My cobbled-together terminal let out a sharp ping.
Jinx's reply came almost instantly.
"List's sent, Wildcat. First opponent: Flash Jack. A rich boy with a mecha worth eight million. His energy shield generator is on his right shoulder. That intel costs extra."
I could almost picture the woman hiding in the data shadows—legs crossed, a calculating smile on her face. She always loved that flippant, prickly tone, as if everything were already under her control.
I didn't bother replying.
Instead, I jacked my consciousness straight into the Royal Interstellar League's online virtual arena—the Data Coliseum.
***
When I piloted my ugly machine, Wrench—a heap of welds and rust—into the staging area, the public channel instantly exploded.
"Holy crap! What the hell is that thing? Which junkyard did he drag it out of?"
"My god, is that a Harvest-7 tractor engine? Even my grandpa's using a Harvest-9!"
"Look at its left arm! Is that a reactor shielding plate? Did he weld a slab of lead onto it? Is he insane?"
"Hahaha! Is this guy a joke? He's Flash Jack's opponent? Jack's going to tear him apart!"
Mockery surged in like a tide—shrill and grating, like countless flies buzzing in my ears.
I sat expressionless in the cockpit, the cold metal seat digging painfully into my back. There wasn't even a proper shock-absorption system—just exposed wires and pipes everywhere. The air was thick with the pungent stench of machine oil mixed with overload protectant.
But I liked that smell.
It was the scent of power.
The scent of survival.
And that noise… that contemptuous, ignorant noise…
Go ahead. Scream all you want, you pathetic bugs.
In one minute, the only sound you'll hear will be the symphony of a million-dollar toy turning into scrap metal.
And I will be its conductor.
My opponent, Flash Jack's Star Knight – Custom Light, glided into the arena opposite me.
He even activated the public broadcast, his voice dripping with condescension, like he was tossing scraps to a dog.
"Hey, Scrapper. It's not too late to surrender. I might even consider not wrecking that precious tractor engine of yours."
That word—Scrapper.
It stabbed into my mind like an icy needle.
Endless days scavenging through mountains of trash.
Acid rain burning my skin.
"Iron Rat" gangs who would've cracked my skull open for half a power cell.
They all called me a scavenger.
And then—
They all died.
I ignored him and ran my system checks.
Engine power: stable.
Hydraulics: normal.
Weapon—
I glanced at the massive industrial wrench welded to my right arm. A cold smirk crept across my face.
Weapon: ready.
Jinx's avatar flickered in the comms channel.
"Good luck, Wildcat. I'm counting on you to bring me more business."
I took a deep breath. Beneath me, Wrench's tractor heart thumped heavily—just like my own.
Crude.
But powerful.
Endure.
I would endure their mockery.
And then, in the most direct way possible—
I would make them all shut up.
[MATCH START!]
The system's cold chime echoed through the cockpit.
Flash Jack moved first.
His Star Knight danced through the simulated ruins, leaving trails of blue afterimages. The engine purred smoothly—soft, refined, expensive.
"Hey, scavenger! Can you even keep up with me?"
He opened fire.
Blue energy bolts slammed into my shields with pinpoint accuracy. Each hit sent a dull shock through the frame. With no shock absorption, every impact felt like a hammer smashing into my bones.
Sparks filled the air.
But aside from scorched black marks on the absurdly thick lead-core armor plate on my left arm, the attacks did nothing.
I didn't even move.
I stood there like a mountain of rusted iron.
"Damn it! How is his shield so thick?!" Flash Jack snapped, irritation finally leaking into his polished voice.
"Go, Jack! Blow that hunk of junk apart!" his fans shrieked.
Calmly, I watched him buzz around me like an annoying fly.
My Engineer's Eye cut through his flashy exterior.
Right shoulder.
Shield generator.
Energy flow patterns.
Fire-control tracking.
And then—
I saw it.
A tiny, half-second lag in his cooling system after every burst.
A rhythm.
A perfect, lethal rhythm.
Now.
The moment he finished another three-round burst and went to reposition—
That half-second pause.
Vents open.
A flaw he thought no one would notice.
I didn't draw a blade.
Didn't raise a gun.
Didn't maneuver.
I did only one thing.
I slammed the throttle to 120 percent.
BOOM—!!!
The Harvest-7 didn't roar.
It screamed.
A primal, agonized shriek as a beast was forced beyond its limits. Red light flooded the cockpit. Warnings exploded across my vision. Data cascaded chaotically as bolts and welds screamed in protest.
This wasn't piloting anymore.
This was clinging to life inside a multi-ton bullet.
Wrench charged forward—not with elegance, not with tactics, but with raw, savage, unreasonable force.
A straight-line charge.
"What?!" Flash Jack froze, his pupils dilating in terror as he tried to dodge.
Too late.
That half-second stall became a death sentence.
CRASH—!!!!!
Wrench's shield—cut from a nuclear reactor's protective plating—smashed into Star Knight's right shoulder.
Not the hum of energy shields.
But the brutal sound of metal crushing metal.
Armor collapsed like paper.
The shield generator—and his entire right arm—exploded into flying debris.
The shields flickered.
And died.
Star Knight belched black smoke and collapsed to one knee.
Instant kill.
Silence.
Total, absolute silence.
"The… winner is… Wrench," the commentator stammered. "My god—what a stroke of brute luck…"
I shut off the public channel and stared at the word VICTORY.
Luck?
No.
This was physics.
Junkyard physics—the kind you'll never learn in your fancy academies.
A sudden alarm shattered the moment.
[WARNING: Engine core temperature critical.]
[Cooling system at maximum load.]
Damn it.
This old tractor heart had paid the price.
I needed a better cooling pump.
Which meant more money.
More fights.
As I prepared to log out, an encrypted message appeared.
Jinx.
"You're more interesting than I thought."
Another message followed.
"Next opponent's intel. Half price."