“And London wins in convincing fashion! He didn’t struggle this round. He dismantled his opponent in characteristic style!”

  The voice of the commentator leaked through the curtains and into the workshop. A handful of the other fighters gave a polite applause for my victory in the second round of the tournament. This was no contest at all. My opponent had a stroke of bad luck near the start and failed to recover from it, with each successive attack weakening them further. Their corner threw in the towel soon after.

  “Starting to think these veterans are underestimating you,” Pompeii murmured.

  “A joint in their right arm snapped.”

  “Too much torsion on the bar, or hydraulic pressure? Well, there’s no point in analysing it. We’re all pushing these old parts to the limit to try and eke out those advantages.”

  There was no purpose in trying to win. There was no guarantee that we’d receive anything more than a statue and another banner for the hard work. Our best bet was to keep exploring our other angle, finding a way out of the Rusted Wall and using our disguises to slip away when nobody expected us to. That was why he turned me online again the next day, having already swapped out my parts.

  >> Booting…

  “Batteries are charged, and no bot is any the wiser.”

  Light flooded into my receptors. Pompeii was standing in front of me.

  “What’s our next task?”

  “I gave it a lot more thought. We should be able to find some answers if we ask the right bots around town. I’ve heard rumours that some underground traders use the old tramways to get in and out of this place. The last thing we’ll need after that is a cart to bring all of our stuff in…”

  “Our maps will still work for fixed points like tramways.”

  “Sure. Finding them isn’t the problem. The Committee knows that they’re the best way in and out of this place with the wall in the way. They’re guarded twenty-four seven by a detachment of soldiers. The only way to get through is to bribe them to look the other way, and guess who the only group of bots with that kind of cash is?”

  “The criminals.”

  “That’s right. Smugglers, racketeers and thugs are their regular clientele. That’s not the type of money we can put together overnight. The Committee don’t like them – but they operate in the shadows, and it’s difficult to stop them, so taking kickbacks keeps those gangs from getting too powerful.”

  We snuck through the empty workshop and towards the balcony. Pompeii was the one on point today. He climbed the stairs and put his ear to the door to listen out for the guard on the other side. When he was confident that it was clear, he waved me over. From there we only had to cut through the ground floor of the arena and down through the shimmering lobby.

  The guards waved us through with the rest. I started to wonder why none of the other gladiators had considered doing this – but it must have been a lot more difficult than I thought. Pompeii had gone to great lengths during my downtime to collect these parts for our disguises, and we had a significant brush with danger at the casino too.

  “So if we can’t enter through one of those tunnels, where else can we start?”

  “Trust me. I have a line to follow.”

  Trust was in short supply recently, given that everyone I spoke with was blowing smoke about Pompeii’s true intentions by helping me with this. I still couldn’t see a crack in his armour though. From what I could see, he was entirely genuine about his desire to leave because of what happened with his friend. Or at least he wanted to help me as some kind of misplaced penance.

  >> But he still knows more about this place than us.

  >> That won’t change as long as we’re confined to the arena. We need him.

  We travelled through the poorest area of the city until we arrived at a small building tucked away inside of a narrow back alley. A red neon sign flickered in the darkness of the cavernous chamber they called home.

  “What is this?”

  “A bar.”

  “Infrabots don’t drink.”

  “Yeah, but any good gang of crooks has a place to get together and look shady, so they recreated a human bar and started using it as their hideout.”

  >> …And the Committee hasn’t arrested all of them yet? With this glowing neon sign telling everyone where they are?

  “Let me do the talking. They do welcome the occasional guest.”

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  “Alright.”

  Pompeii walked through the door with confidence. The interior of the bar was designed to superficially resemble a human establishment, complete with wooden countertop and non-functional taps for various types of drink. A selection of glass bottles, both intact and smashed lined the shelves behind it. Six tables were crammed into the miniscule floorspace left over. There were two bots present, one behind the bar to maintain the illusion, and another in the corner.

  “Venice.”

  He perked up in his chair, “Good evening gentlemen. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Pompeii corralled me through the scattered furniture and towards his table, where we both took a seat across from him.

  “I hope you’ll forgive the sudden question from a pair of total strangers. I want to know how much it’ll cost to get out of this dump,” Pompeii asked.

  “You can pay however much you think that’s worth, but you’ll regret it. There ain’t a single charging station for miles around. You’ll go offline long before you get anywhere, and that’s before you worry about those vultures waiting in the dark to pick off whatever walks by.”

  “Your objection is that it’ll be pointless?”

  Venice shrugged, “Not only that. Every extra pair of hands I send through those tunnels adds more to the price we’ve gotta’ pay to the watchmen. Bringing along some dead weight that doesn’t belong to the crew? Terrible idea.”

  He was very open about his criminal enterprise, but it made sense given that Pompeii had already indicated that he knew what Venice was all about. No point burying the lead when the other party was already letting the truth slip. The problem was that Pompeii had to risk a lot to convince Venice otherwise.

  “What if we’re not dead weight? What if we could take the place of a couple of your crew, and you won’t even notice the difference?”

  Venice considered the proposal, “That’d be good enough for me. It’s a risky job, after all. I’m always looking for useful folk to take on the challenge – but I can’t just take your word for it. I don’t even know your names.”

  Pompeii looked to me, seeking affirmation for what he was about to do.

  “London,” I said, cutting him off.

  “He’s London. I’m Pompeii.”

  Venice was silent for a few seconds before he broke out into a shrill laugh.

  “You’re the Pompeii? You’ve gotta’ be pulling my leg! I mean, you don’t even look like the fella’ at all.”

  “That’s the problem when you put on a disguise to get out of the arena district,” he explained, “Every single part has to be swapped out, even our eyes.”

  “I don’t see how I can-”

  “Tarraco killed Salonae for disrespecting him eight years ago. Antioch was so angry with him that they started to fight in the Committee chamber. Antioch still has the same scratches on his chassis from then, he refuses to have them removed.”

  Something that only a bot like Pompeii would know. He was there.

  “No way. I’ve been hearing about that spat for years now. You’re telling me it’s true? I thought it was an urban legend.”

  “You tell me. You’re the bot who knows all of the dirty rumours.”

  “But why are you trying to fly the coop during a big tournament? Ain’t there anything on the line worth fighting for?”

  “I just told you what my last gladiator got for his effort, what makes you think I’m going to fall for the same bullshit again? It’s a carrot on a stick for the handlers who don’t know any better. The only prize for victory is pride – and that can’t bring my friend back from the dead. All I have is that reputation. You can trust me when I say that London is just as deadly as he was.”

  Venice took a moment to ponder what he’d heard. There was a lot to consider, and a lot to accept, which was why he was inevitably going to ask for a show of confirmation from us. It was a stroke of fortune that what he desired was not so demanding.

  “I don’t see any harm in bringing you two, as long as you’re telling the truth – that is.”

  Venice contorted his fingers into a strange symbol, with two fingers pointing straight up into the air and the thumb extended outwards like the hammer of a gun.

  “One of my lieutenants is always skulking around that arena they’re so proud of. When you fight next, make this hand signal to let us know that you’re legit. Should be easy enough. There’s another thing too. I want the banner and the cape. The ones they give out for winning the tournament. I like collecting stuff with a lot of value…”

  “I have both of those. I don’t care at all about parting with them either. They just bring back bad memories.”

  “Good. Do that for me, and I’ll let you go along with one of my smuggling crews. Make sure you bring enough charge to get to the end. They’ll leave you behind if you go offline out there.”

  “Noted. Thank you, Venice.”

  Pompeii shook his hand to sign the verbal agreement.

  “And they say I’m not a good Samaritan. Good luck with the next fight, you two.”

  Pompeii’s gambit paid off. We exited the bar and took a roundabout route to avoid being tailed back to the arena district.

  “I was sweating bullets back there,” he admitted, “I’ve heard a lot of stories about him. He’s a violent sort. He likes to shake down other bots for protection money. Funny to think that he’s the closest thing we have to an ally around here.”

  His words brought me back to the same place as before. There was a growing feeling of doubt in my mind about what Pompeii really wanted. Did he see this as a way to make up for past mistakes? To do for me what he failed to do for his friend? I couldn’t see him going so far for my sake alone, and he had no real reason to leave the Rusted Wall.

  “You’re willing to go far to succeed, but I don’t understand why yet.”

  “Nobody ever got what they wanted without risking something. Giving that information to Venice is a small price to pay.”

  “I’m asking what you want from this,” I asserted. “My reasons are foolish, self-destructive if you will – but you refuse to give me any reason at all for why you feel the same. All I hear are other bots doubting your motives, telling me to lose trust in you.”

  “Do you think we’re friends? Are you even capable of accepting something like that?”

  “If not friends – we’re allies. We’re both seeking the same outcome.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because you said it to me. We’ve been organizing this escape plan for weeks.”

  “Pft. I left my heart back there in the VIP suite eight years ago, London. It doesn’t make a bit of difference to me whether I succeed or fail. Maybe my feelings will change if I get out, but what if I end up somewhere even worse than this?”

  >> He’s doubting himself.

  “If you’re trying to push me away, then you’d better say what you mean directly. I don’t do well with analogies.”

  “Fine. I’ll tell you straight. Don’t wait for me if it doesn’t work out. You look out for yourself first. You’re not obligated to do anything for me.”

  “What did she say to you?”

  Pompeii ignored my question and kept walking. I stopped in place and hoped that he’d change his mind and answer me, but he never did. He treated me like a child, ignoring my tantrum and instilling a fear of being left behind as punishment.

  >> This feeling. Is it irritation, or anger, or even distrust?

  >> It’s all of them, stupid.