Jada wakes up sweating on a tattered floor mat in a maroon cell with blood-red corners. As she sits up, the floor feels hollow. She hears motion above and below her, then straightens her musty track suit and groggily walks to her entrance, a semi-transparent yellow energy wall.

She looks through -and doesn’t dare touch- the hot wall. She sees into a circular tower of hundreds more cells. She looks down and gets vertigo from a three hundred foot drop. Every cell matches hers exactly: maroon, single floor mat, plus a black speaker in the top corner. Large programs contort themselves to avoid burning on the energy wall. It appears most didn’t sleep last night.

With a rumble, a door at the ground level opens. Seven round steel tanks roll across black tiles into the dark building, and an authority in bright blue follows suit. Each tank is equipped with helicopter blades and three rectangular black slates. He pulls out a hand radio and his bored voice echos through every tower speaker.

OFFICER

Good morning Tier Two. Day one is just getting started, so sit back and watch what you’ll do tomorrow. You should also know you’ll get three meals today.

(mockingly)

Don’t get too restless!

He marches out. The tanks fold their treads as the helicopter blades start to chop. One by one, they fly and distribute to the levels of the tower, giving everyone a rectangular screen to look at.

As the paratanks stabilize, their chopping becomes a low hum and the screens power up. The cell speakers crackle harshly:

BRICK (ON SCREEN)

Gooooood morning Publica!

The crowd on screen cheers enthusiastically.

***

In the same recovery cafeteria as last night, Cyrus settles in with a different smoothie can: Sweet Tart Pink Juice. He watches a screen on the columns above, scratching the back of his neck. On screen, Brick sits again in his glass office, holding a microphone.

BRICK (ON SCREEN)

You are about to see an all out brawl among the finest three thousand, four hundred twelve warriors of our domain. The rules are very simple for Tier 1, kill or be killed. No ties, no forfeits. Once we start: We. Don’t. Stop. The match will end when there are only eight programs left. These select few will proceed through the tournament. We cheer for deletion because it takes courage to die, and courage to kill!

***

Phaedra stands on the transport pad in her cell, listening to the energy of the Arena through her window.

PHAEDRA

They’ll beam us down in a moment, Pix.

PIX

Yes.

PHAEDRA

I think we’d do more good working at the same time instead of… independently. I’d like to call a truce for now.

PIX

I agree. For now.

Pix stands on his transport pad, as do the rest of the Tier One Hostiles.

***

Brick, in his same dark gray ripped overalls, overlooks the crowded Arena from his glass tower. Three paracameras and a row of intense halogen lights focus on him and his mic.

BRICK

Programs always ask, “What if it gets dark and there are too many programs left?”

He laughs deeply.

BRICK

A brawl never lasts that long.

The crowd cheers.

***

Cyrus takes a hard swallow of his drink.

BRICK (ON SCREEN)

THREE.

***

Jada sits on the floor of her overheated cell, watching the paratank screen.

BRICK (ON SCREEN)

TWO.

***

In Pix’s black chamber – Sophia sits in a queenly chair, watching an ornate color-broadcast screen.

BRICK (ON SCREEN)

ONE.

***

Phaedra hears Brick echo up from the Arena: “FIGHT!”

Her transport pad flashes white, quickly turning her clothes and body in energy. She hears a whoosh, her core almost floats up into her throat, and then back down as she feels solid dirt. She hears an oppressive roar, then a series of whooshes at various distances.

The oval Arena comes into focus: a pure white colosseum filled with twenty thousand Peacefuls under a bright, clear blue sky. They cheer as the dirt field populates by the hundreds, then thousands. Phaedra sees her opponents take action – there is no optimal direction, she must move.

The chaos of deletion fills the Arena. She hears the cries of monstrous, bizarre, differently-sized programs as they’re bashed, blown up, beheaded – every wound spilling oil. The clashes of metal on wood, stone on laser, gun fire and elements answer the screaming crowd.

Phaedra focuses inward and dissipates, then calls a rush of air underneath to lift herself fifty feet. She solidifies her upper half to take a proper look at the huge white exits at the four sides of the field. She calls out:

PHAEDRA

MY FRIENDS, IT IS TIME!

Below, a network of thirty programs clap their hands together straight above their heads. In the stands, thousands more do the same.

PHAEDRA

AGAIN!

The programs who understand the signal clap again above their heads. This time, more in sync, and much louder.

PHAEDRA

AGAIN!

A third, perfectly synced clap. It echoes throughout the Arena, with enough impact to pause the battle.

PHAEDRA

MY NAME IS PHAEDRA ANANDA!

An arrow whizzes through the air toward Phaedra – she dissipates and lets it pass through her cloud.

***

In his glass observation tower, Brick strokes his dark beard. He squints to see Phaedra continue her speech.

PHAEDRA (FAR)

THERE IS A PLACE BEYOND PUBLICA, WE CAN END THIS CYCLE EARLY AND LEAVE! I HOPE YOU WILL JOIN ME! 

***

A few hundred programs in the crowd groan at the interruption, hundreds more seem intrigued, and those who know her plan proselytize. The crowd no longer roars, but chatters, losing focus on the brawl. Meanwhile, the clashing, explosions, and sounds of death resume among the thousand living Hostiles.

***

In her hot cell, Jada notes Phaedra’s ability.

***

Phaedra guides herself down with another gust of wind. She solidifies fully on the ground, purple-orange robes intact, and looks for a follower – anyone who could defend actively. She sees a pale whisp dart between five Hostiles, leaving a trail of silk.

PHAEDRA

Earnest!

The white worm notices Phaedra, then turns to bite his rear spinneret. He takes the end of silk and, like a bullet, yanks up and backward. Each point of the silk contracts into a straight line, cutting and tripping the five programs he crossed. He bounds over them, and with another set of silk points, neatly beheads all five.

EARNEST

(gritting his teeth)

Ms. Ananda!

He spits the silk from his mouth and slides to her like an accordion. As he approaches, she angles herself to cover her back.

EARNEST

I’m frightfully sorry you have to see me like this.

PHAEDRA

Desperate times, Earnest. Have you seen the others?

EARNEST

I saw some when we clapped – but I’ve been most distracted by Pix.

PHAEDRA

You’ve met him!? Incoming!

Phaedra dissipates as a football-player of a program tries to tackle her. He fumbles and Earnest jumps onto him, drawing a spiral of silk around his body. The worm bounds off the hulking program’s head, yanks, and the program slices into oily slabs.

Phaedra reforms, and the two search the loud battlefield for allies.

EARNEST

At first I didn’t take him seriously – but he started recruiting left and right! He was able to convince Tier Ones!

PHAEDRA

Incredible!

EARNEST

Four o clock!

Phaedra becomes a violet cloud as a boulder heaves through the air, destroying the ground she stood on. She takes a moment and reforms on top of the boulder. She looks to her side and spots Ben sixty feet away, having just blown his shotgun through the primate-type who pitched the boulder.

EARNEST

Benjamin, dear boy!

Earnest sidewinds as Phaedra and Ben run to meet each other, all dodging stray projectiles and debris.

EARNEST

It turns out Hostiles do respect displays of force-

Phaedra and Ben embrace, Earnest watches their backs.

PHAEDRA 

I see.

She and Ben separate and turn outward.

PHAEDRA

I know you wanted to, I just couldn’t-

EARNEST

I know, I know. Ben, any injuries!?

Ben shakes his head.

BEN

I’m good, Earn. Glad we found each other.

He stays pristine in his gray tank top, red shorts, and white runners. He shoulders a utility band of shotgun ammo and readies his weapon.

PHAEDRA

Any more allies?

BEN

Not yet. Pix is something else, huh?

***

Things complicate in Pix’s chamber. Sophia has created rooms and divisions with the black blocks – it’s become a one-level school with shiny black hallways, low-res tablets and mounted screens in each room entertain the Hostiles.

A three headed lizard falls from Pix’s ceiling-mouth and lands in an enormous black funnel. The Hostile rolls down through the center, then thuds onto a gelatinous landing pad. Sophia stands by taking notes.

THREE-HEADS

Oof-f.

Sophia smiles big.

SOPHIA

Hello and welcome! This is Pix’s chamber. We have classrooms organized by type, and a common room if you’re feeling social. Your powers won’t work here – all are equal.

THREE-HEADS

(in unison)

W-wow. He wasn’t joking, it’s hug-ge.

SOPHIA

Oh yes – and what’s your name?

THREE-HEADS

W-we’re Renzo-o.

SOPHIA

Renzo, got it. Off you go – after this fight we’ll meet for introductions.

***

Pix stretches effortlessly to avoid attacks. He wraps his arm around a program with a boar’s head and soldier’s body.

PIX

Do you want to live or die?

BOAR

I want to live!

PIX

You will be absorbed and await instructions.

BOAR

Yes! Yes anything! You’re amazing!

Pix unhinges his jaw and wraps his mouth entirely around the head of the Boar, he unwraps his arm, then with another lurch pushes the boar down his own throat. His black and white robe detaches along the sides to allow for increased width. As Pix swallows, he reverts in size. The magnet fasteners reattach as if nothing happened. He scans with his hockey puck eyes, fully aware that his pure white skin makes him a target on the brown battlefield.

***

Cyrus sits in the cafeteria in awe of the destruction and violence. The broadcast flips between three paracamera angles, with titles overlaid of programs as they kill and die. Over the next few minutes, a ticker on the bottom of the screen counts down steadily from 934… 752… 638 programs remaining. A loud explosion knocks off another 50.

Cyrus turns away. The fifty-odd recovering programs around him chat and eat. Some point at the screen to comment on impressive attacks, or who might be front runners.

CYRUS

Are we all cool with this!?

At the nearest table, a skinny program with long thick hair, a leg cast, and two crutches pipes up.

CRUTCHES

You new?

CYRUS

Uh… yeah.

The program starts talking quickly.

CRUTCHES

Welcome to Publica – I feel like no one really says that to the newbies.

CYRUS

Oh… Thanks I guess. I’m Cyrus, by the way.

Cyrus reaches out for a handshake.

CRUTCHES

Troy – my pronouns are they-them.

Troy speedily shakes Cyrus’s hand.

TROY

Everyone hates their first brawl – but you get used it – part of being Peaceful is acceptance – this is how things go – we work, the Hostiles kill each other, and if we follow rules we can relax.

Troy starts bouncing their uninjured leg. On a screen above, the ticker reads 313.

CYRUS

Relax? In a recovery ward?

TROY

Oh, haha – it’s not bad buddy – they have good painkillers and I sleep a bit better here – honk shoo honk shoo, you know?

CYRUS

…How’d you get injured?

TROY

Workplace hostility – some guy lost his cool – threw a cabinet at my leg.

CYRUS

Is that common!? That’s how my friend Jada got arrested!

TROY

Yeah, I’ve heard one a day per workplace.

CYRUS

PER DAY!?

TROY

For sure – researchers look for ways to keep us happy – course if we don’t like it we can sign up for Tier 3.

Cyrus gulps.

CYRUS

Delete Day?

TROY

Yeah – at least with Tier 1 and 2 there’s a fight – Tier 3 is just sad.

CYRUS

I can’t imagine.

TROY

Give it time – you might start to imagine.

The ticker reads 147.

***

The sounds of battle have thinned, the field now war-torn and oily. Diverse bodies succumb to lethal injuries. Corpses of all types have piled: human, insect, mammal, reptile, geometric, floral, and fungi. Many breathe their last, oil out, or collapse from instability.

Phaedra assembled her surviving followers. Ben, Earnest, four martial artists, two archers, three bombers, an elemental, and a pack of four canine-type programs.

PHAEDRA

You’re all doing fantastic! Just a little longer!

She stands vigilantly at the center of her followers, all facing out to defend their pacifist leader. Through the mess of bodies, at the other end of the oval battlefield, she sees Pix dodge and parry a dozen Hostiles at once.

Pix wonders how only eight programs are supposed to survive. Phaedra’s crew numbers more – does she expect them to live?

He morphs to lay his body flat as an enormous lobster claw swipes to knock him out. He pops back up, shapes his hand into a machete, and cleaves the lobster claw open. He guts the lobster-type and shouts to the other eleven attacking:

PIX

Do you want to live or die!?

At once, they yell:

HOSTILES

DIE!

***

Brick sits in his glass observation tower in a chic gray office chair, watching the action closely on a large flatscreen. He sips water from a glass liter bottle. The sky has shifted from clear to dusky blue. The fighters have thinned to 73, the crowd now more quietly invested. The chatter from Phaedra’s disturbance was short-lived, thank God. Nothing can sustain the program’s interest like these fights. The delete rate continues on schedule.

The paracameras orbit different Hostiles, occasionally zooming in for slow-motion replay. The scrolling ticker shows crimes, kill counts, age, and abilities. 

***

Phaedra stands with her inner circle and sees few Hostiles remaining.

PHAEDRA

Earnest.

EARNEST

Yes, miss?

The crew advances toward the cluster of action near Pix.

PHAEDRA

Pix and I spoke this morning and declared a truce. I’m wondering if you can lead a faction to be absorbed by him. I don’t want to lose more programs if possible.

EARNEST

Oh my.

A few in the circle hear this and frown.

BEN

Ms. Ananda, I’ll gladly go.

PHAEDRA

Thank you Ben.

An enormous, fleshy green program walks and groans heavily in the distance. Phaedra’s crew continues through the field, now deflecting stray bullets and energy attacks.

EARNEST

If I may, miss!

PHAEDRA

Of course!

EARNEST

There’s no guarantee that we can escape Pix later!

An energy particle zips over Phaedra’s head.

PHAEDRA

I want you to have something, not just die on this field! Being absorbed could be something! Please consider the options!

EARNEST

Miss, others can go with Ben! I would be honored to sacrifice myself to end this match!

PHAEDRA

Earnest, you don’t-!

EARNEST

It’s not really for you, miss!

The huge green program turns its cyclops eye to Phaedra’s crew and stalks toward them. Beyond, Pix defends himself against another wave of resistant Hostiles.

PHAEDRA

What do you mean?!

EARNEST

What more do I need to accomplish?! I was born to delete! Nothing else feels this good!

PHAEDRA

Didn’t you want to see beyond Publica?! There may still be something-!

EARNEST

It would be shades of the same color, miss! This is all I ever needed to do!

They duck under a loud fireball.

PHAEDRA

Then stay out with me!

The fleshy program, twenty feet tall, light green and naked, balances a heavy torso on small legs. Black oil streams from injuries and projectiles lodged in its body. It drags a canoe-sized club toward Phaedra’s crew.

EARNEST

(just to her)

I’m sorry miss. I can’t.

Earnest breaks formation, dodges an arrow, and sidewinds toward the cyclops.

CYCLOPS

Worm…

The cyclops heaves the club toward Earnest, misses, and slams the ground, sending a mess of dirt forward. Phaedra and her crew disperse to either side. The canines -a husky, pug, lab, and mutt- hustle to a wide square around the Cyclops. Earnest evades through rapid contractions and lays his neutralizing silk around the cyclops.

CYCLOPS

Web…

Earnest leaps and lands on the cyclops. The dogs bark, disorienting it. Earnest locomotes around its body, placing more silk. The silk starts to tighten and cut into its skin.

CYCLOPS

Augh…

The cyclops struggles and Phaedra’s team aim their weapons.

EARNEST

It’s okay! This one’s mine!

Earnest hops down to the thick ankles and circles a few more times. The cyclops teeters as Earnest places himself carefully in its shadow, then yanks the silk. It cuts into the cyclops’ ankles, finally throwing it off balance.

EARNEST

(to himself)

May I someday rest in a garden.

It leans toward Earnest, falls, and crushes him. The force of the fall displaces flesh into the silk wrapping, cutting it deeply, releasing a heavy oil flow. The four dogs jump back and stop barking.

CYCLOPS

Raaughgh!

The cyclops oils out, gushing a black pond into the field. The crowd cheers as the paracameras broadcast the worm’s final moment. Phaedra’s crew somberly moves around the pile of flesh and approach Pix’s side of the Arena.

***

In Pix’s chamber, Sophia admires her list of three hundred fifty-two programs. Finally, a school of Hostiles without the upper hand. The perfect learning environment.

***

Pix’s white robe and skin are splattered in black oil – none of it his. He’s surrounded by seventy-three beastly dead programs: crustaceans, arachnids, robots, soldiers, and specialists of all kinds. He finally stands against an old samurai in armor, and a ronin in a tattered gray kimono.

PIX

Do you want to live?

The warriors silently walk toward him, swords drawn. Pix morphs both his hands into shields and takes a protective stance, then walks forward.

The ronin leaps into the air as the samurai dashes forward. Pix places his shields in front and above, then charges. The samurai roars and throws a hard slice at the shield. It screeches and slides away, Pix pushes farther forward and feels the ronin land both sandals on the top shield.

Pix heaves to the side and rolls, trying to drop the ronin from above. The ronin falls and reveals his wakizashi – plunging it into the ground as the samurai tumbles past. Pix rolls away, and the ronin bounces up with his blade defensively. Pix pulls both his shields up again and rears to attack, when an arrow pierces the ronin’s head. To his left, Pix spots one of Phaedra’s archers. The samurai sees the opening and charges silently.

The samurai grabs the edge of Pix’s shield, cutting his hand – he tries to shove it to the side and stab with his katana, but Pix pushes back, slicing the fingers off the samurai. With another turn he throws the samurai off balance. Pix forms a matching katana and parries the next swipe from the samurai. The samurai grunts loudly.

Phaedra’s team approaches Pix in his last fight. They look around and see: This is it, the last survivors. The samurai takes another swing at Pix’s shield, and another, growing more sweaty, frustrated, exhausted. His fingerless hand throws oil around and greases the sword.

PIX

Do you want to die?

The samurai rears back for another blow and Pix quickly morphs his hand into a spear, straight through his opponent’s heart. He took out nearly a tenth of the Tier 1 Hostiles. The crowd erupts in applause and chants his name: Pix. Pix. Pix. Pix. Pix.

Phaedra claps and approaches.

PHAEDRA

Hello again, Pix!

PIX

Hello again.

The crowd quiets to hear their exchange. The paracameras lower to capture the moment.

PHAEDRA

I have a proposition. Ben and a few of my followers here wish to be eaten.

As she says this, Ben steps forward with the four dogs, the elemental, and the three bombers.

PHAEDRA

They have served me well, and feel my remaining fighters should live longer.

PIX

Very well.

Ben stands at attention with the eight others. Pix takes a deep breath and raises both arms to his front. His fingers extend into long tendrils and the tendrils wrap around the waists of each program. He lifts them straight up above his head and unhinges his jaw one more time. The crowd gasps as Pix opens wide enough to fit nine bodies. The bodies fall down the well.

***

Brick takes a sip of water and watches the last moments of the brawl on his large flatscreen. The ticker falls from 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, to 8. A flashing graphic: “ROUND COMPLETE!”

He hears the cheers through thick glass. He puts down his water and approaches the mic.

BRICK

Well done fighters! The best of Tier 1 has arrived! I commend your courage and hope you enjoy your feast in the Golden Hall!

***

At the North side of the Arena, beyond the field of corpses, a white stone gate raises to allow safe exit for two archers, four martial artists, Phaedra, Pix, and his chamber of three hundred sixty-one programs.

***

Troy pats Cyrus as he vomits into a bowl.

***

Jada sits in her hot maroon cell, boiling with anger, a day of used food packs at her side.