Mecha Realm

Gammagrade. Piloted by Ishaan Khatri. 1250 pounds. 10 foot 6.

Even though Marvin had seen those stats a hundred times, he looked them over once more on the hologram display in front of him. Then he lowered the piloting helmet onto his head. The side pieces clicked into place around his ears and the visor lit up with a satisfying hum. He set his arms on the Bessmer chair’s armrests and wiggled his fingers to feel them one last time. Soon, flesh would become steel.

Through the visor, he observed the stadium. It was a large, metal ring with a flat floor and high walls. The neon-lit stands circling the pit were filled with fans eager to witness the famous Saberstar and its prodigious pilot—to win or lose, that Marvin did not know.

His mech had its back against the wall, and Gammagrade stood at the opposite end. Ishaan’s robot had two circular saw blades in place of its head and a chainsaw on each arm. Thick wires ran from the saws to a giant, neon yellow battery on its back.

Although this was a street fight, the winner would qualify for the annual Mecha Realm tournament, the bombastic battle royale that was Megacity 14’s crowning spectacle. That pressure made Marvin’s hands a bit sweatier than usual. It would be his first Mecha Realm, and the experience alone was more than enough payoff for him. He just had to get past this final obstacle.

His uncle’s voice filtered into his ear. “Remember, aim for the wires,” Lindon said. “He’s fast, but he’s no match for you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Marvin said. He’d been told “go for the wires” so many times that he was almost convinced it was a trap. There was no way Gammagrade would leave such crucial components exposed like that.

He didn’t bring that up, though. It had been Lindon’s dream to make it to the Mecha Realm as a child, but he’d never had a good enough pilot to match his engineering prowess. There was no use instilling doubts in him when he was at the precipice of his dream.

“And remember,” Lindon continued, “whatever happens, we’ve still made history by being here. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Marvin smiled. I’ll win, uncle. Don’t worry.

“Pilots, prime your mechs!” the announcer boomed through the speakers.

Marvin sucked in a deep breath as he leaned back into the Bessmer chair. The plugs in his helmet deftly fell into the outlets on the headrest. He grasped the neurobrick in his right hand.

“All systems are a go,” Lindon declared.

“Pilots, enter your mechs!” the announcer ordered.

Marvin squeezed his fist and crushed the neurobrick. At once, his periphery sharpened and all his other senses dulled. Ideally, his hearing would’ve been enhanced as well, but that good of a sound system was basically impossible to obtain.

In any case, he was the robot now.

Crushing the neurobrick prevented the pilot from disconnecting halfway through the fight. Only a referee could disconnect them once the duel was over.

Marvin stretched his limbs a bit, each movement giving him a surge of adrenaline. Somehow, he felt more comfortable synced to his mech than in his own skin. This was his sanctuary, his destiny.

Across from him, Gammagrade revved its chainsaws and raised them to form an X across its chest.

Don’t do anything rash, Marvin told himself. Gammagrade is here for a reason.

“On your mark! Get set! Fight!”

In a split second, Gammagrade used its rocket boosters to close the distance between it and Marvin. Marvin was barely able to block the chainsaw in time with his arm-shield. Then he frantically dashed away with his own thrusters and drew his signature sabers on each arm. Gammagrade chased relentlessly, each swing missing by mere centimeters. After the sixth swing, Marvin inverted his limbs, parried the chainsaw, and jabbed a sword at the opponent. Gammagrade deflected it, but thankfully backed off.

They stared each other down for a second. Then, Gammagrade attacked again. One chainsaw flew past Marvin’s head. Another barely missed his abdomen. Parry the third swing. Counterattack.

Gammagrade dodged; a simple sidestep, as if it had seen Marvin’s attack coming. Marvin boosted forwards, but Gammagrade spun and whacked a chainsaw against his back, nearly knocking him to the ground.

Marvin stabilized himself with one saber and used the other to swipe at the opponent’s wires. The blade sliced air.

Marvin barely had time to think, How is he that fast? before Gammagrade lunged at him. One chainsaw he batted away. The other overpowered his left arm and came dangerously close to his head. Marvin put his arm’s motors in overdrive, trusting that Lindon’s design would hold. Sure enough, he was able to slowly push Gammagrade away.

However, he’d lost focus on the other chainsaw, which happened to be coming at his exposed stomach. His mech’s software detected the danger and issued a standard response: his right arm-shield unfolded and blocked the saw.

The problem was, both of his arms were now stuck. The chainsaw his left arm was holding back began gaining ground. Sparks flew in Marvin’s periphery as the whirlwind of metal grazed his cheek.

Marvin gritted his teeth. There was a very risky way out, but he feared he had no choice at this point. He tilted his head and loosened his left arm, letting the chainsaw fall free. In a millisecond, he retracted his saber, pointed his arm at Gammagrade, and extended the blade.

A deep gash formed in the side of Marvin’s helmet. A much nastier hole was punctured through Gammagrade’s shoulder.

The enemy mech leapt backwards. The battery on its back lit up and electricity sparked in the wound, and its right arm seemed to regain function.

The two mechs circled each other for a moment.

Calm down, Marvin thought. You’re back at the sparring ring. There are no stakes here.

He took a good look at his opponent. The wires drooped between Gammagrade’s arms, open, inviting, but Marvin could not tunnel vision on them.

Every fighter has their patterns. Memorize them.

Marvin slashed his sabers to his sides and charged.

From that point, the fight could truly begin. Metal clashed against metal, sparks flew, and bits of each robot clattered to the floor. Marvin went for Gammagrade’s wires at first, of course, but Ishaan proved himself surprisingly nimble and dodged every attack. The mechs spent the next three minutes alternating between attacking and defending. Marvin was extra careful not to sustain any major injuries. Every time Gammagrade seemed to get close to hitting him, he would fly backwards, out of distance.

In those three minutes, Marvin took note of Ishaan’s habits. He swung in wide arcs, using the chainsaws’ momentum. He liked to aim one high and one low. He always performed combos to keep up the pressure.

Left swipe, right swipe, left uppercut… there it was. An opening.

Marvin caught Gammagrade’s left arm at a weak angle and severed it at the elbow. The chainsaw, still spinning because it was connected by the wires, fell onto Gammagrade’s foot and caused it to trip. It held out its right arm for support but the fervent spinning of that arm’s chainsaw flipped its body forward.

Gammagrade crashed to the ground. Marvin walked over and impaled it through its battery.

The crowd erupted in cheers.

Marvin stared at the husk of his opponent, panting. Then a smile slowly spread across his face. He, Lindon, and the rest of the team had done it. They were going to Mecha Realm.

The announcer congratulated Saberstar and made some comments, but Marvin wasn’t listening. He imagined himself there—the colossal arena, the blinding lights, the three-hundred robots from the other Sectors. Legends like Ninth Gen and Immortal Ignition. A few years ago, he couldn’t have fathomed being on the same stage as them.

He heard a hiss as his senses came back to him. His helmet detached from the chair, then slowly lifted off his head.

A referee in a black and gold uniform helped him out of his chair and handed him a new neurobrick.

“Congrats, kid.”

Marvin’s grin was probably too wide, but he didn’t care. The referee walked away, and Marvin took a moment to observe the pilot’s room.

It was a small, dark box, empty save the Bessmer chair and a holoplayer. Rather depressing, but it allowed for maximum concentration.

And then light flooded into the room as the door behind Marvin slid open. Three people rushed in to embrace him: Theo, the programmer, Sina, the outsourcer, and of course, Lindon, the engineer.

“And he didn’t even break a sweat!” Theo said. “I’m not gonna lie Marvin, I don’t know how the bets weren’t in your favor. You were the obvious favorite of this sector.”

“Two teams qualified before us,” Sina pointed out.

Theo’s mouth hung open, but Sina quickly smiled at Marvin. “You could’ve beaten either of them.”

“That’s right,” Theo said. “Legionnaire just has good gadgets ‘cause they’re rich. And Cinderbot… What even is a Cinderbot?”

“It sounds like you’re downplaying him,” Sina murmured.

“It sounds like you don’t care that we just made Mecha Realm,” Theo retorted.

Marvin took it all in with his sheepish grin. His eyes eventually fell on his uncle. Lindon hadn’t spoken a word, but his expression said enough.

This is what I’m fighting for, Marvin thought. Not just a chance of glory in the biggest tournament in the world, but a smile from someone who deserved to be happy.

A beep from the holoplayer interrupted their celebration. It was a reminder that the pilots’ debrief was going to start in thirty seconds.

“Tell Ishaan he should try something less flashy next year,” Theo said.

“Theo, come on,” Lindon said with a sigh. To Marvin, he said, “Ask him what maneuvering software he’s using. It’s obviously better than ours.”

Marvin nodded. Even though it was a poke at Theo, it was a fair point.

“We’re still having dinner at the steakhouse, right?” Marvin asked.

Lindon laughed. “No, this wasn’t a perfect win so we are canceling.”

Marvin blushed. “That’s not what I meant-”

“I know, I know. The plan’s still steakhouse and hypergliding.” Lindon gestured to the holoplayer and smiled. “Now do your formalities. We’ll see you outside.”

The door closed and the room was engulfed in darkness once more. Marvin approached the holoplayer and waited.

The pilots’ debrief was a mandatory meeting between pilots after the battle to express goodwill and give a little information on their robots. It could last a maximum of fifteen minutes, but pilots could agree to end it whenever. It was to make the competition season more fair, to allow teams to improve more drastically.

Marvin found it frustrating that the debriefs excluded all other teammates. He had no way of taking notes, and his memory sometimes failed him. Then again, he supposed that was another way to balance things.

The holoplayer beeped again and a blue outline of Ishaan appeared before Marvin. Ishaan was young—early twenties, probably—with a long face and short, curly hair. When he looked at Marvin, there was no warmth in his eyes.

“Hey,” Marvin said with an awkward wave. “Um, that was well fought.”

“No it wasn’t,” Ishaan said. “You wanna tell me where you got a stealth frame?”

Marvin frowned. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb. There’s no way you could’ve countered a foresight cortex on your own.”

“I don’t have a stealth frame,” Marvin said. Everyone knew that only Xintian and Legionnaire possessed stealth frames. Those chassis were so rare that teams traveled to the badlands just to try to find one, only to come back empty-handed.

“What, are you using a hack client then?” Ishaan snorted.

“No!” Marvin was appalled. “We just… we use the standard safety systems.”

Ishaan glowered at him. “If you’re not gonna be honest, we might as well end this now.”

Marvin felt a tinge of annoyance. Just because you’re having a bad day doesn’t mean you need to take it out on me.

“Look, we don’t have anything crazy,” he said. “It’s the truth.”

Ishaan scoffed. “How long have you been piloting?”

“Since I was five.”

“Professionally.”

Marvin’s gaze flickered to the ground. “I started this year.” That wasn’t his fault—you had to be eighteen to be a pilot.

Ishaan threw his arms up. “You see why I’m suspicious? How am I supposed to believe some random Michael Yang-”

“Marvin Yao,” Marvin muttered.

“What?”

Marvin repeated his name, louder.

“Whatever. How am I supposed to believe that you, of all people, knocked us out of the qualifiers?”

Marvin nervously pressed his palms together. Not knowing how to respond, he murmured, “Well, I did.”

Ishaan stared at him for a moment, and Marvin wondered if he should’ve ended the debrief. He was terrible at facing animosity and probably looked embarrassingly weak right now.

But then Gammagrade’s pilot began laughing.

“I’ll tell you what,” Ishaan said. “A week from now, you guys stop by our garage. We get a full inspection of each other’s robots.”

Marvin blinked. Ishaan didn’t seem like the type to sabotage their mech; he was genuinely curious.

“That’s it?” Marvin asked.

Ishaan squinted at him. “Are you stupid, boy? You think I’m gonna be within a mile of your bot without having a rematch?”

Marvin couldn’t help but grin. This spirit he respected.

“Sounds good. What time?”

“7:30 work for you?”

Marvin nodded. That was usually right when he and Lindon finished dinner.

Uncle… would he approve of this? Surely there was nothing much to lose, was there? Even if Saberstar got shredded into oblivion, they had a whole three months before Mecha Realm. It was plenty of time to rebuild and refine, and honestly, some teams did better in the battle royale after a fresh start.

“Oh, and um, where is your guys’ garage?” Marvin asked.

“You don’t know where the Sawblades’ garage is?” Ishaan asked incredulously.

Marvin shook his head. Unfortunately, he was not well educated on the megacity’s gangs.

Ishaan rolled his eyes and started to tell him the address, but suddenly, a look of concern crossed his face.

“Yo, Marvin-”

The holoplayer shut off.

Darkness. Absolutely nothing made a noise; not even the Bessmer chair emitted its routine ventilations. Marvin felt a chill go down his spine.

What happened? Did the power go out? Did the holoplayer glitch?

And then something grabbed Marvin’s arm. Cold steel pressed against his neck.

Darkness.