Jude squinted through the windshield, his breath fogging the glass slightly. "This is… weird,” he muttered, leaning closer as the jeep crept down the eerily pristine street. B7 stretched out before them, a towering ghost town. Unlike the rugged, worn settlement where they'd met Gabi, this place was sleek—a polished metropolis of concrete and glistening glass. Towers scraped the sky, but not a single person walked the sidewalks.
They rolled through silent intersections and past rows of abandoned storefronts. The engine's hum was the only sound breaking the overbearing quiet. Not even a stray piece of litter skittered across the pavement.
As they approached the entrance of a vast, empty mall, the jeep slowed to a crawl. Jude’s eyes locked onto something standing alone before the mall’s revolving doors. There, out in the open, was a kiosk—a landmark scanner, sitting like a misplaced relic against the immaculate backdrop.
Jude’s eyes narrowed with disbelief. “There’s no way it’s that easy.”
Lazaro gave a dry chuckle, pushing open the door and stepping out. “Teresa did say it would shine like a diamond,” he quipped, throwing a glance at the scanner as if it were a bizarre treasure waiting to be claimed.
Lucy stepped forward, her pace quick, eyes fixed on the scanner. She wiped her hand on her jeans, then pressed it firmly against the screen.
Nothing. She pulled her hand back, frowning, then placed it again, pressing harder this time. Still nothing. Her brow furrowed as she glanced back at the others. “It’s… off?” she murmured, circling the device, fingers trailing along the edges as if searching for a hidden switch.
“Damn it,” she muttered, glancing back. “Teresa did say she turned the grid off.”
Jude tilted his head, frowning. “What, like it’s connected to the internet or something?”
“No,” Lucy corrected. “I mean the electricity grid.”
Lazaro let out a frustrated scoff, his jaw clenching. “That insufferable woman. One of these days, I’m going to lose it on her. So, if we turn the grid back on, sure, the scanner will work, but…”
Jude’s eyes narrowed as he finished Lazaro's thought. “We’ll wake something else?”
Lazaro shrugged, his expression hard to read. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Lucy’s gaze shifted between the scanner and the empty streets around them. “What if we find the control room first? We turn it on and get the scanner working, and then Lazaro can cut the power as soon as Jude and I are back here after levelling up.”
“And how exactly are we supposed to communicate with Lazaro in there?” Jude asked.
Lucy’s face brightened slightly. “Abel could relay messages."
Lazaro just rolled his eyes, letting out a low sigh. "Sweetheart, I’m disconnected from the SiC," he said. "No extra skills, no tools from the simulation, nada.”
Jude's gaze drifted around the eerily quiet streets, her shoulders loosening a fraction. “But… what if there’s no danger?” he said, almost to himself. “Look around—there’s nothing here. We could just find the grid control together and come back here as a group.”
The three of them stood still, scanning the silent, deserted streets. Not a single breeze stirred, and even the usual rustle of leaves was absent.
Lazaro huffed, clicking his tongue. “Teresa is borderline nuts, you know. Wouldn’t put it past her to invent a whole threat just for the drama,” he muttered. “Jude’s plan actually makes the most sense.”
Lucy shifted, chewing her lip as her eyes darted around. “I don’t know, guys… she never outright denied there could be something here.”
Jude let out an exasperated sigh, crossing his arms. “We’ve got to decide,” he said impatiently. “Standing here like… trees isn’t going to get us anywhere.”
After hours of circling the streets in the jeep, they left it behind, deciding they’d have better luck on foot. The three of them scanned the rooftops, Jude squinting up at each building in search of antennas or satellite dishes, anything that might signal an old transmitter.
But building after building loomed without any sign of what they needed.
Lucy’s metal detector beeped with maddening frequency, picking up every stray railing, pipe, and street sign in the area. She grumbled, eventually switching it off with a huff.
“Alright, that’s useless here.”
The team stopped in front of an empty office complex, its glass facade reflecting the deserted streets. “Maybe we’re looking in the wrong places or the wrong thing,” Jude said. “Let’s look for something with a power grid—a utility company, maybe solar panels, anything like that. We need something that would distribute power here.”
Lucy raised an eyebrow, glancing around at the quiet streets. “Power in a simulation? Seems far fetch...”
"Alright, alright, we’re just going in fucking circles,” Jude muttered, annoyed. "I don't know!"
Lucy let out a sigh, dropping to the ground with a groan. "My feet hurt," she said, stretching her legs out in front of her and rubbing her ankles.
Jude looked over at Lazaro, eyebrow raised. “What was this place even for?”
Lazaro checked the empty streets, hands resting on his hips. “A rest stop, more or less. Somewhere, soldiers could take off their uniforms and kick back a bit. You know, a place to call home that wouldn't be a military base. And…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely to the east, “the Arena’s not too far from here.”
Jude’s eyes widened as he straightened. “Wait… could all those soldiers actually fit in the Arena?”
Lazaro let out a dry laugh. “Not a chance. We’re talking thousands upon thousands of soldiers crammed into this place back in the day,” he said, shaking his head. "Most had roommates."
“But they’d still want to see what was going on, right?” Jude’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “And if the UGS never got any visuals from the Arena… only reports, then it’s something simpler. Something that could relay what was happening,” he murmured, the pieces starting to come together in his mind.
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Lucy tilted her head, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. She stared at Jude as though he were speaking another language. “I don’t get it… there wasn’t any internet.”
Jude turned to her, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Right, no internet. But what’s the most common way soldiers transmit information?” He waited, eyes expectant.
Lucy gave him a blank stare, her lips pursed. “Um… I don’t know, Jude. I don't look like it, but I’m only 8,” she replied, shrugging her shoulders.
Lazaro's lips curled into a smirk. “Radio,” he answered, the word rolling off his tongue. “We’re looking for an RF transmitter, a power base station… but—”
Jude leaned in. “So, something like a radio or a TV station, right?”
Lazaro nodded, scratching his chin as he recalled. “We had these portable devices back then, could hook them up to the radio, and they had these tiny LED screens. But… after a while, with no one sending out signals, they just turned into junk,” he said, his voice fading slightly as if pulling memories from a distant past. “Most people didn’t stick around anyway. They moved past the Phantom Zone… they went all to Nirvana when they disconnected.”
Jude’s gaze flicked briefly toward Lazaro at the mention of Nirvana, but he pushed it aside—for now— honing in on their current situation. “So, if we’re talking about more than just communication… this setup could boost the RF waves strong enough to send power over a decent range. Like powering a Landmark scanner.”
"Or something else." Lucy reminded him.
His eyes scanned the surrounding buildings, his mind ticking. “All we need is to find the transmitter.”
Lucy sighed, crossing her arms. "We don’t even have access to the Arena yet."
Jude’s gaze remained steady. "No, but someone here had access once. Whoever it was would’ve had a setup to bounce the Arena transmission back here. The question is… who? And where did they live?”
Both Jude and Lucy turned to Lazaro, who scratched his head, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “I remember a voice, sure, but… come on, it was fifty—maybe sixty years ago. I’m old, alright?”
"Jude?" Lucy suggested.
Jude’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I could… take a peek.”
Lazaro took a step back, hands raised as if to fend off Jude’s approach. “Jude, buddy—come on. We’re friends, man. Think of our bromance! Think of my sexy butt! Please...”
Jude held up his hands, attempting to look reassuring. “Relax. It’s a quick peek, just to find the location,” he said, closing the gap between them. “I won’t dig around in anything else.”
Lazaro groaned, his expression twisted with mock horror. "Jude, come on! What if you get some intrusive thought, like, I don’t know… making me pull my brain out through my nostrils?”
Jude bit back a smirk. “Great. Now that’s on my list of things not to imagine,” he replied, taking another step closer. “I swear, Laz, I won’t hurt you.”
Lucy leaned in. “Just so you know, if he does mess up, I’ll handle it,” she said, cracking her knuckles.
Lazaro rolled his eyes, his shoulders dropping in exaggerated surrender. “Fine. Guess I’ve had a good run anyway.”
----------------------------------------
Lazaro’s foot sent an empty can, skittering down the pavement. His jaw clenched as he muttered under his breath. A day off. Today, of all days—when Len was set to face Paris. The match everyone had waited for, one that could change everything for Earth. And here he was, wandering through a maze of mustard-yellow buildings. He hated this fake city.
He scanned the street, eyes darting from one identical yellow building to the next. Wait—had he already passed the post office? A flash of recognition caught his eye a block down, the familiar sign just barely visible.
With a frustrated breath, he quickened his pace, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His shirt billowed open in the breeze, long blond hair whipping around his face as he strode toward his destination, irritation simmering just beneath the surface.
Finally, at the post office, Lazaro took a sharp left, and the yellow walls faded to a dull grey. He continued down the street, stopping in front of number 42, and jabbed the bell with more force than necessary.
The door swung open, revealing a man with a round face and a buzz cut, clutching a half-empty beer bottle. He squinted at Lazaro, then broke into a grin. “Laz, what brings you here? Should you be with the others?”
“Got the day off,” he replied with raw bitterness.
“Booted from the Arena on a day like this? What’d you do to tick off Len?” the man chuckled, giving Lazaro’s shoulder a friendly pat as he led him inside.
They climbed the narrow stairs to the first floor, the hum of conversation growing louder with each step.
The living room was crammed with people—men wedged into every available seat on the couch and chairs, a couple more sprawled out on the floor. They glanced up briefly as Lazaro entered, nodding in acknowledgement before turning back to the screen.
And there he was again—that guy with the Adonis body with a thick moustache and a warm smile. A true snack, but his name? Gone. Lazaro racked his brain, coming up empty.
“Grab a spot; it’s about to start!” the man with the beer bottle called out, gesturing toward the crowded room. Lazaro gave him a nod, though his name also eluded him. Lazaro was horrible with names. He shrugged, easing into a spot on the floor, letting the hum of the room settle around him.
Lazaro's heart skipped a bit when he realised he leaned back casually against the legs of the guy with the moustache, who didn’t seem to mind.
The anticipation buzzing through the room was almost electric as everyone’s attention locked onto the blank television screen.
The apartment owner, broom in hand, knocked on the ceiling. “Thiago! Turn the damn TV on already!” he hollered.
A few moments passed, and the room filled with the muffled hum of background music. Suddenly, an eerie static seemed to thicken the air, prickling Lazaro’s skin and raising the hairs on everyone’s arms. The murmur of the room fell silent as the TV flickered to life, filling the screen with the image of the Arena.
Onscreen, the Arena’s stands overflowed with roaring spectators. The noise surged like a crashing wave, a chaotic chorus so intense it blurred into a wall of sound, words and shouts indistinguishable.
The camera zoomed in on the Arena’s centre, focusing on two figures standing still as statues—a woman in a pristine white jumpsuit and a man in sleek black. Each held a Tachi sword loosely at their side, postures entirely at ease, neither showing the slightest intention to strike.
Gradually, the roaring crowd began to quiet, curiosity seeping into the silence. Thousands held their breath, unsure what to expect from the opponents who stood, calm and composed, in the face of one another.
The woman in white—Len—stood poised across from Paris, clad in black. With a slight, deliberate nod, Len acknowledged him, and Paris returned the gesture. In unison, they extended their arms to the side, each allowing their Tachi swords to slip from their hands. The metallic clatter rang out, piercing the silence and rippling across the entire Simulation.
The shock of it settled over the Arena, a silent declaration. They weren’t here to fight.
They refused.
The host staggered back, eyes wide, nearly sinking to his knees in front of the TV. “No, no… this can’t be,” he whispered, his disbelief spilling over.
“What… what just happened?” Tomas shot to his feet, dragging Lazaro up with him, eyes darting between the screen and the others in the room. “Is it… is it over?”
A stunned voice chimed in from the back. “Who the hell won?”
“Forget this—I’m going to the Arena!” someone shouted, and in an instant, the cramped apartment exploded into motion. Men scrambled over one another, pushing through the door and spilling into the narrow hallway, urgency in every step.
Out on the street, the scene was chaos. Streams of people flooded from every direction, all surging toward the Arena, faces alight with disbelief and hope. A few bold voices broke through the clamour, shouting above the crowd’s roar, “The war is over! It’s fucking over!”
Lazaro sprinted through the throng, his breath coming quick, heart pounding in time with the footsteps pounding the pavement around him.
Suddenly, a strong grip clasped his hand, yanking him forward—Tomas, his face flushed with exhilaration, his eyes blazing.
“We’re not missing this, Saint,” Tomas shouted over the noise, a grin breaking through his disbelief.
All around them, the chant rose, swelling like a wave, voices colliding in a euphoric chorus, “THE WAR IS OVER!"
image [https://i.imgur.com/P5ZAjrX.png]