The VIP lounge in the High-Bit District smells like lavender and expensive vanilla. The holding pen for the "Death-Match Variety Show" smells like burnt hair and old batteries.
I stood in the corner of a rusted metal cage, trying to keep my breathing steady. My internal system kept flashing a yellow warning light: [STRESS LEVELS CRITICAL. CORTISOL SIMULATION: 80%.]
"Stop shaking," Static muttered. He was leaning against the bars, his arms crossed. His avatar was flickering less now, but he still looked like a walking reception error. "You’re vibrating so hard you’re going to clip through the floor."
"I’m not shaking," I lied, clutching my stomach. "I’m... recalibrating."
I looked through the chain-link fence at the "stage." It wasn’t a stage. It was a cluster of hexagonal platforms floating over a black, infinite drop. Below the platforms, there was nothing. No safety net. No respawn point. Just a swirling vortex of raw data that looked like a blender set to 'puree.'
"If I fall..." I started.
"You get deleted," Static finished. He pointed to the void. "That’s the Recycle Bin. Once you hit that, your code gets unraveled and turned into scrap data for toaster ovens. Don't fall."
"Great advice. Thanks." I rubbed my cheek. The patch of Pixel Rot was itching like crazy. I could feel the texture of my skin flaking away, turning into jagged, gray squares. I had pulled my hood up to hide it, but I knew I looked like a mess.
A roar went up from the crowd. I peeked out. The audience wasn't the sea of adoring fans I was used to. These were the residents of the Buffer Zone. Their avatars were mismatched monstrosities—guys with shark heads on robot bodies, girls with three arms, clouds of floating emojis. They weren't cheering. They were screaming for blood.
"Next up!" the announcer boomed. He was a floating skull with a neon mohawk, hovering above the arena. "Fresh meat from the upstairs districts! She thinks she’s too good for us! Give it up for... THE GLITCH!"
The cage door buzzed and swung open.
"That's your cue," Static said, shoving me forward. "Remember, Nova. This isn't choreography. It’s physics. Hit them where their hitbox is weak."
"I don't know how to fight!" I hissed back.
"You're a dancer," he said, his voice surprisingly calm. "Just... dance aggressively."
I stumbled out onto the floating platform. The lights were blinding, but not the warm, golden spotlights of the Sky-Dome. These were harsh stroboscopes that made the world look jerky and disconnected.
Opposite me, on a connected platform, stood my opponent.
The screen above us flashed her stats:
[NAME: PIXEL-V]
[CLASS: BRAWLER]
[WIN STREAK: 14]
Pixel-V was terrifying. She looked like a anime magical girl who had gone through a trash compactor. Her dress was torn, revealing hydraulic pistons instead of legs. She carried a massive, spiked bat that glowed with a menacing purple aura.
She cracked her neck, the sound like crunching metal. "A Top Idol?" she sneered. Her voice was distorted, like a speaker blown out by too much bass. "I’m gonna enjoy smashing that pretty face of yours."
My UI flashed.
[CURRENT LIKES: 310]
[SURVIVAL REQUIREMENT: 5,000 LIKES]
I swallowed hard. I didn't just need to survive. I needed to entertain.
ns216.73.216.10da2
and then Add to home screen.