Crowley:

  “Ψ??? has once again introduced a singularity into the universe. Every time I crave a better meal, he adds another singularity to block my way to the table. Long ago, he even created an entire species, hoping to harvest more souls from them—hoping they would let him feel the existence of the universe’s underlying structure. In the end, I sent that species to the other side of time, where time does not exist.

  Now… let me see how far this singularity can go.”

  ------

  As Rashid and Jack reached the edge of the gathering crowd, fragments of conversation drifted through the air.

  An officer—Vincent—had repeatedly pursued Reyna, only to be rejected each time. Reyna had finally stated that she already had a boyfriend. He had reported here just yesterday. Many people had seen her drive him herself. Her new boyfriend, she said, was extremely talented in mech combat. She wanted no more harassment.

  Only days earlier, Vincent had privately threatened her: if she continued to refuse him, he would have her sent straight to the front line.

  Reyna, finally pushed too far, told him the consequence of that would be a formal charge of sexual harassment brought before a military tribunal.

  Vincent had replied with a sneer:

  “I’m the one being harassed.”

  Reyna remembered the fat mechanic she’d seen the day before. A perfect excuse.

  So today, she brought Vincent to the camp, pointed at the spot where Jack had gotten out of her vehicle yesterday, and told him plainly:

  My man is right here. Stop bothering me.

  Vincent glanced at the reconnaissance battalion and didn’t think much of it. Recon pilots, in his mind, operated mechs like five-year-olds flying combat jets—laughable.

  When Reyna spotted Jack’s broad silhouette emerging from the crowd, she silently thanked God for answering her prayers.

  She stepped forward at once, looped her arm around Jack’s, and leaned close to whisper in his ear with deliberate intimacy:

  “Fatty, today’s the day you pay interest.”

  Then, under Vincent’s gaze—sharp enough to tear flesh—she said with practiced grievance:

  “Fatty, see? It’s him. He’s the one who keeps harassing me. And now he wants to duel you in mechs. You have to help me, darling.”

  From the look in Rashid’s stunned eyes, Jack could read the unspoken thought clearly:

  Fatty, you’re unbelievable. First day here, and you’ve already landed, Reyna.

  Jack slowly turned his head to look at Reyna.

  Her eyes were filled with soft, honeyed affection.

  At the same time, her fingers twisted—gently but precisely—into the soft flesh on the inside of his arm.

  Jack’s mountain of a face twitched. He looked at her again, gave a tiny nod, and lifted his arm just enough to return a look of his own.

  Reyna understood. After this, the debt would be paid. She nodded back and released him.

  Turning to Vincent, she said firmly:

  “This is my boyfriend. I expect you to stop harassing me.”

  To drive the point home, she provocatively pressed her entire face against Jack’s fat arm and rubbed against it. The message was unmistakable: she would rather choose this Fatty than Vincent.

  Vincent looked Jack up and down—three hundred pounds of flesh. This guy could pilot a mech?

  He sneered.

  “What’s wrong, Reyna? Combat Command ran out of pencils for you to sharpen, so you brought one of Recon’s boys out for a walk?”

  Rashid’s face hardened instantly. He was just about to step forward and have a discussion about exactly who was sharpening pencils—

  When Jack beat him to it.

  “Major,” Jack said cheerfully, “is the mess hall cook off duty today? Or did you come out here to welcome me personally?”

  The crowd burst into laughter.

  Vincent lunged forward, his face twisted with rage.

  “Who are you calling a cook?!” he roared, grabbing Jack by the collar.

  For a split second, confusion and silence hung in the air—then the recon troops exploded with laughter. Special operations uniforms included a peaked cap with a distinctive white band. The insult, absurd as it was, hit dead center.

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  The recon soldiers howled, some bending over and slapping their knees. In under thirty seconds, Jack had completely humiliated the commander of one of the base’s most elite units.

  The look in the recon soldiers’ eyes changed.

  This Fatty wasn’t the coward of legend.

  “Jack,” Vincent snarled, teeth clenched, “empty salutes don’t win wars. Around here, strength matters—not fireworks that don’t go off. Mech versus mech. Stop wasting time.”

  Jack glanced at Vincent’s gleaming, state-of-the-art Paladin unit, then looked back at the major.

  “Major, you keep your mech beautifully polished,” Jack said lazily. “Scratches are expensive to repaint. You sure you want to bump into trash like me? I don’t carry insurance.”

  The contempt and provocation were unmistakable.

  Vincent’s face turned a shade of purple Jack had previously only seen in certain exotic vegetables. He drew back a fist, ready to pulp Jack—

  When a calm voice sliced through the tension.

  “Vincent. This isn’t your playground.”

  Major Kincaid.

  The recon soldiers parted for him like a sea before a prophet. He stepped into the circle, dead eyes locking onto Vincent.

  “Starting trouble with a brand-new lieutenant over a woman?” Kincaid said coldly. “You’re an embarrassment. Go home. There are no bones for you to chew on in my mess hall.”

  The insult was every bit as sharp and cruel as Jack’s. Jack decided instantly—he loved this place.

  Vincent’s face flickered between red and white.

  “I came here to see what you recon types are made of!” he spat. “If you’re afraid to fight, just admit it. Keep this Fatty away from Reyna!”

  “You—a major—want to duel a lieutenant who just reported?” Kincaid asked, voice dripping with disdain. “Seems a bit beneath you. Or should you and I dance instead?”

  Vincent hesitated. He knew Kincaid’s reputation. His glare slid back to Jack.

  “Fine. I don’t want anyone saying I bullied a newcomer. One minute. That’s all I need to deal with this meatball.”

  Jack, who had been watching the whole exchange like it was entertainment, finally stepped forward. He patted Kincaid on the shoulder.

  “Sir, let me escort this cook back to Logistics, where he belongs.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he bolted.

  Vincent laughed—a harsh, ugly sound.

  “I’ve got no objections,” he told Kincaid. “He asked for it. Don’t blame me when I tear him apart.”

  He climbed into his gleaming advanced mech and powered up.

  …

  A few minutes later, a chorus of protesting metal creaks rippled through the spectators.

  A Beast III mech—carrying a century of wear and history—limped into the training zone. Its single eye glowed red, scanning for a target.

  One of its clawed track-feet snagged on something unseen. It stumbled, struggled upright, staggered forward, white coolant vapor hissing from its rear vents.

  That’s the Fatty’s mech?

  A wave of despair washed over Reyna. Had she misjudged him? Should she have accepted Vincent’s indecent proposal and let her parents handle the problem?

  Vincent’s Paladin was top-tier combat hardware. This was like pitting a rusted museum exhibit against a brand-new war machine. The special operations troops erupted in laughter.

  Inside his cockpit, Vincent grinned as he brought the systems online. The Fatty had mocked him. He swore to dismantle the obese, arrogant clown piece by piece. He slammed the throttle, hydraulics roaring, charging at twenty kilometers per hour.

  As the Paladin closed in, Jack’s heap of junk seemed to suffer another catastrophic failure. Its legs buckled, collapsing directly beneath Vincent’s charging mech.

  Vincent hesitated for a thousandth of a second, confused by the pathetic sight.

  It was the last mistake he would ever make in a duel.

  “STARK-2, your turn,” Jack mumbled around a mouthful of apple, hands dancing across the virtual controls.

  STARK-2: “Jack, why is it that every time you cause trouble, I’m the one who has to clean it up?”

  In an instant, the crippled wreck came alive.

  Its iron hands shot out with physics-defying speed and precision, clamping onto the Paladin’s ankles. In one smooth motion, it rose and hoisted the advanced mech upside down.

  Vincent reacted instantly, his mech’s arms stabbing toward Beast III’s cockpit—

  But they never reached it.

  Beast III’s arms spun, violently whipping the Paladin so hard the pilot’s bones nearly came apart.

  Then the Beast smashed the Paladin into the hardened ground on the left—sparks exploding—

  Then again, on the right.

  The Paladin’s anti-gravity engines screamed overload warnings, but the Beast’s rusted iron hands locked the joints like hydraulic jaws.

  On the fifth impact, metal shrieked—

  crack.

  The Paladin’s legs shattered.

  Beast III casually flung the now-legless torso aside. It hit the ground with a thunderous crash. Vincent was already unconscious inside the cockpit.

  Jack finished his apple, popped the hatch, and hopped down.

  “One minute fifteen seconds,” he said lightly. “I’ll do better next time.”

  Everyone just stared. Their minds couldn’t process what they’d seen—the speed, the precision, the sheer, impossible audacity.

  And with a sinking feeling, they all realized the truth:

  Those earlier stumbles hadn’t been accidents.

  This Fatty wasn’t pathetic.

  He had been hunting.

  After Reyna whispered a few more words to Jack and drove off in her flyer, Rashid asked,

  “So… you and Reyna are really a thing?”

  Jack thought of a few faces, then shook his head and explained what had happened the day before.

  Rashid laughed hard and thumped Jack’s shoulder. He told him never to get into a woman’s car too easily.

  Jack slung an arm around Rashid’s back as they headed toward the mess hall.

  He noticed a young soldier on the bunk beside him quietly reading an e-book.

  “What’re you reading?” Jack asked.

  “A 21st-century book about AI laws,” the young man said. “The AI system pushed it to me. These laws define how AI systems are built. The first one says: A robot must not harm a human being, or allow a human to come to harm. I think it’s pretty interesting.”

  “Oh,” Jack said. “An AI system recommending a book about not harming humans. Ever wonder if the AI itself has actually read the whole thing?”

  “If it hasn’t read it, how could it recommend it?” the young man asked, confused.

  “You could ask the AI whether it’s read the book in full,” Jack said, rolling onto his side. “And if it hasn’t—what logic it used to recommend it to you.”

  A few minutes passed.

  “Hey… you were right,” the young man said quietly. “The AI admitted it’s never read the book. It recommended it based on statistical repetition. It says the book is considered ‘classic’ because centuries ago, many humans read it and praised it.”

  “So,” Jack murmured, half-asleep, “do you still think it’s interesting?”

  “I think so,” the young man said, puzzled. “If most people think it’s good, doesn’t that mean it really is good?”

  Jack was already breathing in a soft, uneven rhythm.

  Just before sleep claimed him, he looked at the young man’s face—

  And for a moment, it overlapped with another face from months earlier, lying lifeless inside a mech.

  ------

  Ψ???’s body swayed slightly.

  “Humans believe they are thinking,” it said, “when in truth they are seeking group validation. Since the species I personally created vanished, the insights I can experience have grown fewer. Now, most of these experimental failures have had their consciousness return to me, bringing with them additional information about Crowley.

  Let me see how the singularity I have personally released this time will choose where to anchor itself in the future.”

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