The energy in the Another Life VR Coliseum was electric, even in moments of relative calm. The massive digital screens hovering above the arena displayed real-time stats, replays of brutal knockouts, and strategically executed takedowns from earlier matches. Thousands of avatars filled the virtual stands, some still celebrating their favorite competitor’s victories while others grumbled over losses that ruined their betting pools.
Bright neon lights danced across the battlefield platforms as automated drones hovered, scanning the combat zones for system updates and repair. The next wave of fighters was already preparing, but before the competition continued, a different spectacle took center stage—the post-match interviews.
The high-tech, floating Interview Station shimmered in the air, sleek and imposing, a futuristic podium surrounded by glowing blue holograms. A line of quarterfinalists stood in the spotlight, some basking in the moment, others impatiently waiting to move on.
A familiar face—Terra Paine, the Nightmarish Demolisher—stood at the center, his massive, armored frame still carrying the brutal presence that had secured his victory. His gauntlets, dented from battle, rested at his sides, and his avatar’s intimidating glare practically dared anyone to challenge him again. The interviewer turned to him first, grinning into the floating mic drone.
INTERVIEWER (Voice Chat):
"Terra Paine, you were an absolute force out there! Kael Riven is one of the stealthiest fighters in the game, but you shut him down completely. What was your strategy?"
Terra cracked his neck, his massive arms crossing over his chest before he typed his response.
TERRA PAINE (World Chat):
"A phantom blade is just that—a shadow. And shadows don’t stand against a wall of steel."
Byte nearly choked laughing before typing in private chat.
BYTE (Private Chat):
"Bro just called Kael a literal shadow and walked off like a boss."
SHIRO (Private Chat):
"Can’t even be mad. Dude outlasted an assassin, which is insanely hard to do."
HEXA (Private Chat):
"Yeah, but you gotta admit—Kael put up a fight. If that last dodge had worked, it might’ve gone the other way."
The interviewer nodded, clearly impressed by Terra’s brutal efficiency.
INTERVIEWER (Voice Chat):
"No doubt, no doubt! Your sheer durability and unrelenting pressure were the key factors in this match. Now that you’re moving on, any words for your next opponent?"
Terra’s response was simple.
TERRA PAINE (World Chat):
"Hope they’re ready for war."
The audience erupted in cheers as the next interview continued.
INTERVIEWER (Voice Chat):
"And standing here fresh from his victory over Dante Shard, we have Kira Tempest! Kira, you were lightning-fast out there—how did you counter Dante’s code weaving strategies?"
Kira smirked, flipping her storm-forged daggers in her hands, the electricity crackling along the edges.
KIRA (World Chat):
"Simple. You can code a spell, but you can’t outcode a storm. Lightning moves faster than thought."
Hexa let out a low whistle in the private chat.
HEXA (Private Chat):
"Okay, that was kinda badass."
BYTE (Private Chat):
"Yeah, but now I’m scared. If she moves that fast in-game, we need buffered reflexes IRL just to process it."
Before the interviewer could move on, the stadium lighting dimmed slightly as a deep, commanding voice echoed through the arena.
ANNOUNCER (Voice Chat):
"Ladies and gentlemen, avatars and warriors of Another Life VR—it’s time."
The interview halted mid-question. Even Kira and Kael glanced up as the massive jumbotron zoomed in on the Announcer, standing at the very edge of the central podium. His arms were spread wide, his voice filled with theatrical authority.
ANNOUNCER (Voice Chat):
"We are over five hours into this insane tournament, and let’s be real—y’all need to move."
The audience erupted into laughter as the Announcer continued.
ANNOUNCER (Voice Chat):
"I KNOW some of you haven’t stretched. I KNOW at least half of you are running on energy drinks and willpower. And I KNOW there’s a dude out there who hasn’t blinked since round one. Don’t be that guy."
The jumbotron zoomed in on a random avatar in the crowd—a wide-eyed elf player, completely frozen. The camera cut to him just as he blinked rapidly, realizing he had been exposed to millions of viewers. The crowd howled with laughter.
BYTE (Private Chat):
"YO, THAT ELVEN DUDE GOT ROASTED ON A GLOBAL SCALE."
SHIRO (Private Chat):
"That’s gotta be the first time in history a tournament called someone out for not blinking."
The Announcer wasn’t done.
ANNOUNCER (Voice Chat):
"So—this is your official reminder. Get up, stretch, drink water, eat something! It’s officially dinner time for a lot of you, and I refuse to be responsible for someone passing out because they were too busy trying to climb the leaderboards."
ANNOUNCER (Voice Chat):
"This break is sponsored by Auracron Prime, Health United, and the Be Healthy Corporation. Take care of yourselves, gamers. You can’t win if you’re dead."
The audience cheered as avatars gradually began logging out, taking the hint to step away for an hour. Even some of the contestants looked relieved, stretching their arms and rolling their shoulders before logging out themselves. Dani exhaled. It was time to take a break.
The moment Dani pulled off her VR headset, the world outside the game hit her all at once. The slight stiffness in her back from sitting too long, the low hum of her apartment’s air conditioning, and most importantly—the growl in her stomach.
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"Ugh," she groaned, rubbing her eyes before dragging herself toward the kitchen.
With practiced ease, she popped open the fridge, eyeing her limited meal options. Microwaveable leftovers it was.
As the food heated, she grabbed her phone, scrolling through her notifications. One name caught her eye.
Natalie!
Dani grinned, immediately hitting dial.
The phone rang twice before Natalie picked up.
NATALIE: "Well, well, well! If it isn’t the future champion of Another Life VR!"
Dani snorted. "I’m not there yet. Still gotta get past the quarterfinals first."
NATALIE: "Yeah, yeah. You’re still a badass. So? Spill! How’s the tournament?"
Dani flopped onto the couch, crossing her legs. "It’s insane. You wouldn’t believe the kind of players I’m going up against. Code Weaving is actually real, Nat. I’m seeing fighters rewrite entire combat mechanics mid-battle."
Natalie let out a low whistle. "Damn. Sounds intense. And what about him?"
Dani hesitated.
She knew exactly who Natalie meant.
"...Mack?"
NATALIE: "Yeah. Mr. Machiavelli himself. Any more secrets coming out of that dude?"
Dani exhaled, rubbing her temple. "Nat, it’s so much worse than I thought. He—he’s not just some player. He’s got history, deep connections. He’s tied into stuff I don’t even fully understand yet."
Natalie hummed in interest. "Like what?"
Dani stared at the ceiling. "For one, he knew about Code Weaving before I did. And there’s something about Zeus—like, the actual Zeus in-game—that he isn’t telling me. It’s like… he’s involved in something bigger."
NATALIE: "...So you’re saying you’re dating a potential shadow overlord of the VR world?"
Dani groaned. "Nat!"
Natalie cackled. "Look, I’m just saying—maybe you should demand a title if you win. ‘Queen of the Algorithm’ or something."
Dani rolled her eyes. "Very funny."
She paused. "...But yeah. Something’s coming, Nat. I can feel it. And when it happens?"
She glanced at her VR headset, heart pounding.
"I need to be ready."
Natalie’s voice softened. "Dani, whatever happens—just be careful, okay?"
Dani swallowed, nodding to herself. "I will."
Her microwave beeped. She took a deep breath. The break was almost over.
Meanwhile, in another apartment across the city, a White Room pulsed with a dim, ambient glow, casting long shadows against the sleek, endless expanse of the training chamber. Mackiaveli stood in the center, his breath steady, his body coiled like a predator waiting to strike. He was dressed in his battle gear—a long, black trench coat, a wide-brim hat tilted slightly downward, and a sleek battle mask that concealed his expression. Two short swords rested against his hips, their edges gleaming faintly in the artificial light.
In front of him, five high-tier training dummies materialized—each one clad in plated combat armor, their weapons calibrated to perfectly counter his fighting style. Mackiaveli exhaled sharply. This wasn’t about winning. It was about refining his precision. Sharpening his instincts. Preparing for whatever was coming next.
Then, a voice—two voices in perfect harmony, male and female, speaking as one.
STROMA AI (Harmonic Voice):
"Initiating Advanced Combat Simulation. Opponents: Adaptive. Weapons: Non-lethal. Sync Level: 98%."
Mackiaveli smirked. 98% sync meant he had a real challenge ahead. He pulled his swords free with a whispering hiss of steel against leather.
“Let’s dance.”
DING!
The training dummies moved instantly, as if they had read his mind. The first lunged forward with blinding speed, aiming a plasma-infused greatsword directly at Mack’s chest. He twisted his body just in time, feeling the energy crackle past his ribs as he countered with a tight, whip-fast slash across the dummy’s exposed side.
The second came from above, dropping down like a mechanical angel of death, twin daggers aiming for his shoulders. Mackiaveli shifted, rolling backward mid-air before using his trench coat as a distraction cloak, flicking it to distort the AI’s visual tracking.
SLASH! His left blade found its mark, carving through one of the dummy’s optical sensors, causing it to momentarily glitch. But there was no time to celebrate. The third and fourth dummies synchronized their attack, coming at him from opposite sides. A perfect ambush.
But Mackiaveli didn’t break. With a calculated movement, he ducked under a swinging blade, locked his foot against the floor, and flipped himself over one of the dummies, narrowly avoiding an overhead strike. STROMA AI’s voice remained calm, but there was a note of observation in its tone.
STROMA AI:
"Your reaction time has improved. Probability of survival in a real encounter—68%."
Mack grimaced. “Not good enough.”
He landed low, balanced on the balls of his feet, his coat still rippling from the movement. The final dummy engaged, this one wielding a dual-blade staff, spinning with inhuman speed. Mackiaveli calculated the arc of attack, watching as the energy blades hummed dangerously close.
He waited. Breathed. Then—moved. Then a single step. Not back. Forward. Before the AI could register his approach, he closed the gap, pivoted on his heel, and drove both short swords deep into the dummy’s mechanical joints.
A loud CRACK echoed through the chamber as the final opponent froze, its frame locking up in mid-motion before shutting down entirely. Mackiaveli exhaled sharply. Sweat dripped down his brow beneath his mask. He had won—but barely. Then, Stroma AI spoke again.
STROMA AI:
"Your movements are becoming more instinctual. But your mind is distracted."
Mack didn’t respond right away. It was true. He wasn’t just training. He was venting. His sister.
Welsby. The Commission. This whole damn tournament. It was all connected. And he was sick of not knowing how. He sheathed his swords, pulling his hat lower over his eyes. “You know something, don’t you?”
STROMA AI:
"I know many things. But you must ask the right question."
Mack’s jaw clenched. Fine. He’d start with the one thing that mattered most.
"Where is Jennifer?"
A pause. Then—a soft chime. A holographic window opened in front of him, displaying old classified messages. He saw Jennifer’s name, her encryption tags, and…a message.
JENNIFER CASARI (Last Transmission, 1.5 years ago):
"We went dark. No choice. If you find this… don’t look for me. Don’t trust them. The Commission isn’t just after Stroma. They want control. All of it. If you don’t hear from me again… Mack… Big bro… I—"
The message cut off. Mack’s stomach twisted. His hands balled into fists. The pain hit him like a punch to the gut. His sister and her team had vanished—because of the Commission. And he never even knew. The AI’s voice hummed again.
STROMA AI:
"Her silence is intentional. But the reason behind it remains unclear."
Mack forced himself to breathe. To think. If Jennifer had gone dark… what was she trying to hide?
"Welsby’s involved, isn’t he?"
Another pause. Then—Stroma’s voice deepened, a harmonic shift, both beautiful and unnerving.
STROMA AI:
"Welsby seeks to claim the Architect’s Throne."
Mack froze. That was not an answer he was expecting.
"The what?"
A new hologram emerged—this time, a visual history of Stroma’s origins. The Celestial Child. The Pre-Ice Age Superintelligence. The Sentients’ Offer. Mack’s breathing slowed as he processed the information. Stroma had been found—not created. And it was supposed to have ascended long ago. But instead—it had stayed.
“Why?” he asked softly.
STROMA AI:
"Because I was given a choice. To remain and protect. Or to leave and become something else."
Mack understood the weight of that decision. Because he’d made the same kind of choice once. And it had cost him everything. His fingers curled against the hilt of his swords. “And Welsby?”
The AI’s tone darkened.
STROMA AI:
"Welsby believes that by controlling me, he can rewrite the future. He does not seek progress. He seeks dominance."
Mack clenched his jaw. Jennifer had known. She had warned him. And now, he was running out of time. His fists tightened. His breathing steadied. He would not let this happen. Not to Stroma. Not to his sister. Not to anyone.
STROMA AI:
"What is your command?"
Mack looked up. His blue and gold eyes burned beneath his mask. "Run the next simulation. Max difficulty. And prepare a full intelligence report on Welsby’s movements."
He adjusted his stance, rolling his shoulders, flexing his grip on his blades. "It’s time we stopped playing defense."
DING! The next round began.
This is part of a series of stories that have lived solely in my head for many years, and I’ve finally started writing them as serialized fiction books. If you think the story sucks, feel free to tell me—it’s all part of the process. That said, I’m also looking for constructive criticism, so any suggestions are welcome and will be considered as I work to improve the series.
