The air was thick with smoke and the acrid stench of burning machinery. Greg, Tempo, and Cora stood amidst the wreckage, their breathing heavy as the hum of destroyed Syndicate drones faded into silence. Sparks flickered across the debris, and the faint whir of damaged servos was the only sound filling the void.
“We won,” Tempo said, his voice hollow, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. “But… did we really?”
Greg leaned against a scorched wall, his head drooping forward, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. His mind felt like sludge, clouded by sleep deprivation and the sting of shame. “We scraped by. Barely. And only because we got lucky.”
“Luck doesn’t last,” Cora said sharply, her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the remnants of the Syndicate’s enforcers. Her voice was steady, but there was a tremble in her jaw, the frustration barely held back. “We keep making mistakes.”
Greg nodded slowly, his hand brushing against a bruise on his temple. “Tempo rushes in without thinking, I’m—” He paused, the words catching in his throat. The images were vivid: his hesitation, the moment he froze when his body simply wouldn’t respond fast enough. His mind replayed the what-ifs, each more catastrophic than the last. “I’m too drained to react in time. And you…”
Cora’s gaze snapped to him, defensive. “What about me?”
“You hesitate when it matters.” Greg’s voice was quiet, but the weight of his words hung in the air.
Cora flinched, her fingers clenching into fists. The memory was fresh and raw—a failed experiment in one of the Syndicate’s traps had looked eerily like Sylvia. For a split second, she froze, caught between anger and grief. That hesitation had cost them precious time, and it could have cost them everything.
Tempo scowled, the tension tightening his shoulders. “At least I didn’t just stand around or overthink it.”
Cora rounded on him. “You mean like when you almost got yourself killed because you couldn’t wait for a signal?”
“That’s enough.” Greg’s voice cut through the argument like a blade, firm but wearied. He pushed off the wall, standing straight despite the fatigue etched into his frame. “We’re falling apart. If we don’t get it together—”
He didn’t need to finish. They all knew what failure would mean.
For a moment, none of them spoke. The silence was deafening, filled only with the distant sounds of sirens and the static hum of broken machinery.
Finally, Greg exhaled, his voice low but resolute. “No more excuses,” he muttered. His mind lingered on the image of Tempo stumbling, of Cora freezing mid-fight. He shook his head, the weight of their near loss still pressing on him. “If my hesitation costs us again… it won’t.”
Cora broke the silence. “We need a new plan. And we need it fast.”
The scene faded as the team gathered themselves, each lost in their thoughts. The bitterness of their narrow victory lingered like smoke in the air, heavy and suffocating.
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Two weeks later…
The roar of the crowd was deafening, a cacophony of cheers, jeers, and the clinking of credits as bets exchanged hands.
Tempo stood in the center of the battleground, his chest heaving as he faced his opponent—a towering fighter with arms like steel beams and a smirk carved in metal.
“You’re quick,” the fighter sneered, cracking his knuckles. Each metallic joint clicked ominously, echoing above the noise. “But let’s see how you handle this!”
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Two weeks earlier…
The streets of Neo-Vespera were alive with shadows and whispers. Tempo crouched low in an alley, his hood pulled over his head as he listened to a grizzled informant spin tales of underground fights.
“They call it the battleground,” the man rasped, his voice rough from years of smoke and smog. “Powers versus steel. You wanna prove yourself, kid? That’s where you go.”
Tempo’s fists clenched. The factory mission weighed heavily on him. He had rushed in, acted without thinking, and nearly cost the team everything. He needed to do better—to prove to himself and the others that he wasn’t a liability.
“How do I find it?” Tempo asked, his voice firm.
The informant chuckled. “It’s not about finding it. It’s about getting in.”
The warehouse loomed like a relic of a forgotten era, its rusted facade hiding the high-tech operation within. Tempo slipped inside, his pulse quickening as he approached a checkpoint guarded by Syndicate operatives.
“Name?” one of the guards asked, his voice bored as he typed on a glowing terminal.
“Uh… Ace,” Tempo said, the fake name slipping out before he could overthink it.
The guard raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it. “Credits?”
Tempo slid a small stack of credits onto the counter. The guard scanned them, nodded, and waved him through.
“Try not to get killed,” the guard said flatly as Tempo stepped through the reinforced doors.
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The battleground revealed itself in all its chaotic glory. A neon-lit arena dominated the center, surrounded by tiers of roaring spectators. Fighters clashed in the ring, their powers and weapons creating a symphony of destruction.
Tempo’s heart raced—not from fear, but from a strange mix of awe and unease.
The crowd roared as Iron Grin lunged, his metallic fists slamming into the ground where Tempo had stood a second earlier. Chunks of concrete exploded into the air as Tempo darted away, his body blurring with speed.
“You’re fast,” Iron Grin sneered. His metallic fists gleamed as he swung again, narrowly missing Tempo’s ribs. “But speed’s nothing if you don’t fight back!”
Tempo sidestepped and feinted left, the vibrations of the conduits below faintly pulsing against his feet. The crowd erupted, jeers and cheers blending into chaos.
“Stay down, rookie!”
But Tempo wouldn’t. He baited Iron Grin toward the edge of the arena, eyes flicking toward the faint shimmer of a stun trap.
Iron Grin roared, charging forward in a final burst of speed. Tempo spun away just as the massive fighter stepped into the trap. Electricity surged, immobilizing him in a violent flash.
The crowd exploded as Tempo delivered a spinning kick to Iron Grin’s jaw. The hulking fighter crumpled, his final growl fading into silence.
Above, a shadowy figure leaned against the railing. The faint glint of a silver earring caught the light, and a distorted laugh crackled through the speakers. Tempo froze, the eerie sound chilling him to the core.
The conduits beneath him pulsed louder, their glow intensifying.
What is this place?
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To Be Continued
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