Eventually, he reaches his location. A place once full of buildings and people, now reduced to ruins and rubble. The remnants of the buildings now resemble a scrap yard, with heaps of crumbling concrete and rusted metal, broken down machinery, and a large crater dug out by excavators.
A place known as “The Arena,” a repurposed abandoned industrial plant. Made up of multiple layers of thick cylindrical concrete walls and steps, resembling an oversized gladiatorial arena. People are gathered around watching the commotion occurring at the center.
Asher approaches and hears the announcer’s voice echo through the speakers hanging from the barred cage atop the pit. Lights are set up shining into the center of the arena, where two robotic titans slam into each other, sending sparks and debris into the air. Their crude design resembles the very scrap that they were built from. With each heavy metallic boom, the crowd goes wild.
In the bleachers are people betting on the fight, with bags of credits in their hands. Some drunk, some in rags, some covered in tattoos, others covered to conceal themselves, others trying to make a quick buck. People curse and swear, throwing things into the arena, in anger or celebration; not the usual crowd that Asher is a part of.
The two machines continue to trade blows in a crude dance of destruction. The fight ends as one of the giant machines manages to pin the other to the ground, twisting its leg off in a brilliant display of spraying oil, flames, and electric sparks.
Asher glances toward the action, but continues on his way toward a hallway leading into the stadium building. He disappears into the hallway, walking until he reaches the other side. He exits into the open hangar room full of machines. Pilots and their mechanics run maintenance, and make repairs. He continues to his machine. A scrappy rig, made of rusted parts, compact and lackluster in comparison to the other rigs. However, its durability stands as a testament to its dense design.
Outside the announcer counts down, and the fight is over. The winner celebrates as money is thrown into the arena, and a large bag of currency is given to the winner. The loser’s machine is slowly wheeled back into the hangar for repairs and maintenance. The debris is quickly cleaned in preparation for the next fight, as the onlookers wait eagerly.
Asher looks over his rig half-mindedly, his eyes skimming over every detail. He walks over to the work table nearby, then back to his rig. He climbs into the cockpit, and closes the armored hatch.
BOOM! Asher is rattled inside the rig cockpit, the calm music coming through his stereo contrasting his current situation. His guard is up against his opponent’s incoming strike. He smiles; his brow furrowed in intense focus. He pulls a lever quickly jolting it in several directions. Outside, the mechanical titan drops a hand down, the torso of the machine rotating with immense torque, as the machine’s fingers ball into a dense steel fist, accelerating toward the open body of the other machine.
The strike lands solid, and the other machine is thrown off balance by the impact, as it staggers from the damage. The fight continues, and Asher has the upper hand. A slight look of relief comes over him, that disappears when his opponent’s fist comes into view. Asher’s reactively pulls a lever into place to bring up his guard, but his machine’s arms remain down as the engine begins to stall.
Asher curses under his breath, as he repeats the motion, trying to bring the machine’s hands up. The strike lands, and the interior of the rig rumbles, in metallic creaking. The volley continues, as Asher enters into a silent panic. his vision darts around the interior, jaw clenched.
He pauses, his mind made up. He pushes several buttons, and levers in order, and his machine powers down. The blows continue, and the announcer begins the countdown. His opponent briefly celebrates, as the fight shifts into his favor.
“5…4…3…2…” Asher’s face remains focused, as he matches the count in his head, waiting for his rig’s engine to halt completely. He pulls a lever, turns a crank, and presses two buttons, and his machine roars back to life as the engines fire up, “1..” the countdown pauses. His opponent looks surprised, and a look of relief comes over Asher as his machine begins to function once more. The other pilot tries to continue on as before, but Asher catches his arm in a lock, and lands a full force counter punch that sends the other rig tumbling to the ground. The other pilot is rendered immobile as Asher stops down on the other rig’s leg to finish the job. The other pilot smashes his control panel in anger. Asher, face covered in sweat, breathes a sigh of relief slumping down into his seat.
He re-enters the hangar, with his winnings, and parks his rig back in place. He exits the cockpit and places the bag of credits on the workbench. He takes off his jacket and looks over the damage of his rig, made more severe due to the malfunction it experienced.
He looks at the ground half annoyed, half trying to calculate the repairs. He looks up at the ceiling and sighs knowing that the real problem is the workload. He grabs the credits and puts them in his pocket, blankly scanning the hangar area. He makes his way out of the hangar, back to the arena seating.
Two new machines enter the ring, looking vastly different than the last two contenders. The announcer’s voice echoes over the arena. “Next up we have Atlas versus The Baroness!!!” The Atlass is a hulking mass of scrap metal, but its defining characteristic was the large dome-shaped armor placed over the cockpit chassis. Looking almost like a walking wrecking ball with arms.
Meanwhile, the Baroness has a lighter, more elegant design. Though still made of junk, the machine was crafted to maximize the coordination of the pilot inside. Trading defense for mobility and speed. Most of its mass is stored in the mechanisms of the upper legs, allowing it to maneuver quickly. Though having armor around the cockpit, it’s not meant to take heavy damage. The unique design catches Asher’s eye as he passes by, his pace toward the exit slows to a halt.
Announcer: “And give it up for your pilots! Vince and Jules!!!”
The pilots walk out atop their machines, waving at the crowd. Asher’s gaze is drawn to the female pilot in the Baroness. She waves at the cheering crowd and readies her machine while the other pilot is showboating. With the amount of time he’s spent in the arena her new face stood out to him.
Asher stands subconsciously waiting for the fight to start when someone walks behind him and takes a seat. A child about half his height, wearing a vintage aviator hat with goggles atop it. His face is covered in soot and motor oil. He tries to get a view of the fight, but Asher is in the way.
“Excuse me!” his pitchy voice reaches through the roaring motors.
Asher looks behind him unsure of what to make of a child in a place like this. The thought only lasts a moment as his focus turns back to the arena. He apologizes before sitting down. The Kid looks intently at the upcoming match. Asher noticed that the child was holding a handheld radio, which was common for coaches.
The countdown commences As the air horns ring, the rigs are already locking onto each other.
The Kid, “So who are you rooting for?”
Asher, “Not sure yet, how about you?”
The kid has a bucket of kettle corn from the vendor. He shovels the popcorn into his mouth, “Well judging from the machines, this matchup is terrible. There’s no way the Baroness can get through the Atlas’s armor. But hopefully, Jules can pull off a win, she still owes me after all.”
Asher: “You mean the pilot who’s fighting right now-”
Mint interrupts Asher mid-sentence yelling into the handheld device “Knock his lights out, Jules!!!”
A female voice comes through the device: “Kinda busy right now!” she says dying to concentrate on the fight at hand.
Mint: “Right sorry.” he says remembering to try not to distract her.
Asher: “You know her?” he says slightly amused.
Mint: “Well yeah, I’m her mechanic.”
Asher tries his best to be polite and maintain his composure. He looks at the kid beside him who is no older than 12, not buying a word of what he’s saying. Endearingly he goes along with it. “What was your name again?”
He shoves more kettle corn into his mouth, “Name’s Mint.” He says without looking at Asher.
Asher: “So you’re a mechanic and a coach.” there’s a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Mint: “Not really. Just a mechanic. Jules doesn’t like me yapping over the radio.”
Asher chuckles, “Guess you know what you’re doing.” he says, still sarcastic, but admiring the machine in the ring.
Mint: “Yep, and It’d pay well if only the person I’m working for would win her fights.” He rolls his eyes.
Asher chuckles, and there is a pause as they watch the fight continue: “You guys must be new then, ‘cause I haven’t seen you around.”
Mint: “Sorta.”
Asher: “How long have you been in the city?”
Mint: “A few years now, but just got into the Arena recently.”
Asher: “I see. How’d you two meet?”
Mint: “Me and Jules? We’ve known each other since the last city we were in.”
Asher nods to himself: “Alright. Well who do you think is a better pilot out of the two?”
Mint: “Eh, Jules knows what she’s doing, but I’m more concerned with the mechanical side of things. More often than not, the tech of the rig is what matters.”
Asher chuckles to himself: “Is that so? Then I guess you should be working on a better rig.” he says jokingly.
Mint: “Eh, beggars can’t be choosy.”
Asher: “If you ask me a rig is only as good as the person inside. I’ve seen Vince fight before, he’s not much of a learner, he always loses the same way. If she can figure it out, she’s got a chance.”
Mint scoffs: “Pfft, whatever you say, buddy.”
Asher: “This fight is actually pretty easy, if you read him correctly.”
Mint looks at him skeptically, ”If you know so much, why don’t aren’t you in there?”
Asher: “I’d take more fights if I could, but repairs take ages when you gotta do everything yourself, especially with a rig like mine.”
Mint shows a spark of interest: “what are its specs?”
Asher looks surprised: “well it’s nothing special: 24 tons, modified E-750 as the main engine, a few rotary and hydraulic actuators, a scrappy Mk7 frame. Rest is just recycled steel.”
Mint: “Yeesh, you weren’t kidding… with parts like that I’m surprised it’s functional at all. You know those engines are known to be faulty.” he warns Asher.
Asher snickers under his breath. “Well, beggars can’t be choosy.”
Mint looks toward Asher: “The upside is that those parts are pretty cheap, and they’re not too much to fix. Bad thing is having to try and win with that.” he turns his attention back to the pit, “Not that Jule’s has it much better, only got a GT47 in a M8 chassis. Ideally the build could use a 3T-12 engine but not like anyone has access to those anymore.”
Asher is surprised: “Anyone would love a 3T…” he says.
Mint continues with a sigh: “Too bad they all got scrapped with the Skywings program.”
Asher can’t help but crack a smile, realizing the kid knows more than he gave him credit for.
Mint watches the fight continue: “Yep, but I don’t envy you. Even with parts as cheap as that, that rig is more of a liability than an investment.”
Asher smirks at mint’s matter of factness.
In the arena, Jules takes a heavy hit to her rig managing to block it and stay on her feet. However, the impact of the blow sends her rig skidding several meters before stopping.
Mint sighs, ”All that work I did. Hopefully, I’ll get paid for the next repairs…”
Asher: “Fight’s not over yet, she’s still got some gas left in the tank. Long as she stays kicking, she’s got a shot.” Asher says, trying to be somewhat optimistic.
Mint: “Really? Well if you know so much then tell me how you’d win this fight.” mint says smugly.
Asher: “Sure, she may not be able to damage the atlas’s body.”
Mint: “Yeah.”
Asher: “But that shouldn’t be her target anyway.”
Mint: “What?! Then how is she supposed to win?“
Asher: “The limbs. A better pilot would guard their limbs better, but Vince has a habit of overcommitting his strikes. If she manages to take out an arm or a leg, then the fight’s good as over.”
Mint thinks about it for a moment, and then his eyes light up, “And because of how the Atlas is built its limbs are the weakest points. It sacrifices armor on its appendages because of how heavy its body already is. Which also means its legs are under greater force-”
Asher smiles as he lets Mint figure it out on his own. Jules takes a heavy impact staggering to the ground on one knee; Asher winces at the blow. There is a pause in the fight as Vincent showboats the crowd, getting ready to end the fight.
Mint: ”Jules!”
Jules: ”not the time mint!”
Mint comes over the radio again, but his words are a babel: “Just hear me out, the mechanical integrity of the joints in the limbs, can be compromised if you target the point of weakness-”
Jules: “What? Mint, slow down. I don’t even know what you’re saying!”
Mint composes himself but repeats what he had just said at the same speed.
Asher has a frustrated look as he watches the conversation. Asher quickly grabs the radio from Mint, who takes a moment to react. He presses the button on the radio but is silent for a moment.
Asher hesitates for a moment contemplating what to say.
Mint: “Hey!” He tries to get the walkie-talkie back from Asher jumping up and down as Asher keeps the device just out of reach. Fighting off Mint’s attempts to stop him.
Asher: “Listen, try going for the limbs!” mint is still arguing in the background.
Jules: “What?!- Who is this?”
Asher: “Just stay focused. If you wanna win this fight, you gotta avoid getting slammed by this next hit.”
Jules: “Buzz off, I don’t need your help.” She takes another heavy hit causing her rig to stagger.
Asher continues louder: “His strikes are telegraphed, you have to read him.”
Jules gets her machine back on its feet.
Asher: “Draw him in, lock him up, then target an arm or a leg. It’s your best shot.”
Jules takes a moment to process what she’s hearing. Just then the Atlas winds up for a heavy right hook. Jules has just enough time to see the strike coming. Instead of backing up like before, she dodges to the outside and closes the distance.
Asher: “Good now go for the pin.”
She steps down on the back of the atlas’s knee bringing it to a kneel with the rig’s immense weight coming down on the joint with creaking hisses. Now with control of her opponent, she acts quickly, grabbing its arm and keeping it from retracting. Finally raising one of the baroness’s legs, she winds up a powerful kick right into the outstretched arm of the Atlas. With the powerful rotors and pistons behind the kick, the elbow joint of the Atlas is completely blown out, leaving the arm dangling by sheared metal pipes. Asher smiles with contempt as he knows his job is complete. He gives the radio back to Mint who watches in awe.
Vince frustratedly gets up still crippled, but wanting to continue. The fight comes to an end as Jules charges straight on and dropkicks the other machine, sending it flying into one of the concrete walls shaking the entire stadium. Vince curses under his breath while trying to revive his machine. The Atlas lies motionless, sparking as the knockout counter ticks down. Some of the betters who lost curse under their breath.
Mint sits speechless mouth agape with popcorn falling out. “YEAH!!!!! THAT WAS AWESOME! Mint composes himself. “What are you five years old?” he says to himself under his breath.
Asher: “See, the rig’s only as good as the pilot inside.”
Mint: “I wouldn’t go that far, but that, that sure was something. What was your name again?” he asks.
Asher: “Asher, but Ash works too.”