"So wait... lemme get this straight," Cameron said, raising an eyebrow as he looked at the gently swaying man standing in front of him, "You can gain ranks and classes from arena fights?"

  "Thaz right!" The man said, his words slurred from drink. He was a short, rotund man, probably in his mid thirties, with a messy of tawny blonde hair and a pudgy reddened face. He looked like he'd lived a life of comfort on a world free from feudalistic politics, judging by the lack of stress lines or wrinkles, and the high quality fabric that made up his wrinkled, untucked button down, just barely covering a low hanging gut. He hiccupped and stumbled slightly, grabbing the edge of a circular two-top table that he and Cameron were currently standing beside. Cameron reached out, trying to steady the guy, but he waved him away, dismissing his concern, before speaking again.

  "At leasht thaz what they say..."

  "That's what who says?" Cameron asked.

  "All da fighters of coursh!"

  Cameron's cocked brow went up even higher as he tried to wrap his mind around what the drunk man was saying. He stood there for a moment, looking at him as the lush smiled like an idiot, only to have his concentration broken by a delicate hand sliding across his back, wrapping around his waist.

  "Welcome back," Cameron said, turning to see Priya once again hanging off his arm. He gave her a warm smile as his eyes pleaded for help escaping the conversation, "Everything go okay?"

  Her eyes widened slightly, as her smile lost some of it's original lift, "What do you mean?"

  "Your uh... Lady troubles?"

  She blinked once, then twice, until something finally clicked and the original brightness of her arrival returned, "Oh, yeah everything's fine. I just spent a little time reapplying some makeup that had been..." she cleared her throat as she winked at him, "Displaced."

  Cameron blushed, looking sheepish as he chuckled awkwardly, "Hey I'm not the only one to blame for that."

  "I know," She said, leaning in closer to him, grabbing his hand to wrap it around her waist, before looking between Cameron and the drunk, "Making friends I see..."

  "I wouldn't say that," Cameron whispered his response, "This guy was just arguing with someone else after the fight that at least Karlova Baast would be able to hit Gamma-Primus from this fight, which would give her the edge next time she and Luther squared off. I got curious, because I was always under the impression that you could only rank up from doing missions inside your actual unit."

  "I see," she said, nodding as if she understood, "I'm not as knowledgeable about the pilot world as I'd like to be... But I will say that I've seen the setups used both inside the standard projection chamber, and on the circuits. There's quite a few differences in how they function. So perhaps there's some truth to that."

  "If so, then that's certainly a hell of a way to get a rank up..." Cameron said, running a finger along his stubbled chin in a look of contemplation, "I honestly don't know how I feel about that. There's a part of me that loves the idea... but then the other part feels like it's a crock of shit for all the other pilots who have to fight and *actually* risk their lives, not just pretend to."

  "You think they're taking the easy way out?" Priya asked, taking Cameron by the arm, slowly guiding him away from the drunken man as they melded into a crowd of spectators that had begun to form around the edge of the ring.

  He shook his head, "I didn't say that, It just feels..." He looked up, trying to search for the word in the open air.

  "Theatrical?" She asked, trying to finish his sentence.

  "I suppose?" He said with a shrug, looking at her, "I'm sure there's other factors involved that I'm not seeing. If it's a continuous circuit, they probably fight more than I do. I also don't have a crowd to please... I guess it's just weird, ya know?"

  She smiled at him, shrugging daintily as she batted her eyelashes, "Maybe you shouldn't knock it, until you try it."

  "What do you mean?"

  As he posed that question, Cameron's ears were bombarded with the shrill call of trumpets over the intercom system. The light's began to dim, first around the outer edges of the arena level itself, before slowly collapsing in, throwing nearly everywhere into total darkness. The only area that had any sort of illumination was inside the arena itself, where a spotlight shined in the center of the space, as a gentle fog began to roll over the field of crimson sand. All ambient sounds seemed to fade away in that moment, save for the empty buzzy of the intercom. Slowly, the fog began to rise, filling up the entirety of the fighting space, kept at bay by the dome of plasma, until, after a few moments, the whole space looked like a ball of thick rolling smoke.

  "Ladies and gentlemen of Arsius Station," The same deep, gravelly voice from before that provided commentary during the fight began to speak once again, "We have seen many battles take place this evening. The men and women of the Free Space Fighters League were determined to put on a show tonight for all you wonderful people. And what a show it's been. We've seen upsets and blowouts. We've seen a queen dethroned, and a king take her place. We've seen some stars rise tonight, and we've seen some fall... But now, perhaps it is time to see a star born. What do you think?"

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  In response, a deafening roar of cheers and applause erupted, not just from the pit, but what felt like the entirety of the estate. Cameron felt a stirring sense of excitement begin to well up, as he joined in, cheering with the rest of the crowd, as the voice spoke above the din of the dying celebration.

  "That's what I thought.... Then, without further ado, allow me to present your master of ceremonies this evening. The person to weave a tapestry of *glorious* combat, written in blood and oil. Everyone give a big round of applause for your man of the hour! The grand scribe for the annals of mechanical carnage! The hostess with the mostest... Me."

  A flash of light erupted from the center of the arena, banishing the fog in an instant and leaving in its stead a man. Well, perhaps man wasn't the correct word Cameron would use. Automaton would have been a far more apt description, or better yet... A proxy. With a sleek metal body that shone proudly in the light from above, clad in flowing black robes that billowed out in a dramatic fashion. Its head was bald and void of features save for three distinct lines; two that were set in the places where his eyes were supposed to be, and one slightly wider line that seemed to function as its mouth.

  The crowd went wild, screaming as if they'd just won the lottery, reaching out as if trying to grasp at him. The metal man simply stood there, arms stretched out, basking in their admiration as if he was some sort of savior.

  Cameron turned to look at Priya, who was politely clapping along, though not as ferociously as everyone around them, flashing a smile at the Proxy that didn't reach her eyes.

  "Who the hell is that?" He said, shouting to be heard over the crowd.

  She leaned in, cupping her hands around Cameron's ears to respond, "He's the reason we're all here! He's -"

  She cut her words short and stopped, pulling away as they both began to hear the crowd's frenzy morph into something new... a chant. It started softly at first, but soon, it seemed like the very walls would come down as nearly everyone was stomping their feet, clapping their hands, and chanting the same name over and over; Fletcher.

  Priya shook her head, motioning around the room, before pointing back to the proxy, "That's Fletcher Kahl."

  The figure in the arena lowered his hands, satisfied with the reception he'd received, and began to speak once more, voice amplified by a microphone that Cameron couldn't see.

  "Alright, Alright," Fletcher said, chuckling with glee, in a way that Cameron found odd to be coming from the 'mouth' of an automaton, "Let's settle down now yeah? We have a fight to get to, don't we?"

  More applause, followed by further chanting, as Fletcher calmed the crowd once again, "Now, I know that most of you are avid fans of my humble little fighting circuit, and have been since the very beginning almost a decade ago... *However*, for those of you who are new tonight, allow me to explain what the little activity known as 'The Scouting Scrap' is really about."

  He walked the length of the arena as he spoke, making sure all eyes were him. Cameron couldn't help but laugh and look on, enthralled by this man, or, machine who possessed so much charisma. His words were like earwigs in the way they seemed to worm their way inside of his head, making him impossible to ignore as he strolled through sand, treating the fighting pit like a theatre stage.

  "*Usually,*" Fletcher said, "We have these fights scheduled between professionals. Pilots that have made their bones on the semi-pro circuit of the dueling world, and now make their living not through death and war like the Alpha and Beta class peons on the main strip, but through glory and entertainment! We host these fights every week, whether it be here, or at a multitude of other such arenas in the upper and lower spires. And every time, I mean every time, I'd always hear the same question. How do I become a part of the circuit? The answer? The Scouting Scrap."

  A raucous cry exploded from the crowd, and Cameron found himself joining in, clapping and cheering, though not nearly as fervent as everyone else.

  "The Scouting Scrap," Fletcher continued, "Is a match where one of my precious pilots will square off with one of your own in a no holds barred contest of strength and skill for honor, glory, and most importantly... Two Million silver."

  Cameron could feel his heart drop into his stomach, as he took in Fletcher's declaration.

  "Did he just say two million?!" Cameron said, turning to look at Priya.

  She smirked, chuckling softly as she nodded, "Yeah honey... That's chump change here."

  "Chump change?" Cameron scoffed, clutching at imaginary pearls, "Do you know what I could buy with two million silver?"

  "An hour of my time?" She said with a wink.

  "Yes, Yes," Fletcher said, "Two million silver to keep and splurge however you like. However! Should you be selected and *win*... Then you'll get more than just simple currency. You'll get an opportunity to continue to prove yourself under the glitz and glamor as a signed combatant to my Free Space Fighters League!"

  Cameron didn't cheer with the crowd this time. He was too busy grinding his teeth in anticipation, clenching and unclenching his fists, as he fantasized about the very thing that Fletcher was orating. Glory, fame, and a whole shitload of money.

  'Need I remind you that you're an Alpha class?' Aeia said, voicing her dissent inside of his head, 'Those Gammas would tear you apart.'

  'I've fought a Gamma before,' Cameron thought back, 'Hell, I've killed a Gamma before.'

  'I've seen those logs Cam,' She shot back, 'That Gamma killed himself.'

  'Semantics.'

  'I don't think you know what the word means,' Aeia said.

  Cameron shook his head, trying to clear it as it seemed like Fletcher was reaching the apex of his speech.

  "Now I've seen the footage of all you lovely people roaming my halls tonight... I've seen the glint of uplink threads, the covered up battle scars, I *know* that I have some hungry pilots out here. And to those lucky few warriors that have so graciously entered my home tonight, I have one question for you... Who wants to be a millionaire?"