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Chapter Two

Sitting at the back of the View of the Falls Diner, Anne Friedland sipped her Cappucino as she waited for her friend. Alessia was late. She wished the girl would call when she got held up. Anne tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear as she looked at her watch. Anne decided that if Alessia didn't arrive by the time she finished her Cappucino, she was leaving. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the table, her nails click clacking against the formica.

Then Anne saw the people sitting in the front of the dinner turn their head to look at something. That meant only one thing.

Her dark haired Italian-American friend had finally arrived. Alessia Bellina spotted Anne and strode towards her table, a huge grin on her face. Alessia was wearing a sleeveless top, showing off her ripped arms. Anne used many words to describe Alessia, but shy wasn't one of them. Alessia's midnight black hair was still damp from the shower, and her brown eyes glimmered with excitement.

"So what's the big news?"

"I did it."

"Did what?" Anne cringed as visions of Alessia doing incredibly dangerous and foolish things danced through her head.

"Bullfighting?"

"Don't be silly."

"Basejumping?"

"Nope," Alessia replied, sitting down across from Anne.

"I hope you're not pregnant."

"Very funny. Have you seen the commercials for the new combat simulator?"

Anne nodded. She had heard the battle robots were amazingly lifelike. The simulator was supposedly the best test of skill outside of an actual battlefield. Anne was intrigued by the technology, and patiently waited for her friend to continue.

"So I finally decided to give it a try! If you look at the online leaderboards you'll see that I have the top martial arts score for level 7."

"Level 7?"

"They can tune the simulator at different levels depending on your powers. Beforehand they do a full assessment of your powers, you select who you want to fight, you fight, and then they give you an evaluation of your performance."

"It sounds interesting," Anne mused, without a hint of her usual sarcasm.

"Yeah, I did ten minutes against an American Hero replica. I kicked her ass, but I'm still sore." Alessia rubbed her hand over her fist, her biceps flexing. "Even my knuckles hurt from all the punching."

"That's wonderful," Anne replied. "I've heard they are amazingly lifelike."

"Absolutely," Alessia replied, "There wasn't a hint it was a robot until I pulled its wig off about halfway through the fight. It was pretty funny fighting a bald version of the American Hero. I couldn't stop laughing."

"Maybe I should check it out," Anne said, biting her lip in thought.

"But what about your - "

"Never mind about that," Anne snapped, cutting her off. "I just said I'm going to check it out, and that's all that I'm going to do."

"All right," Alessia held her hands up defensively. "No need to be so touchy."

***********************************************************************************

Anne Friedland did her best to keep a calm demeanor as she navigated the crowd in the R.W.D building foyer. Rows of monitors lined the walls giving the throng of spectators multiple views of the action inside the warehouse.

Combatant Jeb "Flame Daddy" Kowalski had just entered the arena, crouched behind a steel freight car. He gave the trigger of his flamethrower a few preliminary pumps, and short puffs of deadly orange flame blossomed through the nozzle. He looked back and forth warily as he crept forward in a crouch. The sensitive audio microphones picked up the clomping of his combat boots against the cement floor of the warehouse.

"She's above you!" someone in the crowd shouted, and murmurs of agreement and anticipation bubbled through the foyer, but Jeb was unable to heed the warning.

Anne looked at a different monitor. It showed the viewpoint from a track mounted camera, revealing a top down view of the action. Shadowstar was on top of the freight car, twin katana's crossed over her back. The slinky ninja moved soundlessly, especially in comparison to the huge redneck stomping around with a flamethrower strapped across his back.

A scoreboard took up an entire wall of the foyer. Anne could see that Jeb was attempting level 3 weapons mode, and that he was forty one seconds into the action. Aside of the scoreboard were the leaderboards, and she could clearly see Tyche's name atop of the level 7 martial arts board with a score of 2531. Jethro's score was in the forties, and it slowly ticked upwards with each second he was in the arena.

The ninja on the freight car was now wielding a revolver with a silencer. Aimed at Jeb's head it coughed three times in rapid succession. The lights switched on, but the cameras remained rolling for the amusement of the watching crowd.

Jeb looked around, bewildered, and then spotted the ninja crouched frozen on top of the car.

"Son of a BITCH!" he yelped as spun around and pointed his flamethrower upwards. He squeezed the trigger, attempting to project a burst of flammable liquid over the ninja peering down above him.

To his dismay, Jeb squeezed and released the trigger rapidly, but nothing emerged from the nozzle.

"Flame Daddy your match is over," a female announced in a soft midwestern American accent. "Your weapon is no longer functional. Please exit the simulator and you will be given your evaluation."

Jeb's entire body sagged. The overlay on the bottom of the monitor displayed summarized battle statistics. Time alive: 51 seconds. Final score: -949. Jeb would not be appearing on the level 3 leader boards, and his hefty fee resulted in 51 seconds of humiliation.

Anne rubbed her chin as she studied the rankings. She knew she could do better that Jeb. Much much better. Her eyes gravitated towards the level 7 board. Tyche's name was on top of the board, flashing hypnotically as if taunting her.

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Description
Chapter Two

Sitting at the back of the View of the Falls Diner, Anne Friedland sipped her Cappucino as she waited for her friend. Alessia was late. She wished the girl would call when she got held up. Anne tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear as she looked at her watch. Anne decided that if Alessia didn't arrive by the time she finished her Cappucino, she was leaving. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the table, her nails click clacking against the formica.

Then Anne saw the people sitting in the front of the dinner turn their head to look at something. That meant only one thing.

Her dark haired Italian-American friend had finally arrived. Alessia Bellina spotted Anne and strode towards her table, a huge grin on her face. Alessia was wearing a sleeveless top, showing off her ripped arms. Anne used many words to describe Alessia, but shy wasn't one of them. Alessia's midnight black hair was still damp from the shower, and her brown eyes glimmered with excitement.

"So what's the big news?"

"I did it."

"Did what?" Anne cringed as visions of Alessia doing incredibly dangerous and foolish things danced through her head.

"Bullfighting?"

"Don't be silly."

"Basejumping?"

"Nope," Alessia replied, sitting down across from Anne.

"I hope you're not pregnant."

"Very funny. Have you seen the commercials for the new combat simulator?"

Anne nodded. She had heard the battle robots were amazingly lifelike. The simulator was supposedly the best test of skill outside of an actual battlefield. Anne was intrigued by the technology, and patiently waited for her friend to continue.

"So I finally decided to give it a try! If you look at the online leaderboards you'll see that I have the top martial arts score for level 7."

"Level 7?"

"They can tune the simulator at different levels depending on your powers. Beforehand they do a full assessment of your powers, you select who you want to fight, you fight, and then they give you an evaluation of your performance."

"It sounds interesting," Anne mused, without a hint of her usual sarcasm.

"Yeah, I did ten minutes against an American Hero replica. I kicked her ass, but I'm still sore." Alessia rubbed her hand over her fist, her biceps flexing. "Even my knuckles hurt from all the punching."

"That's wonderful," Anne replied. "I've heard they are amazingly lifelike."

"Absolutely," Alessia replied, "There wasn't a hint it was a robot until I pulled its wig off about halfway through the fight. It was pretty funny fighting a bald version of the American Hero. I couldn't stop laughing."

"Maybe I should check it out," Anne said, biting her lip in thought.

"But what about your - "

"Never mind about that," Anne snapped, cutting her off. "I just said I'm going to check it out, and that's all that I'm going to do."

"All right," Alessia held her hands up defensively. "No need to be so touchy."

***********************************************************************************

Anne Friedland did her best to keep a calm demeanor as she navigated the crowd in the R.W.D building foyer. Rows of monitors lined the walls giving the throng of spectators multiple views of the action inside the warehouse.

Combatant Jeb "Flame Daddy" Kowalski had just entered the arena, crouched behind a steel freight car. He gave the trigger of his flamethrower a few preliminary pumps, and short puffs of deadly orange flame blossomed through the nozzle. He looked back and forth warily as he crept forward in a crouch. The sensitive audio microphones picked up the clomping of his combat boots against the cement floor of the warehouse.

"She's above you!" someone in the crowd shouted, and murmurs of agreement and anticipation bubbled through the foyer, but Jeb was unable to heed the warning.

Anne looked at a different monitor. It showed the viewpoint from a track mounted camera, revealing a top down view of the action. Shadowstar was on top of the freight car, twin katana's crossed over her back. The slinky ninja moved soundlessly, especially in comparison to the huge redneck stomping around with a flamethrower strapped across his back.

A scoreboard took up an entire wall of the foyer. Anne could see that Jeb was attempting level 3 weapons mode, and that he was forty one seconds into the action. Aside of the scoreboard were the leaderboards, and she could clearly see Tyche's name atop of the level 7 martial arts board with a score of 2531. Jethro's score was in the forties, and it slowly ticked upwards with each second he was in the arena.

The ninja on the freight car was now wielding a revolver with a silencer. Aimed at Jeb's head it coughed three times in rapid succession. The lights switched on, but the cameras remained rolling for the amusement of the watching crowd.

Jeb looked around, bewildered, and then spotted the ninja crouched frozen on top of the car.

"Son of a BITCH!" he yelped as spun around and pointed his flamethrower upwards. He squeezed the trigger, attempting to project a burst of flammable liquid over the ninja peering down above him.

To his dismay, Jeb squeezed and released the trigger rapidly, but nothing emerged from the nozzle.

"Flame Daddy your match is over," a female announced in a soft midwestern American accent. "Your weapon is no longer functional. Please exit the simulator and you will be given your evaluation."

Jeb's entire body sagged. The overlay on the bottom of the monitor displayed summarized battle statistics. Time alive: 51 seconds. Final score: -949. Jeb would not be appearing on the level 3 leader boards, and his hefty fee resulted in 51 seconds of humiliation.

Anne rubbed her chin as she studied the rankings. She knew she could do better that Jeb. Much much better. Her eyes gravitated towards the level 7 board. Tyche's name was on top of the board, flashing hypnotically as if taunting her.

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