“So… start showing them to the fourth-year students and taking orders first?” I reasoned, trying to claw the conversation back to something resembling sanity. “Unless we lose this, then I guess the Phoenix team gets them first. A fate worse than death, probably involving mandatory team-building exercises.”

  “Uhh… Blueprint?” Akyo’s voice was a tiny, nervous whisper over the channel, cutting through my spiraling thoughts.

  “Yes?” I said, as the giant arena doors began to grind open, blinding light and a wall of noise flooded into our preparation area.

  “I don’t think letting the fourth years know is going to be a problem…”

  The Arena was packed. Not just “interested observers” packed. This was a “school assembly with a fire-breathing dragon” packed. “Black Friday sale on classy super-suits” packed.

  A veritable sea of faces, student uniforms, and what looked like half the teaching staff stared back at us from the bleachers. On a Wednesday night. I half-expected to see vendors in the aisles selling popcorn, overpriced drinks, and “Team Blueprint” t-shirts. The sheer volume of it was staggering.

  “What… The… Fu…” I started to say, my cynicism momentarily overwhelmed by sheer, unadulterated shock.

  “Is this for us?” Mindy asked, sounding as stunned as I felt.

  “Yes and no,” Network replied from her cozy, safe chair far, far away. “There’s been a lot of buzz on the school forums about Chinook’s armor and the mysterious handsome alpha boy that always shows up surrounded by girls, made the armor, and whose power set is nearly completely unknown since you managed to display both super speed and healing abilities. You’re the talk of the school, Blueprint. A man of mystery, wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in a very tight suit.”

  “You are supposed to be actually fighting tonight, and there’s tons of curiosity, and some of the fourth-years took advantage of the buzz to schedule duels afterwards. A full card tonight. I also got a few...umm… special bits of info about you, Blueprint.” Her tone was far too cheerful.

  “Dare I ask?” I grumbled, a sense of dread pooling in my stomach. “Is it about my tragic backstory? My failed career as a superhero? My crippling energy debt? Please, let it be something normal and depressing.”

  She laughed. “Nothing so mundane. Yeah, I peeked into Flashwork’s private messaging. She’s been bragging to Cruise that after the fight, she’s going to drag you into taking her on a date, so that she can hopefully ‘put the mystery at rest.’”

  “What mystery?” I grumbled, exasperated. “I’m an open book. A boring, cynical, traumatized book with a predictable plot and a disappointing ending. I talk to you guys all the time, never dodge teacher questions in classes, run my mouth in tactics class, and say hi to anyone that says hi to me, even if I have no clue who it was that just waved at me. What more do they want? A blood sample?”

  “Yeah, umm… more like social mysteries,” Network said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

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  “Social mysteries?”

  “Yep,” Chinook confirmed with undisguised glee. “Who you are actually dating amongst us, if you’re secretly gay, if your body really looks as good without clothes as it does in that suddenly-very-tight uniform, deep dark personal tragedies, speculative dick size, all that sort of prime rumor bait. Mostly, they already think you are a nice guy cause you don’t constantly talk shit, and rumors of your… nakedness in the gym have already gotten around, but some of the girls are ready to claw eyes out to find out more. Hell, Phantom Pain said she’d pay a thousand dollars for anyone who can get a clear picture of you with an erection, so they can find out if you are a shower or a grower. The market for intel on you is booming, Jake. You’re a commodity.”

  I sighed, the weight of a thousand idiotic, prurient curiosities pressing down on my shoulders. “Thanks, Chinook. Now I can’t get that out of my head. The image of Phantom Pain offering a bounty on my junk is now permanently seared into my cortex. My therapist is going to need a therapist.”

  “Hah! You know I could use an extra grand. Hell, YOU could use an extra grand; your diet budget is probably more than my nation’s GDP. I’d split it with you. Five hundred apiece. I’d even be happy to be your fluffer to get you ready for the picture. Maybe help you relax afterwards. Think of it as a team-building exercise.” Her tone was utterly serious.

  “Right. If you didn’t try to monetize my genitalia, I’d think something was fundamentally wrong with you.”

  “No, I am actually serious. You said you won’t date or have sex with an alpha. There are lots of things we could do that don’t technically count as sex. I’m very creative. We could solve your money problems and my new-boots-for-the-winter problems in one afternoon. It’s just good economics.”

  “Shush. We are being called,” Glacier Girl snapped, her irritation a welcome dose of frosty normality in the sea of insanity. We moved out as the green light above the door lit up, signaling our entrance. “Do we all know our role? Can we focus on the fact that we are about to fight for our ranking and potentially millions of dollars in gear bets, and not on the… financial opportunities presented by Blueprint’s anatomy?”

  “Yep,” Chinook said, all business again. “Terracotta and I play wall. You and Blueprint play set-up, and then we knock ‘em down.”

  I nodded inside my helmet, my eyes already scanning the arena layout. “All three of you play finisher games. I have my ‘special suit weapons’ approved, but I’d rather not let this many people know about them. Keep them in reserve. Chinook, keep your ears open for my cues. I have a few ideas to give you an edge, but I will need to see these people in action before I try them. Terracotta? Remember to slow the hell down. I know you are tickled pink about your new suit upgrades, but only go into overdrive if you absolutely have to. It would be a hell of a surprise in whatever challenge you whip it out in, so I’d like to keep it a surprise.”

  I looked around the Arena. It wasn’t set up with any special environments this time, no lava pits or ice fields. Just a simple, brutal series of pylons rising from the ground to break line-of-sight and prevent easy running or flying takedowns. Simple. Classic. Like us, the other team was splitting from their doorway, heading behind the pylons, their energy signatures coiling like hidden snakes.

  “Remember, the enemy’s gate is down,” I said, quoting ancient nerd scripture for luck. “Wait, uhh… who the hell is that?” I asked, noticing that rather than the gray tech-suit I was expecting from their roster, a massive, lumbering fellow I recognized from the clinic was diving towards a pylon. He was built like a brick wall and currently dressed like a pro wrestler from a particularly aggressive promotion.

  “Shit, they have a ringer,” Chinook hissed, her voice tight. “That’s Oahu. He’s a fourth-year and currently rank three. Unbelievably tough, and he gets stronger the more hits he takes. A total damage sponge. This just got a lot harder.”

  “Is that… legal?” I asked, a spike of alarm shooting through me. This was not in the briefing.

  “Yes, technically, although them pulling in a fourth-year instead of forcing Quiet Code to risk millions of dollars worth of her expensive drones might be considered a little unfair. A dick move, but a legal dick move.”

  “Millions?” I gulped, diving next to Chinook behind a thick pylon, breaking line-of-sight from this range.