By Wave 15, I didn't feel like a human anymore. I felt like a finely tuned instrument of death. I had acquired a bow, maximized my arrow deflection, and added a layer of heavy plating to my chassis. I needed it. The arena was now throwing MK-3 Swordsmen at me—heavy bots with armor that required multiple hits to break.
The human mind is a fragile thing, but a human mind uploaded into a sword-wielding robot is practically indestructible. Or so the galactic arena promoters want you to believe.
The arena smelled of ozone and hot oil. I blinked my optical sensors, adjusting to the bright, neon-soaked coliseum. My legs felt heavy, articulated hydraulic joints hissing with every tentative step I took.
I looked up at the commentator ship. I wasn't just a clone fighting for amusement anymore. Every robot I destroyed, every arrow I deflected, was a middle finger to the Empire that had stolen my human life.
Suddenly, the announcer's voice changed. It wasn't mocking anymore. It sounded... annoyed.
"Welcome, Human 402, to your new life!" a booming, synthetic voice echoed from the massive floating screen above. It was the Emperor’s main commentator, a massive floating bot with a penchant for cruel sarcasm. "You have been upgraded! Try not to get sliced in half in the first ten seconds. The crowd hates a short show."
When my consciousness was transferred into the chrome chassis of a Sword-1 unit, I was given no time to adjust to my metallic limbs. There was only the roar of a thousand spectators and the looming shadow of the commentator ship above. This is the story of my struggle to survive the brutal gauntlet of . Chapter 1: The First Spark
By Wave 15, I didn't feel like a human anymore. I felt like a finely tuned instrument of death. I had acquired a bow, maximized my arrow deflection, and added a layer of heavy plating to my chassis. I needed it. The arena was now throwing MK-3 Swordsmen at me—heavy bots with armor that required multiple hits to break.
The human mind is a fragile thing, but a human mind uploaded into a sword-wielding robot is practically indestructible. Or so the galactic arena promoters want you to believe. File: Clone.Drone.in.the.Danger.Zone.v1.3.1.37....
The arena smelled of ozone and hot oil. I blinked my optical sensors, adjusting to the bright, neon-soaked coliseum. My legs felt heavy, articulated hydraulic joints hissing with every tentative step I took. By Wave 15, I didn't feel like a human anymore
I looked up at the commentator ship. I wasn't just a clone fighting for amusement anymore. Every robot I destroyed, every arrow I deflected, was a middle finger to the Empire that had stolen my human life. I needed it
Suddenly, the announcer's voice changed. It wasn't mocking anymore. It sounded... annoyed.
"Welcome, Human 402, to your new life!" a booming, synthetic voice echoed from the massive floating screen above. It was the Emperor’s main commentator, a massive floating bot with a penchant for cruel sarcasm. "You have been upgraded! Try not to get sliced in half in the first ten seconds. The crowd hates a short show."
When my consciousness was transferred into the chrome chassis of a Sword-1 unit, I was given no time to adjust to my metallic limbs. There was only the roar of a thousand spectators and the looming shadow of the commentator ship above. This is the story of my struggle to survive the brutal gauntlet of . Chapter 1: The First Spark
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