’s next?”

Wilson pointed to the center podium, an earth-tone hoodie with a pair of faded denim jeans and sneakers. Fairly underwhelming next to its fluffy neighbor.

“This unassuming urban-ware is laced with state of the art nano-technology that reacts proportionally to applied forces - to a limit of 1,000 tons. This means any practically sized ballistics or blunt force objects will deflect harmlessly from your frame while feeling delicately soft to the tender touch! Of course, extreme pressures can overcome the limit, as well as heat caused by plasma and lasers - but the tradeoff is it can absorb ANY blunt force, to include falling from great heights or being struck by debris!”

So, a super-suit that lets me fall from great heights and take a beating without slowing down. More utility than the last set, but less on the pure defense/offense spectrum. It’s also downright hood, pardon the pun.

“The last set:” Wilson turned to face the final podium. A steely colored biker-suit padded in light plates of carbon-fiber or some similar compound. A chrome helmet obscured the mannequin's face, refracting the fluorescent light in a shade of yellow and green. “While the plating is resilient enough to deflect hazards comparable to the other Mk. III armors, this set has a unique capability.”

The droid swiped at a switch on the podium. Two clones of the suited dummy appeared from behind the armor, readying themselves in a fighting stance. “It comes outfitted with a photon-clone emitter that can be used to deceive and disrupt the enemy! They can even be set to self-destruct with the force of a concussion grenade. Quite disorienting!”

“Three sets of clothing, each strong enough to fend off most small arms attacks and field their unique advantages.” I had heard of such technologies, but even average mercenaries on Pollux IV were too poor to afford equipment like this. It had to come at a heavy price. “How much are we talking?”

“400,000 for each.” Wilson’s face slate flipped to an ecstatic grin.

My gut dropped. I had never gambled even half that amount, and here I’d spend it on clothing.

“Your elation guaranteed, sir! You will not find customized garments in such detail anywhere else in the galaxy!”

I weighed my options. My old marauder suit wasn’t going to cut it in the coming rounds. I needed better protection. Not only that, I needed a new look to reinvent myself. LimeLight was all showmanship, right? People had to be able to pick me out from a crowd and recognize my exploits. I would become known for my flashy style, balls to the wall attitude, and my willingness to risk it all with tricky gambits that caught even the greatest warriors unaware. My choice became increasingly obvious.

“Lo Stregone.”

“An excellent choice, sir! Shall I replace your current garments? They are worthless at this stage, I will dispose of them for you.”

I nodded.

Item Unequipped:

[Common Light-Weave Armor]

Marauder Class I

Offers light Plasma and Ballistic Protection. Smells like gasoline.

Item Equipped:

[Unique Electromagnetic Suit]

Lo Stregone

Trickster Mark III

A killer fit! Repels small-arms ballistics, laser, and plasma fire. Concentrated repulsion units on the neck and wrist can control/fire projectiles held nearby at bullet speeds.

Credits Remaining: 105,000

The still-smiling Wilson pressed another button on Lo Stregone’s podium. It flipped over, revealing a man-sized vanity on the other end. He motioned for me to step in front of it.

“How do you feel, sir?”

I scanned over my new form. The deep red of the suit clashed with my pasty skin. The locks of sandy hair that once fell haphazardly over my forehead seemed to hold more firmly in place now. My emerald eyes shone with a ferocity that surprised me. When had I grown such an intense demeanor? How long had I even been in this competition? I could hardly remember.

A smile crept along my face. I tugged at the lacy frills on my wrist, feeling them hum with power.

“Like a million bucks.”