It has been several days since the unlikely, yet almost fated duo of F.O.X. and John have bonded for the Xinos deadly battle royale tournament. During this time, John has taken the opportunity to learn more about the Xinos and their species, along with teaching F.O.X. all he could about humans as well. And, while the crash course on all things alien was riveting to the professional gamer turned science fiction enthusiast, he was amazed at how the Xinos, despite their highly advanced civilization, could fail to understand basic concepts like sarcasm, amongst other things.

  Regardless, John was quick to help F.O.X. learn some of the more common mannerisms amongst humans, but was having difficulties explaining to the advanced intelligence how most of those rules seemingly just went out the window regarding his stream chat... “John...” F.O.X. quietly beeps while watching the text scroll by at a record pace. “Oh, ignore that, it’s just... You know, chat doing its thing.” The gamer responds with a heavy sigh, while banking around a corner to deliver some scarily accurate headshots to 3 players in his current Fork Knife ranked match.

  “I mean... I can understand the “rekt” spam as you call it, but the “he’s skibidi hacking lololz”, “giga rizz energy”, and “cooked sigma”? I... You can’t even cook a standard deviation!” The machine quietly whooped in alternating high and low-pitched tones. “Oh.... Errr... How do I explain...” fumbles John, as his fingers continue to effortlessly glide across the keyboard with uncanny precision.

  While trying to translate the seemingly endless “brain rot” scrolling past his chat for the poor intelligence, John’s attention snaps back to his match after the nanomachines monitoring his peripheral vision alert him to an incoming volley of grenades. John quickly swaps to his pistol in response and fires a single bullet into each of the explosive eggs while they are still in flight, perfectly hitting all 12 of them with his 12-clip capacity. “Just... Categorize them under the brain rot folder, and I’ll try to explain them after the match.”

  Still whooping in low tones, the machine quietly went back to moderating the stream chat, choosing to focus on bots and spammers, instead of the bizarre usage of the English language by his viewers.

  After several more minutes, John eventually finishes the match in 1st place... Again... Just like his previous other 5 matches, and lets out a heavy sigh. “I... Think I’m done with Fork Knife for now, F.O.X.”

  Sensing John’s emotions through their connection, the machine tilts their head towards the human, knowing his words had a deeper meaning. John then takes off his headset, shuts down the stream, and rolls back in his chair, making sure to spin around several times before locking his gaze on the ceiling. For all intensive purposes, John’s journey to the top of the Fork Knife ranking boards, was going too well.

  Ever since F.O.X. brought him back to life with the nanomachines, all of his basic human characteristics were, in the words of the Xyfokit currently sitting beside him, “upgraded”. John’s innate reflexes, cognitive processing capabilities, and hand-eye coordination, were all essentially perfected by the tiny robots, which translated into god-like performance during his gameplay. “Maybe I really am a hacker now...” They softly exhaling while continuing to look at the fan tirelessly spinning above them.

  John was proud of the skills he developed through countless hours of playing Fork Knife. His firearm accuracy, on the fly thinking, and perseverance, were all things he considered important in become a professional gamer, especially one skilled in handling dynamic matches with brutal RNG. But, with how things were currently going, John didn’t feel like he was earning his role at the top, but was simply taking advantage of the robots floating around inside him. Presently, his organs were still severely damaged from the toxic effects of C.R.O.’s Xyboulinum, and, even with the help of the nanomachines, couldn’t be fully repaired until the later rounds. Furthermore, they could only function if John remained bonded with the Xinos, since the current technological limitations prevented fully autonomous creations.

  “I... Think I’m going to quit playing Fork Knife.” John says in a heavy voice, prompting F.O.X.’s ears to fold into a compact form along their skull. “But... You... Really like Fork Knife, John... I’m... I didn’t mean to—”

  Looking at the machine now curling into a ball, John can’t help but muster a soft smile, before gently petting the metal along F.O.X.’s head. “Hey now. You only did what you thought was right F.O.X., and besides, I would currently be dead if it wasn’t for you. It’s... Also not like I’m quitting forever... It’ll just be until the whole, “world battle royale” thing is over.”

  F.O.X. looks up into John’s eyes, having learned to enjoy the human’s sensitive touch along its monitors. Nuzzling into John’s hand, the machine continues to appreciate the attention it’s receiving, before John continues their thoughts. “That said, I hope you’ve been paying attention F.O.X., I did manage to show you some of my more unique strategies with the new upgrades I received!”

  “Yes!” Quickly chirps F.O.X. in a whirl, while their headlamps flash through a collage of vibrant colours at the human’s words. “I’ve already analysed and catalogued all of your signature moves, along with indexing them for appropriate battle situations!” F.O.X.’s tail appendage begins to wag after their explanation, as John gets up from his chair to walk over to his pair of running shoes.

  “Perfect.” John says while changing into some sweatpants for an upcoming jogging session. “Now, how about we finish up our last bit of scouting before the next round begins? I think we still have... 20 more hours?”

  John looks in the corner of his peripherals and sees a small timer counting down until the start of the Xinos next battle royale round. It’s a small augmented feature, but the machines have apparently taken great liberty in the information they’ve chose to display for the human. Often, John just needs to think about the information he wants, and it seemingly just appears across his vision in an efficient and easy to digest format. “Roger!” Beeps F.O.X., as they also get up from the floor and head towards the Xyninium reinforced window of John’s apartment.

  “I’ll handle the downtown area again, while you focus on the forests.” John says while setting a timer on his phone before heading out the door. F.O.X. then leaps from the 8th floor of the building while activating their basic light reflecting cloaking field, an upgrade made possible by combining the Vulpes vulpes trait for stealth with the current technological restrictions. The cloaking field isn’t perfect, but it’s enough to sufficiently disguise themselves from most human onlookers.

  On the streets, John picks up pace without issue, with each stride reminding him of the mind clearing benefits of his favourite form of exercise. Crisp autumn air flows into his lungs with each and every breath he takes, and, despite going at a good rate, John doesn’t feel any fatigue building up within his muscles. “This really is surreal.” John utters, while continuing to run down the busy sidewalk dodging pedestrian traffic.

  On his journey, John sees some of the damage from the most recent Xinos round, mostly comprised of buildings with several shattered windows, and bits and pieces of asphalt missing from the roads. He shakes his head as none of the humans around him seem to find the situation still odd, which causes him to reflect further on how exactly the Xinos are controlling society so efficiently. John had always assumed that, with humans being mostly rational animals, someone would be raising alarm bells... Somewhere. But, it seems to them that Earth really doesn’t care about all of the damage happening from the giant robots. John briefly remembers a couple conspiracy theories about the universe being one massive simulation, and seriously considers them to be plausible.

  Entering the downtown core, John’s eyes scan the buildings and alleyways to hopefully identify other Xinos in hiding, biding their time for the quickly approaching round. The nanomachines are helpful in highlighting areas of interest for his eyes, but he is largely unsuccessful in finding any hidden Xinos. They had learned from F.O.X., that each Xinos had chosen a species that best represented them, and would probably prefer to engage in combat with an environment that matched their species type. John was then able to use this information to theorize that some Xinos might have chosen rats or raccoons, since those were often quite successful in urban environments. Nonetheless, John’s final scouting attempt fails to produce any results, prompting him to touch his right ear to activate a communication channel with F.O.X.

  “F.O.X., this is John, do you copy?” The gamer says out loud while continuing to jog around the city. “Copy, John, did you find any Xinos?”

  “Negative.” John replies, as he continues weaving around civilians on the crowded streets. “Want to connect visuals to confirm?”

  John laughs slightly at his words, still trying to adjust to the fact powerful science fiction level of technologies were currently floating around inside him, listening to his every command. The tiny robots, were instrumental to these cool new features, and allowed John to communicate with F.O.X. over large distances through an encrypted connection, in addition to “live streaming” what each other was seeing.

  A series of sharp beeps and tones bounce around in John’s skull, before a small screen in the bottom right corner of his vision opens up into a monitor. F.O.X. has just connected their visual receptors to the humans, and the two are now viewing each other’s visual feeds in real time. John notices that F.O.X. has already reached a forest to the south of them, personally impressed at the machine’s speed to have already reached that location. “Negative.” Hums a robotic voice in a staticky tone inside John’s skull. “I’m not seeing any obvious signs of Xinos activity.”

  “I figured as much.” John says, coming to a stop outside of a parking garage. John looks at his hands, then runs them through his hair, before once again, scoffing at the senses before him. His palms are free of sweat, his hair is still dry without an ounce of perspiration, and his legs and lungs feel no different from when he first started his jog more than 40 minutes ago. “These nanomachines really are something...” John exclaims with a heavy breath, still amazed at how efficient everything has become for him.

  “I’m... Gonna start heading back to the apartment.” John says over their connection, to which F.O.X. quickly replies “understood John. I’m going to continue scouting, but will rendezvous with you back at base, over!”

  John smiles at the short, yet enjoyable radio communication chatter, then shrugs his shoulders, entering into a running sprint back home. “Now, lets see just how efficient these tiny machines are!”

  Dashing through the streets, and, being met with some confused onlookers, John manages to keep a sprinter’s pace for around 10 minutes before noticing his legs are starting to feel just a little tired. John slows his pace, and ultimately decides to enjoy the riveting sea of concreate structures on his way back home.

  ...

  John reaches his apartment without issue and enthusiastically enters the revolving doors. The lobby is sparsely filled with other residents, and the elevator still has the “Out of Service” sign placed in front. Rolling his eyes in a playful manner, John opens the nearby stairwell and quickly bounds up several flights to his residence on the 8th floor.

  Entering his apartment, John wonders if he should even shower after the “exercise” he has just gone through, seeing as his body is still perfectly fine, even after running for close to 2 hours. John decides to shower anyways, if anything to retain a sense of normalcy after such a strenuous activity, and enjoys the warm water rolling down his body. Dressed, and, ready to relax, John then crashes on his living room couch, and tunes in to watching F.O.X.’s scouting mission. Trees and fields fly by in the corner of his vision, but his brain is able to track and understand the briskly passing scenery without issue. Several woodland critters are highlighted when the machine spots them, but no Xinos are found during the journey.

  Leaning into some pillows, John has finally started to get comfortable, when a sharp snap echoes throughout his complex. John quickly leaps to his feet, as the rumbling is getting progressively louder. Some of the appliances across the counters begin to shift and moan, as John has the startling realization, that everything is sliding towards him.

  *Eroom*

  *SMASH*

  John’s eyes widen, as they quickly snap to his feet from the sudden shift below. The floor, is cracking, and a large chunk of concrete, mainly his living residence, has just dislodged from the condominium complex. Jagged, crumbling edges of stone and rebar litter the scene before him, as John’s once tranquil residence, is now hurling down towards the streets below. John catches his footing, doing his best to run up against the quickly rising incline, and leaps towards an exposed edge of stone nearby.

  “Gah!!” John yells after completing a maneuver he previously thought was impossible in movies, as he looks over his shoulder to see the room smash into the streets below. Blood curdling screams fill John’s ears, as the sound of crunching metal continues to grow louder and louder. John’s palms start to sweat, barely managing to maintain their grip, while his brain racks itself over what actions he should take next.

  More concrete brings to shift, as larger and larger sections of the building start to loosen from their supporting beams. John looks up, and sees the top of the building learning forward. His brain makes the tragic connection, that the whole building is falling over, and he’s still dangling 8 storeys above the ground. John gulps, swallowing the saliva pooling in his mouth, as his eyes lock to the door of his apartment. The door has swung open from the impact, having come loose along the hinges from the snapping base, and the human figures, that door, is their best odds for survival.

  “JOHN!!” F.O.X.’s voice rings throughout his ears, causing him to flinch from the painful tone he has just received. John doesn’t respond, unable to say anything, as his brain continues its mission on overdrive to save his life. Adrenaline is quickly released into his body, and the nanomachines sense the urgency from which the powerful concoction of chemicals is flooding his muscles with. The robots spring into action, increasing oxygen flow, while priming each and every fibre of muscle to exert strength beyond their usual limits.

  John’s heart booms from the powerful stimulating effects, racing and pounding against his chest. His arms tighten, and he swings himself up onto the collapsing kitchen, catching his feet on the now angled counters. “The buildings collapsing!” John yells to the Xyfokit still pinging him over their connection, while looking behind him to chunks of the building raining down from above.

  “I’m on my way John!!!” F.O.X. quickly replies while shifting their gears into overdrive.

  The shifting eases ever so slightly, and John estimates he is now at a roughly 45-degree angle with the ground below. The building seems to have thankfully “caught” itself during the collapse, but he is still too high up to safely drop, if he could even stomach the idea itself. John also knows that, at least thanks to mathematics, he is now “technically” no longer 8 storeys from the ground, but still doesn’t want to test the new, lower distance with his limbs.

  Evidently, the creaks and moans of metal snapping once again fill John’s ears, as the building continues shifting after a brief rest along its main supporting beam. John seriously wonders why the world has to be so cruel, as he resolves himself for an upcoming action sequence.

  The nanomachines coursing throughout his body, have just released a prompt suggestion across his vision. The robots have proposed, that John attempt leaping towards the open door, enter through the apartment across the hall, and then slide down the building from the other side. “42% expected survival rate...” John gulps as he attempts to swallow the harsh survival odds presented to him by the seemingly perfect machines. Having nothing to lose, and, after seeing more and more pieces of rubble dislodging from the nearby floors, John tenses his legs, and gets ready to leap.

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  Urgency fuels John’s legs, as he somehow manages to jump almost 6ft vertically towards the swung-open door of his collapsed apartment. John lets out a heavy gasp after just seeing his life flash before his eyes, then tenses his palms for the remainder of the upcoming struggle. John’s eyes then lock with the next set of doors. He smiles briefly, as they too, have also appeared to come loose along their hinges. Green arrows then appear augmented across his vision, charting a potential path for the gamer to take. John leaps into the tilted room of his hallway neighbor, making sure to follow the path of least resistance displayed for him. Several red “X’s” pop up across various furniture’s and exposed beams, as John continues jumping from fixture to fixture.

  The sound of snapping metal continues to grow in frequency, further fueling John’s sense for survival. He manages to find some footholds, breaking into a sprint against the increasing angle of the building, as more and more walls begin cracking all around him.

  John pushes his legs to the limit, fighting against the force of gravity, as he shields his face and leaps through the opposing window. Shards of glass shatter and scrape against his skin, drawing blood along his exposed flesh, as his feet finally land on the jagged exterior of the building. John quickly wipes his eyes, some blood catching across the back of his hand, as he breaks into a sprint down the backside of the building. He always thought running down a collapsing building would be a cool scene. But, now having personally experienced the sensation, regrets ever thinking this was a sensible idea in the action movies he’s watched.

  John continues darting and weaving between the sharp pieces of exposed concrete and rebar, as the angle he’s running at gradually begins to taper out to an almost level plane. The building has clearly snapped in two, and he’s almost reached the end of the frantic, improvised runway. Having no where else to go, John decides to leap the last remaining distance, figuring he is only a few stories from the ground now. John prays the nanomachines within him will help break his fall, as he prepares for impact with the hard ground below.

  *BOOSH!*

  A sudden quake jolts John’s senses, as his eyes quickly widen at the scene rapidly evolving in front of him. Erupting from the ground in an almost comical, yet horrifying display, is a sink hole, right at John’s estimated zone of impact. And, while a suddenly appearing void in the ground would be alarming to almost anyone on planet Earth, the frightening part is not the disappearance of the seemingly solid ground, but the creatures writhing around within it!

  Twisting and spiraling up in defiance against gravity, creating a vicious vortex of insect fury, is an army of worker ants. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” John somehow manages to utter, as the swarm of insects rise into the air, forming a convenient “glove” to catch the falling and flailing human.

  John’s body impacts with the swarm of insects, transferring most of his kinetic energy, and knocking several of them loose from the intricate design they have weaved together to create. John gasps for breath, as his body is quickly engulfed by the hoard of ants, covering each and every inch they can find. His head twists and turns from the sudden changes in momentum he’s forced to experience, as more and more of the creatures work on restraining his movements further. He can feel each of their legs and pincers crawling around and digging into his flesh, as light from the surface quickly vanishes from his vision, instead replaced by the damp darkness of the void below.

  John tries to scream, make any kind of sound to showcase his displeasure to his would-be saviours, be he’s unable to utter even the slightest of sounds. More and more of the ants continue to flood over his body, biting and tearing into his exposed skin. The endless army of pin pricks triggers uncomfortable memories over horrible ways to day, and John seriously hopes this isn’t the end for him. He can vaguely make out frantic cries from F.O.X. across their connection, but is unable to make sense over what the Xinos is trying to tell him. It’s obvious based on their stuttering tone that they’re concerned, but sights and sounds are becoming increasingly difficult for the gamer to process. More moments pass, until John finally passes out, losing himself to the swarm of ants and surrounding darkness.

  Warning systems sound blaring alarms to the tiny nanobots coursing throughout John’s body. The army of angry triangles triggers the machines to spring into action at the invaders, disbursing and releasing pain suppressants to appease John’s spasming neurons. Additional alerts then trigger across the robots, indicating a powerful sedative has now been detected flowing throughout their host’s veins. The machines quickly flood their surroundings with various proteins aimed at dissolving the potent compound, but they are quickly overwhelmed. More pings reach the machines from F.O.X., urging them to maintain connection and enter life preserving functionality. Help is on the way, and they will only need to survive for a few more hours.

  More warnings pop up to the tiny submarines, indicating yet another substance has entered John’s bloodstream. Connections quickly begin vanishing over the nanobot’s collective network, as more and more of the machines begin losing their signal with the host program. Images flash between the still functioning nanobots, identifying the new substance to be a counter injection of ant micromachines. The nanoants act with a precise fury, targeting and disabling John’s own robots, forcing them into a state of suspended animation.

  The tide is quickly turning in the microscopic war, as more and more of John’s nanobots are losing against the overwhelming forces of his ant invaders. The machine’s connection with F.O.X. is then severed, and, in a last ditched effort to keep their host alive, all of the still functioning nanobots reduce their own power outputs to minimum, focusing on keeping all of John’s vitals and organs stable instead.

  ...

  ...

  ...

  John lets outs a sharp gasp for breath as his vision gradually starts coming into focus. His head is filled with a pulsing pain, throbbing against his bruised skull, and the dim amount of light entering his eyes is excruciatingly painful.

  “Good... You’re awake.” Come a slightly out of tune robotic voice, as John’s eyes struggle to work without the help of his convenient robots.

  “A... Xinos...?” John manages to utter with baited breath, as he finally manages to focus his vision on the creature in front of him. His eyes bounce around, examining their unique visage in full, where his mind eventually makes the connection, he is speaking with a giant— “Let me guess, your name, is A.N.T.” John says with a hint of intrigue as he watches the robotic insect recoil slightly from his astute observations, prompting a soft smirk from the captured gamer.

  “Impressive...” Chirps the robotic soldier, as it claps its razor-sharp mandibles together, accenting the characteristic blades they are comprised of to the human. “You are correct, I, am the Xinos reassigned the identifier A.N.T., former general of the grand Xinos empire. And you, the human John, are my prisoner of war.” The machine boops in a series of precise tones and whirls, while gesturing to the cell John’s currently bound inside.

  “I see...” John says, as he continues to examine the impressive metallic structure and composition of what appears to be the next “villain of the week” to the gamer. A.N.T.’s carapace appears to be heavily reinforced, with shingle-like plating all across their abdomen and thorax. Their compound eyes are an army of tiny monitors, with each screen pulsing a different shade of light to create the illusion of a single iris, and their legs are thin, yet surprisingly jagged.

  A.N.T.’s antennae’s flick and rotate around their head, as the Xinos simply observes John’s silence and interest in its body. Then, after a few more cursory glances of his captor, John laughs when he sees the unique object resting atop A.N.T.’s head.

  “Ha! You... You’re seriously wearing a general’s hat!” John struggles to laugh against the pain still pulsing throughout his body, prompting the Xinos to briefly look at the fixture nestled between its monitors. “Your point?” replies the machine in a sour tone, as John fails to wipe the mixture of tears gleefully dripping down his face. “Ahh... Never mind, haha!” Continues John, as the monitors across A.N.T.’s face illuminate to create an angry pouting face towards him.

  “Regardless, you should at least know the severity of the situation you’re in, human.” A.N.T. retorts, while readjusting the decorated green head top. “You, are currently bonded with the Xinos known as F.O.X., and, as such, will be executed once they try to rescue you during the next round, forcing the bond breaking penalty on their frame, for an easy, efficient kill.”

  John looks at the robotic ant, and lets out another heavy sigh while shaking his head. “And... To think I would be captured, by yet another Xinos looking to do the exact same thing. Using me as bait to draw F.O.X. out, then killing them after putting my life in danger.” John pauses slightly, as a quirky grin gradually begins to grow across his face.

  “And? What exactly do you find so... Amusing about your predicament, human?” A.N.T. responds while cocking their head at the human’s unexpected reactions. “It’s just... Well... This really is kinda cliché, you know?”

  John’s words cause the machine to twitch slightly, before fixing their stance and beeping a professional response. “Cliché or not, I do not concern myself with such trivialities. The Xinos, are different, and my plans have never failed before. My plan is the optimal solution to the complex problem involving the Xyfokit’s unexpected power gains from your bond. The penalty lasts for precisely 20 Earth seconds, so you will be kept alive until F.O.X. is in the necessary position for elimination.”

  “That’s what they always say.” Scoffs John, making sure to look the Xinos directly in the monitors. “All of the “bad guys” say they will be different, and yet, their plan is always foiled in the end. Say, you’ve got a pretty expansive database on our literature, don’t you? Might I suggest running a scan on my words? Think of them as a... Friendly bit of advice from the, “human” you Xinos are so captivated by...” John completes his snarky response, making sure to accent and roll the words where most appropriate. “I can assure you. Holding me captive like... This... Is a recipe for disaster, and will result in you losing to F.O.X.

  The lights along A.N.T.’s monitors briefly flash through various screens. Beeps and boops faintly trickle out from their speakers, with the monitors alternating between vibrant greens and reds. The machine then tilts their head to the side, their antennas following suit, before ultimately clearing their throat to speak with John again.

  “I see... I would expect no less from one of Earths battle royale experts.” A.N.T. whoops in a tone reminiscent of respect to John. “It does appear, that those often held “prisoner”, end up “turning the tables” against their captors in the end. And, when such events are cross referenced against your unique strategies, it can easily be assumed that F.O.X. may already have some countermeasure for this situation.”

  A glint courses throughout John’s eyes, as the machine continues to contemplate his words. “And...” John says, making sure to pause to build some element of suspense for the machine now intently staring at him. “I may be willing to share some of my insights on why F.O.X. has become so powerful... But...” John nonchalantly drifts his gaze towards the metal shackles binding his arms and legs, before raising an eyebrow towards the metallic ant.

  “A trade for a trade.” A.N.T. hums in a cold and low tone towards him, before unlocking the shackles around John’s wrists and ankles. “Thanks... Much appreciated, A.N.T.” John says while rubbing his wrists lightly, while struggling to contain his amusement over the apparent ease of manipulating the Xinos. “Care to start?” John says while sitting down in the cell to get comfortable.

  A.N.T. then motions for some of the soldiers standing nearby to bring over some tablet-like devices. The tiny ants are quick to respond, and within seconds, have already activated a hologram displaying two large robotic animals. The first is shaped like a typical red fox, while the other, is shaped like a silverback gorilla. John pieces the two together, as A.N.T. begins explaining their findings.

  “My dossier on the Xyfokit known as F.O.X., seemed to indicate they were a soldier with poor qualities. No notable military achievements, sparse growth in their combat capabilities, and their confidence... By all measures of our species, they should have never been selected as one of our top 100,000 warriors to compete in the battle royale. And yet, this Xyfokit, managed to slay our strongest warrior from the Xygornot race...” A.N.T.’s gaze trails off towards the holograms, where they raise one of their arms to rotate and zoom in on several of F.O.X.’s defining features.

  “Those names sound somewhat familiar.” John says while bringing his hand to rest underneath his chin. “For additional context, I am also a Xygornot, as is most of our military. That said, other races often request the construction of such soldiers representing them in our military to assert their role in Xinos society.”

  “Cool.” Says John, actually somewhat interested in the additional information he is learning about the sentient species. “So, as you’re probably well aware, my bond value is only 0.3%. A disappointing number, I know, but, I have a theory as to why F.O.X. is seemingly being enhanced so much by our connection. And, it relates to the data you’ve already collected on them.”

  A.N.T.’s antenna pivot towards John, priming themselves for whatever the gamer is about to say next. John, for all intensive purposes, has surpassed all of the Xinos perfect insights, making his own conclusion, something quite valuable to the curious machines. A grin once again grows across John’s face, as the human starts sharing his thoughts with his captor. “Bonds, cannot be simply quantified by numerical factors.”

  A.N.T. squints their monitors at the human, prompting John to continue. “That said, my bond with F.O.X., is doing more than just a simple performance boost. Our connection, emotions seem to flow back and forth between us. It’s unclear to me if this is an intended feature of your system, but when I connected with F.O.X., my body became flooded with feelings of hopelessness and self doubt.” John then takes a moment to pause, before sighing lightly at himself.

  “F.O.X., isn’t that much different from me. Well, how I used to be. The lack of confidence in one’s self... I’m all to familiar with how paralyzing that can feel. Despite us being completely different species, F.O.X.’s feelings reminded me of my past. However, we’re currently in a battle royale, and those are exactly the games I’ve learned to believe in myself in.

  ...

  My emotions, are giving F.O.X. the ability to trust in their own skills. To trust in the techniques they’ve honed for countless hours, to trust in their decision-making capabilities they are so proud of, and to trust in their own struggles as a warrior. A.N.T., once someone finds the strength to believe in themselves, in the skills they’ve practiced time and time again, it suddenly becomes possible to achieve the things you once thought were impossible.”

  John pauses again, as the machine quietly processes the words he’s saying with faintly pulsing lights and whirls. A silence grows between the two aliens, until eventually John stares directly into A.N.T.’s monitors. “I never used to be great at battle royales. And, I also never thought my skills would amount to anything. I would play them for fun, as a way to enjoy my spare time. Yet... I seemingly never found the courage to click on the “joined ranked match” button, instead choosing to only play against computer-controlled opponents.

  However, it wasn’t until a friend of mine gave me the courage to just try, to actually click that button, and join a ranked battle. It was then I learned that all of the skills I had been practicing aimlessly, were actually real. Sure, things didn’t always work out, but, that one, single push, built just enough momentum, to start a boulder building my own self confidence.

  ...

  Just like my friend, I’m that little nudge that F.O.X. needed, in order to realize the strength of their own capabilities.”

  A.N.T. continues staring at John for a while, their soldiers also stopping to listen and stare as well at the apparent truths the human was revealing about their capabilities. Eventually, after another lengthy pause, A.N.T. readjusts the hat across their head, before forming an awkward salute with its insect limbs.

  “John.” The machine beeps in a short precise tone towards him before lowering their raised limb. “Had we met under any other circumstances, I have a feeling we would have gotten along rather well. It’s truly a pity war puts us at odds, but perhaps... This is the mysterious variable, “luck” at play, just as our former emperor desired.

  ...

  I will pass along your insights to my colleagues observing the games from afar... And, as for your fate regarding F.O.X., I have decided, after listening to your words, to see them for myself on the honourable fields of battle. I will not be executing you to take advantage of the bond breaking penalties. If what you’ve said is true, I will undoubtably notice their improvements during our battle to the death.”

  Then, turning away, A.N.T. slowly starts marching towards the main chambers of the prisoner’s quarters, while gesturing towards some of the nearby ants. “While I had initially intended for this to function as your last meal, I instead hope you will come to see it as a token of my appreciation from our conversation. My intelligence gathering, is absolute, and you will undoubtfully recognize it as such after seeing your most prized and favoured meal, served to you on a golden platter.”

  John cocks his head at the seemingly odd choice of words from the Xinos. His favourite meal? Obviously, John was always ready for a nice warm bowl of curry, but for even the machines to—

  Then, while John was still contemplating how the advanced machines had somehow managed to figure out his favoured meal, a sharp burned aroma enters John’s nostrils, while a small colony of ants carefully drifts around the nearby corner, diligently carrying a golden plate with something almost tar-like in the middle. After stabilizing the dish, the creatures then gently place the plate before John, making sure to equip him with an accompanying apron and set of cutlery.

  John gags slightly after seeing his supposed favoured “delicacy” placed before him. His eyes wince, his throat aches, and his nose continues to throb at the repugnant, sulphury smell gracing his airways. Resting in the middle of the pristine golden dish, is a charred and blackened monstrosity that could hardly be called his preferred dish. Whatever it is, has clearly been burned beyond all sentient recognition, causing John’s heart to sink at the thought that some curry had to go through such a traumatic experience.

  John then takes the nearby fork that was offered to him, and gently taps the poor excuse for “food”, jumping slightly after feeling the hardness of the impact. This... Thing... Is possibly harder than diamonds, he figures, and, after a few more exploratory taps, John finally realizes what the Xinos thought was his favoured dish, earning him a well defeated sigh, as he softly utters the identity of the mysterious item calmly resting before him.

  “A burned, fried egg.”