Chapter Forty

Marek

After sleeping all day, Marek climbs out of his makeshift bunkbed in the breaker panel room. He’s been back on this side of Welan for over a month now, but it still feels rather weird. He and all of his companions share a small forgotten space in the lower level of an old industrial center. When the surrounding area’s power lines were renovated and moved to a single input on the opposite end of the block, the area used for the old electrical buss work was left vacant. So far, no one has noticed their presence there.

This has been his longest stretch of continuous occupancy in one place that he can remember of. From what he’s heard, this group that’s decided to take him in has been here for almost a full year now. Their reputation for being as disciplined as they are dogmatic appears to be the truth. They refuse to lease a place under the table like anyone else. They’re especially particular about who even knows where they are. It makes him wonder if they are wanted for something serious, not that they’d ever speak of it.

Even though he doesn’t meet eye to eye with some of the crew, he’s still appreciative of their stability. They are all vigilant, methodical, and level headed. With as many different people as he’s lived with over the years, the members of this group are by far the most intelligent and skilled. He’s learned so many things about scavenging, stealing, and hiding with them than anyone else ever. They are true masters of anonymity.

Sometimes they treat him like a pup, but not too badly. Being so much younger than the rest of them is always going to be a little awkward. They have learned that he’s not a man they can assume to step on. That’s one of the main reasons why they accepted him into their group to begin with, that and his trending luck with betting.

Normally this group would steer well clear of anyone his age or younger. Young men have a reputation for attracting attention, and being risk-takers, both of which they made an exception for when taking him in. Even though he’s taken his fair share of risks, they’ve always panned out in his favor.

Everyone does stupid and dangerous things in their life at some point or another. One could say that successful people simply only have better luck than everyone else when they take risks. He may be a homeless rat, but he’d like to think of himself as being a rather lucky one. He’s surely gotten away with plenty of things he shouldn’t have.

His specialty is in abducting robots out on the street and parting them out. It’s an incredibly difficult thing to pull off, but he is what most would call an expert on the matter. Robot power cells alone can bring in a considerable amount of cash. A lot of individuals rely on them for heat during the winter. When word got out that he was sourcing hardware off of law enforcement patrol-bots, the group sought him out themselves.

As far as he understands, no one else has ever taken one off the grid before. He didn’t think it was such a big deal, but no one else has ever done it. Tonight, he’s on his way out to the Arena again, but not just to gamble this time. The group wants him to buy something very specific, something that someone only with his reputation could even inquire about.

If anyone in Welan city is looking for something illicit, there’s no better place to get it than at the arena. He’ll normally only do trades at the old iron bridge, but tonight he has to go where the goods are. The right kind of people there know who he is, and are willing to trade more serious items with him. It’s not really his thing, but it kind of makes him feel like a heavy hitter.

While he laces up his boots, he smirks at the thought of it. Through the grapevine, his group has lined him up with someone that has what they’re looking for, something that’ll give them the upper hand over a grip of robots, even all at once.

Like the rest of his companions, he still has no formal identity in any public database. He has no birth certificate, last name, or ever been assigned an identity after an arrest. There are a lot of plusses to living free as they all do, but it has its price too. There is no real structure to their lives other than the small communities they form. It’s how they watch out for one another. They all live by the old-ways, with respect, courtesy, and knowing how to watch one's mouth.

There’s a kind of dignity to it, even when on rock bottom. Some live by the code loosely while others do so more strictly. He’d consider himself to be quite open-minded about things, but the rest of his group has been labeled by most as zealots, lumping him in with them. He likes how the others have the strength to stand their ground, but they can be a little full of themselves sometimes.

They certainly haven’t been so warm to his enthusiasm when it comes to robotics, and that’s all he brings to the table. He has a lot to offer there, but the group seems to have blinders on when it comes to that part of the world. He hasn’t said anything about it, but he often finds them talking themselves up a bit bigger than they really are.

He’s opened his own eyes at least far enough to see how easily they can all be cut down if they push their luck any farther. The authorities could probably go as far as to exterminate them all if they were pushed to it. They don’t need to be making any more waves than they already do. He likes living on the outside of the system well enough, but he’s always wondered what it’s like on the other side of the coin. Citizens fall from their pedestals all the time, but he’s never heard of anyone climbing up out of the gutters.

Being back on this side of the city has him thinking about a lot of things, mainly about where he came from. He has no idea who his mother and father were. He was supposed to have been looked after by his older sister, but that didn’t last long. One day, she just wasn’t there. Whenever he tries to remember as far back as he can, all that he can picture in his mind is being wet and deathly cold during the fall rains that year. He had gotten himself into trouble and had to disappear. Then, he remembers there being a bunch of other kids like him and they all had a lot of fun in the alleys. It wasn’t too bad after that.

Despite growing up a little orphan rat, he can’t say that he didn’t learn anything. Though informal, he and all the other kids were taught how the real world works. Some of the older folks taught them all how to read, write, and pretty much everything else. He smiles, thinking of their weathered old faces.

They were quite kind and understanding, but he remembers learning his manners the hard way a couple of times too. They were all raised to see life differently than the rest of the world. They were told to not get stuck in the rut everyone else is in, living to work rather than working to live. They’d just end up working for the machine that way.

Most of the derelicts learn what they know about technical electronics from fixing things that people throw out. It’s something a lot of them have to learn to survive. The value of money still has its place amongst even the strictest of idealists. Ironically, for a derelict, his forte is in robotics, and recently in gambling on them. Even though most everyone in his little world hates machines, he is constantly looking for ways to be around them more.

Unlike most, he never recognized the same evil in robots as everyone else, and quickly became fixated on them above all else. Sometimes, a boy just has to do the opposite of what everyone else does. He’s learned for himself that they’re not deviant servants of some secret machine overlord. They’re just simple-minded machines that have no clue as to what’s really going on. He’s considered nabbing one for himself, but it’d never last long. Someone would find out and then they’d snitch on him. Until he can get a decent place for himself, he’s just going to have to settle for stealing one now and then for parts.

After taking a few machines down himself over the years, he’s developed a knack for sizing them up. They’re very robust pieces of equipment, but they always have their weaknesses. Despite the rest of the derelicts hating robots, none of them seem to have any problem piling into the arena to blow their money on the tournaments every weekend. Ironically, many of them even become loyal fans of their favorite machines.

The gladiator sport brings in thousands of people from across the city, the country, and sometimes the world. The wealthy show up in masses just as fervently as the poor do. The competitive fame, carnage, and money can bring out the animal in pretty much anyone. One of the major aspects of the events that bring the homeless population there is the classic underdog scenario. Despite many high-end machines dominating the field, a low budget machine will still sometimes hang on till the very end. When they do, the payouts are really high.

It’s not just the robot events that draw everyone in either, it’s the free-for-all culture that comes with them. Everything from valuable items, drugs, to prostitution can be found there. The place drips with sexy hotness, while at the same time snarling in such raw aggression. Whatever a person might imagine looking for there, they can find it if they only look hard enough.

Though nearly everything is on the table, there is only one thing that’s not, and that’s violence. As well as there being no fee to get into the event, there’s pretty much no security there either, so it is up to the people to keep things in order. It’s one of the biggest tributes to the old-ways there is.

Fighting is not tolerated anywhere on the grounds, except within the ring itself, and that’s kept between the robots and their operators. Somehow, the unwritten rule has taken hold at the arena with unwavering success. Despite all other illicit activity being overlooked, everyone as a whole honors the premise as if it were sacred grounds or something.

As long as there’s no violence, a blind eye is turned to the rest of it. No one wants to be the first one to ruin it for everyone else. The pressure is clear on everyone’s faces at the slightest disturbance. Ever since he’s been going to the arena, and that’s going back a few years, he can’t recall even a single drunken spat lasting for more than mere seconds. His people take it upon themselves to immediately extinguish what might draw undue attention. The homeless will never attack each other, so they can dilute a scuffle extremely well.

Whoever set up Welan city, knew to give its people a vice they could all share. It keeps the streets clean and does a lot towards nullifying territorial rivalries. The city itself looks much more respectable, having all of its dirt swept into such a tidy little pile every Saturday night.

Some believe the government uses the place as a way to earmark anyone that shows up as an undesirable. He wouldn’t put it past them himself. The homeless know better than most about what happens in the shadows. If a rat is ever arrested for anything real serious, they are never seen from again. One of the follies of having no identity is in how easy it is for any of them to completely disappear.

Tonight, he has arranged with their group’s most trusted trader to help him negotiate with another barterer who he’s never personally met. With such sensitive transactions, the use of some of the trading hierarchy is a needed formality. He has a sizable amount of cash on himself, so two members of his group are coming along to shadow him.

After he puts on his long oil-cloth duster, he marches through the concrete hallway with purpose. The other men in the group all watch him pass by their rooms, each lined with old gray breaker panels. He finds Tey and Brent waiting for him in the main room, one on each side of the door as he heads out. They are the only two of the group he might think twice about going toe-to-toe with. None of them have any reason to suspect any trouble with the deal, but simple muggings are always a possibility out on the street. They can’t afford to lose such an investment to petty theft. Sometimes people are desperate. He’s been there himself.

Five minutes apart each, they head out through the door into the darkness to meet up again out on the road. It’ll take an hour for them to walk to the arena, but that’s what they’re used to. Even as important as this deal is, they all feel the most confident going on foot. People always seem to get caught by the authorities while in a car, and not so much on foot.

The police do have armed patrol robots, but they know better than to deploy them in a derelict area. It makes for a real bad statement and always causes more problems than it solves. The arena is on the boundary between the crappy side of town and the metropolis. Its builders knew to put it in a place that normal citizens wouldn’t feel comfortable going to regularly, It was meant for both classes, but more for the poor than the rich.

When they finally reach the arena, they pause to look around at the crowd that’s pouring in. It’s not as busy as it could be, but they are a little early. The huge place is constructed specifically for machine gladiator sports, and it shows. It’s built in a crude, but stout way, out of heavy steel and concrete. Even the pit walls inside are made of huge scrap steel bales, all stacked up like stone, to resemble ancient arenas. Its large arches, chairless terraced stadium seating, and packed dirt floor are all a homage to the ancient sport. With him in the lead, the three of them casually meander in through the pedestrian entry. That’s what the venue calls it, but they all know it is only meant for the likes of them. All the pretty people of Welan valet in through the glitzy main entrance. That’s how it is. The wealthy people’s bodyguards will run them off if they try to go in that way. Anyone off the street could probably take them on, but they all know better than to make a scene.

He’s not in much of a mood to check out all the normal attractions on the main floor this time. His instructions are to find their trader and the other one accompanying him down in the staging pits before the fight. Since they made sure to show up early, he figures he might as well scope out the contestants while they’re there. While they were on their way, Tey had convinced him to bet whatever money they have left from the trade on whatever machine he thinks will win. Tey has the seniority to make that call if he wants. He and Brent have it in their minds that he can’t lose.

The moment they are inside, the other two ditch him like he expected they would. He is perfectly safe on his own inside, and he knows the other two just want to go and ogle girls for the rest of the night. The elders of the group don’t let those two out very often, and probably for good reason. They’re plain sketchy, even to him.

While he makes his way from one end of the staging pits to the other, he stops by each machine to check them out. There are no pre-scheduled entries to any of the fights, or any organization to the matches either. It’s supposed to be a simple shootout between anyone that shows up. Sometimes there are only a couple of contestants, other nights there are dozens.

The dozen staging pits are all first come first serve, but out of common practice, contenders occupy the bays by their level of confidence. Each spot is a ten-foot by ten-foot platform that rises through the arena floor. There is no order to which bays will be selected, except for the number one station, it always goes first.

If there are more contestants than bays, the ones that show up late have to share and are sent up together. The only design limit imposed on the machines is a six thousand pound weight maximum. Common sense and safety for the spectators are supposed to be taken into consideration. Other than that, as long as the thing fits in the bay, it’s good to go.

Another thing he likes about the fighting scheme is that once machines are entered, they aren’t allowed to be pulled until they’re either dead or victorious. The high-end machines are often entered by manufacturing companies so that they can test their products in a real environment. If their robot wins, it gives them substantial street credit when it comes to marketing.

He’s seen everything from modified tractor robots, to even foreign prototype military machines set against one another. In some cases, raw steel mass wins, and other times it’s by a simple entanglement device. This time, he expects that it’s going to be a fairly dull night. There are only four machines lined up. Still, he’s seen a single pair of machines make for one a hell of a good time too.

He drags his fingers through his hair when he sees that a humanoid Werker robot has taken the number one station. It’s a brand new model that he’s never seen before, but there’s nothing special about it that he can see. Werker makes fine machines, but they have no place here. When he approaches it, he finds the owner nearby, bragging about his machine’s martial arts programming, claiming to have simulated true aggression in its code.

The man, dressed in a Gee, hands the robot a long heavily built katana and commands it to do something in a foreign language. The robot instantly charges to the edge of its bay and stabs through the air with its sword. Numerous people standing close by flee for their lives, scrambling over one another.

The man laughs as he points at them like they’re fools. “Tha’s what da otha robots gonna do out thea, in da ring. Haha.”

Marek has seen this exact same thing already happen before. He’s surprised no one booed him when he so brazenly took the number one bay. That in itself is supposed to be a bold statement and often it is never taken, because of that.

The next machine is an older tractor constructed mostly half-inch thick steel wear-plate and modified. It appears to have been yellow at one time, but most of its paint looks to have been worn off years ago. It has some pretty impressive scrape marks on it from fighting and looks to be pretty seasoned.

The eight-foot-tall behemoth has proportionately short legs compared to its arms and it hunches over on all fours like a gorilla. It can’t even be considered to be a real robot either. It’s been made to be piloted by a person in a remote tracking suit. He’s pretty sure he’s seen this machine in posters before, but he had not noticed it has real hydraulics on it. It’s probably more expensive to haul the massive thing around than it is to maintain it.

The size of the motor and gear pump on its manifold does draw some inspiration to it. It will certainly be a strong and dexterous machine to deal with. Unless the robot with the sword can figure out how to pry underneath the solid oil lines, it won’t have a snowball’s chance in hell. The monstrous three-fingered jaws it has for hands look like they can crush just about anything they get hold of. Depending on how fast the machine servo valves are, they might be in for a long night.

The third contestant is what catches his eye. He couldn’t see it until he came right up on it since it’s too short to see over the small crowd gathering around it. Surprisingly, most of the people looking at it are naysayers. He overhears some say that its spindly little legs will end up falling off all on their own, or at best get all tangled together.

To the other onlookers, it’s nothing more than an unsettling sight. For being a giant robotic centipede, it’s not all that big. At twenty feet long, three feet wide, and barely two and a half feet tall, it’s fairly small. When he looks underneath it, his eyes open in surprise. It looks like it very well could meet the maximum weight limit.

The forty or so legs do look spindly at first, but they have been made with the utmost care. They are made of short stout sections, have huge organic-looking joints, and are bound with monstrous cable tendons. By the looks of them, he suspects that even if they were dislocated, they might be able to pull themselves right again.

Unlike anyone else, he has no problem getting on his hands and knees to scope the thing out more thoroughly. When he peers into the depth of its core, there’s a considerable amount of titanium wire rope throughout. Each cable has short stroke electromagnets on them for fast hard pulling, but the two main inch thick ones have huge harmonic drives on them for some unfathomable tensioning. The thing is basically a giant million-pound winch inside. It’s immediately apparent that anything caught within its grasp will not escape, no matter how strong it is. It would take a nuclear bomb to pry it open.

The thing’s glossy reddish-orange and black paint scheme almost shy him away like it does everyone else. The whole thing has an unsettling oily and creepy look to it. It reminds him of those big fat mushy cockroaches that crawl out on the walls at night. His shoulders shake with disgust when he thinks about them.

If he ever saw anything that looked like this machine in nature, he’d surely believe its skin to be poisonous to the touch. A few cute girls that are taking pictures pressure one another into reaching out and touching it. Only one of them does before they all scamper off to the next bay. In contrast, he can’t seem to stop looking at the thing.

In comparison to its legs, the jaws in the head of the thing are even shorter and much more heavily built. Their shape reminds him of wire snippers. They’re only just barely serrated and have a negative cutting angle that will allow them to bite into even a flat surface. The only real armor it has is on its back. Numerous broad curved plates overlap from its head on down to its tail. At the end of its tail are a pair of twenty-four inch long barbed hooks, good for grabbing onto things. They look like log grabs.

Unlike most contestants, the owner of this machine is nowhere in sight and no one has talked to or even seen them. The only thing in the stall with it is a black banner hanging in the back. It has three big blood-red lightning bolt S’s all surrounded by red circle. It doesn’t even say what SSS is abbreviated for. He’s sure he’s heard that name before though, he just can’t place where.

The fourth and last robot is one that he’s seen before. It loses more fights than it wins, but its developers are persistent and have truly come a long way with it. He has kind of grown fond of the thing. One day, it will win, and it’d make him smile, even if he lost money on it.

Since it gets its butt kicked often enough, its owners have done a good job of making it inexpensive enough to keep rebuilding. That in itself has increased attention for their company. Unlike any other soft machine he’s ever seen, this one is really pretty tough. The best he hoped to describe it to anyone would be as if a studded radial tire and a giant octopus had a baby.

The thing can become stiff and bouncy, or super soft and clingy, depending on how much it inflates itself. When soft, it can hold onto things, bind them up, and instead of ink, it pours sticky fire all over everything. The little troublemaker is quite something to watch and he is excited to see it back. It always has a new trick up its tentacles.

He used to constantly dream of building his own machine when he was a kid. The events have always been barred to anyone underage, but he would always watch the videos afterward. Now that he’s grown up, he has many more adult responsibilities to look after. Building his robot is a long-gone dream. The closest he’ll ever get to entering a machine is in picking whichever one he thinks will win.

On his way back through the big concrete archways leading upstairs, he spots Migo, their local trader. He’s an older man, about sixty-something, and has a shiny bald head with graying hair around the back. It’s easy to spot him because he has a broad yellow stripe down the back of his hood, to distinguish himself from others in his trade.

Traders always have a mark so that people know they are off-limits to being robbed. Without their mark, they all look the same in their big brown hooded cloaks. Migo recognizes him and beckons him to come over by tilting his head to the side.

While he weaves through the crowd on his way over, Migo gets another cloaked person’s attention next to him by putting his hand on their shoulder. They have a narrow reflective white band around the back of their hood to identify them. When they turn his way, he pauses at the sight of them. He automatically suspected them to be a man, by the width of their shoulders, but they don’t have the face of a man, not even close. He has a good idea who the woman is, and it makes his mouth almost go dry.

He’s never met her before, but he’s certainly heard of her. She’s supposed to be quite muscular, and not to be fucked with. Even with a heavy cloak covering her, he can see that she’s quite lean underneath, but yet likely weighing a good one hundred sixty pounds. He heard that her muscularity is not because she works out, but is hereditary, like a mutation or something.

Someone said that her father’s genetics were altered in some kind of sketchy medical trial. It had something to do with them being stripped of a certain protein receptor or something like that. Whatever it is, it makes her the way she is. He doesn’t know if any of that was made up or what, but she sure as hell isn’t an exaggeration.

The reputation that precedes her isn’t about her body though, it’s usually about her having killed three men with her bare hands. Supposedly, they had tried to rape her. Their charred remains were found in a burnt down dumpster with a clear warning to others wiped in the soot on its side.

There was never any investigation about it either. As far as the police were concerned, neither she nor the other men even existed. They probably knew it would’ve ended up as a clear case of self-defense anyway, so they didn’t bother. Sometimes the convenience does pay off.

In the custom of trading, she lowers the hood of her cloak to reveal her face to him. It’s a courtesy between traders to do, as a show that a deal is made in good faith. Out of all the stories he’s heard, no one ever mentioned that she was so startlingly beautiful. As far as he can tell, she’s in her early thirties, maybe five or so years older than himself.

Her long, perfectly straight, and almost white-blonde hair is not in a ponytail but stays laid back smooth as if it were. It looks like she just got out of the shower, but the smudge on her chin says she did not. The color of her skin and hair are both so light that they nearly blend, making her eyebrows and lashes almost disappear.

He’s so nervous, he has to keep his lips pressed together a little bit to keep his jaw still. He tries to clear his throat, but he just can’t. He knows better than to act weird during a deal like this, but he can’t pull away from her light crystal blue eyes. He’s never seen anything like them before. They’re almost teal. When she looks up at him, her eyes dart to his face, as if she recognizes him somehow, but then shifts to his hood.

Quickly, he snatches it down from his head, gives her a tiny smile, and then a bow of acknowledgment for having forgotten. He knows if he gets shifty eyed now, she might suspect him to be an informant or something. He knows he has a good reputation himself, but she’s probably someone that looks out for her ass very seriously.

Her expressionless face and thin lips tell him that they are not friends and serves as a warning for him to consider his actions wisely. When he looks down at her hands, he notices that they’re wrapped in canvas strip, for fighting. The fabric at her knuckles are dark, and not from dirt.

Neither she nor he speaks until the three of them gather closer together in confidence. She moves in to stand much closer to him than a person normally would, almost toe to toe with him. She doesn’t seem to be directly trying to intimidate him, but he wonders if she’s using the small distance between them as a physical advantage. He’s more than a head taller than her, putting her somewhere around five foot seven. As much taller as he is than her, he can see a little bit down the front of her cloak where the front zipper is down to her chest.

She is dressed light and tight, with what looks like only a sports bra underneath her cloak. Something in the back of his mind is telling him that he’s come across her before, and it’s not just a feeling that he’s met her before either, it feels important. As it should be, Migo is the first one to speak and introduce them to one another.

“This is a Marek, a somewhat recent addition to our community. I believe he used to live in these parts years ago. I’ll vouch for him.”

At the mention of his name, he catches the blonde smirk a little when she nods at him. It makes him almost grin enough to show his teeth. “Good to meet you…”

Migo harrumphs and quickly interrupts. “Yes, yes, and this is a long-time friend of mine, Alexis.”

He looks slightly down and to the side at her with intrigue at the mention of her name. She turns away slightly, prompting Migo to unclip the strap on the small pack she is wearing. Carefully, and smoothly, he hands it over to him to inspect. Instead of opening the bag to see inside, he feels for what’s in it. The item inside is packed in what is likely waded up plastic grocery bags, but he can still tell right away that it’s indeed what he’s looking for. The heavy metal cylinder shape, along with the bus bars on the front of it, are the tell-tale signs of what he was shown in pictures.

“With a perfectly straight face, and not in a hushed voice, but with one of care, she speaks to him. “The effector attachment is in the smaller end pocket.”

She makes him feel like he’d better not look away from her eyes, or even dare blink. When he feels for the additional hardware, he confirms what she said. The thing is the right shape and heavy enough. There’s no doubt that it’s made of solid copper. He nods in acceptance.

“It’s what we’re looking for. What’s your price?” He must’ve said it too casually because a hint of concern for carelessness crosses her face. There is no hesitation in her answer though.

“Five thousand.”

Marek’s jaw drops, but he does not quibble. She wants twice the amount of money that he has with him and several crass things to say cross his mind. “Sure it’s nice to get fucked sometimes, but not like this” is what he wants to say, but he doesn’t. Instead, he clenches his teeth shut tight and closes his eyes to hold back his smart mouth. He doesn’t know if she barters like this because she’s hot, and can get away with it, or because she thinks she can throw her weight around.

In respect for Migo, he calmly tells them the truth. “I do not have that much with me. I will have to discuss this with my counterparts, to see if we can still afford it.”

Now he kind of wishes he was dealing with some other jerk that he could haggle with. This girl really has him over a barrel, but still, he wouldn’t trade meeting her for anything. Something about her has his mind overclocking in the background. He steps away for a moment and makes a call to the others back at camp. Since it’s over the phone, they speak as briefly as possible.

“They want five thousand.” He almost calls the item an antique piece of shit, but he knows to not voice any details.

“Things have suddenly changed, and the stakes have risen, by a lot. Do not come back without it.”

They end the call immediately, leaving him about to yell “SHIT” as loud as he can. He’s already learned his lesson by trying to steal from a trader, and he absolutely can’t do that this time, and not to these two. He’s really screwed now.

When he rejoins the other two, he stands in front of them with his hands in his pockets and hunched a little in embarrassment.

“I’ll have to place a bet for that much. If I win, I’ll pay what you’re asking.” The look on Alexis’s face is not what he was hoping for.

Before she can immediately bail on the two of them, Migo puts his hand on the inside of her arm to stall her. “When Marek bets, he wins.” She doesn't look to be impressed nor swayed in the slightest. Without his permission, Migo ups the stakes. “He’ll pay you an extra five hundred for your time if he wins, and a hundred for your wait if not.”

He almost turns around to cover the fuck-my-life look on his face but manages to muster the ability to keep it together just long enough. Alexis nods in agreement to the terms with a sly smile and steps back in amongst them. It appears that he’s caught her attention this time. She seems to look at him in a new light as if the fun has only started. That’s when he catches her giving him the up and down.

He tries his best to not look smug, but at least a little confident. Since he’s already dug himself a big enough hole, he might as well turn it into a grave. “I’d be more than happy to treat the two of you if you’d join me upstairs for the matches.”

Unexpectedly, she is enthusiastic to take him up on his offer. He figured she’d ditch him and Migo for a while to go and sell more shit, but that she doesn’t makes him feel pretty cool. ”I’ll tell you what, I’m gonna tour the staging area one more time and then meet you at the number ten entrance.”

She and Migo disappear into the crowd together while he stands there imploding with worry. He watches her walk away until she puts the hood up over her head again. He’s never been fixated on a woman like this before and isn’t sure what to do with himself. He doesn’t just have to win big tonight to even have a home to go back to, but he has to because she’s counting on him too.

Annoyingly, the owner of the centipede robot is still nowhere to be found. He has no idea what makes the damn thing tick, and can only make a judgment on the structure of it. Only a few people are still gathering around it, and those that do are more interested in touching and taking pictures with it than anything else. The yellow robot should be a pretty easy choice, but for some reason, he finds himself drawn to the centipede. It’s like he can feel the strength of it just by standing near it.

From the chatter he is picking up in the crowd, most others seem to be confident in the sheer bulk of the yellow remote-piloted machine. As things are, he has no idea how well the centipede even works, whether it has an autonomous controller, or is remote-controlled by some teenager. Despite that, he still can’t shake the feeling that it is one badass machine.

He waits in a longer line at his preferred booth than the others have. The girl that works this one is cute and is usually sweet to him. He really likes her, but she’s a civilian and he’s a nobody, and nothing could ever become of them. Sometimes she’ll give him a little bit more info on the odds and he always comes back to her booth and gives her a generous tip if he wins. There’s no shady deal going on between them, they just seem to have developed a little friendship, and he likes doing something nice for her after winning good money.

When it’s his turn, he steps up and lays all twenty-five hundred on the counter and taps his finger over the picture of the centipede tucked in under the clear counter. The look on Randi’s face makes him doubt himself to the core. She knows him well enough, and is a little suspect of his intuition, and especially the amount he just put in front of her.

“Well, alright Marek, I wish you the best of luck.” She isn’t as chatty this time, and her tone makes him feel like he just gave away all his money.

“What? C’mon, it can’t be that bad.”

“I ain't gonna say anything to anyone else, but I kind of consider you to be a friend, Marek. It’s that machine’s first match… like ever. You and, I don’t know, maybe only a hundred people have put their money on it. Only the owner put more money down than you did.”

“How much more?”

Someone farther back in the line starts complaining. “Come on! This isn’t kissy-face time, let’s get a move on it!”

She looks around as if she might get caught telling, and lowers her voice. “A hell of a lot more. The odds are still climbing over four to one, though.” Her eyes get a bit bigger when she says that part.

“I don’t know, Randi, I just, I think it’s got what it takes.” He started the sentence with a sliver of confidence, but it quickly melts away. “Thanks, hopefully I see you again tonight.”

Before meeting the other two back at the stadium entrance, he buys a six-pack of beer and a big expensive bag of jerky sticks. If things are going to go down the shitter, he’ll want to enjoy himself one last time. When he finds them at the stadium entrance, he leads them to a good place to watch from. Instead of sitting amongst the thick crowd on the concrete steps, he likes to stand at the edge of the stairwell balcony overhanging the entrance below them. From there, they’re only about fifty yards from where the machines will start. It’s his favorite place to watch from.

They’ll have to stand all night, but he can never sit during matches anyway. He doesn’t tell them he also likes this spot because of its auxiliary view. Prostitutes are always hanging out on the landings right below them. If a show ever gets boring, he can usually rely on having a good view of at least something. Tonight, he won’t be looking down on a buffet of barely covered breasts though. The muscular blonde has his undivided attention.

The three of them look up when all the overhead lights dim, signaling the start of the competition. Since there are only four competitors this time, the fights will be spread out into one-on-one matches. When the lights brighten back up, two AMF robot women strut out onto the dirt floor, holding big white signs with the contestant’s names on them. A few people down below shout that they want real women. A few others behind them are doing the same too. With as many of the homeless that shows up, he’s surprised that the place doesn’t have the respect to not insult them with that kind of crap.

Some in the crowd are already booing before the first contestant starts rising through the floor. The machine that takes the number one bay is always first up and is expected to kill all of the other challengers one at a time to win. If he’s lucky, the centipede won’t have to fight until the last round. The winner of each round stays in the ring until it’s defeated or wins it all.

It’s done that way so the owner of the most expensive robot has a better chance to earn back their investment by winning more rounds. For each opponent they defeat, they make more money. When the crowd finally calms down, he tries to make small talk with Alexis.

“Losing the first fight is going to be embarrassing for the guy who owns that thing. A new model Werker unit probably cost him a hundred-k. Poor son of a bitch, there won’t be any of it left when that monster bug is done with it.”

She turns to look at him with a shocked expression. “You put your money on that awful thing!”

Feeling kind of stupid again, he looks back to the arena just as the centipede is rising through the floor. “You’d better hope I’m right, for both our sakes.”

“I knew I should’ve asked for the fifty upfront.”

“Would you wager that if I give you one hundred now, you’ll forfeit the five hundred later?” He smiles again, feeling his confidence coming back for good this time.

She holds her lips together when she smiles, knowing to not take the bait. “I can wait.”

The two robots circle around the contestants waving their banners and then quickly retreat through a small exit door to the side. The hue of the arena lights change to red for a few seconds and then back to a normal white. Both of the robots abruptly jolt to life. The Werker robot immediately charges the centipede head-on with its sword drawn back, low, and to the side. The centipede doesn’t do much in response but slowly turns to watch as if it were stupid or something. He nearly covers his face, realizing its operator is obviously new to this.

Just before the robot engages the centipede, its entire front half stands up and spreads all of its legs open wide. Alexis peers through her fingers at the gross sight of all its numerous shiny legs wiggling about as if we're truly alive. The fast-charging Werker machine rams its sword into the underside of the centipede, burying its blade almost up to the pommel. The crowd gasps, and then there are some short-lived cheers.

After a brief moment of pause, it becomes apparent that the robot is unable to pull the sword back out. Though it’s hard to see exactly what’s going on, it appears to be struggling to even keep hold of the handle. He knows how strong those robots are, as it could probably pierce a quarter-inch plate with that sword. The blade must be stuck in there real bad.

With both hands on the hilt, it tries as hard as it can to pry and pull the blade out, but it just can’t. The centipede slowly twists the core of its body and starts contracting the massive amount of cable in its underside. Suddenly, there’s a loud clanging sound as the sword snaps off about twelve inches from the handle. The robot pulls what’s left of its weapon back, retreats in a backward somersault roll, and then springs up onto its feet again. The centipede, in no hurry, drops back down and starts prodding at its belly.

With the light reflecting off the shiny blade, Marek can see the remainder of the sword loosely slide right back out and drop in the dirt. Wasting no time, the Werker robot charges at the centipede again. With its front legs still touching the ground, it arches its back into a big hump, like a caterpillar, and postures for a forward strike.

Leaping into the air, the ninja robot puts all of its strength and momentum into the remaining length of its sword, aiming for the centipede’s face. This time, the mechanical creature is not so passive. It strikes like a snake, snatching the robot right out of the air. The steel blade glances off the hard smooth surface of its faceplate, only yielding a single bright spark. After snatching up and quickly encasing the Werker bot’s entire body within its numerous legs, only the forearm holding the sword handle and a leg below the knee is free.

With a few short jerks, the centipede curls up, crushing the body of the robot backward in on itself. The loud crunching and popping sound coming from the arena floor sends his hair standing on end. The crowd goes silent and many people have their hands over their open mouths. It takes a while, but when the thing finally lets go of its prey, the humanoid robot is permanently crumpled up into a ball of ruin.

After it lays on the ground for a minute, the poor Werker robot starts to emit smoke from its collapsed core. Only when the centipede recedes to its respective bay platform and is shut down, do a few men rush out to douse the loser with fire extinguishers. It is then dragged back over onto its platform to be lowered down. There are only a couple of people nearby cheering while most everyone else is already quarreling.

In the usual tradition, the announcer makes fun of the losing robot for a short while. When they are done having their fun, they announce a company called Space Security Services, as the match-winner and congratulates them. They were never informed on what to call the thing, so they jokingly refer to it as the creepy bug thing. Everyone in the stands laughs and is cheered up by the comic relief.

Marek winks at Alexis and tries his best to not look smug. “So, what are ya gonna do with your extra five hundred bucks?”

“I might bet it on that bug next time if it survives.” She laughs and holds her hand out for him to give her another beer.

They clink their bottles together to toast the first victory and watch nervously as the second contestant rises through the arena floor. This time, it’s the heavy yellow machine. The crowd begins to chant in favor of the big steel tank, stomping their feet and making the whole place rumble. A spotlight illuminates its pilot out on one of the operator balconies, wearing a black and yellow sensor suit.

The man even has a VR headset on so he can see everything in the same way his machine does. He raises his arms and then slams them down on the floor of his platform. The robot does the same thing out in the arena. Marek can feel the pulse at his feet when the machine hammers down. The look on Alexis’s face is not as optimistic anymore. He isn’t too worried about it though.

After the AMF robots come out to wave the contestant’s cards around again, the lights switch to red and then back to normal. Instead of waiting for the yellow machine to attack this time, the centipede heads towards it at a moderate but cautious pace. It moves like a threatened animal but is still warily aggressive. The thing is not fast, having such short legs, but it still snakes about rather swiftly. It heads straight for the other machine, head-on.

His heart begins to pound harder when he contemplates what is surely going to be inevitable. The yellow machine raises both of its fists in the air to deliver a big single fatal first blow. The centipede looks like it’s going to pull another stupid, and doesn’t even try to move out of the way. It’s as if it can’t look up for its damn self.

The second it reaches the feet of the steel behemoth, it gets smashed flat to the ground by a huge double hammer blow. The entire crowd cheers and jumps up and down like they’ve won for sure. He looks around himself while the entire place shakes, expecting to see dust coming down from the ceiling.

When Alexis turns to him, he leans against the railing and doesn’t even look out onto the floor to see for himself. “I don’t know what all these people are going on about, we’re not even close to being done here.”

He’s right too. The centipede’s legs carve through the dirt, curling in under its body to stay protected. The yellow machine tries clamping down on the back of it, to crush it, but its jaws just keep slipping all over the broad smooth hardened armor plates on the thing’s back. With startling speed, the centipede curls and twists away, slinging dust everywhere.

Like a bear trap, it snaps around one of the yellow machine’s squatty legs and starts climbing up the back of its body. All of its sharply pointed feet moving together makes a loud rapid tapping noise as they track across the surface of the tractor’s thick steel frame. The centipede winds around the leg and up to its head. It smothers the machine’s face with its front legs and holds on tightly everywhere it can hook another leg in.

With its two rear barbs, the centipede hooks onto the heel of the yellow machine’s leg and binds it from being able to return any farther forward with each successive move it makes. Unable to take another step, the machine loses its balance and both of them go to the ground as a single mass of metal. The centipede rapidly stabs at the face of its prey, digging through its shielding and then prying its eyes out right out of its head.

The machine and its pilot both flail their arms together in a panic. The operator even takes his headset off when clawing at his face, trying to peel the giant bug off his head, as if it were actually on him. It looks like it must’ve been terrifying.

Though the machine is blind, it’s far from helpless. The centipede clamps onto one of its hands with its jaws, now keeping that arm bound in place like it has the leg. Even the hydraulic power of the tractor can’t overcome the crushing strength of the centipede’s body. Slowly, it begins to constrict ever more tightly around the body of the big machine.

After hearing a distinct change in the sound of its hydraulic pump, Marek notices a small but growing pool of oil staining the dirt underneath. As soon as he points it out to the other two, the machine's bound leg loses power and is freely pulled back by the centipede. With that leg disabled, the centipede changes its focus to wrangling the other active arm. It pulls the arm it has hold of a way out of its functional range of motion, crushing its hydraulic supply line, spilling even more oil on the ground.

While the centipede is wrangling the dead arm, the other one incessantly bangs away on its back, trying to reach for something to grab onto and peel away. While its actuator lines are hemorrhaging oil all over the place, the free arm gradually slows down to a stop. When the centipede is finally done with its kill, it has to squeeze out from under the things hulking weight. The moment the lights dim, the mood of the crowd drops. The vast majority of gamblers have now lost their money.

A noticeable portion of the crowd is already stirring before the removal crew even wraps their rigging around the yellow robot. For an entire two minutes, they have to listen to the recovery winch whine away while it drags the loser, the crowd’s favorite, through the dirt back to its platform.

When the last contestant is raised, the whole place seems quiet in comparison to normal. The small group of engineers responsible for the black octopus is focused on their controls and scarcely looks out onto the floor. Their unconcerned screen-lit faces are all shown up on the main arena projector. On the other side, a lone tall blonde man in a black suit is standing at the edge of his private booth’s balcony. His arms are crossed and he looks to be expecting his centipede to prove itself to him another time, or else it won’t get fed.

Once again, the robots are announced and given the red light. The second the two are powered up, the oversized soft robot puffs up and stands tall like an angry cat. The thing looks rather silly, scampering across the dirt like it does, but it also looks like a nightmare. As if the thing could have feelings, he imagines it being very unafraid. It makes a straight line for the centipede as fast as it can, holding its front two tentacles out in front of itself.

Same as last time, the centipede rears up, ready to snatch up its prey again. Just before making contact, the squishy creature blasts something out in front of itself, getting it all over the centipede’s face and blinding it. The crowd jolts awake, having not seen it do this before. It must be a new trick.

While the centipede is distracted and crippled the octopus dodges around its flailing attempts to protect itself. The man in the suit at the balcony quickly grabs the control pendant and points it out onto the floor, holding one of its buttons down.

At the same moment, the octopus reaches out with its tentacles again and sprays more of the dark fluid all over the centipede. Gasps come from the spectators when a bright shower of sparks blast out from under its tentacles, engulfing the centipede in flames. As if the centipede can suddenly see again, it swings around and snatches the octopus with its hind legs.

While in the centipede’s grasp the black robot immediately slackens its composure and almost melts out of its hold. It reaches far up into the centipede's belly with all of its writhing tentacles, pulling itself across its midsection. It’s leaving hundreds of shiny scratch marks behind on everything it touches.

In a panic, the centipede flips over and curls uptight. It can’t seem to crush the soft thing, so it frantically stabs at its attacker with all of its pointy legs. Both of them end up on fire but keep thrashing about as if they’re real live things being burned alive. Marek can feel the struggle within himself as if he were in the ring too. He finds himself grasping tightly onto the railing in shock.

Alexis and Migo are both awestricken as well. They’re both wide-eyed and frozen still. The sight of the fight is harsh as if they were watching real animals tearing one another apart for desperate survival. Everyone in the stadium leans forward and peers in closely when they see something strange.

What appears to be shiny metal balls are starting to protrude through the octopus’s skin from the inside out. Eventually, the metallic things tear through its hide, revealing that it has a stout endoskeleton inside too. Its arms are still able to writhe about, but they’ve lost a great deal of their strength.

The more it moves, the more the thing looks like it’s trying to climb out of its skin. The sight is rather gruesome. By the time the fire burns out, the whole thing has become melted, charred, and is coming undone. Though in the end, the octopus cannot seem to let go of the centipede on its own, the fight is over. The lights dim and brighten with the finality of it.

Marek is not smiling yet though, he’s still in shock of his luck. He has likely just won more money than he’s ever had all at once in his entire life. Not only will he be able to afford the trade item, and Migo’s imposed markup, but he’ll still have almost tripled the money he started with. Alexis and Migo look at him with raised eyebrows, prompting him to go and get his money before there’s a huge line.

This time, it doesn’t take long for him to collect his winnings. There’s only a comparatively short line of people that’ve won tonight. As soon as Randi spots him in line, she gets a huge smile on her face and beams at him when his turn is up. For him, she kindly wraps his stack of cash into a neat little block with some brown paper and then tapes the top of it together, not making the presumption that he’ll give her any of it.

When she slides it through the window to him, he already has two hundred of his own in his hand and slips it in under the glass to her. “Until next time. You have a good night, Randi.” He slowly turns away with a wink, not letting her see just how big his grin is getting. She only shyly nods and shuffles about for the next man’s winnings.

While the crowds are still clearing out through the exits, Marek quickly completes the trade between himself and Alexis. He finds more satisfaction in seeing her take her hood off again than in getting what he came for. To him, she looks like some kind of demigod. She has sunk her beautiful fangs into him and poisoned his soul. When she looks into his eyes and speaks, he only barely winces at the sharp kick his heart makes in his chest.

“I look forward to dealing with you again Marek, soon I hope.”

“If there is anything you… uh, need, or… uh, want… I uh.” He can hardly think straight with the freight train going through his mind. He tries to swallow when his mouth suddenly goes dry again, and that’s when the memory of her comes to him. He pauses, looks at her for a few seconds, and then remembers to finish what he was saying. “You need anything, Alexis, you let me know.”

When they part ways, Marek gives Migo a hundred as well, for coordinating the trade, but mostly to make sure they see each other again. When he meets back up with the two that are supposed to be shadowing him, they are silly with excitement and confused by his quietness. All he can think of is the memory when he was a child. He’ll never be able to forget the face of that blonde girl in the rain. It’s been a long time, and they were both just kids, but he’s sure it was her.

As soon as the three of them sneak off into the darkness of a nearby alley, they open up their cloaks, making sure the handles of their knives are free. Out of the corner of his eye, he glances over at Brent and notices a grenade hanging from his chest.

“Afraid someone’s gonna rape ya, Brent?”

“Nope.”

Back in the day, homeless women used to carry grenades to make sure no one ever got hold of them. Word is, some still carry them. Few have ever assumed a homeless woman to be a vulnerable target since then. The homeless never accost their own, they have honor amongst themselves. The real monsters they have to watch for walk in the plain daylight amongst all the city’s other good citizens.

Tey has almost no sense of humor, sometimes making things awkward. “No one is to intercept us or get hold of that device Marek, no matter what.”

Things like this are what make him second guess staying with the group. The only thing that makes him sticking around is the feeling that he’s standing up for his community, and protecting good people. Leadership has asked them to deal with a new and serious threat, and it’s a true honor to be called upon. It means that the community trusts them with their lives.

Back in their hideout, they’re all greeted with cheers and gratitude out in the main electrical room. Apparently, getting the hardware has become a bit more important than he was previously led to believe. Brent has still not told him what’s going on. He takes the bag from him and holds it up, waving it around for everyone to see.

“We’ve got ‘em by the ass now guys! Let’s see ‘em come for us now, huh!” He’s riling everyone up, getting them to put their fists up over their heads. “See what happens then motherfuckers! We’re coming for you now, you plastic pieces of shit!”

Their most senior group member snatches the bag from him and sternly points to an empty chair. “Shut the hell up, Brent! You’re gonna get us all found out with your loud mouth, ya idiot!”

The older man sits down with the bag and sets it across the tops of his thighs to examine what’s inside. Everyone else looks in awe as he slides the bomb out of the bag. He and the old man are the only ones that know exactly what it is.

“Marek, would you explain to everyone else what this thing is, and what it does, quietly.”

“Well, it’s called an explosive flux generator. Inside that cylinder body there, is an electromagnet. It charges up with that big capacitor there on the side.” He gets down on his haunches and points at parts of the thing so that the others can gather around and see. “When the thing is charged, it creates such a strong magnetic field inside, flux, it’ll literally tear itself apart. Before it can do that though, the explosives surrounding it detonate, crushing back down, but even smaller. It uses almost all of the explosive force to completely compress the flux field into like a super crazy dense one, which is all electrical energy, right.”

Starting with his arms out wide, the older man pushes his hands in towards the heavy cylinder body of the thing. “Like Marek was saying, the super dense flux field is basically electricity, but now there’s way more in there ‘cause it converted the energy of the explosion into an even stronger magnetic field. Now, that’s when we gate the flux, the electricity, to the effector, a magnetron.”

“It’ll kill the shit outta all electronics within, like a mile, maybe more, sending shitloads of microwaves through everything.” He looks around at all the wide eyes around him. He figures the Werker plant is going to be the target. He can only sigh, knowing this is going to cause a lot more problems than it’ll solve. “It can be used for other things too though, like powering an energy weapon, or tripping a power grid like a lightning strike.”

The old man puts the device back in the bag. “Were not using this old girl for any of that though, this is for a whole new enemy, one that finds us asleep in our beds and drags us outside to tear us apart in the darkness. I don’t believe anyone here needs any reminding of what happened to our friends out in the country. Some of you have seen these very monsters yourselves. We will capture them and show the world what it has no idea is coming for them.”