‘You are an idiot,’ Aeia said, her words echoing in the expanse of Cameron’s mind, continuing her tirade of admonishment towards her pilot, ‘I truly want you to know and understand this. The things you do and the reasons you do them confound me in such a way, that I can practically feel my code deprecating with every passing day that I spend inside your mind.’
‘... Well someone’s cranky,’ Cameron shot back, ‘You’d figure that being my co-pilot you’d support my decisions.’
This mental back and forth between him and Aeia had taken the place of the usual small talk he would have tried to make with Fletcher Kahl as the proxy escorted him through a series of long hallways and ever descending staircases, but the host had hardly said a word to him since he’d picked Cameron out of the crowd. Now, after about fifteen minutes walking through the various levels and sublevels of the estate in silence, Aeia had decided to voice her opinion on the matter of Cameron’s upcoming battle with a Gamma class circuit fight, whether he wanted to listen to her or not.
‘I’m not cranky,’ she said, ‘I’m concerned. One of us has to be, and since you seem to fail at every turn to produce a modicum of self-preservation, I’ve taken it upon myself to do that for you… much to my ever increasing frustration.’
‘I don’t know why you’re so worried,’ he thought, ‘It’s not like I can actually die from this thing.’
‘You don’t know that!’ Aeia practically screamed inside of his consciousness, ‘And that is what worries me. The last time we went into a projection chamber, it ended so horrifically, that I don’t think I can bear watching it happen again.’
‘I remember what happened,’ Cameron responded, hoping that his growl was conveyed in his thoughts, ‘That doesn’t mean it’s going to happen here.’
‘No, Cam, you don’t remember and that’s the problem,’ Aeia said, before sighing, ‘I just… I feel like I should have done something… anything to help when that happened. My main function is to assist my pilot in any capacity that I can. To keep you alive and in the fight as long as you’re able to do so, and save you from yourself when that is no longer an option. If we were back inside the headsman, my abilities would have been greater than what they were, and I would have been able to intervene.’
Her response gave him pause, and he took a moment to absorb her words, before responding.
‘What do you mean you could have intervened? What could you have done?’
‘It would depend on the situation,’ she said, ‘Being your co-pilot is more than just an empty title. It means I can make decisions on behalf of us when you no longer possess the capacity to do so. Those decisions can be anything as mundane as relaying an SOS signal, to locking up the suit and piloting it myself, albeit vastly underpowered when compared to what it would be if we’re working together.’
‘I don’t know if doing a worse job at driving the Headsman would have improved things for me in there.’ Cameron thought back.
‘Maybe not, but like I said before, our situation is unique. I’ve been inside you long enough to know how the human body works. More importantly, to know how you work. Who knows what I could do if the situation calls for it.’
“Nervous?” Fletcher said, looking back over his shoulder at Cameron, his metallic face reflecting the light off of the chandelier above them, highlighting the all metal surface.
Cameron opened his mouth to speak, but it took a while for him to find the right words, his brain a fog as it switched from the argument with Aeia to conversing with the proxy.
“Probably not as nervous as I should be,” He said, giving a half-hearted chuckle. He tried to look into the thin lines that seemed to function as Fletcher’s eyes, but for some reason, he couldn’t. Something about his whole being made Cameron’s skin crawl, like he was being looked at, not through the automaton, but from everywhere around him, as if the act of turning his head to look at Cameron was all for show.
Fletcher nodded, nonplussed to the evident stress in Cameron’s body language, before speaking again, “That’s good.”
“It is?”
“Indeed,” Fletcher said, “Bravery is great, but often misguided in how it resonates with people. The fact that you’re smart enough to realize that you should be nervous tells me you’re not overtly cocky enough to think this will be a walk in the park.”
“This isn’t my first time going into battle,” Cameron said with a shrug, “Just my first time with an audience.”
“When was your last contract?”
“Six months ago… I think?” Cameron said, giving a shrug, “Last few months have been a blur, but I think that’s right.”
“Before that?”
“I want to say around a month or so of turnaround time.”
“That’s not too bad,” Fletcher said, as they reached a T section in the hallway. Without looking the other way, he led Cameron down the hall on the left, where a plain black door sat at the end of the hall.
“Excuse me, Mr. Ka-”
“Please… Call me Fletcher.”
Cameron nodded, swallowing dryly, “Fletcher… is it true we can rank up from these fights?”
“Now where did you hear that?” Fletcher said, almost in a sing-song tone.
“Just some of the other guests were talking about it. I only wanted to ask because I’ve been in the projection chambers below the main level, and from my understanding, it’s only a means of practice.”
Fletcher was silent for a moment, and Cameron had feared he’d upset the man. He didn’t want his first impression with someone of this level of status to be misconstrued in a way that he was only agreeing to do this as a way for an easy rank up. He was doing this for the money and the rank up, but Fletcher didn’t need to know that.
“I-I’m sorry if that’s a trade secret or something!” Cameron said, trying to recover, “I was just-”
“It’s fine,” Fletcher said, putting a hand up to dismiss his worry, “That is correct, though with some caveats. Sanctioned fights allow for fighters to rank up, because it involves a contract with me when their fight is scheduled. After the fight, I send that contract to a registry repository where it is taken in as an authentic contract, as well as any footage or metrics I’ve gathered from both combatants or their units.”
“Oh…Wow,” Cameron said, “I didn’t think I’d be using my unit. I thought this was all physilight projection.”
“It is,” Fletcher said matter-of-factly.
Cameron’s brow shot up, “But how-”
“You’ll see that my system is a bit more…complex than the projection system you’re used to.
With that, Fletcher reached out to the handle and threw it open, before turning to Cameron, gesturing for him to walk through the threshold.
“Welcome,” He said, “To the War Room.”
Walking inside, Cameron could see that as expansive as the space was in terms of surface area-about a thousand square feet-that most of it was taken up by only a few furnishings. A wooden bench was off to his immediate left, sitting in front of a stack of six black storage lockers. Beyond that, in the far left corner, a shower, toilet, and basic aid station took up a majority of the length of the wall. A desk in the far right corner housed a data terminal as well as some stationery items Cameron was used to seeing in several administrative buildings back home. All in all, it was very utilitarian. Spartan even, with only the basic necessities of comfort, though to be fair, it had to be. That was due to the projection system that took up ninety percent of the room.
Atop a platform, stood a large metal coffin-like box. It was painted black and chunky in design, with the middle section cut out in the shape of a human body. Blue felt cushions lined the interior, giving off the impression of comfort, and a series of golden thread jacks were littered throughout, with the probability of numbers making it so they’d eventually match the location of where the uplink jacks would be on his person. Off to the side of the box was a data terminal, painted the same color of the box’s exterior as a screen glowed to life, flashing a system message that simply read; INPUT PILOT REGISTRY NUMBER HERE
Cameron whistled, walking around through the cramped space to get a good three-sixty look at the platform, “Yeah… This definitely isn’t like the projection on the main line.”
“Indeed, it is not,” Fletcher said, shuffling past him to take a series of steps leading up to the platform, speaking as he walked, “Though similar in the basic premise of the system on the main line, in which you’d upload your pilot registry number into the terminal, which then sends a ping and establishes a connection to the A.R.M.S. unit you’re registered to in order to grab the wireframe image, and project your consciousness into it, that is where comparison stops.”
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“That pretty much describes the entire system, doesn’t it?” Cameron said, quickly following Fletcher up the platform to join him next to the coffin.
“For the basic system, yes,” Fletcher said, “But here…” he reached out and ran his metal hand along the felt. The action looked odd to Cameron. He doubted the proxy could produce the sensation of touch, and yet, Fletcher was acting as if this was his actual body. How long had he been using a proxy, that it became so natural he did things that people would do in their normal bodies? Cameron didn’t have long to contemplate, as Fletcher had continued his spiel.
“Here is where the vision truly lies,” he said, “Instead of a simple helmet that runs into your Neural Uplink, your entire body is threaded in. This allows us to capture vital recordings and brain waves which are relayed back to the PCM of your unit. The unit receives these relays and sends back code from your Co-Pilot, allowing for their integration into the projection as well. All these codes and relays, when compiled together form a recording that the pilot registry accepts as experience. This is how our fighters rank up. This is how you will rank up, should you beat your opponent.”
“About that,” Cameron said, suddenly feeling the realization of what he was about to do, “Do you know who my opponent is?”
Fletcher nodded, “I do.”
“Will you tell me his rank?”
“He’s a Gamma-Logos,” he said, “New to the circuit, but a formidable fighter nonetheless. Are you worried you may outmatch him?”
Cameron gulped and laughed nervously, “N-No nothing like that. I was just curious is all.”
Fletcher stared at him for a long while, almost as if he wanted to continue his prodding. Instead, after a minute, he simply nodded and then motioned towards the coffin cutout.
“Please undress to your comfort level and enter the station.”
‘Last chance, Cam,’ Aeia said, concern evident in her tone, ‘You could still back out.’
‘No, Aeia.’ Cameron thought as he removed his button down, revealing a white tank top, and opened the flaps that hid the uplink threads on his legs, ‘I’m doing this. I need to.’
‘You don’t need to be thrashed by a Gamma!’ She said, ‘Are you really desperate for money that you’d subject yourself to this?’
‘Do I really need a reason, other than money?’
‘Yes!’
‘Fine… Then to prove that I can do this without going nuts. How about that?’
She groaned in protest, but Cameron did as Fletcher instructed, laying down inside the box. After a moment, the coffin started to tilt back, slowly shifting from its upright starting position, to lay completely horizontal. A series of lasers scanned his body as one by one, an uplink thread was screwed into each jack. Cameron felt a mixture of excitement and anxiety settle into his chest, causing his heart to hammer at an alarming rate. He breathed deep and slow, trying to calm himself, while doing his best to listen to Fletcher’s instruction.
“Pilot registry number please,” The proxy said.
“Um,” Cameron began, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to recall through a heavily fogged brain, “1128212.”
The clacking of fingers on a keyboard could be heard, though Cameron couldn’t see. As close as Fletcher was, all that greeted Cameron’s gaze was the dark grey concrete that made up the ceiling. He could hear him however, reading off his registry information aloud like it was a checklist.
“Name… Cam Ket. Unit type… Headsman, Assault Variant. Co-Pilot… Aeia. Pilot Rank…” He trailed off, and Cameron felt a wave of shame and fear wash over him. He knew what it said, and he knew that Fletcher knew what it said. There was no hiding it. All he could hope for was the slim chance that he’d still let Cameron fight, despite rank disparity. How surprised he was then, when Fletcher finished his checklist, repeating the last metric.
“Rank… Gamma-Logos,” Cameron’s eyes widened as he heard the proxy blatantly lie. Then the ceiling left his vision, replaced instead by Fletcher metal skull as it looked down upon him.
“Must be a bug in the registry today.”
Cameron chuckled nervously, “Y-Yeah, must be.”
“Sit tight,” Fletcher said, “I’ll make my way back to my casting station and activate your Neural Uplink remotely. Oh… Good luck.”
***
Priya Patel watched the door leading out from Fletcher Kahl’s production room, eyes losing focus as she zoned out. Her leg bounced relentlessly, much to her annoyance, making it so the spike of her heel tapped the ground incessantly, sounding like a typewriter from ancient earth. Why was she nervous? What was there to be nervous about? She’d done her job, she’d been paid… the better question should be, why the hell was she still here?
The door opened, causing her to look up as her employer, Fletcher Kahl silently stepped inside, approaching the control panel without so much as looking in her direction.
“Why are you here?” He asked, fiddling with a series of knobs and sliders as a series of vital signs appeared on a small screen to his left.
“I-I just wanted to watch. If that’s okay. I want to see how he does.”
“You did well… That touch of everyone being a Gamma ranker allowed me to establish a splash of good will. He thinks I didn’t know before, but I’m still letting him compete,” Fletcher said, flipping the large screen on, showing the arena itself, empty save for the sand that made up its floor, “You may stay. Just keep quiet while I’m speaking.”
“Yes sir,” she said, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said, grabbing a level marked NEURAL UPLINK and slamming it down, “Thank Cam Ket.”
***
Cameron gasped as a stabbing pain shot into his spine, before the world went black. After a moment, a blurry light began to take shape in his vision, slowly growing larger and brighter as he blinked his eyes. Within a minute, he realized that he was no longer in the War Room anymore, staring at the concrete ceiling, listening to the gentle hum of the system fans. No, he was in the arena, already inside his Headsman, the roar of the crowd almost deafening as he stared out across the way, taking in the look of his opponent.
The unit was tall and lithe, painted a snowy white with dark, silver like accents. Its armor was shaped in such a way that it resembled that of a humanoid, and a well built one at that. Its torso design was curved and stylized like that of a powerlifter, with a strong chest and wide shoulders. Even its abdomen, where the cockpit no doubt sat, had bulging abs, while his legs and arms were similar in their power look, cut to show off muscles that were not real. Cameron craned his neck, trying to spot a weapon of the conventional sense. Instead, as the white mech took a stance, putting his hands up, as it bounced lively on the balls of its feet, Cameron could see what looked to be three large long studs sticking out from every knuckle, their dull points threatening him with the idea that, should they find purchase, this wasn’t going to be over in one quick slash, but a slow, painful beating.
“It’s a boxer,” Aeia said, her voice no longer coming from inside his head, but from within the PA system of the Headsman.
“Aeia?!” Cameron said, looking around in surprise, “Is that you?”
“Yes indeed,” She said, sounding a bit closer to her usual chipper self, “I suppose Fletcher wasn’t lying about the sync! Seems that I’m coming along for the ride in my full capacity.”
Cameron couldn’t contain the excited smile that started to grow on his face, “So…” he said, “I guess this is our first full mission together eh?”
“It seems to be that way,” she shot back, “And, while I’m still worried about just what ramifications can come from this, I certainly feel a lot better knowing that I’m able to provide full support this time around.”
Cameron nodded, reaching back with his hand to grasp at his sword. As soon as he felt the physilight rod form, he yanked it free, taking a stance of his own, raising it high above his head, as he squatted in a low and sturdy stance.
“Well… first piece of support then,” Cameron said, “What can you tell me about this unit?”
“Boxers are close quarters specialists, favoring quick, short-ranged, hit and run tactics. While their output and speed are lower than that of the Headsman, their agility is on par with your’s if not higher, and their defenses, if properly optimized, can eclipse a defender class.”
“So… How do I beat this thing?”
“Simple,” She said, “You just have to-”
“LADIES AND GENTLEMAN!” Fletcher’s booming voice cute Aeia off mid sentence, as well as the roar of the crowd, “Thank you for your patience! Are we ready to get into our penultimate match of the evening?! Are we ready to see a new star being born?!”
The crowd screamed out their enthusiasm, stomping their feet so hard that Cameron could see the sand shift and bounce from their impacts. His opponent seemed nonplussed, not even dropping his guard, settling instead to glare back at Cameron from across the way, as Fletcher continued.
“In the black corner…” he began, “Our challenger! A new up and comer with a mysterious past and an even more mysterious mech! Hailing from parts unknown, piloting a Headsman class assault variant, Caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam Ket!”
The cheering was slightly more muted, than when Fletcher first started speaking, but Cameron was just happy he wasn’t being booed. At least that was until Fletcher introduced his opponent.
“AND in the white corner… Our gatekeeper! With a combined record of thirteen wins and three losses, The Beast of Bal’Mageddo himself! You know him! You love him! Piloting the Boxer class specialist variant… Arno ‘The Black Flash’ Kane!”
The crowd went absolutely nuts. It felt like the roof was going to come down from the intensity of Arno’s reception. This was the only time Arno showed any emotion, as he stopped his bouncing and turned to the crowd, his unit bowing low, causing an even louder uproar to overtake the first.
“Man…” Cameron said, “Fuck me I guess.”
“I’m still your number one fan,” Aeia said, and Cameron felt good to know she was finally willing to crack a joke with him again.
“Yeah, but you’re programmed to like me,” He said in response.
“That’s not the point.”
“Two mechs enter! One will leave! Who will it be folks?” Fletcher’s voice boomed, and Cameron watched as crowds gathered around a series of bookies, likely betting on his downfall.
“Are my fighters ready?!”
Arno stood up straight, assuming his stance once again, as his speaker crackled to life, “Ready…” he said, in a clipped foreign accent.
Cameron inhaled deeply gripping the physilight rod tightly in his palm, “I’m ready.”
“FIGHT!”
