Inside the arena, two entities battled for dominance in the weekly fight to the death organized by the all powerful "Manager".

The two gladiators flexed their muscles, each one assessing his opponent with narrowed eyes. The one clad in a gray armor, Trystan "Bonecrusher" Bonnell was lazily twirling a morning star in his hand in a deft show of skill. Not to be outdone, his opponent, Patrick "Souldrinker" O'Connor, clad in a blue armor, bashed his longsword against his shield. He was no doubt trying to intimidate Bonecrusher, akin to a gorilla pounding its fists against its chest.

Bonecrusher rushed to meet his foe, shouting his war cry. "State of the art? Global Nearest Neighbor is the lowest level of association in data fusion!"

His morning star impacted against the raised shield of Souldrinker. Souldrinker tried to withstand the terrible blows from his fated foe, but his arm was growing numb. The flurry of strikes rained on, unabated.

"Who the hell uses linear interpolation to compute the standard deviation, huh? Ever heard of Kalman filtering?"

The particularly puissant strike destroyed his shield, sending Souldrinker reeling. Souldrinker let the broken piece of protection slip from his hand then gripped his longsword in a two-handed grip. Enraged by the taunts of his opponent, he retaliated. He swung his longsword in a downward arc, intent on bisecting Bonecrusher vertically.

"5% of false positive!" He yelled as his blade moved fluidly.

Before Souldrinker's  eyes, Bonecrusher disappeared. His longsword hit the ground, doing no damage whatsoever. Souldrinker looked left, right, up and down but he couldn't find him. Bonecrusher had just vanished.

"Have you even read the specs?" Bonecrusher's icy voice came from just behind Souldrinker. The longsword holder broke into a cold sweat. Souldrinker's head rotated ever so slowly, and he looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, Bonecrusher was standing there with his morning star raised high in preparation for a strike.

"The margin of error is 1%" Bonecrusher snarled.

His morning star bashed Souldrinker's head in, doing as its bearer's namesake. Souldrinker's body fell to the firm ground like a puppet with its strings cut off. Bonecrusher watched the corpse for a few seconds, then raised his arms upwards, and roared to the heavens.

The crowd was delirious with cheers and praises for the uncontested victor. A figure in the VIP booth rose from his seat, and suddenly the crowd went deathly silent. It was the organizer of this event, the dreadful "Manager". The man clad in black cleared his throat then spoke with a steady voice.

"Okay guys, that's enough. Now, for the next order of business..."

And just like that, the spell was broken, and the scenery reverted back to its original design. Trystan and Patrick sat back down on their chairs. The former sported a triumphant grin while the latter's shoulders were slumped.

The weekly meeting went by smoothly after this little bout between the two engineers.

Once everyone had left, the manager pulled Trystan aside to review some of the finer points with him. After a long hour of tiresome exchanges, the manager finally broached the subject he really wanted to talk about.

"Look Tryst, I know it's been a hard year for you, but I need you to stop lashing out at newbies. Most of them are scared to the death by the idea of speaking with you. What happened with O'Connor earlier was a picture perfect example of that."

Trystan scratched his cheek, a little embarrassed by his conduct.

"I'm sorry Mike, I got a little carried away."

Mike's hand patted his shoulder. "I know you, we've studied and graduated together from Stanford. You're still the hot-blooded little shit you were twenty years ago."

Ignoring the indignant sputter from his long time friend, Mike's eyes narrowed, his grip becoming painful.

"You're a great asset to this company, and a greater friend still. But if this goes on, I will have no other choice than pulling you from this project. A powerful engine--"

"Is useless if it doesn't fit inside the car, I know that." Trystan finished for him, a little sullenly. His brows were furrowed while his gaze was downcast.

"What's with the long face? Oh, I know what will cheer you up. You remember the AutoSmart project, right?"

Trystan looked back at Mike, his interest piqued. Mike grinned, doing thumb ups with his hands.

"It worked so well, Torque's CEO is greatly interested in a lasting partnership with us. In fact, he was so enthusiastic we've got another contract on our hands... Worth 2 billion."

Trystan swallowed his saliva convulsively. Two fucking billion?! That was insane!

"What's more!" if Mike's grin was sparkling before, this one was blinding. "He has been pushing me to reveal the identity of the, I quote, 'Fucking genius who came up with the idea for the second batch'. Of course, I didn't reveal your identity." Mike huffed.

Then Mike looked at Trystan uncertainly. "What will you do though? Working for Torque would be a great way move your career to unimaginable heights, y'know?"

Trystan laughed and shook his head. His eyes shined with mischief as he pinched Mike's cheek.

"I already told you, in for an ounce, in for a pound. We're in this together bro, and where you go, I'll follow. That's what we decided all these years ago, right?"

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Mike batted away the offending hand though the relief in his eyes was obvious. "Yeah, right. So what about partying tonight? It's all on me!"

"You're on!" Trystan answered enthusiastically, bumping fist with his team manager, who also happened to be the CEO of Smart Tech, an up-and-coming company in their field.

Mike drove them to a famous pub downtown. They both ordered a beer, then another, and a third. During the busy evening hours, they met a pair of office ladies who also just came from work to unwind. Mike was laughing like a lunatic as he recounted a particular event.

"And then, this sunovabitch took Cherryl's hand and looking her straight in the eyes, said 'My Lady, if I were a horse, I'd let you ride me.' -Ouch!" Mike held his side as he was elbowed roughly by the irate Trystan. The office ladies giggled.

"Dude, I was twenty and wasted, not to mention horny as fuck. Besides, I thought it would stay between us!" Trystan glared at Mike, then he added slyly. "Want me to recount the time you threw up right on Sharon's face ten years ago?"

Mike paled and shook his head energetically. The women looked at each other, a little disturbed. One of them looked at her watch and said, "Oh I'm sorry but it's getting late, we should get going, right Amanda?"

With a few more parting words, the two ladies left, leaving the duo to bicker amongst themselves. The reason for conflict: who drove the beautiful women away? After a while, Mike sighed.

"Look, this isn't going anywhere. It's getting late, let's just go home."

Mike paid his tab, which included everything Trystan drank too. They left the pub, with Mike heading to his car. He retrieved the keys from his pocket and was about to unlock his vehicle.

"What are you doing?" Trystan asked.

Mike looked at Trystan, puzzled. "I'm about to start the car..?"

Trystan shook his head and took the keys from Mike's hand. "You've drunk too much. Let's just call a cab."

Mike started to protest. "Tryst, it was only three beers. You know I can handle my alcohol."

"Not taking any risk!" Trystan said seriously.

Mike sighed in defeat. Trystan was right, he should not risk both their lives just for the comfort of riding his own car.

While they crossed the large parking area, they made small talk.

"Fine evening, is it not?" Trystan asked.

"Could have been better, if some idiot had not blurted out about me regurgitating in front of the sexy ladies," Mike said.

"Wow, you seriously need to get laid, dude."

"I would if you were not such a moron," Mike deadpanned.

"Says the guy who nearly was in an alcoholic coma from drinking too much, solely to impress Martha the Fat," Trystan rebutted.

"Martha told me you pissed your pants in fright when that happened." Mike felt it wise to clarify.

"System termination," a digitalized voice enunciated clearly.

They stopped in their tracks, looking around for the source of the voice. Was the speaker talking to them?

"Beginning teleportation procedure. 3. 2. 1. Execution." the voice from earlier continued.

One moment they were there, then they were in a big ass lab which would have made the NASA's, ESA's and Israel's top labs blush in shame.

Mike and Trystan looked at each other. Neurons fired their spikes, and they came to the only logical conclusion.

"Quantum theory?" Mike asked.

"Quantum entanglement," Trystan elaborated.

Mike nodded wisely, crossing his arms as he looked around. The equipment here looked nothing like either of them had ever seen.

"We're not on Earth anymore, are we?" Mike said, as any being capable of reason would deduce.

"Probably not. The most we have been able to clone is photons. Though I seem to recall there was a lab which had developed a method to clone atoms using ultracold Bose-Einstein condensates. Not enough to explain our current situation though."

"Aliens, then?"

The answer came to them in the form of a door in the corner of the room opening, letting in a small robot. It had wheels instead of feet and a flat screen in lieu of a head. It rolled toward them with a slight screeching sound as its wheels moved, making Trystan slap his forehead.

"They have the technology to teleport people, but they can't be bothered to oil joints."

Mike chuckled, then bent down to look at the screen of the robot, saying jovially, "Hello little buddy, can you tell us why you brought us here?"

 "Do you wish to activate voiceover?" The robotic voice answered.

Trystan shrugged, "Sure, why not?"

The screen which was turned off till then blared to life. Two lines were printed on the screen in a standard font. Arial Bold.

Michael Brandt

Reviewing major events of candidate's life.

As new writings appeared on the screen, the digitalized voice read it aloud.

Peaceful childhood. +150 points.

Graduated from college. +300 points.

Founded a company which led to a breakthrough in the field of sciences. +400 points.

Total: +850 points.

"850 points does not seem bad, but out of how many points max?" Mike mused aloud.

"Who cares? I bet I will pulverize your score!" Trystan said cockily.

"Ha! We'll see." Mike answered with a grin.

The assessment was not over, however.

Positive score. You will be reborn as a human. What kind of human, though?

"Reborn? What the heck? I don't want to be reborn!" Mike wailed.

"Might not be that bad." Trystan shrugged.

Highest stat: Leadership

Result: Elite Infantry Captain

Computing potential

Then a flurry of words appeared and disappeared on the screen before the writing finally settled on 'Emperor (Archangel)'.

Mike nearly choked on his spit. That was surprising. Emperor? Quite the big expectation for the measly CEO of an SME. And Archangel, what the flying fuck?

The robot then glided toward Trystan, and similar writings appeared on the screen.

Trystan Bonnell

Reviewing major events of candidate's life.

Peaceful childhood. +150 points.

Stayed a virgin until the age of 23. -5 points (-1 point per year above 18).

Mike burst out laughing. "Dude, you told me you totally lost your V-card at 18 in a rave!"

"Shut up!" Trystan said, crossing his arms. A blush colored his cheeks.

Graduated from college. +300 points.

Major contribution in world-changing projects. +550 points.

Drove a colleague to suicide. -1000 points.

Trystan blanched. This couldn't be true, certainly?

"What the fuck, Tryst?! What's with this suicide thing?"

"I don't know dude, I seriously don't know!"

Total:  -5 points.

"Fuck!" Trystan gritted his teeth.

You will be reborn as a monster. What kind of monster, though?

"I don't want to be reborn a monster," Trystan said sullenly.

"Might not be that bad." Mike shrugged, a sly smile on his dumb face.

"You little twerp," Trystan said, punching him on the shoulder playfully.

Even though he said that and acted nonchalantly, he was still quite worried.

Highest stat: Intelligence

Result: Novice Skeleton Mage.

"Well, that sucks balls," Mike said.

"You're telling me!" Trystan pouted.

Computing potential.

Once again the titles flashed too fast for him to see. After a long while, it stopped. The title read... It read... Xanthur ? What the hell was that? It looked like a weird font on Microsoft Word.

When the robot read it aloud, it was obviously in a foreign tongue, which, translated to human phonemes, would yield something like Xanthur. Soon after reading the title, the robot shook madly then broke down. Its screen actually exploded, sending shards of glass across a twenty feet radius circle. Thankfully, it was more surprising than hurtful to the two men.

"Now what?" Mike asked.

"Initializing rebirth procedure. 3. 2. 1. Poof!"