The Thriving Central Belt of Civilization.

  On Earth’s main stadium, hundreds of thousands of spectators gather. This is the long-awaited final — the culmination of the entire season. Gladiator fights are the planet’s main attraction. This sport has long become a cult. It no longer matters what the audience fears — they come not for competition, but for spectacle. To them, it’s not just a sport; it’s a ceremony, an epochal struggle in the arena, where a machine’s victory means the triumph of reason over flesh.

  But it’s not humans who fight — they’ve long been replaced by androids. Perfected, enhanced, merciless, they are like artists sculpting their own bodies. Every movement is ballet in armor, grace with blades, a play of light and shadow on their flawless faces.

  Their combat suits, covered in armor, grant them superhuman abilities: flexibility, speed, strength. The fight is conducted exclusively with melee weapons — heavy swords and knives that screech ominously with every clash. The blows are unimaginably powerful, capable of inflicting monstrous damage, but built-in self-repair systems instantly heal injuries, bringing the fighters back into the fray.

  These duels have become a symbol of the triumph of machine intellect — which, in its soulless precision, has surpassed human nature itself. Once, humans created androids. But now, with each battle, the androids grow more perfect — while humans grow ever weaker. The ancient masters have faded into history, and those they once created now rule the arena — and far beyond it.

  Amid the roar of the stands, packed with thousands of fans, the fighters burst into the arena. They soar into the air with the help of magnetic systems, like mythical beings of old — and immediately clash. A whirlwind of blades, sparks flashing — and the audience holds its breath, mesmerized by the spectacle of speed, strength, and technological might.

  — “With a score of six to four, the victory goes to Armaros!” — the announcer bellows. His voice echoes through the mic, and the stadium erupts in applause like a single, living organism. The crowd roars, waving flags, shouting the fighters’ names.

  The arena freezes for a moment. And then, a new battle begins.

  In the elite sector, seated in a place of honor, sits a diplomat — a representative of the Inner Belt of Civilization. He is surrounded by steel-tight security: massive men in sharp suits discreetly monitor the space, and hidden devices built into the seat track his every movement. He is the center of constant surveillance — nothing around him escapes his guard's attention.

  A man breaks through from the left stand. His behavior immediately draws the attention of security. Approaching the aisle, he waves his ticket sharply, shouting in frustration:

  — “That’s my seat! I paid a fortune! No one is taking my show away from me!”

  One guard rises, another follows quickly, preparing to block the breach.

  — “There’s been a mistake,” the head of security says, his voice cold as metal. “These seats are reserved for the diplomatic mission. Unauthorized personnel are not allowed.”

  The commotion escalates, drawing stares from the surrounding spectators. But just then, a woman sits down gently beside the diplomat.

  — “Excuse me, I believe this is my seat,” her voice is light as music, laced with confidence. She presents a ticket.

  — “It seems my bodyguard was sitting here…” the diplomat frowns, but before he can finish, a kitten suddenly leaps into his lap.

  — “What a lovely creature!” the diplomat smiles, melting a little under the kitten’s gaze. “Absolutely charming.”

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  — “That’s him!” the woman laughs. “His name’s Charmer. And by the way, he seems to like you very much.”

  One of the guards approaches the stranger cautiously, emotionless, and activates a scanner. The device hums softly, analyzing her and the kitten. Silence. No threats detected.

  — “All clear,” he reports briefly and returns to handling the scene with the angry spectator.

  The woman, wasting no time, continues her performance:

  — “You must be someone truly important,” she notes with a flirtatious tilt of her head.

  The diplomat is struck by her poise. He prepares to reply, but just then, a man appears in the aisle, calling out:

  — “Marina! There you are! Let’s go — they’re waiting.”

  The woman looks at the diplomat with a touch of sadness, her smile growing warmer.

  — “I’m afraid I must go,” she says softly, without regret.

  — “Will we meet again?” he asks, a surprising sincerity in his voice, as if he’s only just realized how much she’s drawn him in.

  She lifts the corners of her lips slightly, as if weighing the answer, and finally says with a smile:

  — “Perhaps. Someday.”

  Her figure disappears into the crowd, and the kitten — Charmer — winks at the diplomat before following her like a loyal companion. Suddenly, the world seems to pause. The spectators are once again absorbed in the show, but something hollow remains in the diplomat’s chest — as if he’s just missed something important.

  He doesn’t know what it was — chance or fate — but he can’t shake the feeling that it could’ve become something much greater.

  The woman and her companion head for the parking zone. They board an airmobile. As soon as the doors close, she turns to him with a smile.

  — “You were brilliant, Julia,” says Alex, his voice warm, wrapping her in affection.

  — “Thank you, Alex,” she replies with a soft blush, her perfect makeup just barely betraying her tension.

  He leans in, kisses her — quickly, but passionately. This isn’t just a couple. They’re allies. And in that kiss lies something deeper than emotion.

  — “Think my disguise could seduce anyone?” she asks with a sly smile.

  — “Trying to provoke me? Want me jealous?” he teases with mock indignation, but danger still flickers in his eyes. “Better tell me — did everything go smoothly?”

  She nods confidently, her gaze sharp.

  — “Charmer did his job. The nanites are delivered. The diplomat’s infected.”

  — “Ivan was perfect. Without his scene, we’d never have gotten through,” Alex smirks. “What were you chatting about with him?”

  Julia smiles mysteriously, her eyes shimmering like light on water.

  — “Are you actually jealous?”

  — “Me?” he scoffs, looking away dramatically. “Not even slightly.”

  — “Then I must’ve imagined it,” she sighs playfully. “Pity. Let’s get out of here.”

  The airmobile lifts smoothly into the sky, dissolving into the night of the megacity. Neon lights shimmer in the air, and the city below — alive and restless — pulses like a giant organism.

  A signal flashes on the dashboard. Alex watches the screen closely.

  — “Looks like we’ve got a tail,” he says, his tone turning serious. “Well then… let’s lose them.”

  He glides a finger across the display, and the airmobile surges forward, tearing through the sky. The air around them dissolves into neon light — and only the sounds of the city remain far behind.