The wind in the ventilation shaft turned hot, carrying the sickening stench of gore and high-concentration hormones. It was the unique scent of the Arena. To Vance, it was the smoke of the battlefield.
Behind him, the metallic skittering grew louder. The "Scavenger" spider-drones had rebooted their military chips. Kill commands overwrote retrieval protocols. Red laser sights sliced through the dark, illuminating the dust particles around Vance's boots.
Vance didn't panic. He clutched the charred drive. The core chip inside was safe—his only leverage.
Ahead, light sliced through a grate. Below, the roar of the crowd was like a tsunami.
"Kill him! Kill him!"
Vance sneered. He pulled out a modified signal transmitter he'd hacked together. He pressed it against the duct wall and keyed in a frequency code hidden in the drive's encrypted layer.
This frequency didn't belong to Security. It belonged to The Balance.
Beep. Connected.
"This is Vance. ID: Null." Vance spoke into the transmitter as if ordering takeout. "I apply to initiate the 'Zero-Sum Protocol.' The wager is S-Class Intelligence capable of shaking District 1. The Challenged: D-0 Arena Manager, Viper."
Static silence answered him.
Vance didn't care. He knew the monsters were listening. In a world ruled by calculation, even gods bowed if the chips were heavy enough.
"Also," Vance glanced back at the red lasers now aiming at his skull, "to ensure the fairness of the gamble, please clear the flies outside the venue."
He kicked the grate open.
At that exact moment, the drone's claw pierced his pant leg. But before the poison needle could break skin, a blinding white light sliced through the tunnel. No explosion. Just a pure, high-density cutting beam. The indestructible military drones were sliced in half like butter, their circuits severed before they could even spark.
Vance let go, falling into the light.
He landed on a safety net above the VIP boxes. He rolled to his feet, dusting himself off, looking not at the arena, but into the deep shadows of the maintenance catwalk.
Someone was standing there.
A figure in a solemn dark grey trench coat, white gloves, and a white mask with no features—only a golden scale emblem on the forehead. He held a long blade that radiated heat, standing like an emotionless statue.
A Notary. The executioner of The Balance.
"Application received." A synthesized, genderless voice spoke from behind the mask. "System assessment: Wager Value - S Class. Sufficient to initiate a Deprivation Challenge against a Sector Manager."
The Notary sheathed the blade with the grace of a religious ritual.
"I am the officiating Notary, codename Crow. Mr. Vance, you are now under temporary Association protection. Until the gamble concludes, no one claims your life. Not even the Reaper."
Vance pushed up his sunglasses, gazing at the Notary with a glint of survivalist madness.
"Excellent. Take me to my opponent."
...
When the doors to the VIP box burst open, Viper was sipping red wine, enjoying the slaughter below. The white-haired boy, codenamed Cerberus, had just torn a mutant beast apart and stood dazed in a pool of blood. Viper loved this feeling of playing god.
That feeling ended the moment the door opened.
He turned to see a filthy, homeless-looking young man strut in and sit on his velvet sofa.
And behind the young man stood the figure that made Viper's soul tremble—the white-masked Notary.
Viper dropped his glass. Red wine stained the expensive carpet like blood.
"The... The Balance?" Viper's voice cracked. His feminine face lost all color. He knew that mask. It was absolute terror, ranking above all gangs and rules.
"Good evening, Manager." Vance crossed his legs, tossing the charred drive onto the table with a heavy thud. "Heard you were looking for this? You blew up my net-café for it."
Viper stared at the drive, then at Crow. His eye twitched.
"What... What do you want?"
"Nothing much." Vance leaned forward, interlacing his fingers under his chin, fixing Viper with a demonic stare. "I just thought, since you want it so badly, why don't we play a game?"
"If you win, the drive is yours. My life is yours. You can chop me up and feed me to the dog downstairs."
"But if you lose..."
Vance pointed a finger through the one-way glass, straight at the blood-soaked, white-haired boy in the arena.
"I want him. His control codes, and all your shares in this Arena."
Viper froze. He looked at the drive—his death warrant if leaked. He looked at the boy—his best weapon.
He wanted to refuse. He wanted to scream for security.
But Crow took one step forward. Just one step, but the oppressive pressure of a higher-order life form filled the room.
"According to Zero-Sum Protocol Article 103," Crow's voice was mechanical, "When a Challenger presents an S-Class Wager, the Challenged has no right of refusal. Refusal is deemed forfeiture. Punishment: Purge."
Purge. In the Underground, that meant physical erasure.
Viper inhaled sharply. He had no choice. He had to win. And he felt he could win—this was his turf.
"Fine." Viper gritted his teeth. "What's the game?"
Vance leaned back and snapped his fingers. "Simple. Let's play something exciting." He scanned the room, his eyes landing on a complex circuit control box in the corner.
"Let's play... Domino Execution."