The convention hall where the International Airsoft Championship draft was staged had been transformed into something out of a sports spectacle. Massive LED screens arched across the back of the stage, showing highlight reels from the semifinals and finals. Spotlights swept across the crowd, where hundreds of fans, sponsors, and media personnel filled tiered seating. Every moment was broadcast live to millions worldwide—commentators shouting over each other in excitement, camera drones buzzing overhead to catch every angle.
The giant screens carried one phrase in bold white text over black:
"THE ROAD TO GLORY BEGINS HERE."
Alex adjusted the collar of his Bravo Company jacket as he followed Marcus, Maya, Jake, and Sarah into the staging area. Even though the team had already proven themselves National Champions, the weight in his chest told him that this was bigger. This wasn't just America watching anymore. This was the world.
Beside him, Maya whispered, "Feels more like the Olympics than an airsoft draft."
Jake smirked, but his eyes never stopped scanning the cameras and stage. "Yeah, but unlike the Olympics, the other Americans here would gladly shoot us in the back the first chance they get."
Sarah clutched her tablet close, already streaming the feed. "They're hyping us as underdogs. Look—headline's 'Bravo Company: From Regional Nobodies to National Champions.' Half the international crowd still doesn't believe we're for real."
Marcus, calm but visibly tense, led the way toward their seats on stage. "Good. Let them underestimate us. That's how we've survived this far."
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The Spectacle
The announcer's booming voice filled the arena. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WELCOME TO THE FIRST INTERNATIONAL AIRSOFT CHAMPIONSHIP DRAFT!"
The crowd roared. The LED screens erupted with pyrotechnics, showing sweeping drone shots of the remote island where the main event would take place. Lush jungle terrain, urban ruins, beaches lined with obstacles—it looked more like a battlefield than a game.
"This year," the announcer continued, "twenty-four countries, seventy-two teams, and nearly nine hundred competitors will face off in the most ambitious airsoft competition ever attempted! All to crown one team—ONE LEGEND—that will forever change the sport!"
The crowd's roar grew louder. Flags from every nation represented hung high across the hall. Every squad, whether known internationally or brand-new, was displayed on the massive screens.
The camera panned across the stage as the announcer began introducing each American team. First, the Iron Reapers, dressed in black uniforms with steel-colored accents. The crowd gave them thunderous applause—they had finished runners-up at Nationals three years straight.
Next came the Black Hawks, arrogant and grinning, their leader soaking up the spotlight like a rock star. Their reputation for ruthless play drew both cheers and jeers.
Finally, the camera swept to Bravo Company. The five of them stood together in simple gear, lacking the polish of the others. The applause was polite but uncertain—audience members whispering, pointing, skeptical.
On-screen graphics displayed their stats:
BRAVO COMPANY
National Champions, USA (2025)
Seed: #12 (International)
Roster: Marcus Ford (Leader), Alex Rivera (Sniper), Maya Thompson (Recon), Jake Porter (Support), Sarah Lee (Intel)
Alex felt the weight of the numbers. Twelfth seed. Underdogs again.
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The Draft Rules
A commentator with a sharp suit stepped forward. "Here's how the draft works, ladies and gentlemen: Every team entering this international competition will expand to a full twelve-member squad. Today, surviving teams select seven recruits from the international candidate pool. These recruits have trained for months, waiting for this opportunity."
The camera shifted to show a pool of nearly 400 hopefuls seated in the lower arena. They were athletes, veterans, competitors from smaller tournaments—every one of them hungry to be picked.
"Each recruit brings a specialty," the commentator continued. "From demolitions to medics, scouts to breachers. Each one could mean the difference between survival and elimination when the island competition begins."
The rules flashed on the giant screens:
Five core members (already chosen through Nationals)
Seven recruits selected during the televised draft
12 total per team
Individual elimination format on the island—last team standing wins.
"This is where reputations are forged," the commentator said, his voice low and dramatic. "The world is watching."
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The Bravo Company Picks
When it came time for Bravo Company to draft, the announcer's tone shifted.
"And now—the team no one expected to be here. The team that shocked Nationals, eliminated the Apex Predators, and captured America's heart. Bravo Company!"
The spotlight swung to them. Cameras zoomed close—Alex could see his own face on the massive screen above, sweat gleaming on his temple.
Marcus stepped forward to the podium. "We'll keep this simple. Bravo Company isn't looking for stars. We're looking for survivors. Fighters who can adapt, endure, and hold the line when everything falls apart. That's who we are. That's who we'll draft."
The crowd erupted. Some cheered. Others jeered. Commentators argued instantly—"Bold words!" "Underdog mentality again!" "But can that survive against international elites?"
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First Pick – Ryan Walker (Assault Specialist)
The screen lit up with Ryan's highlight reel: close-quarters combat drills, clearing a mock urban building with flawless precision.
A young man in his early 20s with cropped brown hair and a square jaw walked confidently to the stage. He wore no flash, no swagger—just the look of someone who knew how to fight.
"Ryan Walker," the announcer said, "Assault Specialist. Known for his relentless drive in regional circuits across the Midwest. Average time-to-elimination: 1.8 seconds in close-quarters drills. Nicknamed The Wallbreaker."
Ryan approached Alex first, shaking his hand firmly. "Heard about you," he said quietly, his eyes sharp. "If you cover me, I'll smash every door in our way."
Alex nodded, surprised at the blunt confidence.
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Second Pick – Emily Carter (Medic)
The reel showed Emily sprinting across open fields under fire to drag teammates to safety. Her calm under pressure was obvious.
The announcer hyped her: "One of the top medics in the candidate pool. Zero failed rescues during training."
Emily, blonde hair tied back, approached the team with steady eyes. "I don't panic," she told Marcus during the live mic interview. "If someone goes down, I get them back. Always."
The crowd erupted—America loved medics. Even rival teams clapped reluctantly.
---
Third Pick – Daniel Brooks (Machine Gunner)
Daniel's footage was pure chaos—laying down suppressive fire that pinned entire squads in place. A massive frame, dark beard, and booming laugh made him stand out instantly.
"Daniel Brooks," the announcer grinned. "Nicknamed Big Smoke. One of the heaviest gunners in the draft pool."
He hoisted his replica M249 above his head as he walked onto stage. The crowd roared approval. "Bravo Company!" he bellowed. "Let's make some noise!"
Jake grinned. "I like him already."
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Fourth Pick – Tyler Grant (Scout)
Tyler's reel was subtle—stealthy movements through forests, drone footage showing how he vanished into foliage like a ghost.
A lean man with sharp eyes and a quiet demeanor stepped forward. "You won't see me," he told Maya with a small smirk. "But I'll always see them."
The commentators buzzed. "Perfect fit with Bravo's recon-heavy style!"
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Fifth Pick – Hannah Mitchell (Breacher)
Hannah's highlight reel was nothing but aggression—explosive entries, shotgun blasts, overwhelming force.
She strode up, red hair pulled back tight, eyes fierce. "You point at the door," she told Marcus on live mic, "I'll put the fear of God in whoever's behind it."
The crowd roared, loving her fire. Rival teams muttered uneasily.
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Sixth Pick – Cole Adams (Navigator)
Cole's footage was less flashy but equally vital—plotting courses, guiding teams safely through mock terrain.
He adjusted his glasses as he reached the stage. "I'm not the one who pulls the trigger," he admitted, "but I'll get us where we need to be. Every time."
Sarah smiled at him instantly. "Finally, someone who respects maps as much as me."
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Seventh Pick – Zach Miller (Tech Specialist)
The final recruit's reel showed him repairing rifles mid-match, hacking into drone feeds, and calmly recalibrating optics under fire.
Zach was wiry, with messy dark hair and a nervous smile. "I fix things," he said simply. "Guns, drones, cameras, whatever. If it breaks, it works again when I'm done."
Marcus clasped his shoulder. "Then you're exactly who we need."
---
The Crowd Reacts
As the seventh recruit took his place, Bravo Company stood as a full twelve-member squad for the first time. Cameras panned across them—five veterans, seven newcomers. The commentators went wild.
"Look at this lineup!" one shouted. "Not the flashiest picks, but balanced. Resilient. Classic Bravo mentality."
"Maybe so," another countered, "but compared to the Reapers and Hawks, they still look like amateurs. Apex Predators are watching from the wings—they don't look worried."
The screen split to show rival teams. The Reapers sneered. The Black Hawks whispered among themselves, smirking. Apex Predators sat stone-faced, unreadable.
But in the crowd, cheers began to grow louder. Ordinary fans, people who loved underdog stories, started chanting:
"BRA-VO! BRA-VO! BRA-VO!"
Alex's chest tightened. For the first time, he saw the vision—twelve of them, not five. Not survivors anymore. Contenders.
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The Interviews
Before they could leave the stage, the commentators moved in for live interviews. The first mic was thrust toward Alex.
"Alex Rivera—National MVP, now leading America's underdog squad. What do you say to the world doubting Bravo Company?"
Alex met the camera head-on. "We've been doubted since day one. And every time, we proved them wrong. This island won't be any different."
The crowd exploded with cheers.
Emily Carter was asked about her medic role. "Do you feel pressure being the lifeline for your team?"
Emily's reply was calm: "Pressure keeps me sharp. They can count on me."
Daniel Brooks, ever the showman, yelled into the mic: "We're gonna be loud, proud, and raining BBs on anyone dumb enough to cross us!"
The hall shook with laughter and cheers.
Hannah Mitchell leaned into her mic and growled, "If there's a door between us and victory, consider it gone."
The Black Hawks visibly rolled their eyes. Apex Predators didn't move.
Finally, Marcus spoke for the team as captain. "Bravo Company isn't here for second place. We're here to win. Period."
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Closing Moment
The announcer's voice carried finality. "Ladies and gentlemen—the twelve who will carry Bravo Company into the greatest competition in airsoft history!"
The spotlight swept across them as cameras zoomed in. Alex felt Champion and Promise heavy at his sides, his rifle slung across his back. For the first time since this insane journey began, he wasn't just standing with four survivors. He was standing with eleven brothers and sisters.
The chant grew louder, thunderous now:
"BRA-VO! BRA-VO! BRA-VO!"
Alex raised his hand, and for the first time, believed it.
They were ready.
The world was watching.
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Author's Note:
This chapter expanded the draft into a massive televised spectacle, giving each recruit their spotlight, showing rival reactions, and cementing Bravo Company's transformation into a twelve-member squad. The underdog spirit is alive, but now the stakes are higher than ever—the world is watching.