DESHIEL IS ENTIRELY TO BLAME FOR THIS.

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The year is 2097. Friday. You've waited for this night since you were a teenager. Fifteen years of training will be used tonight - your future career the main prize.

"The left elbow still needs a little work... Just three more days! Move the fight to next Friday and they won't know what hit 'em!"

Lying on the table, you can't see where the voice came from, but you recognized the colorful language of Team Chief 'Dildo' McEllis.

"Don't be nervous, Dildo. This 'bot is fresh from the factory and the best there is." You reply, trying to hide the shaking in your own voice. "I'll show you just how good a job your team did."

"I know you will. It's just that this is your first match and your opponent's tenth. Should give you more time..."

Time to what? Sim training gets old. There's no simulator that can compare with the real thing. "I have to do it now. The Board will see me as a challenger and hothead. I need the edge to get in this season's schedule."

"Good luck to ya... Give 'em an uppercut for me." says Dildo.

The attendants begin checking your suit. You can feel the small needles in the helmet pressing into your skull. Fifteen minutes to show time. You feel a slight burning sensation as the drugs which prep your nervous system to interface with the machines.

A cute attendant who has been massaging your legs leans over the bed and gives you a wink. "Nighty night... Remember me when you're famous." she giggles.

Your eyes begin to shut. You blink a few times, trying not to fight the medication. Finally, your eyes begin to close as you lose consciousness.

METAL! You can't believe the feeling! Your eyes open, but they're not your own. You look at your hand and flex it into a fist. You strike the fist against your opposite palm and the sound is like two trains smashing together. You realize you'll never get used to "jacking in," the feeling of power you get from suddenly becoming a few hundred tons of dangerous equipment.

"You there, pal?" says a voice inside your head.

You now hear several voices in the background, "Physical attributes steady. All systems mark."

You turn your head over to the body lying on the bed ten meters away and almost 30 meters below.

You speak, your voice amplified a hundred times, "I'm slice, Dildo. Let's do some juicin'!"

It is no longer blood you feel pumping, but Synthoil. Your eyes now show you heat dissipation factors, metal strength, arousal states, biostress scales, and some other figures so complicated you know to ignore them.

Even though you no longer have blood, it feels like your pulse is climbing as the clock over the door nears 00:00.

"Zero hour. Let 'er roar!"

The door opens. The crowd cheers. The game begins.