"Fascinating," Jin Kol leans forward. "Their bond is stronger than the neural maze anticipated or are the Spire’s creators lacking this year?”
“The system will adapt and increase the difficulty parameters," Lorian says. “See. The program has already caught up. Now Ember is confused. He can’t tell which one is his real partner.”
Then something sends gasps through the arena. Fifi, Ember’s partner from last year, appears beside the real Ash. And she’s screaming in her human language that she’s real and begging Ember to save her, not Ash. Even I’m impressed by this holographic surprise.
The VIP box gets a close-up of Ember’s confused face on the screen. Most of the people around me laugh at him, but I feel only pity. This pet has suffered so much.
To distract myself, I check the bids. As usual, the credits are cascading in. No one knows what Ember will do. He has three options: choose his partner from last year, choose Ash, or take the prize and walk out with credits and only himself, alive.
Over the audio, I hear the holographic Fifi say, “The collar manipulated your mind, conjuring a fantasy partner, so you’d stay compliant.Je suis la vraie,Gabriel. She’s nothing more than a program feeding off your regrets and hopes.Wehave a history;nous avons un passé. I’m here now—yourrealpartner. Leave that American phantom behind before she drags you into her nightmare.”
I will have to award the game designers. This character is perfectly brutal. Of course, no one in the VIP box can understand what she’s saying besides Eve, Lorian, and my Reima Two employees.
Eve wipes a tear from her eye. And before I can block Jin Kol’s view, he notices.
“Eve, what has you so upset? I thought you said these humans understood the risks.”
“They do, Tribune. That’s not why I’m weeping. It’s what she's saying that’s struck a personal nerve with me from an old love story from Earth, nothing more.”
I don’t know whether she’s lying or not, but it does the job. Jin Kol is content.
We all turn our attention back to the arena.
The announcer’s voice booms overhead. “You have a choice, Ember. Save your partner or claim the artifact. Choose wisely!”
The crowd roars, thirsting for drama.
Ash’s voice pierces through the audio. “Don’t do this again! I’m your partner.Please.The other Fifi, she’s not even affected by the mist! And how the fuck would she know I’m American? I could be Canadian! She’s an illusion from your mind. The real Fifi died here last year.”
Finally, Ember makes a choice and reaches for Ash, and she does her best to touch him to let him know she’s real. Relief floods through me. I didn’t want to watch that pet Ember break down again knowing he killed another one of his partners.
The announcer’s voice booms, “A risky gamble from Ember! Time is running out—can they still reach the artifact?”
In a final burst of desperate speed, Ember lunges with Ash in tow. The artifact glows within reach, and he stretches out his hand and seizes it, lifting it off the dais just as the swirling energy crackles and the ring of energy shuts behind them.
Thunderous cheers from the audience rattle the arena walls. Everyone in the VIP box stands as well.
What a fantastic performance!
That's when I notice it. A subtle flicker in the arena's power grid. Just for a second, barely visible unless you know what’s unusual.
My hand tightens on Eve's.
Suddenly, the main lights cut out.
“Full shut down,” I yell.
Lorian is already up and on his IC.
Darkness swallows the arena whole. For a second, there’s only silence, then the screaming starts. Fifty thousand spectators realizing they're trapped in darkness, scrambling over each other, crushing those who fall.
The emergency strips come on along the floor and provide just enough blue light to create shadows, turning the panic into a nightmare of writhing shapes.
"Security protocol seven," Lorian says into his IC. "Full lockdown,” he repeats. “No one enters or exits."
The VIP box erupts in its own chaos. Dignitaries stumble in the dark, some crying out as they collide with furniture. I hear glass shatter; someone's knocked over the refreshment table.
Lorian is already moving, his own security detail spreading through the VIP box. But my eyes are on Eve. In the strobing emergency lights, her face is a mask of controlled panic. Her perfectly applied makeup catches the blue light, making her look ethereal.
