The moment Dexter and Midas stepped into the Crash Palace's inner halls, the air hit them—hot, metallic, and buzzing with energy.
The vast hangar stretched in all directions, its flanks lined with workshops and repair bays. Bots of every shape and size filled the space: hulking brawlers pounding at reinforced training dummies, wiry speed models sparring in practice cages, half-dismantled machines lying under the sparks of welding torches. Teams of handlers barked orders while mechanics cursed at stubborn bolts.
The bass of the speakers rattled through the steel flooring, carrying the pounding beat of Eminem – Till I Collapse. The music rolled over the crowd like a war drum, fueling the restless energy of the place.
(A/N: I recommend you to listen to this song while reading)
Dexter kept his pace steady, Midas walking silently behind him, its gold-plated chassis catching stray glints from the overhead floodlights.
Then, a shift in the crowd's movement drew Dexter's attention. People were leaving the work bays, drifting toward the center of the hangar. Shouts, laughter, and the clatter of credit chips passing hands filled the air.
At the heart of the crowd stood a man elevated on a small platform—a broad-shouldered black man with a booming voice and a grin built for showmanship. His name blazed across the screens overhead: FINN. Behind him, a massive illuminated board flickered with match listings:
<< MAIN EVENT >>
CHALLENGER VS CHAMPION
Finn's arms spread wide as he called out over the noise.
"Any takers for the main event?!"
A gruff voice from below barked back coming from a man with an eyepatch, his grin sharp and goading.
"Yeah, fight Bio-War, huh? Fight till death!"
The crowd's noise faltered. The words Bio-War carried weight.
Dangerous weight.
Silence began to creep in, each passing second making it clear as no one was eager to volunteer.
Then, from the edge of the gathered mass, a calm voice cut through.
"Can I try?"
Heads turned.
Finn glanced toward the sound, as did the man with the eyepatch. The crowd parted enough to reveal a boy, no more than fourteen, standing with a gold-plated bot at his back.
"I have a robot," the boy said plainly. "Built it myself."
The eyepatch man's grin cracked wider. He looked Midas up and down, paused—then threw back his head and laughed.
"Ha! This? You wanna pit this shiny toy against Bio-War?" His laughter rippled through the crowd until others joined in.
Finn's smile turned half-amused, half-dismissive. "Beat it, kid. House rules—you pay to play."
Dexter's lips twitched in something that wasn't quite a smile. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a wad of cash.
"Oh? Is this enough?"
Finn's eyebrows rose. The cash was real.... thick. He leaned forward on the mic.
"…What's your bot's name, little boy?"
"Midas."
The eyepatch man chuckled again, but there was an edge to it now. "Prepare your bot, boy," he said, the sarcasm dripping.
Dexter's eyes didn't leave his.
"Oh, I already have."
The moment Dexter's payment hit Finn's palm, the emcee's grin sharpened into something wolfish. He slapped the cash into his coat and spun toward the illuminated board.
"Ladies and gentlemen…" Finn's voice rolled out, deep and commanding, amplified through the cracked but powerful PA system. "We've got ourselves a brave soul for tonight's main event!"
The crowd murmured, sizing up Dexter and his gleaming bot. Some chuckled, others whispered wagers already leaning heavily toward Bio-War.
Finn gestured for the handlers to bring the challenger forward. Dexter guided Midas toward the prep gate, passing between two massive floodlights before disappearing into the staging area.
Finn, meanwhile, hopped down from his perch and strode toward the ring. The steel steps groaned under his boots, each stride deliberate. He climbed through the ropes and took center stage, letting the crowd's attention settle on him. The harsh white lights above made his silhouette sharp and commanding.
He raised a microphone to his lips.
"Now… let's talk about the monster waiting for our little challenger."
The overhead floodlights dimmed, and the massive display screens flickered from fight listings to a blood-red logo that pulsed with metallic sound effects.
"Some of you know him as the reigning Crash Palace King…" Finn's voice had dropped into a low, menacing rhythm, drawing the crowd in. "Others call him the Titan of the Docks. But most…" Finn paused, letting the silence stretch. "…most just call him the last bot you'll ever see in one piece."
The crowd roared, stomping against the metal walkways.
"He's a one-robot apocalypse!" Finn bellowed, his voice shaking the ropes. "Flee before the breaker of steel, the butcher of circuits… the bot who doesn't just win—he erases you from the record!"
A metallic crash echoed through the arena as the far gate shuddered open.
"Tonight," Finn roared, pointing toward the opening gates, "you'll see why every bot, every pilot, and every fool who's stepped in here… never walks out the same. I give you… BIOOO-WARRR!"
The chant hit instantly.
"BIO-WAR! BIO-WAR! BIO-WAR!"
From the shadows beyond the gate, a colossal figure emerged—black plating like armor scavenged from a warzone, jagged edges catching the light, crimson optics burning like open wounds. Each step was a seismic thud, each flex of its gauntlets a hiss of compressed power.
Bio-War stepped fully into the light, and the crowd's roar doubled.
He was no sleek sports bot, he was a war relic brought to life.
His design looked like it had crawled out of a nuclear wasteland. Jagged armor plates were dented and scarred as if he'd survived countless battles. His right arm wasn't a clean mechanical limb but a monstrous hybrid—part mini-gun, part meat tenderizer, the rotating drums glinting with steel teeth instead of bullets.
His face was hidden behind a fixed gas mask, its twin filters hissing faintly, and above it sat a dented helmet, the kind soldiers wore in a world long dead. Across his broad chest, right in the center of the breastplate, a glowing yellow biohazard symbol pulsed like a warning beacon. On his back, a heavy pack jutted out, covered in hoses and vents, as if fueling whatever horrors powered him.
The chain barrier surrounding the ring rattled and split apart, sliding open with a mechanical snarl. Bio-War stepped forward, every movement heavy and deliberate. The boards beneath him groaned as his massive frame crossed into the ring.
When he reached the center, he raised that terrifying right arm high above his head. The crowd erupted into a frenzy, stomping and chanting his name—
"BIO-WAR! BIO-WAR! BIO-WAR!"
Up on the side platform, the man with the eye patch was grinning like a predator who'd just smelled blood. One hand gripped a worn control rig, his thumb tapping a trigger as if itching to unleash the monster. He threw his head back and laughed, the sound cutting through the chaos.
Dexter, watching from the staging area, didn't flinch. His eyes tracked Bio-War's every movement.
He turned to Midas and said, "It's time to take back your turf, big guy."