Jeff's regular martial arts gym was busier than he’d ever seen it before.
The sprawling, purpose-built training center and academy off Lexington, conveniently situated between his workplace in Harlem and his modest apartment in Fort George, was teeming with activity. Despite its large size, the gym felt suffocatingly crowded that afternoon, absolutely packed with people around Jeff’s age, all making vigorous use of the facilities.
From the dedicated strike zone on the far side of the gym came the relentless sounds of thuds, grunts and the rhythmic pounding of fists and feet meeting heavy and speed bags. Every single piece of equipment was in use. The padded floor space directly in front of Jeff was a chaotic sea of bodies: members of of varying skill levels shadowboxing, working out and practicing rolls and throws.
Even the gym's two dedicated MMA cages, one in each corner of the cavernous room, were occupied by sparring fighters. Crowds gathered around the cages, watching intently, eagerly awaiting their turn to step in.
Jeff was just about done for the day.
He had finished his usual intense workout, and then spent an hour teaching a small group of teens the basics of strikes, takedowns and clinches. After dismissing the class, he moved to a nearby floor mat to begin his warm-down routine.
He had just completed a set of scorpion stretches and was rising to his feet when he spotted Sally making her way across the open mat area toward him.
Sally waved as she approached, her auburn hair tied back in a tight ponytail, and Jeff gave her a nod in greeting. She wore a loose tank top and compression leggings, with a gym bag slung casually over her shoulder.
"Hey Sensei,” she teased, a bright smile on her face. Jeff returned her smile, inwardly pleased that Sally had decided to visit the gym that day.
“Never seen it so busy in here…” Sally said, coming to stand next to him facing the crowded gym.
“…you been toughening up another batch of terrified teens?”
Jeff chuckled, wiping some sweat from his forehead.
“You’re not wrong, some of them were so nervous they could barely throw a punch…”
“Well, can you blame ‘em? Naming Day’s tomorrow.”
She dropped her bag to the floor and leaned against the wall next to him, folding her arms, still smiling at him.
“Everyone’s terrified they’re going to be the one selected.”
“The odds are crazy low that any one of them would get selected. Like, a billion to one?”
“Sure, but it’s not zero, is it?” Sally countered, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Everyone’s feeling the pressure, and dealing with it in different ways. You’ve been coming in here more than usual, yourself, haven’t you?”
“Not for the same reasons,” Jeff replied, his tone even.
“This place keeps me grounded. Helps me clear my head. That, and the owner ropes me into teaching every other day.”
“I don’t get why you’re still turning him down for competitions,” she said, her grin turning sly.
“With your skills, you’d clean up.”
“It’s not my thing,” Jeff responded.
“The classes are enough. Just a little spending money, some social interaction…”
Ever since they’d sparred together a couple of weeks earlier, Jeff and Sally had fallen into the habit of chatting whenever their paths crossed. Those moments had quickly become something Jeff looked forward to, though he still hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask her out on a date.
Sally, however, beat him to the punch.
“What’re your plans for the big day?” she asked casually, but there was a slight undertone to her voice.
Jeff blinked, caught off guard by the question.
Of course, he knew there was only one “big day” she could be talking about. As every person in the gym—and indeed on the entire planet—was painfully aware (unless they’d been living under a rock), tomorrow was the day the alien ‘Vogels’ were scheduled to announce Earth’s champion.
The chosen candidate would be thrust into the mysterious and deadly Tournament, a topic that had dominated global conversations for the past six months.
The tension surrounding the announcement was particularly palpable in the gym, where nearly every attendee fell into that unsettlingly specific age range—18 to 20 years old—the only common denominator observed among the champions selected from other worlds in the aliens’ daily transmissions.
Sally leaned against the white painted, cinderblock wall, her brilliant green eyes fixed on him, awaiting his reply.
“A few of us are meeting up to watch the Naming Broadcast at a bar nearby,” she continued.
“You should come along.”
She half-turned to him as she spoke, and Jeff, immediately noticing the proximity of her toned body, felt his heart beat faster.
He was suddenly, painfully aware of the warmth creeping up his ears, and he was worried they were beginning to turn red in response.
He struggled to find his voice.
“Y..yeah, Sally. That sounds great, thanks,” he mumbled, cursing himself for the awkward stammer at the start of the sentence.
Sally’s lips quirked into an amused smile, clearly catching his sudden nervousness.
They spoke a while longer, Jeff congratulating her on her recent promotion to the position of social media analyst for a large entertainment company, while she complimented him on his fighting prowess—he modestly tried to deny her assertion that he was the best fighter in the gym, pound for pound, even though in his heart he knew it was true.
Finally, he noted the address of the bar where they were to meet on his phone, before taking his leave and heading back home.
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The next day at noon, Jeff made his way across the city on foot, heading to the bar.
A heat shimmer hung across the streets and an eery sense of quiet expectation hung over the city. The government had declared a federal holiday and there was very little traffic—most people had chosen to remain at home in anticipation of the broadcast.
En route, he briefly spoke to his mother on the phone. She was anxiously glued to her screen awaiting the big reveal by the aliens, same as everyone else.
As he walked down the practically deserted sidewalk through central New York, his thoughts kept drifting back to that day six months ago, when the Vogels arrived.
The day had begun like any other.
Jeff had been at his mother’s house for Sunday lunch. His older sister, Catherine, was there too, along with her two daughters. It had been a stereotypical Nostro family gathering—as usual sans his increasingly eccentric father, who remained secluded in the family’s remote mountain cabin.
Jeff could still hear the clatter of cutlery and the usual post-meal conversation, abruptly interrupted when his mother had turned up the volume on the TV, in response to the word ‘BREAKING’ appearing across the screen in bold red letters.
The anchor, a young woman with disheveled hair and a harried expression, appeared on-screen, hurriedly adjusting an earpiece.
“Erm.. er..” she stammered, shuffling papers in front of her.
“We’re getting reports coming in of some sort of disturbance in Washington DC… We go now to our DC correspondent, Jessica Connors, live on the scene… Jessica, can you hear me?”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
The feed cut to Jessica, but it wasn’t the iconic view of the White House behind her that grabbed everyone’s attention. Hovering above the famous building, in full unequivocal HD detail, was some sort of spacecraft, unlike anything they had ever seen.
The dining room fell silent.
It was enormous, easily the length of a football field, gleaming with an otherworldly opalescence that shifted between hues of green, blue and violet. The iridescent material of the ship seemed alive, pulsating as it defied gravity.
“What in the hell…” Catherine whispered, pulling her daughters closer to her.
Jessica’s voice trembled as she began to describe the scene, but before she could get more than a couple of words out, the TV screen flickered. It went completely dark, then a split second later a piercing, ear-splitting screech filled the room.
Jeff’s mother futilely grabbed the remote, frantically trying to mute the volume, to no avail. The sound grew louder, setting everyone’s nerves on edge. Jeff noticed that his phone, lying on the edge of the dining table, had also joined in, emitting the same deafening tone.
His nieces began to cry, clutching their ears in pain.
As suddenly as it had started, the noise ceased.
The TV screen began to glow, a blurred shape taking form in its centre. Slowly the image resolved into something that sent a chill down Jeff’s spine—a face.
Even six months later, the sight of the alien Vogels still sent a visceral feeling of repulsion through him.
“Oh my goodness,” his mother whispered, her eyes widening in shock. “What the hell is that?”
The creature was unlike anything Jeff had ever seen. Its pallid grey skin was stretched tightly over an elongated skull, crowned with a grotesque chitinous crest. Large, almond-shaped eyes with yellow sclera and jet black pupils stared unblinkingly into the camera.
Its reptilian nature was belied by the absence of a nose. Instead, a sinuous fleshy proboscis twitched occasionally, lending the creature a vaguely insectile appearance.
It wore a simple white poncho-like garment, from which gray, muscular limbs protruded, each terminating in a trifecta of ebony claws, which rested listlessly on the arms of an elaborate golden throne. The intricate symbols etched into the throne’s high back were too detailed to decipher, but their alien origin was undeniable.
“Holy shit,” Jeff breathed, his voice barely audible.
The alien leaned forward, and when it spoke, its nasal, unaccented English gave Jeff the creeps.
“Denizens of Earth, greetings. Our instruments have determined that your planet has reached tech level Alpha-3 on the Halix Scale. This milestone signifies your impending subsumption into the System. Pursuant to Article 23 of the Assembly Code regarding population regulation, your species must undergo evaluation to determine its suitability for integration into the Community of Equals.”
The alien paused and seemed to stray from his rehearsed address for a moment as it muttered something unintelligible, though Jeff caught the words ‘genetic garbage.’
Regaining its composure, it continued.
“A champion will be selected, six months from today, to fight in the next iteration of the Tournament in this sector. If your champion survives to the end, or emerges victorious, your species will be welcomed into the Community of Equals.”
The ghastly creature allowed a pause for dramatic effect, then continued in a portentous voice.
“However,” it intoned ominously, “should your champion fail, your species will be subjugated, and your planetary resources will be harvested, for the betterment of the Community.”
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Jeff arrived at the address Sally had given him, descending a narrow flight of steps into the dimness of a busy basement bar.
An ancient looking A/C unit above the door hummed loudly, trying valiantly to combat the sweltering July midday sun blazing through the small, high-set windows above him.
The air inside was thick with the mingled scents of beer and food, while the faint hum of conversation had a brittle, nervous edge to it.
The venue was clearly a sports bar, though today the usual baseball and football had been displaced. The multiple screens mounted around the room were all temporarily tuned to news channels, their commentators animatedly discussing the impending alien announcement. Highlights from the daily Vogel broadcasts over the past few months played on a loop: battles, rituals and alien scenes paraded across the screens.
Jeff scanned the room, finally spotting Sally seated in a corner booth with a small group of others.
He wove his way through the maze of crowded tables to join them.
The majority of the bar’s occupants were around his age—the mayor of New York had made it known that today the usual restrictive laws would be waived and Jeff’s age group would be free to consume alcohol in bars.
As he neared the booth he recognized one of the men seated with Sally: William, a mid-ranked MMA fighter from his gym. The two exchanged nods in greeting.
Sally noticed him approaching and scooted over to make room.
“Hey, Jeff!” She called out, raising her beer glass in greeting, her face lighting up in a warm smile as he slid into the booth beside her.
She looked radiant. Dressed in a sleek silk blouse and skirt ensemble, her hair styled into a casual yet elegant hairdo, and her makeup enhancing her already stunning features.
Jeff couldn’t help but take a surreptitious glance at her out of the corner of his eye as he settled into the comfortable padded leather seat.
“Jeff…” Sally turned to him deliberately, drawing him into the ongoing conversation.
“…we were just talking about some of the fighting styles shown in the transmissions—specifically the sword and spear work. Don’t you think it’s strange that there aren’t any modern weapons in use?”
Jeff considered the question for a moment, his brow furrowing.
“Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that too,” he replied, gesturing toward a nearby screen replaying of one of the alien broadcasts.
The footage depicted a scene from the Tournament—a pit fight featuring a diminutive, grey-and-brown-furred anthropoid clutching a long spear, engraved with intricate fractal patterns along its length.
The creature’s resemblance to an oversized Koala bear was uncanny, complete with a cute button nose and intelligent, expressive eyes that made it difficult not to feel sorry for the unfortunate combatant. Its hands, though paw-like, bore opposable thumbs, reminiscent of oversized mittens.
Assailing the pitiful figure from all sides were creatures from the realm of nightmare. A monstrous, slug-like entity the size of a minivan, reared up in front of the bear menacingly, its cavernous maw opened revealing rows of razor sharp teeth. Milling around behind the slug, a pack of six gargantuan wolves paced hungrily, each one easily twice the size of their Earthly counterparts.
The koala contestant straightened and jinking to one side with remarkable agility, nimbly avoided the lunging slug-analog. As the slug surged past, the bear retaliated, striking with surprising precision, scoring a long shallow gash along its flank. The wound oozed a viscous green fluid that hissed and steamed where it splattered on the arena floor.
Encouraged, the bear-like creature straightened and began to chant an incantation in a melodic, alien tongue. The tip of its spear shimmered and a wave of distortion rippled outward, knocking two of the wolves off their feet.
But the sheer numbers ranged against the bear meant victory was fleeting. Two more wolves had circled behind the koala. Before it could react, they were upon it, sinking their massive jaws into its flesh.
Howling, red eyes ablaze, the wolves literally tore the bear to pieces.
Wincing, Jeff looked away as the scene cut to a poignant montage: mushroom clouds rising over devastated cities, rows of dejected-looking koalas being led off in chains, herded into the holds of waiting Vogel ships.
Turning back to Sally, Jeff hooked his thumb at the screen, his expression grim.
“I’ve got a lot of questions about the combat scenes. Not just about the primitive weaponry, but also those strange, ‘magic’ powers they’re using….” he wondered aloud.
Sally nodded in agreement, leaning closer.
“Yeah, that spear, the strange energy pulse…it’s like something out of a fantasy novel…” she said, her tone a mix of curiosity and skepticism.
Around the table, heads bobbed in agreement.
The atmosphere was charged with a curious blend of fascination and deep unease. Conjecture and speculation about the conditions Earth’s champion would face in the Tournament had reached fever pitch over the past months, fueled by countless commentators—ranging from measured scientific observation to full blown conspiracy theories.
Sally continued, gesturing towards another screen showing highlights from a different broadcast.
“The aliens clearly have advanced tech—their ship alone proves that—but when it comes to combat, it’s practically medieval…”
William, seated across from them, looked up from his pint, his expression thoughtful. “It’s all about the System…” he said simply, his deep voice bearing a note of authority.
Nods from around the table corroborated his statement.
Over the past six months, pundits and commentators across every media platform had been obsessed with analyzing the small snippets of data released by the Vogels. One particular concept kept surfacing again and again. The System. Whatever it was, it seemed to govern not only the Tournament but also the very fabric of reality of the new universe.
A young woman seated next to William, whom Jeff vaguely recognized from the gym, spoke up, her voice tinged with rage and contempt.
“The Vogels like a good show. Modern warfare—with bombs, guns and drones—it’s too impersonal for them. They want to see close quarter combat. Blood, pain and injuries—they thrive on it.”
As if to emphasize her point, the nearby screen transitioned to an audience of Vogels clustered around yet another fighting pit, or arena, roughly the size of a volleyball court.
The scene was brutal.
Two humanoid combatants clashed with long swords. Blood from their existing wounds staining the sandy floor beneath them, and the violence was visceral.
A shimmering force field blazed around the smaller fighter, its bright blue glow pulsating and sending strange shadows across the arena, while the taller combatant wielded a blade that moved with unnatural speed, evidence of some skill or ability. Despite this, the smaller man managed to land a well-timed side slash, the blade biting deep into his opponent’s side. The taller fighter crumpled to his knees with a cry of agony.
In response to the decisive strike, the Vogel audience erupted into a cacophony of that peculiar, chittering, rasping noise, their equivalent of laughter—a sound that raised the hairs on Jeff’s arms and sent a tremor of unease through everyone at the table.
Jeff felt Sally shuffle closer to him, her body language betraying her emotional discomfort. Her hand fell to clutch his arm, seeking reassurance from the evil alien cacophony.
He felt his ears heat up again in response, a familiar blush creeping across his face, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
The group at the table exchanged uneasy glances but made an unspoken decision to ignore the screens for the time being. Instead, they turned their attention back to their conversation, finding solace in each other’s company.
Jeff found himself relaxing despite the oppressive atmosphere. For a brief moment, the weight of the impending Naming Ceremony lifted, replaced by light-hearted banter and the buzz from the beers.
It was a small rebellion against the pervasive fear of the alien threat, a deliberate attempt to cling to some trace of normalcy, a relic of a nostalgic past. And for a while they succeeded. The world was on the brink of chaos, but the shared jokes and and the camaraderie felt oddly right.
Jeff shared a look with Sally, her laughter sent a bittersweet pang through him that felt precious somehow.
Finally, reluctantly, the deliberately nonchalant conversation petered out and the mood shifted as reality crept back in.
One by one, they turned their attention to the biggest screen in the bar. A countdown timer dominated the display, indicating that the anticipated alien broadcast was about to start.
As usual, the terrestrial broadcasts were abruptly cut off. The alien ship had once again seized control over the airwaves, asserting its dominance over humanity’s primitive technology with chilling ease.
The screen resolved into the all-too-familiar image of the Vogel commentator. Its grey, wrinkled visage filled the display.
Without preamble, the creature spoke.
“Your champion has been determined by the System. See your devices for his likeness…”
The alien’s voice faded, and the screen dissolved, transitioning to a vivid, high-definition photo of a young man.
Not just any man.
Jeff did a double take, his breath catching in his throat.
The photo showed him.
The air in the bar seemed to thicken, dead, suffocating silence, then, whispers began to ripple through the room.
“That’s… that’s him…” one voice in the corner of the room murmured, barely audible.
“Oh my God, it’s you, Jeff!” Sally’s voice shattered the silence, sharp with shock and disbelief.
“That can’t be right…” he heard himself mutter, standing up to get a better look at the image.
“Jeff…” Sally’s voice brought him back to himself, her hand reaching out to steady him. “Jeff, are you okay?”
She remained in her seat, staring up at him with wide eyes, her mouth stretched in a silent O of surprise, her expression a mix of incredulity and concern.
Jeff’s heart raced as he became acutely aware of every gaze in the room locking onto him. The atmosphere in the bar was electric, a chorus of gasps and mutters, the sharp clicking of phone cameras, and indistinct whispers that all blurred together into a disorienting backdrop.
On the screen, his picture remained frozen in place. It was from a year or so ago, a cringe-inducing snap-shot from a Florida vacation.
Bizarrely, the image was an upper body shot of Jeff standing on the sandy expanse of Daytona Beach, with bright palm trees in the background and a brilliant blue sky above. He wore a tacky Hawaiian shirt emblazoned with the ridiculous words ‘I rub my meat before I stick it in’.
Jeff remembered his ex-girlfriend’s laughter as she forced him to buy and wear the shirt after losing a bet. Despite his strenuous objections, she had gleefully uploaded the image to her social media, tagging him for all to see.
The screen flickered then reverted to a closeup of the alien, now bearing a creepy smile on its face; a grotesque smirk that hinted at some deeper amusement.
The noise level in the bar swelled, and Jeff heard his pulse hammering in his ears.
And then, without warning, he felt it—a strange pressure descending on the top of his head, as if an invisible hand was pushing down.
A bright blue light began to shimmer around him, growing in intensity as it enveloped his whole body.
“Jeff!” Sally’s panicked voice called out to him, but it felt far away, curiously muffled.
Then Jeff fell into unconsciousness.