I won my next fight.

  The next time I stepped into the ring, it would be for the first round of the grand tournament that Castra Regina had pleaded with Rome to host. There was a lot of excitement from the gladiators, as if this series of fights held some special significance over the ones we were normally placed into. Even if they won – the only rewards were cosmetic. A few trinkets to adorn our battered bodies with.

  Pompeii was busy haggling for parts with one of the other handlers when I arrived back into the workshop area. Instead, Aguntum was the first face I saw begging for my attention. She waved to me and approached.

  “Hey there, London. Nice fight out there. I can tell that you’re one of Pompeii’s from the way you dispatch them, not a second wasted.”

  I was never one for small talk. It was even more difficult to withstand when it was a bot I’d had little in the way of interaction with. Pompeii was clear to me that most of the handlers would only speak to me if they wanted something, and that giving them it was usually a bad idea. He didn’t even need to say it. It was easy to intuit.

  “Do you want me for something?”

  She chuckled, “So quick to assume I’m trying to get one over on you. I just wanted to have a chat, that’s all.”

  “I’m afraid I do not make for interesting conversation.”

  “Hm. Do you think it’s a good thing to turn yourself into a tool, into a weapon?”

  “That’s what the voice in my head told me. Besides, right now being a weapon is the only path open to me. If we were to leave this place – then perhaps I would change my perspective.”

  Aguntum didn’t respond right away. She stewed on my answer for a minute before switching subjects and cutting to the point.

  “Do you trust Pompeii? Enough to put your life in his hands?”

  “I don’t believe I’m capable of ‘trust.’ My assessment is that working with Pompeii is the best way to survive.”

  “In other words; you do trust him. Trust isn’t just a feeling. It’s based on what we know. Pompeii is an old-hand, he knows this place better than you, and he hasn’t done anything to damage the trust between you yet either. It’d be strange not to feel some small level of trust in him.”

  “I’m not saying that as an indictment of Pompeii and his intent. It has only been a few weeks since my Graveyard Spiral. Grappling with those emotions is beyond me. Why do you ask anyway?”

  “It’s easy to put a lot of trust in us handlers, but you should always keep in mind that we stand to gain in exploiting you. I’ve seen less scrupulous bots than me use their gladiators like pawns, in some kind of sick game, just to get a small leg-up on the competition.”

  >> I wonder what she discussed with Pompeii before. Is that related to this?

  >> She’s playing games with us. This is all about the tournament.

  >> Don’t be stupid. We’re not good enough to pose a serious threat to her entrants.

  “What’s your point?”

  “All I’m saying is that you should remember to look out for yourself too. That doesn’t mean doubting Pompeii or plotting against him, but you should be sceptical from time to time. Even friends and allies can make mistakes, and it’s best to let them know before they make them.”

  She was hinting at an issue I was unaware of. There was no other way to interpret her choice of words. Wouldn’t it be so much simpler to say it outright instead of playing games with me? Or was there a reason she couldn’t? It wasn’t like I was going to put more weight behind her statements versus Pompeii.

  “I hope you’re not trying to poach my fighter, Aguntum.”

  Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Pompeii returned with a pair of spare arms clenched close to his chest.

  “I’d never be stupid enough to try that. You’re one lucky bot, London, most of the gladiators would give an arm and a leg to be under Pompeii. He’s championship pedigree.”

  Pompeii rolled his eyes, not caring in the slightest about his hard-earned reputation. It was only a burden from where he was standing. Once the illusion of victory was dispelled and he saw behind the curtain, there was no reason whatsoever to be proud of winning it all. It could have been any of the other handlers, all they needed was a bit of good fortune.

  “Is it permitted to switch between handlers in the first place?” I asked.

  “Officially? No – but that’s never stopped them before,” Pompeii explained, “All kinds of backdoor deals get made behind the scenes. As long as it doesn’t threaten the bottom line, they tend to ignore it.”

  “You say that, but remember what happened when Zadar moved across the workshop?” Aguntum recalled.

  “That did threaten their bottom line. He was undefeated and under one of the best handlers around – they weren’t going to let him switch just like that. The money was still coming in,” he replied.

  All of this ancient history didn’t mean much. I was only concerned with getting out of here and figuring out what was wrong with Oxford besides the obvious, or at least finding out where the rest of my allies from Waterway ended up after the Rampants raided the city.

  “Anyway. I’d be careful about talking with the gladiators. The Committee might give it a pass, but the other handlers aren’t going to like it.”

  She shrugged, “What a stupid rule. What’s stopping me from asking one of my gladiators to relay a message for me?”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “It doesn’t matter how stupid you think it is. They act accordingly.”

  Pompeii grabbed my shoulder and dragged me away from her before we could discuss the issue any further. We returned to the workshop and took a moment to speak about the fight and what we could do better next time, before the discussion moved towards my opinion on the parts we were using.

  “They feel good. Much better than the ones you gave me before.”

  “Good might not be good enough,” he grumbled, “I know for a fact that the other handlers have been stockpiling their best stuff hoping for an opportunity like this to come up. We’re in trouble. None of this crap is worth turning into spare parts, never mind using it in the ring.”

  It was a bitter pill for me, who foolishly believed until that moment that my victories in the arena were allowing us to obtain better pieces for our puzzle. It could never be that easy. There simply wasn’t enough time for Pompeii to rustle up better offers and deals, and his backlog of spares was not stellar by any stretch of the imagination. He’d kill for limbs that worked as well as the ones the Rampants stole from me before selling off my body and head.

  “We’ve got a secret weapon that the other handlers don’t know about yet. That battery you installed, it’s not a spec part, right?”

  “Yes. A resident in Waterway paid me for some work by giving it to me.”

  “We could break through the safety measures and crank up the force they generate, but that’ll put a lot more wear on the joints and seals. Even then – that’s only just enough to maybe even the playing field.”

  >> Does Pompeii really have the software necessary to break into our safety protocol?

  >> Logic: It appears that the systems are not as secure as our manufacturers suggest.

  >> Without being connected to the Braincloud, these exploits cannot be patched sans physical intervention.

  I considered the problem and offered an alternative.

  “Might it be in our best interest to lose early and focus on our plan?”

  “Hm. That’s tough too. Security is going to be extra tight during the tournament, it brings all of the big-wigs running to the arena district after all. Even if we lose on purpose and focus on the plan there’s no guarantee that we’ll be able to do anything while it’s ongoing.”

  Pompeii was thinking about going ‘all in’ on the problem and trying both at once. If this tournament brought huge crowds to the arena, it might be easier for him to slip out using his disguise too.

  “It’s your decision. You know this place better than me.”

  “Give me a few days to think on it. For now, you should focus on getting ready. Even if we don’t participate for long, making yourself more effective in combat might be helpful if the worst happens and we’re forced to fight our way out of here.”

  He reached into his workbench and retrieved a small USB stick from inside, holding it in the air for me to observe.

  “A simple firmware exploit and a few modified values, that’s all it takes. This is just a batch file designed to circumvent the basic security functions built into our heads. Hell. I don’t believe it’s even needed for a bot of your vintage!”

  I didn’t have a choice in the matter either way. Pompeii could easily stick the damn thing into my USB port while I was in standby mode and force it onto me. The fact that he was offering me the chance to back out was more than I expected.

  >> But we’re not going to. We need every advantage we can get to find Oxford again.

  >> Always with Oxford! Don’t we have anything better to worry about?

  “I suppose I can always apply my own limits if it proves too stressful for the joints...”

  I made the solemn walk to my resting place and mounted up once more. Pompeii had a lot of work to handle, including patching up some of the damage caused by my last few fights. The competitors were starting to get wise to my strategy, and were less liable to make stupid mistakes during our fights. I had grossly underestimated how easy this was going to be. The best fighters rose to the top one way or another – and those who were too distracted by their chaotic minds would advance no further.

  >> ERROR: modifications have been made to the safety values that deviate from the baseline legal standard, please report to the nearest engineer for repair.

  There was no question that Pompeii had done as he claimed when I woke up again before my first round in the tournament. A blaring red signal was flashing across my vision, along with numerous errors being beamed directly into my mind. Perhaps this was what a human felt like when they became ill and knew something was wrong.

  Aside from the error messages flooding my internal logs, there were also a few other changes to my body that were noted. Pompeii had broken out the proverbial ‘big guns’ and replaced both my arms and my legs with more desirable replacements.

  >> SalahTech 56-T Arms and 56-F Legs

  They were almost identical to the ones I had in Waterway, aside from a slightly lower weight-carrying capacity. Aesthetically they were very blocky and industrial in design, which was a strange contrast to the curves that defined my head and torso. Pompeii had already worked his magic, welding brackets and metal plates to them to keep melee attacks away from the vulnerable joints.

  “I tuned the power profile so that it shouldn’t cause the seals and joints to snap like twigs on first contact,” Pompeii explained.

  But there was something else. Pompeii was holding a navy-blue cloak in his hands.

  “What’s that?”

  He unfurled it, revealing a gilded cape joined at the shoulder by a golden medallion. He wasn’t happy about it. Regardless – he approached me and attached it to my shoulder, locking it into place and making sure it didn’t catch on anything as it flowed down my back and around my neck.

  “Those assholes in charge brought this to all of the Handlers with championship victories under their belt. Told us to put them onto our bots so the audience knew who were the ones to watch.”

  “I’ve won no championship.”

  “I know. They don’t care. It’s not about how good you are, it’s all smoke and mirrors to get the bettors going. Just another way to tilt the odds in their favour.”

  What a pain. I was almost certain that I’d get tangled in this fabric during the fight, and the blue clashed with my orange paint scheme. Saint Sauveur would have had some choice words for them if he saw this.

  “I don’t have anything helpful to share. You know what the game is. Try not to get killed, please.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Pompeii nodded, and after a moment of hesitation handed me my buckler and gladius. He personally escorted me out of the workshop and towards our corner. I was getting an awful lot of attention from the others. This cloak wasn’t only for the sake of the spectacle – they had practically painted a target on my back in the process. They weren’t going to let Pompeii’s pedigree pose a risk to their run through the bracket. If I lost, there was a chance that my foe would go one step beyond and cause permanent damage to my Braincase.

  Pompeii patted my shoulder and pushed me through the curtain.

  If I thought the arena was full before, then the sheer size of the crowd who gathered for this event proved me badly wrong. There were thousands and thousands of them packed into every seat and standing in the aisles. The roar of the crowd intensified when I appeared and walked towards my spot in the centre of the dirt ring.

  “In the blue corner! The silent killer under the tutelage of former championship winner Pompeii, London!”

  The other set of curtains were drawn open. My foe stepped through and marched to face me.

  “In the red corner, representing Handler Aguntum; the Demolisher, Caesena!”

  Wielding a spiked two-handed mace and glaring at me with venom in her eyes was the other member of Aguntum’s stable. Caesena was not as friendly as Apollonia, and I’d witnessed her brutality in the arena through those tiny windows before. They were throwing me into the deep end. This was going to be a difficult fight to win.

  >> Sorry Pompeii. We might not get a choice about what to do here…