The gong's echo died in Limbo's dead air.

  Beatrix waited for Kuzima. Both women circled each other across gray sand. Thirty thousand people watching. Millions more on feeds.

  “The pressure is on her.” Bodhi had said. But Kuzima was smiling.

  Virgil's voice cut through Beatrix's skull.

  Oh.

  “Why would…” Rain's breath caught on the team channel: "Wait. Virgil, confirm vulnerability in opponent systems?"

  A pause. Beatrix could almost see Rain analyzing options, fingers dancing across interfaces in the booth above. She felt the familiar tingling in her skin, code was fighting code.

  Rain said. "Let’s take the Dislocator down."

  “Wait. Rain, what about the Cinderella app?"

  "But I can take out her Dislocator. That's worth more than looking pretty."

  Beatrix wasn’t feeling too sure about that.

  Three seconds of silence.

  Then Rain: "Got it. Dislocator's crippled."

  Kuzima stopped circling. Clapped, and laughed. Beatrix felt it happening before anyone could see it.

  The Cinderella app inverted.

  Suddenly, like a mask being torn off. The same algorithms that had made her look polished, powerful, professional, they ran backward. Exaggerated flaws instead of hiding them. Made dirt look darker, skin look worse, turned beauty enhancement into an ugliness amplifier.

  There was a murmur in the stands. She could see it in the arena's giant screens. Her appearance glitching, flickering between enhanced and corrupted states. Half her face rendered perfectly, half looking like someone had smeared her with mud and grease. Hair shifting through adaptive colors but broken, stuttering, obviously malfunctioning.

  The crowd saw it too. Someone laughed. Then more. Then thousands.

  The sound crushed her. The laughs, the mockery. Everyone was entertained by the spectacle of a scavenger's tech failing at the worst possible moment.

  Proof she didn't belong here. Proof she was pretending. Proof she was small.

  In her ear, Bodhi's voice was cold and strong: "Kid. Stay cold. Remember the plan."

  "Fuck ice," Beatrix whispered.

  "Kid, don't…"

  She attacked.

  Kuzima saw it coming. She sidestepped. Didn't even need to block.

  Of course she did. She moved with the confidence of someone who had watched every one of Beatrix's fights.

  "Predictable," she said, mic turned on. Voice calm, conversational. For the crowd's benefit as much as Beatrix's. "Angry. As always."

  Kuzima countered before Beatrix could establish the grip.

  Then she stepped in. Close. Too close for Beatrix to reset her stance.

  Beatrix saw it coming. The setup. The positioning.

  The Dislocator.

  The punch that had ended three fights before semifinals. The move Kuzima's team had spent thousands of credits perfecting. The reason Dis had bet so heavily on her. Beatrix tried to move. Too slow. Overcommitted.

  The punch connected.

  But Beatrix didn't fly across the arena. Didn't ragdoll into the wall like Kuzima's previous opponents. She staggered back. Three steps. Four. Hurt, her ribs screaming where the impact had landed.

  But standing.

  “Yes! It worked.” Rain celebrated. For exactly two seconds, Beatrix felt hope.

  Kuzima was staring at her own fist. Confused.

  “Crappy punch.” Beatrix shouted, trying to bring some pressure back to her.

  Her hand came up, fingers moving through the air, checking readouts only she could see through her neural interface. The Dislocator app was there. Active. But power-limited. Dampened.

  Someone had hacked her. Her head snapped up. Eyes found Beatrix first. Then shifted to the technical booth high above the arena. Understanding dawned on her perfect features. Followed by something Beatrix had never seen on her face before: Embarrassment.

  "Fine."

  Kuzima's voice was tight. The professional calm cracking like ice under pressure.

  "We'll do this the hard way."

  Kuzima came at her again. Faster now. The clinical precision replaced with something sharper. More personal.

  Beatrix tried to reset. Find some rhythm, some angle, some technique Kuzima hadn't already studied and countered.

  Nothing worked.

  Every attack, already anticipated. Every strategy, already broken. Every desperate gambit, already filed under "scavenger desperation tactics" in some Dis database.

  Kuzima was faster. Better prepared. Had an army of people analyzing Beatrix's every move in real-time, feeding her adjustments, optimizing her performance.

  The math was brutal.

  Kuzima struck. Again. Again. Methodical dismantling.

  "You're very consistent," she said. "It makes you easy to plan for."

  Hit.

  "Wonder what your brother thinks, watching this."

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  Hit.

  "Watching you prove exactly what everyone suspected, that scavengers don't belong in professional competitions."

  Hit.

  Beatrix's knee buckled. She caught herself. Rose.

  Kuzima circled. Not pressing. No need to rush. The crowd was getting what they wanted, the underdog story collapsing in real-time.

  "You know what's pathetic?" Kuzima's voice had shifted. Lost some of its clinical calm. Gained an edge. "You actually thought you could win."

  The shift was subtle but real. Her plan, quick, clean, professional victory, was taking too long. Beatrix kept getting up. The crowd was getting restless.

  Kuzima was getting .

  "A scav," she continued. Moving in. "With stolen tech she doesn't understand."

  Hit.

  "Playing pretend with the professionals."

  Hit.

  Beatrix tried to counter. Too slow. Kuzima caught her arm, twisted, threw her to the sand.

  "Stay down."

  Beatrix rose.

  "I said stay down." Kuzima's perfect composure was cracking. Voice tight. The efficiency she'd promised the crowd was slipping away.

  Because Beatrix wouldn't quit.

  Wouldn't submit.

  Wouldn't give Kuzima the fast, clean win she'd planned.

  So Kuzima escalated.

  "What is your brother going to say?" She circled Beatrix like a predator. "He will die."

  Something cold spread through Beatrix's chest.

  "In the trash."

  "Where you belong." Kuzima's voice dropped, vicious. "You are dirt."

  Hit.

  "You are dumb."

  "You are…"

  She leaned close. Voice barely a whisper but carrying through every mic in the arena:

  "...."

  The word hit harder than any punch.

  The thing Beatrix had spent her entire life trying not to be.

  The thing her mother's death had forced her to become, invisible, insignificant, just another scavenger in the dark.

  The thing the Protocol was supposed to fix.

  The thing that defined her every waking moment.

  Kuzima turned away. Starting to walk. Victory lap beginning.

  "Now, you…" she said over her shoulder.

  She didn't finish.

  Because Beatrix was changing.

  It started in her bones.

  Deep. Fundamental. Like they were being hollowed out and filled with something that burned.

  Virgil said.

  "No," Beatrix whispered.

  "Stop."

  "I SAID STOP."

  But the Protocol didn't listen to words.

  It listened to need.

  And Beatrix needed…

  …needed…

  …NEEDED…

  …to stop being small.

  The pain started.

  Not in one place. Everywhere. Her spine arching, vertebrae cracking as they lengthened. Skin stretching. Muscles tearing and reforming. Biology being rewritten in real-time.

  "Virgil, what…"

  The pain was exquisite. Bones breaking and rebuilding. Flesh expanding. Every cell in her body screaming as the Protocol forced them past human limits.

  And underneath the agony…

  …a choice.

  She knew what this meant.

  Deep in her hindbrain where logic couldn't reach, Beatrix felt it: The Protocol offering her power. Showing her what she could become. The price she'd pay.

  She saw herself transformed. Bigger. Stronger. Unstoppable.

  Saw the countdown timer on her lifespan. Saw the hollow eyes of the monster she'd become. Saw everything she'd lose.

  And Virgil's voice, changed now, resonant, hungry, speaking to something primal:

  "What…?"

  Beatrix heard Rain's voice crack through the comm: "No. No no no…" She could hear his fingers flying across interfaces. Desperate. Panicked. "Emergency shutdown. Authorization code Rain-Seven-Seven-Tango…"

  "Beatrix, your vitals are spiking into the red!" Rain was shouting now. "You're over the threshold! Shut it down! You have to shut it down NOW!"

  Those were her options. Shut it down and stay small…

  Or…

  "Virgil. Hulk Mode."

  And the monster came.

  The transformation hurt worse than anything Beatrix had ever felt.

  Bones lengthening. Spine extending. Ribs cracking and reforming to accommodate larger organs. Skin splitting as muscles expanded beyond natural limits.

  Her height increased. Six inches. Eight. Ten.

  Mass building visibly. Two hundred pounds heavier. All of it muscle and bone density that shouldn't exist in human biology.

  And the pain…

  …the pain was everything.

  Until it wasn't.

  The world changed.

  Sound muffled. The crowd's roar became distant, underwater. The only loud thing was her heartbeat, deep, resonant, powerful. A war drum announcing annihilation.

  Sight altered. Her vision tinted red. Monochrome arterial crimson. She stopped seeing people. Started seeing threats, structures, weak points. Everything reduced to tactical geometry.

  Touch vanished. The pain of her injuries, the cracked ribs, the damage, the accumulating trauma, disappeared. Overwritten. Pain receptors shut down to free processing power for violence.

  And with the pain, her humanity receded. Her fear for Dante. Her bond with the team. Her memories of her mother. Her hope for the future. They stopped mattering.

  Files being closed to free up resources. The transformation was a violent simplification of her soul. Everything that made her human being pushed aside to make room for the weapon.

  The transformation completed.

  Beatrix, the thing that had been Beatrix, stood in the center of the arena.

  Eight inches taller than baseline. Easily two hundred pounds heavier. All of it wrong. All of it power that biology said couldn't exist.

  Black matte skin, tougher. Muscles defined like carved stone. Eyes burning red with Protocol fire.

  She looked at her hands. Flexed them.

  Felt invincible.

  Felt terrifying.

  Felt…

  …perfect.

  Beatrix screamed. Roared. A sound that paralyzed everything, everyone.

  Across the sand, Kuzima had gone very still.

  For the first time in her professional career, she looked afraid.

  Kuzima broke first. Turned. Started to run.

  Beatrix moved.

  Not human speed anymore. The Protocol had optimized her muscle fiber, enhanced her neural processing, stripped away every limitation that had kept her slow.

  She closed the distance in three strides.

  Grabbed Kuzima by the armor.

  Slammed her into the ground.

  The impact cratered sand. Kuzima's perfect composure shattered into raw terror.

  "I yield!" Her voice cracked. "I YIELD!"

  Inside the Hulk body, Beatrix heard her.

  Understood the words.

  She didn't care.

  Another slam.

  Kuzima's platinum armor, designed to withstand tournament combat, cracked like paper.

  Beatrix lifted Kuzima. Threw her across the arena.

  The corporate fighter hit the wall. Crumpled. Tried to rise.

  Couldn't.

  The Hulk body moved anyway.

  Walked toward Kuzima. Raw. Brutal.

  Kuzima crawling backward. Armor shattered. Face bleeding. Whispering: "Please. Please no. I submit. I submit."

  She didn’t want to stop. Not yet. Not until Kuzima understood what small meant. She reached out. Grabbed her by the throat.

  Enough.

  The final roar tore out of her. Not quite human. Not quite animal.

  Hers.

  > HULK MODE: DISABLED.

  The transformation reversed. The pain coming down was worse than going up.

  Bones compressing. Muscles tearing as they shrank. Skin contracting. Every cell being forced back into human shape.

  Beatrix collapsed to her knees in the sand. Breathing. Hurting. Alive.

  Kuzima was unconscious. Armor shattered. Alive but broken.

  The arena was silent.

  Thirty thousand people didn't know how to react to what they'd just witnessed.

  Blake stood frozen. Arbiter robes perfect. Expression shattered. He should call the fight. Should declare Beatrix the winner. Should do his job. He didn’t move.

  Beatrix rose. Slowly. Every muscle screaming.

  Looked at Blake.

  Waited.

  He still didn't speak. Just stared.

  So Beatrix walked away. Left the crowd silent.

  Walked alone through the exit tunnel. Footsteps echoing. Body numb.

  Behind her, chaos was starting. Medical teams rushing to Kuzima. Blake finally remembering he had a job. The crowd finding their voices.

  But Beatrix couldn't hear any of it. Just the sound of her own heartbeat. And Virgil's voice. Quiet now. Almost gentle.

  The tunnel was dark. Cold. Empty.

  Beatrix leaned against the wall. Felt the transformation's aftershocks running through her. Bones aching. Muscles torn. Biology crying out from being reshaped and reshaped again.

  "Talk," she said.

  Silence.

  "Good enough for one final fight."

  She looked at her hands. Still shaking. Still felt the ghost of Kuzima's armor cracking under her fingers. Still felt the monster living inside her skin.

  "What should I derive from it?"

  Long silence.

  She thought about Dante. About the final against Charon. Just one more fight.

  "Then I'll live fast," she said.

  "It's all I've got."

  Beatrix closed her eyes. Felt tears on her face. Didn't know when they'd started.