I startle awake, in what seems to be a hospital bed. Confused at first, I sit up and see that all around me are the significantly-more-damaged bodies of other contestants. Seems like a lot. I think I missed the entire tournament with this.

"Mister Bone, you are awake. Good."

Next to me, an unknown woman - doctor or nurse? - is already speaking to me, like I know who she is and like my name is meant to be known. Before I say anything, I'll take a closer look. Let's make sure I don't get played by fancy schmucks again.

Okay, she's maybe around 5'6, seems healthy-sized, keeps fit. Strawberry blonde hair that goes down a bit below the shoulders, skin that seems somewhat paler than is normal but not badly so. Slight amused expression. Generic lab coat, closed, visible breast bumps... Irrelevant. Yep, seems fine, except for the fact that she knows who I am.

I'm going to keep silent and get out of bed. I'm still wearing the very same attire, down to the shoes on my feet.

"Sir, you need to stay seated. Please-- where are you going?"

I didn't see my bat anywhere, and I don't think I'll see it again. Where's my locker? I walk out of what I now know is the infirmary, because big red letters are hard to miss, and see a familiar corner to my right. Yep, there it is, the big area where the "changing rooms" are. As I approach, I hear people talking in there. Not my business, I just want to leave and be done with all this.

"So you're saying he dropped out on purpose? That he beat everyone up to there and had an "accident" then just walked away? So all my efforts amount to nothing then, the last ENTIRE YEAR I spent training is wasted?! Because of some rich twat?!"

"Dude, chill out! It's not wasted, the officials were able to see how hard you worked, I'm sure. It's just that heroics are grayer than I thought. You did great, believe me!"

"I... look, my performance doesn't matter. For all we know, everyone else was a plant. I was the only fighter who wasn't in on the blatant bribery and nepotism on display here! This whole thing is rigged, that kid's gonna get his shit wrecked the instant he realizes you can't bribe a gun! Winning some monthly event means nothing in the long run!"

Nevermind, it is my business. So from what I can gather, someone paid a bunch of big-deal people and other fighters to let them win and it worked. Was that No. 8 girl part of it too? I have to get changed, I'll keep listening later.

The changing room is the same, except for the bat which is now leaning against the locker. Nice, I get to keep it. After a quick change of clothes, I'm back to looking like a regular, unarmed guy with a duffel bag.

On my way out, intending to ask Tommy about the incident, the two guys from earlier were joined by the same secretary-type lady from earlier. I'm starting to notice a pattern of very deceptive appearances and weirdos, to the point I can't even be sure I'm looking at someone.

"Gentlemen, I have to ask you, if you are done packing up, to please leave this place. My employer wants no contact with commoners like you. Go on, shoo!"

No way, is that cartel goon guy from earlier the rich kid they were talking about? I mean, he was the only other guy there and every other room was empty, who else could it be?

"Hey, mind your manners! What's with you lot and your smug disdain for everyone? Your kind work for scumbags anyway, why are you so defensive of them? Is the paycheck that good, are they banging you on the side? I swear, the only thing I hate more than rich kids is their lapdogs."

"Will you leave or do I have to remove you from the premises myself? Leave, peasant!"

Well, she seems just as nice as the angry guy. Everyone here is real aggravating, I tell you what. I'll stick around, I want to see what happens.

"Oh, you wanna go too? Fine, I'll throw down with you, I don't give a shit! You fu--"

"Hey, no, stop! Dude, that's too much! Don't get physical man, let's just leave, okay?"

World-class defusing from his pal there, a stunning move. The polar duo leave and the woman, now noticing me, struts over pompously, a glint of recognition in her eye.

"Ah, the man with the clones! Number 57, right? Say, would you be interested in a job offer? My employer is hiring bodyguards and with a power like yours, we could really do quite a few things!"

"I thought this was a superhero thing, not a recruitment drive. I'd take a sponsor, but I refuse to abandon my dreams of heroic acts. Wooing a fair maiden after rescuing her sounds way more fun than paying some chick, right?"

"You-- what? I mean, of course this is about superheroes, but that doesn't mean you can't change careers! We offer a very high salary, you know? I can promise you - don't walk away! Hey!"

But I walk away, hey. On my way out, I come across the Chavez dude, complete with a full regiment of elite guards surrounding him. I can do that too, you know?

Actually, I feel like making fun of the now-confirmed rich kid. I copy his formation with excessively stony-faced clones, put on an exaggerated hoodlum act and catch up to the guy's little posse, even copying their rhythm. With a little salute, I say "Good day, sir! Your secretary's the other way, you know."

"Who the fuck are you, ay? You makin' funna me?"

Oh wow, he didn't just take the bait, he made extra, gave them to me then took them back. Talk about a fragile ego. He breaks straight through his little circle of friends and tries to punch the one who spoke and saluted outright, no other moves, no trashtalk, nothing else. Just a bad decision.

Of course, I dodge and grab him by the collar. I then am surrounded in about a second by overtrained elite protectors.

"Listen, buddy. I don't care who you are. I don't care what your money got you. I really don't care about winning this thing or not. Just... look, I heard someone say you rigged this so you would be guaranteed to win. Is that true?"

"The fuck's it matter to you?! What's your problem, bitch? Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"I should be the one asking that question. Tell me, big guy... who the hell are you?"

His posse thinks it has my real body surrounded. It would only be logical to think I'm in the middle, but I'm in the opposite corner, posing as a clone.

"You pull those clones back, right now, or I won't go easy on you this time."

Oh, it's the girl I fought. So that's what she looks like. She shoulda stayed in costume, her face is lumpy. Augmentations are ugly, you know?

"Wrong body, lass. Looks like you don't have eyes in the back of your head after all."

I'm being too brave here, something's wrong with me. Why am I not scared in the least? This guy looks like he can get away with murder. Is it because I'm used to dying, because of Khalil's special methods, which are totally not whooping me across the room 24/7? This is bad. I'm desensitized and arrogant.

I withdraw all my clones and reveal my true position. Real 4D chess right here.

"Alright, I believe in de-escalation, unlike the null achievement you're trying to protect. I'll leave, but not before saying this: Juan or whatever your name is, should you and your fancy little crew show up and try this stunt again, I'll show you what failure feels like."

I then walk through the multiple firearms pointed at me, confidently and with a big grin, to conceal the sudden and powerful surge of fear and shame now rushing through me. Thank you, well-honed acting skills! All the embarrassing mirror practice of hero poses and carefully-memorized walking patterns is paying off.

They actually let me go, strangely enough, and the (most likely second-generation) rich kid isn't pushing his luck either.

I manage to make it outside and about two hundred meters away before ducking into an alley and freaking out. I thought I was going to die. What is my problem? Is it my sense of justice, wanting to put an end to the corruption inherent in this system? Whatever it is, it put me within dying range.

At least I sounded confident in front of the guy, so that's nice. It seems like I'm the kind that only works well when under pressure. After the fact, I'm a damn wreck. I need to get myself some real confidence. Some flirt-with-random-girls confidence.

I'd say I'll add it to the list, but I already did.

That doesn't matter, though. I still need to speak about the bribery and prearranged fights to the others. I need to get as much information as possible, because I'm sure I just started a time bomb. When it'll blow up doesn't matter, what matters is I need to make sure it won't blow up too close to me.

Alright, priorities:

1. Get good.

2. Get smart.

3. Don't piss off rich people.

Now that I've established what the basic objectives of my life are, I need to work on the details. Get good and get smart are easy, I just need some counseling from Tommy and I'll be capable of running a full-blown army soon enough. That and generally getting stronger, faster, just better really. Hence "get good". Though it includes confidence and all its variants.

What a mess I've gotten myself into. I need to get back home and work this out with real adults.