The countdown hit zero, and the semi-final began.

  Bells moved first, launching wind blades that moved across the arena floor, while Siegfried stood his ground, flicking his glowing scalpel with minimal effort. For every blade of compressed air Bells threw, Siegfried deflected it into the concrete, leaving deep gouges in the floor but remaining untouched himself.

  Realizing the ground game was a stalemate, Bells took to the air, hovering thirty feet up, and raining down aerial bombardments.

  Siegfried looked up, expressionless and took his scalpel, plunging it into his own thighs.

  "Gross," Grace muttered, wrinkling her nose.

  "Effective," I corrected.

  Siegfried’s legs began to glow with orange energy and he blurred. He was moving at the speed of light—or close enough that my eyes couldn't track him. He ran up the vertical walls of the arena, dodging the wind blasts, and launched himself off a corporate banner.

  He axe-kicked Bells out of the air before my general even knew he was a target.

  They crashed back to the ground and Bells scrambled up, looking visibly frustrated. He was panting. Siegfried was bleeding from his legs, but he didn't seem to care.

  "Bells is annoyed," I noted, leaning back in my seat. "He thought a support class would be an easy walk to the finals but he forgot that in this city, even the ambulance drivers carry guns."

  "He shouldn't be this hard to defeat," Grace said. "He’s a physician. His output is illogical."

  "He is a support," Aiya said. "But he is an extremely skilled one and a support that can support themself is harder to kill than a tank."

  SLURRRRRP.

  Sal was aggressively working on the bottom of a blue raspberry slushie.

  Grace glared at him while Sal ignored her, rattling the straw around the plastic cup to get the last drops of ice.

  Below, the fight had stalled.

  Bells stood on one side of the center line and Siegfried stood on the other.

  Five minutes passed.

  Bells didn't know what move to make as every attack had been countered. Siegfried, lacking any ego whatsoever, simply waited. He had no desire to force an engagement.

  The crowd began to get restless and a low murmur grew into a chant.

  "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"

  Siegfried ignored them. He was as still as a statue.

  Bells, however, had an ego and the chanting got under his skin. He cracked.

  He roared and charged straight at the doctor.

  "Mistake," I whispered.

  Siegfried waited until Bells was inside his guard before he grabbed Bells’ wrist, used the wind cultivator's own momentum to flip him, and slammed him into the concrete hard enough to crack the foundation.

  Then, with surgical precision, Siegfried plucked three specific points on Bells’ shoulder and spine with the tip of his scalpel.

  Bells froze and tried to get up, but his limbs wouldn't obey him. He was paralyzed.

  "And that’s the match," I sighed. "At least we made it to the semis."

  Coolie descended from the ceiling, mic in hand, ready to announce the upset.

  Then, Bells twitched.

  A sound like cracking walnuts came from inside his body.

  "What is he doing?" Grace asked, horrified.

  "He's forcing air inside his own skeletal structure," Aiya observed. "He's micro fracturing his own bones to shock his nervous system back online."

  Bells screamed in pure agony, and lunged upward from the floor.

  Siegfried looked surprised for the first time and tried to step back, but he wasn't fast enough.

  Bells grabbed the doctor’s ankles.

  "Going up," Bells hissed through gritted teeth.

  He launched them. It was the same move he had used to humiliate me. They rocketed into the sky, passing the jumbotrons, heading for the roof.

  Siegfried realized the math instantly. If Bells dropped him from this height, even with his buffs, the impact would liquidate his organs. He was trapped.

  But Siegfried was smarter than me.

  He raised his scalpel and slashed his own hamstrings.

  The tendons severed. His legs went useless and he slipped out of Bells’ grip like a wet bar of soap.

  Siegfried fell but managed to angle his body to land in a roll, however without the use of his legs, the impact was brutal. He lay there, conscious, but unable to stand.

  Bells floated down slowly, landing on shaking feet.

  "WINNER: BELLS!"

  The crowd roared, confused but entertained by the brutality.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  I stood up. "Grace. Go down there. Get Siegfried’s contact information before he gets carried out. I want to hire him."

  "On it," Grace said, smoothing her skirt and exiting the box.

  Another intermission passed and the final event arrived.

  Finals: Bells (Eden) vs. Majors (Seaside)

  Bells walked out. He looked wrecked. He was bruised, his bones were likely fractured from his own technique, and he looked terrified. He knew, just like we did, that he had zero chance against the purple machine that had dismantled Lily.

  "He should surrender," Grace said, returning with a slip of paper containing the doctor's number. "It's cheaper than the reconstructive surgery."

  Majors walked out and the crowd went wild for the corporate knight.

  The countdown began.

  3... 2... 1...

  Bells braced himself, summoning a pathetic gust of wind.

  Then…

  Majors tapped the side of his helmet.

  "I forfeit," his deep and distorted voice bloomed over the speakers.

  The entire stadium gasped. Coolie froze in mid-air. I leaned forward, my brow furrowing.

  "Boo!" someone shouted. Then the whole crowd joined in. They had been promised blood, and they were getting paperwork.

  Coolie flew down, trying to salvage the moment. "Majors! The crowd is confused! You are the favorite! Why forfeit the championship?"

  "A fight with him is not worth my time," Majors said, now looking up to the sky. "I already got what I came here for."

  Bells blinked, lowering his hands. "Hey! I'm right here!"

  Majors didn't acknowledge him and turned to walk back into the tunnel.

  "What does that mean?" Sal asked, mouth open.

  "I have no idea," Grace said.

  "Perhaps he means it would be boring," Aiya suggested. "Lily pushed him to his limits. Fighting Bells would be like fighting a toddler. It’s a waste of energy."

  "Worth my time," I said, watching the tunnel. "That was pride and dismissal. Robots aren't arrogant. Humans are. There is definitely a man inside that suit."

  Coolie awkwardly announced Bells as the champion by default and the confetti cannons fired, but it felt hollow.

  "Let's go," I said. "We'll wait for him outside."

  We stood by the service exit of the Thunderdome. The rain had stopped, leaving the Detroit air cold and damp.

  My phone buzzed.

  BREAKING NEWS: WHITE HILL LIQUIDATION.

  I opened the article.

  In a shocking move following the end of the Six Month War, the White Hill Faction has sold off all industrial factories and heavy military surplus. Faction Leader Axehill has announced a permanent downsizing of the standing army to a core force of 25,000 elites.

  I scrolled to the official statement made by the White Hill spokesperson.

  "We will no longer be dependent on Seaside or any other military contractor ever again. The humiliation we faced will not be repeated."

  I lowered the phone.

  "Smart," I whispered.

  "What is it?" Grace asked.

  "Axehill," I said. "He sold the factories to fix his bankruptcy and downsized the army to make his overhead sustainable indefinitely. But the real move... the real move is his independence."

  He realized what I had realized in the bunker. You cannot fight a war against the man who sells you your bullets, so he stripped the fat to save the muscle. He is going analog to become unkillable.

  It was inspiring. I had realized this before Axehill but out of laziness and complacency decided not to fully act on it. That changes now.

  "Sal," I said.

  "Yeah, Boss?"

  "When we get home, I want you to gut it."

  Sal frowned. "Gut what?"

  "Southfield," I said. "Starting with my house. Rip out the Seaside smart fridge. Rip out the holographic lights. Tear out the generators. If it has a purple logo on it, I want it gone."

  "We're going dark?" Sal asked, a grin spreading across his face.

  "We're going independent."

  I pulled out my phone and dialed Mayah.

  "Sir?" she answered on the first ring.

  "Effective immediately," I said. "This is the last day Adam uses Seaside appliances or technology."

  "What?" Mayah’s voice spiked with panic. "Sir, how will we access the mines? How will we have lights? Heat? Modern amenities? You can't just unplug the colony!"

  "Hold tight, Governor," I said calmly. "I have a plan."

  I hung up.

  I wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. I wouldn't be "good enough" or "almost there." I would not be a customer in my own nation. If White Hill moved, I wouldn't move at them, I would move with them. True power lay in observing first and I was done letting my emotions take the wheel.

  The service door opened.

  Bells walked out. He was carrying a sleek, purple suitcase in one hand and a strange object in the other. It looked like a miniature ziggurat.

  "The Champion arrives," I said dryly.

  "Don't start," Bells grumbled. "Worst win of my life."

  "What's the artifact?" I asked, nodding at the pyramid.

  "I'll show you when we get home," he said.

  We piled into the two cars. The drive back to Southfield was quiet. The city lights of Detroit faded behind us, replaced by the darkness of the suburbs.

  When we pulled into the driveway, Bells led us straight to the backyard.

  He hefted the miniature ziggurat as he looked at a massive oak tree standing just outside the property line of my garden.

  He threw the artifact.

  It stopped in the air above the tree and a beam of purple light shot down.

  The tree vanished.

  The ziggurat flew back into Bells’ hand like a boomerang and inside the translucent purple structure, I could see a tiny, perfect replica of the oak tree.

  "Storage," Bells explained. "It can trap and store anything. An army, a forest, a tank battalion. The size is unlimited, the only constraint is your Realm and your Qi capacity."

  "That," I said, staring at the object, "is an amazing artifact."

  "Did you see Mister O?" Grace asked.

  "No," Bells said, pocketing the device. "He wasn't even there. He sent his assistant to give me the prize. A woman named Presley."

  "What’s she like?" I asked.

  Bells shivered. "Creepy. She smiled the whole time, but... I got goosebumps. My instincts were screaming at me to run. It was worse than standing in front of the dragon."

  "Grace," I said. "Note that name."

  "Noted."

  Sal walked over to his truck and pulled out a crowbar. "Alright. I'm starting on the kitchen."

  "I'm heading out," Bells said. "I'm a million more stones richer and I'm tired of riding shotgun. I'm going to the dealership to buy my own ride."

  "You could fly," Aiya pointed out.

  "Wastes too much Qi," Bells said. "And bugs get in my teeth."

  He walked off down the driveway.

  A black SUV with tinted windows pulled up to the curb.

  "That's my ride," Grace said. "I'll see you tomorrow at the office, Kaz. I don't do 'analog' nights. My house still has heat."

  "Goodnight, Grace," I said.

  She got in and the car moved away.

  It was just me and Aiya.

  We walked into the mansion. Sal was already inside; I could hear the crunch of metal as he pried the smart screen off the oven. The house was dark. The hum of the electronics was dying, replaced by the silence I had grown used to in the bunker.

  "It's going to be cold tonight," Aiya said.

  "Just for tonight," I said.

  We headed up the stairs. It had been a long day. We had won a tournament, got back our dignity, and declared economic war on the biggest power in the state.

  I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. For the first time in a year, I was truly independent.

  And it was very, very quiet.