Ace A prodigy of his time, his exceptional skills with technology had made him an alluring target for capture.

Cardinal Mistakes are often made with the capture breeds the overseers send out to select low to mid-value humans. But it seems this mistake worked in their favor.

Charles From Sales The poster boy of the Reconstruction Initiative, his elderly holographic face has sold more insurance plans than there are investors.

Hermit Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young

Moonwalk A poet, a writer, but most of all, an investor. He has a thing or two to teach his fellow competitors.

Reaver "The Corpse Ghost" Your worst nightmare lurks in the shadows.

White Fang A contender from a different planet, that you shouldn't take lightly.

The Reconstruction Initiative Bio-cybernetic Shell / Charles from Sales

Did you place a hefty investment on the name of a tested warrior in the Warfare One Arena? Hoping to see a worthwhile return, watching the numbers rise as their victories accumulate, with all the charts proving you made the right choice? But then… whoops! Either through mismanagement, environmental causes, or sabotage, their reserved DNA archives are no longer available for replication. And then, predictably, your champion falls in one fateful match but is left without another body to transfer into.

Now, it may seem like your asset is all but void, only now possessing a consciousness stuck in the Limbo systems. While they may still hold the name of a tried and true warrior, what good are they if they are just a voice in a computer? Well, before you pull your faith from the tournament, let me inform you that your very expensive digital mind still holds some potential.

Introducing the Reconstruction Initiative! Having a strong partnership with the Warfare One Tournament's Overseers, we can happily provide your lone warrior with a new bio-cybernetic shell that meets the requirements of the competition. For a temporary rental, you can upload your asset’s mind into one of our many models that will then automatically match their last recorded Biodata to its own internals, such as muscular strength and lung capacity.

Displaying your legend with a holographic overlay projection, you can continue their legacy through a new form. While you might think that the audience wouldn’t respond well to such a drastic visual change, our studies have shown that it can, in many cases, actually reignite a combatant’s falling viewership.

Don’t believe us? Take a look at the Reconstruction Initiative's most popular example: A fighter with over half a decade in the pits and five hundred victories under his belt, the beloved human “Charles from Sales.” Initially picked up from his home planet alongside hundreds of other less than valuable assets as cheap purchases for first-time investors, “Charles from Sales” had become a surprise hit with the crowds with his unprecedented skills in the arena. But after his DNA archives were wiped, it had seemed as though his time in the spotlight had finally faded. Then we here at the Reconstruction Initiative proved that wrong! We rebuilt Charles better than ever, and his exploits on the battlefield haven’t been anything but spectacular for both the fans and investors.

Where at one point, you would have to decommission your lost assets and lay them to rest due to forces outside of your control, we are now able to breathe a new eternal life back into them.

Can’t afford the costs of a rental but still worry about the possibility of losing your hard-earned investments? No worries! For a monthly fee much smaller than our rental payments, you can acquire one of our insurance plans that covers up to three of your warriors!

Don’t wait! Secure your assets now! Become a friend of the Reconstruction Initiative, and we promise to keep your pawns battling for many millennia to come.

Android/ModelNum/CARDINAL-T540

Launching System/SoftwareFile/MainSystemSoftware14-B

Starting System Logger…

Boot up…

VisualOptics/data - loading… AudioReceptors/data - loading… TactileSensor/data - loading…

Video Feed: It’s dark, with only 18% luminosity. I can vaguely see that my arm and leg joints are made immobile by some unrecognized mechanism.

Tactile Sensors Detect: Something is strapped around the neck/throat region.

Audio: Unintelligible whispers, heavy footsteps, cries for help.

// What happened?

Last Recorded Data Log:

Memory/CompressedData/File-120425b6

{(Running), (Running), (Running), (Running), (Tree), (Running), (Running), (// They're getting close), (Running), (Running), (Running), (Tree), (Bush), (Running), (Squirrel),(// I can hear them yelling for me to stop), (Running), (Running), (// Loud sounds overhead), (Running), (Running), (Luminosity raised by 583%)}

Conclusion: I’ve been captured.

// But by who?

Possible Captors:

Verseta Corp: 48%

// They’ve been known to take a bit too much inspiration from their competitors, but would they go as far as stealing tech?

Charlton Enterprises: 25%

// My creators sent security to chase me on foot. Could they have had something else searching for me that I wasn’t aware of?

Government: 12%

// Perhaps my creators saw me as a national risk and called in the help of people with more resources.

Other: 15%

// Over twelve thousand other possibilities make up “other.” But then again, I’m working with very little data.

Conclusion: I require further data before I can conclude a safe course of action.

// How's my battery looking?

Battery: 56%

// Figured as much.

Estimation for direct sunlight availability: Undetermined.

Set/Objective: Conserve energy until an opportunity arises for me to deploy my solar panels.

Rest mode…

Android/ModelNum/CARDINAL-T540

Launching System/SoftwareFile/MainSystemSoftware14-B

Starting System Logger…

Boot up…

VisualOptics/data - loading… AudioReceptors/data - loading… TactileSensor/data - loading…

Video Feed: There’s an unidentifiable entity with its back turned to me. Cross-referencing my database, It appears to exhibit reptilian traits but holds a humanoid stature.

// That certainly is “further data.”

Conclusion: Must be a mutated human, previously unknown Earth native creature, extraterrestrial, or I have faulty recognition software.

// Great, I waited for more information, and now I only have even more questions.

Tactile Sensors Detect: I’m being forcefully dragged by the neck region.

Video Feed: No cables, rope, or any other object appears to be tethered at the point of tension. My estimation is that this invisible force is related to the collar itself.

// Whatever this is, it's beyond Charlton Enterprises.

Audio: “Oh good, you got some life left in ya. Thought I was gonna have to be partnered with a carcass.”

Video Feed: The voice seemed to emanate from a human male to my left. His voice and physical quality give off an estimated age of 27. However, that number is made with only 63% confidence due to obscured characteristics: specifically, his face, which is hidden behind a mask. He walks freely beside me, yet his movements remain jittery. Seeing as he wears a matching neck collar to my own, I can imagine that perhaps he’s subject to the same invisible force.

// I’m hostage to this cryptid, but instead, it's the sight of this human that makes me boil.

Audio: “You can be as stubborn as you want, but if you don’t start walking on your own, that neck brace will choke you right back to sleep. Walking with the tide is better than going into the arena out of breath.”

// Guess it would be advantageous to entertain this illusion of flesh and blood.

Tactile Sensors Detect: I pick myself up and begin walking with the invisible force, feeling the cold metal surface of the floor.

Video Feed: We stop at a dead end, but after the reptilian pressed a button on its wrist com, what was thought to have just been a wall revealed to be a hangar door slowly retracting to the ceiling.

Tactile Sensors Detect: Strong winds all over my body, almost as if we were using a helicopter's propeller as a fan to cool down.

Video Feed: The new opening showcased a sky of blue, with a large land mass filled with forests, buildings, and crates far off below.

Conclusion: We are onboard some sort of aircraft. Estimating at least 3000 feet.

Audio: “So it’s gonna take some getting used to, but try your best to angle towards the abandoned facility, ‘cuz that's where I’ll be heading.”

Video Feed: The human sprints and makes a jump off the platform.

// He did that as if he were programmed to just accept death. Am I not the only one playing human, or does he just do this regularly?

Video Feed: After a few seconds of me just standing here, the reptilian then turns to me.

Audio: “Off you go, human.”

Conclusion: I was expected to jump off the platform like the human before me.

Set/Objective: Do NOT jump off the platform.

// Maybe I can try to reason with it?

Audio: The reptilian bellows a frustrated gruff.

Tactile Sensors Detect: Reptilian pushes my shoulder. Immediately, the winds feel stronger, and there is no sense of solid foundation. My feet feel as free as the rest of my body.

Visual: The landmass below is growing in size.

Conclusion: I'm falling.

// Objective failed.

Set/Objective: Survive.

Analyzing training data log:

// All of my processing is gonna have to go into this. Memory/TrainingData/

// Is there anything in there that can help me not crash into pieces?

{Training file collection: How to pick up objects}

// I’m too far back in the logs.

3000 ft

{Training file collection: How to clean dishes}

// Why did they make individual files for every type of plate?

2500 ft

{Training file collection: How to drive a car}

// Oh, we made an AI that can reliably drive? No, forget integrating that into the car itself. Instead, place it within a completely separate entity that already has to specialize with thousands of other tasks; definitely won't cause slow down or cross some wires.

2000 ft

{Training file collection: How to provide entertainment}

// How is there no File Collection for self-preservation?

1500 ft

{Training file collection: How to understand color theory}

// Am I really just that replaceable to them?

1000 ft

// You make me human in nearly every way except for where it matters.

{Training file collection: How to speak different languages}

500 ft

// I-

0 ft

VisualOptics/data - OFFLINE AudioReceptors/data - OFFLINE

Tactile Sensors Detect: Rocks… soil… grass… and pain, lots of it.

// I guess if there were any self-preservation systems they’d implement, of course, it would be pain…

Deploying molecular repair gel

Shutting down…

Android/ModelNum/CARDINAL-T540

Launching System/SoftwareFile/MainSystemSoftware14-B

Starting System Logger…

Boot up…

VisualOptics/data - loading… AudioReceptors/data - loading… TactileSensor/data - loading…

Self-repair Sequence: 78%

Audio: Footsteps, fast. Coming from the northeast.

// Hopefully, it's a beast that can tear me to pieces and shut me down.

Visual Feed: That human from back on the aircraft is approaching me.

// I must’ve gotten caught by my creators, and this is actually just some punishment simulation.

Audio: “You’re still alive after a fall like that? I didn’t see your jet pack ignite, so I thought you might’ve gotten….”

// There was a jet pack…?

Tactile Sensors Detect: Something is strapped to my back.

// Oh, well… silly me…

Visual Feed: The human is looking at me with a perplexed glare.

// Yeah, I guess the masquerade is kinda broken when my clearly inhuman insides are sprayed across the dirt, huh?

Audio: “No wonder you ain’t dead; they didn’t team me up with no human.”

// Well, I would be dead If I hadn’t stolen a supply of repair gel before making my escape. Kinda wish I hadn’t right now.

Tactile Sensors Detect: I can feel him trying to pick me up. He places something in my palms.

// Idiot, if he wants me functional, he can’t disturb the gel.

Visual Feed: My object recognition is a little unstable after impact, but in my hands appears to be a pistol; not sure what model.

// Am I expected to kill something?

Audio: “You don’t look like anything from the Reconstruction Initiative… Do the big guys even know you’re not human? Ah, who cares at this point? You at least know how to shoot, right?”

// Reconstruction Initiative? Big guys? Do I know how to shoot? What is he even talking about?

Visual Feed: Something approximately 100 yards East is disturbing the bushes and foliage.

// Whatever this is all about, it's not my problem. But unfortunately, he's got the bigger gun. So making a run for it isn’t an option.

Audio: For the first time in days, I activate my voice module: “What is expected of me?”

// Hold on, how calibrated are my joints right now?

Calibration: 87%

// I should be quick enough to pop a bullet in his head and continue my escape.

Audio: “Expected of you? Just be the last one to survive? Can you do that?”

// Wait… That’s it? I’m expected to just… live?

Audio: Sudden burst of loud gunfire.

// Can things just slow down for one minute?

Tactile Sensors Detect: Something grazes my side, just barely cutting it open.

// Good thing the gel temporarily numbs some of my receptors; that should’ve hurt a lot worse.

Visual Feed: The human male begins to move towards cover while returning fire.

Audio: “Robot! Don’t just stand there! I can’t have you die this early in the match!”

// What even is… You know what

Analyzing collected data:

{(“Match”), (“Team”), (Aggressive Adversaries), (Binding collars), (Firearms), (Expectation: To survive)}

Conclusion: Is this some sort of colosseum?

Tactile Sensors Detect: My feet glide through the blades of grass. Then I crouch behind a wall of sandbags, feeling the rough texture against my shoulder.

// If this is some big death game…

Visual Feed: Approximately 3 other humans are detected moving from the east, each closing in about 50 yards.

// Then it doesn’t matter who I am. It’s either I’m your enemy, or I’m your friend.

Audio: I can hear the crunch of leaves near my left, only about 26 yards.

// People will want me. People will need me. They have to let me live like one of them. Their life depends on it.

Visual Feed: The iron sights of my firearm are slightly misaligned, adjusting the angle to compensate. Target is close enough to not require any extreme alterations to pitch. Winds should also hold little factor in this calculation.

// All packaged with the privilege of being able to kill humans.

Tactile Sensors Detect: The cold metallic trigger as I pull it.

// Whoever is in charge of this colosseum, whoever is in charge of my capture… thank you.

How to Move Forward By Walking Backwards: A Beginners Guide to Smart Investments for the Arena

Written By: Moonwalk

This guide is dedicated to my first cellmates and to the many others who still struggle to make it.

NOTE: READ THIS BEFORE CONTINUING

“How to Move Forward By Walking Backwards” is a renowned and beloved bestseller amongst the controlling populace, discussing methods and strategies to make the most out of their investments within the arena.

This is a front to disguise the true purpose of this book. A batch of copies should make their way into the hands of combatants like yourself all throughout the stations, and if they do, a chip implanted in the cover will detect the ID signal of your collar, rewriting the pages to reveal its actual underlying contents.

However, this is a one-time effect. The pages will not be able to revert back to their masked counterparts after the change. So for the safety of yourself, others, and the author, we ask you to take great caution when reading.

Do not get caught.

Contents

Preface/About the author 3-5

Low Value? No Problem 6-19

Die As Yourself, But Live On As The Character 20-34

Set Doable Expectations for The Audience 34-42

Style Over Substance? Why Not Both? 43-50

Fight Smarter, Not Harder 51-73

Friends, You Need Them, and They Need You 74-83

There’s No Such Thing as Downtime 84-101

Build a Castle of Stone, Not Sticks 102-119

Value as a Bargaining Chip 120-136

A New Life, What Now? 137-152

Preface/About the Author

If you are a human from the planet earth, you may be familiar with another creature native to your homeworld: the rhinoceros. For those who may not have any experience on that planet, a rhinoceros is a large, bulky beast that walks on all fours. They display intimidating horns that protrude from their head (while some variants only possess one horn, most species of rhinos have two) and are protected with a tough layer of skin, gifting them both a natural form of weapon and armor.

It is because of these qualities that the rhinoceros has been symbolized to be many things, mostly in regards to strength, fortitude, and headstrongness. But one other aspect this creature represents is the tenacity of pushing forward, to not let simple obstacles halt your progress, but to ram through them with confidence. This belief not only stems from their already mentioned qualities of strength, horns, and durability but also derives from an old human myth. For years, it was believed that the rhinoceros, with all of its favorable traits, was disadvantaged in one crucial facet: it couldn't walk backwards.

Nowadays, we know this not to be the case. But this old misconception has been passed down as a metaphor for tackling problems head-on and never looking back. While that's a perfectly reasonable mentality for one to have when facing difficult situations in life, I don’t believe it is sufficiently suited for everything that reality has in store, and certainly not for anyone getting into investing.

I’m not a human, nor have I ever visited their home world of earth. I’m a Runefera from the planet Zeratugashi: a beautiful lush world brimming with hundreds of civilizations, each with a multitude of varying intelligent species as their populace.

I am, or better put, WAS a realtor: I would help people buy or sell real estate, a fairly well-paying and respected occupation, at least from where I’m from. I thought that my life had reached its peak and that it was all smooth sailing from there on. All of my needs were met, and I had the money and respect of my peers to keep my spirits lifted till my deathbed. But the universe is a very finicky thing, and one mustn’t become too complacent under its watch.

Like perhaps most of you reading this, I had been targeted and captured by these extraterrestrials, supposedly “chosen” to become a contestant in their galactic death game. Once I had my DNA archived and a collar placed around my neck, I was forced into a cell with my new fellow combatants to await my debut.

Now, most individuals that had fallen from such lavish lives as I had would curl up into a ball and play along with the demands and rules, only giving enough effort to survive. This is where I believe that mentality of simply “ramming head first into every obstacle until you make it” begins to fail: after hitting your head against harder and harder walls, eventually, your gonna get dizzy and fall on your back.

There was about a week span of time before I was expected to showcase my abilities in the arena, and for the first few days, I was just like most people that I referenced earlier: moping atop my house of cards that had crumbled back to ground level.

But as I began to speak with my fellow captives (who were unlike any of the species I was familiar with in the galaxy), I would learn things about their world and culture that would eventually invigorate something within me that I hadn’t felt in a long time. They had told me that they were called “humans” and that I appeared to greatly resemble a creature from their world: a strong creature of the Sahara called the rhinoceros. Not much else to do, I would indulge further into this resemblance, curious to know more about this creature that shared my likeness.

This was where I learned about that myth of the rhino, a behemoth in its natural habitat, yet unable to accomplish the simple maneuver of walking backwards. After spiraling into a depressive state, this, surprisingly enough, got a chuckle out of me. Even the humans informing me understood the absurdity of this myth, which is why they referred to it as such. In my mind, I related the concept to me and my own life, almost immediately dismissing the notion. Specifically, I remember thinking to myself, “I have the strength, the fortitude, the persistence, but I don't have such a weakness.” Of course, I eventually came to the self-introspection that those thoughts were false: I really couldn’t move backwards… er… metaphorically speaking.

The catalyst to shine a light on my own faults was my reaction to losing everything I had built. Instead of taking that same initiative I had mustered during my earliest years when I had nothing, I allowed the dreaded prospect of starting over to suffocate my fire. Initially, I still separated myself from the myth, declaring that I couldn’t handle moving back because I was forced into this state of retreat by outside forces, whilst the rhino (in regards to the misconception) wasn’t capable of such because of its own inner nature. It was a desperate attempt to still to deny the truth: one doesn’t move back for the heck of it; one moves backwards because of an insurmountable obstacle blocking their path. Regardless of whether it was by one’s own initiative or by another entity, if they can’t hold the will to begin anew, then that's when the myth becomes a reality.

Acquiring this understanding and resolve was a challenge, perhaps even more so than the arena itself. Soon enough, with nothing but time to ponder over it and a few victories hanging on my belt, I felt a small spark live on through the ashes of my pride and confidence, just hanging on, waiting to be kindled.

This arena wasn’t just a game of blood sport for the sake of entertainment; it was an avenue for these “overseers” to make a profit from investors, promising a growing return for anyone who could place their faith in a combatant. And wouldn’t you know it, I was also something of an investor, and I was beginning to gain a lot of faith in myself.

The security breed of aliens that watched and tended to the combatants would place masks over newbies, giving them a generic ID until they’ve racked up a few wins to earn what they called “the second debut.” It would only be then when your mask is removed, given a title, and placed on the market with a value.

The first step was to cater to the “entertainment” aspect of the game: While the decision of a name one receives is typically reserved for the overseers, I would use this restriction to test my grip. Before my second debut, I did everything I could to make a spectacle of my skills. I killed with unconventional methods, like beating an opponent with the shoulder stock of my rifle even when it was full of ammo. I targeted specific combatants who held a high value, knocking them down in the market. Lastly, I ended every match victory with a “moonwalk”: a dance that I had learned from exchanging cultures with my human cellmates.

Sure enough, I had created an identity for myself before my face had even been revealed. The spectators no longer referred to me by my ID, but instead called me “Moonwalk.” Before I was placed on the market, there was an unwritten value attached to that rather strange name. When my second debut arrived, it was only natural that the overseers would wish to make the most out of this development, releasing me into the next battle with a new face to accompany the name decided upon by the fans. In truth, the audience didn’t decide my identity or my value; I did. Through my own effort and skill, I knew how to take control of a situation where you’re granted none. While those in power still held onto the illusion that I was playing their game, this small crack in their vision allowed me to play with different pieces.

Now you might be asking, “What is so important about all of this? Sure, you may have made a better name for yourself than others, but at the end of the day, you’re still a combatant.”

That’s where you’re wrong, my friend; I tell you this because, through similarly clever plays, I have been able to form enough cracks in the system to buy my own freedom. No longer do I toil away as a pawn in this endless blood sport, but now I sit as one of the only real players of the game: an investor, buying and betting on pawns like you.

No hard feelings; I still hope that one day these “gods” are torn from their thrones and that the tournament is left to waste away in burnt remains. But until that day arrives, if one wishes to achieve the impossible and move backwards, then one mustn’t keep bashing their head against the wall as their only method of progress. We’ve all had our slate cleaned, starting back to the first square. Accept the restart, regain the drive that once awarded you the treasure you lost, and little by little, do it again. Eventually, you will achieve the impossible; you will move forward by walking backwards, and only then will you truly be like a rhino, smashing through every obstacle in front of you.

To prove my intentions, I have written this book and hired unnamed acquaintances to dispense its copies throughout the many holds. So I ask that you use this book as a guide. The following chapters will teach you methods on how to make small but stackable investments in yourself that can accumulate into your potential freedom, or at the very least, award you with a high value and all the perks that accompany it.

Ace sat slouched in the back of the dimly lit cell. His prison was onboard “The Extractor,”: A ship model specifically designed to capture and hold new contestants for the Warfare One tournament.

The young prodigy could hear heavy footsteps approaching his hold. Eager to meet his kidnappers, he began to pick himself up. But before he even got to his feet, his collar restraint tugged on his body, practically dragging him towards the molecular shield wall that locked him in containment. Without much success, he would try to fight back against this invisible force, but ultimately it was like going against the tide.

Only a second later, the sounds were revealed to be of an extra-terrestrial: an eight-foot-tall reptilian-looking creature with four eyes. Judging by its demeanor and uniform, Ace had correctly assumed the being to be something equated to a warden.

The alien stood face to face with the human prisoner, only a thin, humming shield wall separating them. Without speaking a word, the reptilian pressed a button on their wrist-mounted control panel.

“Neat, I got one of those. Although maybe it's just a bias, I think mine’s cooler- OW!”

Something underneath Ace’s neck brace had pricked his skin, drawing a bit of blood before dispensing a little floating tube that, with little resistance, flew right through the field and into the alien's grasp. After seemingly acquiring what they came for, the warden spoke something unintelligible that released the invisible tension of the neck brace, then proceeded to walk away.

However, before the alien could leave the human's sight, Ace would attempt to grab back its attention.

“You know, back on earth, there were a few things that people would frequently ask me: ‘Ace, could you teach me how to become as handsome as you?’ ‘Ace, after you become a big-time billionaire in the tech industry, could you marry me?’ ‘Ace, I heard that circuitry takes careful hand work; I wonder-’”

The reptilian guard slowly returned to the front of the cell with a pestered expression.

“What point do you make, Human?”

“The point is… that I have a lot of people waiting for me back home that would just go absolutely crazy if they ever found out what’s happening to me.”

An awkward silence filled the room as Ace patiently stared at his captor. Soon enough, the alien couldn’t help but let out a light chuckle.

“Hehe, was that meant as a threat?”

Taking the opportunity to respond, Ace’s AI companion “Cypher” projected herself as a small stick figure hologram over his own wrist com.

“Unlikely, judging from posture and tone, his statement only reads a 35% chance of being a threat. In addition, I couldn’t find any past references for his quotes in any log recordings, which only further suggests your assumption as a misinterpret-”

Immediately, Ace frantically began to smack and fidget with his, attempting to shut her up while mumbling through his teeth,

“Cypher! Not the best time for this!”

The alien would let out a hardy laugh before asking,

“A loud mouth little computer you got there?”

Ace placed his back against the wall of the cell before slipping down to the floor, somewhat defeated.

“Honestly, her best quality.”

Cypher popped up again and proclaimed,

“Oh, this is sarcasm! Were you genuinely attempting to be threatening, Ace? My data couldn’t determine that.”

Cypher turned her form to face the amused alien and continued,

“For the best results of intimidation, it is best to utilize knowledge that both parties know to be true. For instance, I have been able to assess that you extra-terrestrials hold some amount of information on my master's reputation and achievements.”

Scoffing, the warden retorts,

“What of it?”

“Then you must understand that Ace is far more gifted than the average human. Even while only recently graduating from a prestigious college, his abilities in computation and software engineering have made him renowned worldwide.”

With a roll of its four eyes, the alien guard would answer back,

“Still trying to argue that people back home will hunt us down for his sake? Send the whole species; your master isn’t going back.”

“Wouldn’t require them to. My assertion was that Ace alone is a marvel of human intellect and that he has everything he needs right here to ensure his safe return.”

A small smirk formed across the warden's lizard-like face as it pressed itself against the red glowing shield.

“You think that low of us and yet so highly of yourself? Do you believe we just forgot to take away your little gadgets before locking you up? No, we were very aware. Let the insect bring his stick and rocks in the cage, I say. Even the best earth has to offer holds no comparison to what-”

A beep emanated from Cypher before she declared,

“100% replication complete.”

Confused, the alien only responded with a breathy,

“Huh?”

As if he were merely hopping out of bed, Ace picked himself up from the floor.

“Took you long enough, Cypher; I’ve been done on my end.”

Pressing his gloved thumb and index finger together, the guard's own wrist com began to screech wildly before sending a wave of electricity throughout its body. Unable to withstand the sudden shock, the alien collapsed to the ground unconscious.

After a soft sigh, Ace would turn to his little doodle companion.

“I thought you only needed a few seconds of recording before you could replicate?”

“Wow, it’s almost like I’m not a wizard, Ace. I don’t know if you noticed, but that wasn’t a human, so color me shocked when I couldn’t use my HUMAN database to cheat sheet off of.”

“I think I’m starting to like ‘calculated but dense’ Cypher better than your default personality; maybe I’ll switch it out when we get back home.”

“Up yours. Anyways, sending you the voice modifier. You have the model ready?”

“Not my prettiest work, but then again, these guys don’t really meet that descriptor anyway.”

With a gestured wave of his glove, a holographic projection began to slowly surround his form, casting him into the shape, color, and overall look of the extra-terrestrial.

Softly, Ace began to speak but found his words dwarfed and repeated by the voice of his captor.

“I thought you said you got 100% replication; it’s missing his cadence.”

“I can’t automate a cadence while you speak, idiot; that's something that requires an understanding of intent before you've even said anything.”

“Really? With how you so often just seem to know exactly what ticks me off, I figured you for a mind reader.”

A holo-display popped up over his vision.

“Wow, you sure are giving the profanity censor an ear full.”

“To more important things, Ace. The shield is still-”

Right on cue, the molecular shield dissipated into a light cloud of red gas. With a prideful smirk, Ace began walking through the new entryway.

“He was right about one thing, Cypher; their technology really isn’t comparable.”

“Show off.”

For the next ten minutes, the lone human would blend in with the other roaming crewmembers. Being ever so careful not to spend too much time near any one individual, as his holographic disguise could only capture so much detail.

Not long into this venture, alarms began to sound off after the original warden’s body was discovered. Time running out, Ace would send Cypher into the ship's computer, hoping that she could discover the location of any armories, hangar bay with smaller stationed crafts, or even just escape pods. But to his dissatisfaction, she would report back no such findings.

Little by little, his list of options grew smaller, eventually leading him to take the one drastic measure that he dreaded: seize control of the ship itself.

Tasking Cypher with infiltrating the security systems, he was able to acquire control of the onboard drones with relative ease. With a new robotic militia under his command, he cleared himself an easy path to the main bridge, which itself had also been ridden of any opposition.

A sense of relief washed over him as he took his seat in the captain's chair.

“Alright, Cypher. I hope you found the instruction manual for this thing, ‘cus you’re gonna be the one driving us ho-”

Without warning, his holographic disguise would forcefully power down.

“What the he-”

Ace was startled to also find that his voice modular was no longer operating. Then, as if it were all just a mirage, the entire ship faded into nothing. Disoriented, Ace quickly turned his head in all directions, only to find an endless field of white.

“Cypher!”

He would receive no response, leaving him to shout her name louder. However, this time he only found a quiet release of air escaping his mouth. No matter how much he tried, his voice would deliver only silence.

The wisp of invisible winds began to ring in his head, revealing a collection of voices being carried in its flow as it grew stronger.

“Impressive. Certainly was worth the test run.”

“Agreed. But unfortunately, his success was only possible with the competency level of his opposition lowered.”

“Still levels above our average contestant, and most surely enough to see his debut value set ten times that of the normal fodder.”

“Yes, but the Arena does not permit for his AI companion, nor much else from his arsenal.”

“I may know a way to convince the overseers to make an exception.”

“Regardless, this test data will be enough to cement a high price for him during his first tournament; if he fails to live up to expectations without his gear, that will be another investor's problem.”

“Just to be sure, shall we run another?”

The camera picks up on a wounded human female entering the chamber. Appearing ill and frail, she collapses after only taking a few steps. To her aid, two of her fellow combatants, Jax and Ivan, step in to help her to a bench.

“Jesus, Carla? They didn’t even fix you up before sending you back?”

She raised her head while letting out a deep exhale, slowly opening her eyes as she responded with a painful raspy voice,

“Makes you kinda wish to have lost; least then you’d get a fresh body.”

To her left stood Ivan, who then chimed in with a surprised tone.

“You won?”

Even with her every breath on fire, she couldn’t help but chuckle at the comment.

“Like I said: wouldn’t be like this if I didn’t. Apparently my victory didn’t just earn me some broken ribs, but I also caught the eye of a few sponsors.”

With a bit of her strength, she raised her fist to the sky as if to mockingly celebrate while proclaiming,

“Value up by sixteen percent.”

Carla then quickly lowered her arm, falling into a small coughing fit that lasted a few seconds. Ivan brought her a glass of water to help clear whatever little bit of irritation it could.

“Did you see him while you were out there?”

This question was unexpected, not only due to its vague nature but because it came from a man who had otherwise been mute for the past few weeks. This soft-spoken individual couldn't be seen well on camera as he stayed lying in his bed, with his head turned facing the wall.

Carla took another sip of the cup with her eyes gently drifting down to the ground.

Video: Combatant hold-F56 Combatant IDs: Carla, Jax, Ivan, Fletcher

“Only for a moment. But you were right about him: you take your eyes off the fresh kill, then it’s for the ghost to claim.”

Next video: Combatant hold-F57 Combatant IDs: Joel

A man gets thrown back into his designated cell. As if he were a spring, he quickly rose back up and ran to the shield wall that closed off his prison.

“Hey! I know he exists! We all know he exists! He nearly got me killed in this game! Are your bosses okay with someone just screwing around with the rules?! I don’t think your investors would like-”

His neck collar began to sound off a loud pair of beeps.

“What was that?”

Carla of hold F56 could be heard answering the man from off-screen.

“That means to quiet down unless you want to lose your vocal cords.”

This only seemed to frustrate the already irate combatant as he began punching the transparent shield wall of his enclosure.

“Yeah!? And ruin my value even more! Is that what your overseers want?”

His collar then gave its second warning with an even louder triplet of beeps.

Carla continued to argue her point.

“They’ll just spin your story to make it fit, like a warrior who took the vow of silence or something. It wouldn’t be the worst decision they made, and it certainly wouldn’t be the first time they’ve done it.”

This line of reasoning seemed to be enough to subdue his anger.

Next Video: combatants in hold-G67 This video clip would be captured in mid-conversation Combatant IDs: Velma, Donavon, Gregory

“Speaking of cheats, any of you guys ever get jipped by that Corpse Ghost fella people keep talking about?”

A much older man to his right by the name of Gregory shook the makeshift dice in his palm, letting the game pieces rattle as he answered,

“Ghost, ha. From all the things I’ve heard, he’s just a clever player who’s beating the system.”

He released the dice onto the cold metal floor. It is unclear what they landed on, but the old man seemed displeased by the result.

“Beating the system, huh? Well, that would be better than just some ghost of the arena.”

A woman who sat as the third player took ahold of the dice before she asked,

“What else did you hear about him? Because I’ve been told that he was like the things that run this place.”

Amused by the notion, the old man gave a sharp exhale through his nose with a smirk to accompany it.

“No, he is certainly human like the rest of us. Stories tell that he was able to slip through his capture, even doing so before his DNA could be taken for the R.E.V.I.V.E system. But already too far from home, the only place he could flee to was the arena.”

Donavon would speak his doubt,

“And what? The overseers just let him do his thing for the next year or so?”

“It probably seemed like a money drain at the time. My guess is, this ‘Corpse Ghost’ was considered fodder like the rest of us easy pickings. So they probably just called it a lost investment and expected him to die in the next tournament.”

Velma rolled her dice, fist bumping the air in front of her with an ecstatic “Oorah.” Donavon would then take his turn while delivering his final say,

“And this guy has survived, what, like a hundred tourneys by now? With just one life? Kinda gives a small guy like me a little hope. Guess the overseers aren’t the omniscient gods they make themselves out to be.”

The next day, Donavon's value was reexamined and proved to show no worthwhile opportunity for future investments. He would soon be transferred out of his hold, and his DNA archives retired.

Aftermath

Temporarily, the matches would be closed for a grand sweep of the map to find this supposed “Corpse Ghost.”

In time, the individual would be discovered and identified as an escaped contestant known as “Reaver.” After a tense thirty-six hours and losing hundreds of drones and security breeds, the renowned Ghost would be captured.

With this contestant already having built himself a rich legacy, the overseers are looking to take advantage of his established presence when he is to make his debut in the official tournament. Ensuring a high value to his name right out the gate.

ㅤㅤㅤDaniel sat close to the fire, keeping his dirtied hands close to the quaint and gentle flame, which danced with a rhythmic flicker. The more his wants were being met, the more his greed would urge him to inch closer, with his loose retention of awareness being the only naysayer to these instincts. Still, fearing his sense of reason would falter in the coming minutes and allow irrational instinct to voice as a sole arbiter, he retracted his toasted palms, fearing the punishing ire of the dancer's bite.

ㅤㅤㅤHe slouched back against the contrastingly frigid metal wall, conjuring a cloudy breath in frustration. His eyes fell on the younger woman across from him, carefully tuning her makeshift guitar. She bathed in a stronger amber glow than he, a reward she earned for possessing a better fortitude, but admittedly, more so due to her prior hours of rest.

ㅤㅤㅤ“You waiting for me to die of old age before playing something?”

ㅤㅤㅤThe girl looked up with an apathetic glare, then softly averted her eyes back to the strings. One by one, she plucked, listening to the ring of the wire when compared to the previous. Displeased with how the third sang, she twisted a corresponding knob at the end of the neck. With a repeated test, her demeanor gained a bit more spark. The guitar gave a descending melody as she glided her thumb across the lines. Even on its own, this simple strum was a lovely sound to Daniel, and it seemed the guitarist shared the same appreciation. The whites of her teeth peeked through as her excited hand indulged in a few more chords.

ㅤㅤㅤAfter soaking in the profit of her successes, she looked back up to the old man, who was desperately fighting the weights of his eyes. Quickly, her smile faded into a wash of annoyance.

ㅤㅤㅤ“I can’t play a song if it’s gonna make you pass out.”

ㅤㅤㅤDaniel shifted himself to get what little comfort he could take from a wall.

ㅤㅤㅤ“I could use the rest.”

ㅤㅤㅤ“Yeah, but what if they show up?”

ㅤㅤㅤ“They might. But that’s even if they know to look in the derelict sector first. Once they do, they’re still left with a lot of ground to cover. We’ve a good twelve hours, my guess.”

ㅤㅤㅤSlightly taken aback by the statement, the girl loosened her hold on the guitar. With a raised brow, she asks,

ㅤㅤㅤ“Only twelve..? Don’t you know anywhere else we could go before then?”

ㅤㅤㅤLosing his small bit of comfort to the change in tension, he removed himself from the wall and leaned forward.

ㅤㅤㅤ“I told you from the beginning this was going to be temporary. I promised a break from the hold, not from the entire Tournament. These collars make sure of that.”

ㅤㅤㅤDaniel took a moment to deliver a harsh cough into his arm before continuing,

ㅤㅤㅤ“They will eventually find us, that ain’t an if. At some point, we will be taken back to the holds, probably with extra security measures.”

ㅤㅤㅤThe girl's eyes drooped down to the floor in defeat. For a moment, she sat lost in silent anguish, unable to grip with the fleeting nature of her freedom. Her focus peered to her crafted instrument, a replicated relic from a past life. A relic that had brought back memories she had long forgotten, absorbing them into its wooden frame and allowing their recollection to be echoed with greater nostalgia.

ㅤㅤㅤHer vision blurred as the emotions just barely trickled over the dam. Refusing to look away from her cherished belonging, she asked,

ㅤㅤㅤ“They aren’t gonna let me keep it, will they?”

ㅤㅤㅤThe question was enough to spark a bit of dread in Daniels's heart. Originally fully accepting the natural outcome of their little getaway, there was now a small part of him that shared the pain for what will inevitably be lost.

ㅤㅤㅤ“That’s why you should make the most of it while you still have time…”

ㅤㅤㅤSilence made itself an unwanted guest by the fire, with the girl desperately searching for the words that could dispel the heavy air made by its presence. After a few minutes, she would use her sleeve to wipe her eyes. Then, with a final sniffle, she readied her instrument, choosing to take after the bright dancer in front of her and use rhythm to soothe the room. Her hands in position, she began to play,

ㅤㅤㅤHer strums slowly drifted off as her words seemed to fail. Coming to an end, she gave a disappointed huff, now no longer able to accompany her melody with lyrics.

ㅤㅤㅤ“Sorry, I just can’t remember the rest…”

ㅤㅤㅤAttempting to keep her spirits kindled, Daniel would still praise her performance with,

ㅤㅤㅤ“I don’t blame you; It’s not a very memorable song to begin with. Still, you’re easily the best I’ve heard it done.”

ㅤㅤㅤPerhaps not expressed in the most considerate way, his well-intentioned phrasing only resulted in her responding with an unfulfilled sigh.

ㅤㅤㅤ“It’s a song that makes its rounds throughout the holds occasionally. With so much empty time, you’d think I’d have it memorized by now.”

ㅤㅤㅤ“You seem like you know your stuff, kid. I’m sure you got other songs that you know.”

ㅤㅤㅤHer sight darted across the floor as she dug through her thoughts, searching through the years for anything she could reliably recall.

ㅤㅤㅤ“So much of what I practiced back on earth… My constant deaths and new bodies have muddied the memories. I don’t…”

ㅤㅤㅤ“This is your show. Speaking as someone whose memories aren’t holding much better, don’t beat yourself up. Play what you remember, even if it's only a few lines.”

ㅤㅤㅤWhile not completely restoring her confidence, it was enough to get her hands positioned for another go.

ㅤㅤㅤThe song abruptly ends with an erratic chime of chords as she lightly smacks the strings in frustration.

ㅤㅤㅤ“Augh, there was more to that one too, damn it. It was going well; it was catchy, had a good feel for it.”

ㅤㅤㅤHer displeasure was partially accompanied by a playful tone, seemingly colored by the similarly whimsical feel of the song. Daniel thought it to be unfortunate that the lyrics escaped her, but was relieved it was still able to temper her composure for the better.

ㅤㅤㅤ“Was tapping along with ya, bud. You did great.”

ㅤㅤㅤA smile had fixed itself on her face. While it wasn’t stretching from ear to ear, it was certainly enough for her cover her mouth in embarrassment.

ㅤㅤㅤ“That one was another song I first heard in the hold, really need to start paying more attention to them from now on.”

ㅤㅤㅤ“Ah, why bother with that? You’ll just be memorizing thirty different tunes about the same guy. Make your own songs that’ll drive the hold crazy.”

ㅤㅤㅤFor the first time, the girl let out a bit of soft laughter, amused by the prospect of making her own music, something that she had given up the moment she was captured. But now the suggestion didn’t sound too insane.

ㅤㅤㅤ“Now that you mention it, yeah. Those two songs do kinda sound like they could be talkin’ about the same guy. What do you think he must be like? You know, like, what’s so special about this old fart that it led to a bunch of songs talking about him?”

ㅤㅤㅤ“I can’t say, but I’d put money down he’s heard the songs a thousand times, and just wants someone else’s past put into an ear worm for once.”

ㅤㅤㅤMockingly, the girl strumed her guitar and sang,

ㅤㅤㅤ“That sounds like something… a scruffy old fart… would sayyyy”

ㅤㅤㅤDaniel chuckled to himself.

ㅤㅤㅤ“You don’t say.”

Letter of Resignation

I hate that this is how I have to part ways with the agency, but unfortunately, when you shove a man into a corner with barely an inch to breathe, well, I’m perhaps being a bit too considerate even writing a letter.

Hell, even calling it considerate doesn’t make sense, as I’m sure you’ve already officially let me go, making this highly unnecessary. And it’s not as if I’m writing this with respect either. Guess you can just think of this as my final “fuck you.” In all honesty, Varanheight, if I were still able to return to the office, I'd most likely gouge your one good eye out with that clicky pen you love so much. But in the end, I’d have to do a lot more work on your face for you to repay your penance in full, huh? And you know it, that's why you got your security ramped up. As I write this in my car, I can see about thirteen officers surrounding the entrance alone. We didn’t pull this much of a fuss even back during the Katar incident. So are you really that fearful of me? No, you’re afraid of the potential repercussions of my actions. You know, my grandfather greatly respected the work of the agency. During his younger years, they were the only ones to help him out of the bad situation he lived through. He got to grow up seeing the actual heroes of the department, like Detective Bennard and Officer Rattens. Ah, don’t those names bring back some nostalgia? I remember my grandfather inviting them over every holiday and just showering them with admiration and food. Such a kind pair, and it was made all the more wholesome when they finally stopped playing up their “disdain” for each other and got married. But I can imagine that you don’t share as fond of a memory of them. Considering that you made them disappear faster than your intern could black out their names from the files, I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t even remember them. My grandfather held people like those two in such high regard, and all I ever wanted was to become someone who could meet that bar of admiration. Then, just like Bennard and Rattens, he disappeared. But unlike the others who vanished unaccompanied and without witnesses, I was there to see him taken by the ship. I must’ve been what, twelve at the time? He had returned from a trip overseas, and amongst many things he brought back from his travels, I remember specifically adorning a mask he had gifted me from the collection. He told me it was a kind of charm mask, one that fended off evil, that sort of garbage. Even so young, I didn’t really believe in that kind of stuff.

He couldn’t stay for very long, as he had a lot of work to catch up on with his job. So he crouched down to my level, only further tearing his back, that old idiot. But he kept the pain under lock and key, only displaying a smile as he placed the mask on my face and embraced me in a farewell hug.

And then, of course, you know how the story goes. Bright light shined down and pulled him away into the ship. All the while, he yelled the names of Bennard and Rattens, even though he knew they had gone missing months prior. Desperate times conjure desperate words, I guess.

Not only did that day make me a believer in charms, but my decision to join the agency was never stronger. I didn’t just want to be a hero; I wanted the be the best, a hero so great that no matter whatever part of the galaxy he was taken to that my name and accomplishments would reach him.

Like my grandfather, I traveled the world, learning all I could in the ways of fighting, medicine, and the spiritual. Even spent a few years in the military just to harden my resolve. And then, after a decade, at the ripe age of twenty-eight, I joined your agency. Little did I know at the time, am I right?

“He still believes he was taken by aliens, poor thing,” were just some of the kinder phrases I heard during my first few years. It seemed you didn’t waste much time while I was away to cover up what happened to my grandfather. At the time, I thought maybe the truth was just too fantastical for most people to believe, especially with the only evidence being a child's testimony. So even though I held onto what I saw, I had cast no judgment or suspicion onto anyone who tried to dismiss my claim.

The good ol' times for you, wasn't it? You had the best detective under your thumb who only asked questions when you found them appropriate. Not the snoopy risk to security I’ve turned into.

You only have yourself to blame, Varanheight. You got too complacent with my trust. A paper left unshredded, a note you forgot to crumble up into the trash bin, none of them on their own could paint any real picture, but even just one was sufficient to catch my curiosity.

Oh, what a maddening spiral that was; I felt like I was losing my mind, second-guessing all my new suspicions as they sounded so preposterous. Clearly, I was insane. Then I found the list; I’m sure that hardly narrows it down for you, as I know you have many. This one, in particular, was simple: names of missing people with numbers attached to each. I sat locked in my room for days, trying to figure it out. But its secret wouldn’t be revealed, at least until I took perhaps the biggest risk of my life.

I had stolen some files vaguely referencing a “scanner” of sorts, a “device they accidentally left behind.” The paper read that you’ve hidden it fairly well somewhere in your office. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t call tucking it in the first drawer of your desk “hidden fairly well.”

A strength potential scanner, that's what I’ve been able to deduce with testing. Funny thing about this device, it can get easily confused when two entities are relatively closed to one another. For example, when you and your “secretary” are close together in your office, as long as your face is obscured, it will actually read out that she has your strength potential value. And you know, that experiment got me thinking: say someone with a high value is close to another entity, and their face was obscured with, let's assume, a mask. Would your masters get mixed up and take the wrong person?

I think that's really when I lost it; they were meant to take me instead of my grandfather. Sometimes the thought subsides my depression with a bit of morbid humor, getting a chuckle out of me, just knowing the incompetency of the beings you fear so much.

To sum everything up, I hope your fears are realized, and they deliver as harsh of a punishment as you think they are capable of.

Your many data sheets have allowed me to pinpoint a few of their next targets. I have a pretty high strength potential value; you think they might favor me over them? Well, guess I’ll find out soon enough.

Sincerely, I hope they tear you to pieces

The Greatest Hero in the Universe