On a hot Saturday night, with the weekend in full swing, Torsad's youth flooded every bar and dive in the capital and its outskirts. A group of students from the Unified University of the AC got lucky—they found a free table at a bar on the eastern edge of Torsad, capital of Perina. The offspring of wealthy parents, they were enrolled in a "natural" education program and living in a real community. Most felt safe and quietly superior to the locals.

  Seven of them crowded the table—young, healthy, dressed in expensive clothing. Three were girls. The smallest and skinniest didn't match the others' polished looks, but her open smile and infectious laugh more than compensated. Her name was Una Amatin. Only she noticed how the off-duty soldiers kept glancing at their loud group.

  For a couple of minutes, Una went somewhere else. Her eyes glazed over as she scrolled through a hidden interface. The bar's lighting, background music, clack of billiard balls, and hum of conversations faded. Her info-feed flashed updates directly before her eyes.

  Ron, her boyfriend, noticed. He was like Una—short, dark-haired, with an intelligent, attentive gaze—but his jawline was heavy, not particularly flattering. "Hey, is something going on?" he asked.

  Una shook her head. "Stay with us for now. You can reply to your messages later."

  "What about you?"

  She had lost the thread of the conversation, absorbed in her feed. His question puzzled her.

  "Have you picked a topic yet?"

  "Yeah. Historical forecasting for the Toshida Empire."

  Ron leaned back, genuinely unaware. "You're kidding me."

  "My parents promised me a yacht," Una said, walking a fine line between modest and smug. "So I'll go see it in person and write up what I find."

  "Nice," one friend snorted. "Can I hitch a ride?"

  "Don't even think about it," Ron cut in, earning a look from Una. But the next moment, she was again engrossed in her messages.

  "Una, if you're bored with us, go play with your virtuals," a friend said.

  "It's not that… I got an urgent request from the EF."

  "Come on, what would they want from you?" Ron perked up.

  "They want to add to the genetic diversity bank—the EF's registry for natural-born DNA," Una said gently.

  An awkward pause fell over the table. She lifted her chin, smile gone, haughty airs flashing—the same expression her sister Athra wore when cornered.

  "Yes, I'm a natural-born beauty and brains, unlike the rest of you!" She paused, then broke into a wide grin, dissolving the tension.

  The students laughed, voices tight with relief. One guy raised his beer mug. "Let's toast to the natural beauties and sharp minds! Because of them, humanity has delayed extinction for a few more generations!"

  They drank. The conversation returned to its course—studies, gossip, future plans. Night had long since fallen. Quiet music played. Billiard balls clicked. Patrons without company immersed themselves in virtual projections; others sipped drinks in silence or shared laughter. The bartender chatted frequently with servicemen while his electronic waiter-assistant zipped down the hall on a single wheel, delivering orders and clearing dishes. A napkin was stuck to its mud-splattered tire.

  Una wished the knot in her shoulders was just her imagination. Eventually, she excused herself and slipped away.

  "Hi," she said, smiling at the bartender as she finally peeled the napkin from the robot's wheel.

  "Hey there," the bartender answered.

  "Hey," came a second voice.

  She turned. A short, wiry guy a couple of years older—boyish, dark-haired, with black eyes that held a tipsy glint. He gripped his beer mug like a handrail, the only thing keeping him upright. Even his lazy, mocking "hey" crackled with pent-up energy. Like most patrons, he wore a military uniform—Eastern Garrison.

  "What can I get you?"

  "Just needed a minute," she admitted, handing over the napkin. "It was stuck to the robot's wheel..."

  The bartender took it and vanished with a polite nod.

  "Got it," the guy smirked. "Your crew's a little… stuffy."

  Una turned, bewildered. "What's wrong with my guys?"

  "Oh, come on, sweetheart. You know I can't afford to have a problem with a bunch of students. Alpha would tip off the patrol in a heartbeat, and the night would be shot for everyone."

  "We wouldn't be here if every bar in Torsad weren't packed—and if we hadn't known it would rub the locals the wrong way."

  "If your boys don't go looking for trouble, there won't be any. But I'm guessing you didn't think about that when you sat down next to me."

  "I didn't…"

  "Idemi," he said, holding out his hand.

  She raised her brows. "Una. Una Amatin."

  "Amatin? As in, Kirin and Ramon's girl?"

  "Yeah! You know my parents?"

  "Idemi Rumos. Our parents are business partners. I used to see your dad at our place all the time before I moved out to the garrison."

  "I had no idea," Una murmured, embarrassed. Why did she always assume her father came to Perina only for his kids? He was always too present when he visited, too absent when he flew back to IS-2. "Well... where did you study?"

  "Me? Eastern Garrison training school," he snorted. "But you think anyone who didn't attend your universities can't find or manage information?"

  "No, that's not what I—"

  "You're perpetuating the old tradition of paper-pushers."

  Una fell silent.

  Idemi shook his head. "Third mug. Sorry. I'm usually more polite."

  When the silence stretched, he leaned in slightly. "Admit it. The napkin on the wheel was an excuse. Your friends are suffocating you."

  Una met his black eyes and offered a polite smile. Then she turned to leave.

  "Not everyone can step outside their comfort zone," he added. "It's safer with your own crowd."

  "At least they're not rude," she said, turning away.

  "I already said I'm sorry."

  "You apologized in advance, by the sound of it."

  "Wait. Just—wait, okay? Yeah, I'm not the soberest guy here, but since you're already here… stay one more minute?"

  "Why would I?"

  "Because there are no coincidences. Strike one: our parents know each other. Strike two: you're still here, talking to me and trying to talk yourself into forgiving me."

  Una smirked and lowered her foot back onto the stool.

  He grinned. "So. What are you studying, what do you do, what keeps you breathing, what do you want, what do you dream about…"

  Seeing her expression, he held up his hands. "Okay, okay. What's your major?"

  "Historical forecasting and sociology."

  He leaned back. "Haven't Alpha's modules been doing that for—what, five hundred years? How's that even useful when you're flying around the galaxy?"

  "That's a looong conversation, Idemi," Una said, smiling.

  "Are you saying we might meet again sometime?"

  "I'm not saying that. If you're sober, polite, and we talk about something other than my degree."

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  "Oh," he laughed. "I promise—we'll hardly talk."

  The flicker in her eyes told him he'd blown it. "Una, sorry. I meant—if we meet again, I'll show you my hobby. No small talk. Pure fun, pure action." A notification pinged; he sent her a card. "Come back here Friday after nine."

  "Lights out?"

  "After nine or so. You'll see. And then we can actually talk. Looks like your guys are about to stir up trouble anyway."

  Una turned. Ron and the others had stood up and were already crossing the hall toward them. The next moment, several figures blocked her view. Four… now six. Between the bar counter and the approaching students, a wall of motley bodies rose—different ages, ranks, genders, drawn from tables all over the bar. Una turned to her accidental interlocutor.

  "And who are you, Idemi?"

  "Me? MESMD mechanic, second infantry division." He covered her hand with his. "See you Friday? Promise? I'll be waiting. Sober and polite!"

  Una slid off the stool and squeezed between the cluster of soldiers lining the path to Idemi.

  "Easy, easy!” Una said. “Where do you think you're going, folks? Trying to test your strength against infantrymen? Get out of here—that's enough drinking. Exams are coming up..."

  Una didn't tell her friends about the new acquaintance or the invitation. Back home, she checked the map for Idemi's coordinates—just an oblong clearing in a forest near the Eastern Garrison. A stranger—military, at that—had invited her into the woods on a late Friday evening. Not even curiosity outweighed the skepticism.

  The week passed in a blur: final tests, exams, last days on Perina, last days with Ron. She shouldn't have prolonged it, but breaking up meant more than a friend's resentment—he truly cared. Almost a year ago, when they started dating, Una had warned him their relationship would be temporary. He probably wouldn't remember that now.

  "Una, are you coming?" Ron called from the doorway.

  Friday hangouts. As usual. Before answering, Una hesitated. In her mind, she was already at the industrial orbital station IS-2 with her parents and Athra. Already missing her grandma. Already stepping into another life. Ron reminded her of the talk ahead, the friends she'd leave behind.

  "I'm not feeling great, Ron. I'm staying in tonight," she said with a weak smile.

  "Want me to stay with you?" He took a step inside.

  "No." She held up her hands. "Go have fun. I'll be fine."

  "You sure? I could—"

  "I'm just tired. Go without me."

  Closing the door, Una stood for a minute to analyze her behavior. She had planned to go.

  "Tired?" A chuckle sounded behind her. Una flinched.

  "Gran! What?!"

  "You know God punishes even the smallest lie," her grandmother said.

  "I know, I know," Una muttered, backing toward the stairs.

  "If you won't think about your soul, at least think about your conscience. One girl has already paid for her sins. Are you in such a hurry to follow her?"

  Una grumbled under her breath—Sure, let's drag Athra into this…

  "Athra is a perfect example of how not to behave, but you also have a good example—your brother!"

  "He left eight years ago, Gran! Maybe it was because of speeches like that?"

  Una disappeared around the corner and soon closed her bedroom door. Immediately, guilt settled on her shoulders. Without Athra, being alone with Gran wasn't always joyful. Before, her older sister had always stood between them. It felt like an eternity ago.

  Una found Idemi's week-old message. Whatever it was—he was the son of her parents' business partners. What could he possibly do to her? She wanted to disappear more than seek adventure, so she carefully went down into the hall.

  "I'm going for a walk! I'll be late—or very late!" She shouted into the emptiness and slipped out the door.

  Twenty minutes later, she'd covered a few miles from the Eastern Garrison and turned right into the forest. After another five, she killed the engine on the roadside. Darkness closed in fast. The road stretched both ways. Behind her, fields lay enclosed by a high concrete wall—a barrier between cultivated soil and Perina's native ground. Ahead loomed a dense wall of Iza trees, the planet's only species, their trunks seven meters thick.

  A knot of unease tightened in her stomach. Una shivered, rubbing her shoulders, and pulled up a map in her vision. Under two miles to Idemi's coordinates. Through the forest. In descending darkness and solitude. Curiosity died before the fact of her own rashness. Prudence took over. She turned toward the city—but froze at movement in the corner of her eye.

  Half a mile away, in the middle of the field, something rose from underground. Figures rushed toward her, speeding straight for the forest. Minutes later, individual shapes became distinguishable. MESMDs. Five or six exoskeletons ran, crushing crops in their path. Another minute, and they'd pass mere dozens of meters in front of her. Fear seized her. Even unmanned, this was military hardware. Best not to be seen as a fleeing witness. Where were they running? Why?

  Her legs turned to jelly. She could hide behind a tree—but night-vision and thermal imagers were likely active. On her scooter, she'd look like a witness bolting. She stood paralyzed, already imagining the interrogation that would follow. When one of the mechs froze on the road and swiveled its torso toward her, Una clamped a hand over her mouth.

  What the hell brought me here? How many times had Gran warned her: stay away from the military, don't walk at night, don't go into the forest? She'd broken all the rules at once. The three-meter MESMD combat exoskeleton strode straight for her.

  The ground shook with each step. The metal behemoth halted before her. Una stood tall on willpower alone—refusing to back down or collapse. A click sounded. The hull hatch lifted upward.

  "Scared you, didn't I?" a familiar, laughing voice said.

  Her ears rang. It took her a second to place the voice coming from inside the mech.

  "Una, it's me—Idemi! Come on, get in!"

  Relief hit her so hard her legs gave out. Una slumped against a tree root and covered her face.

  "What's wrong?" Idemi jumped down and crouched beside her.

  "I could kill you! I almost peed myself…"

  He chuckled and hauled her up by the shoulder. "Come on. You're gonna love this…" He added into his comm: "Yeah, I hear you. Start without me. I'm coming in on foot with a passenger."

  "What is this, Idemi? That's military hardware. Are you on some kind of op?"

  "An op?" He laughed, climbing back inside. "You could call it that. You'll see."

  The hatch clanged shut. The mech crouched and lowered a massive hand toward her.

  "Hop on."

  "What about my scooter? Just leave it?"

  "You could take it," he said, "but then I wouldn't get to carry you."

  She eyed the metal hand, then the dark forest, then her scooter. Finally, she jumped. The "fingers" closed around her; she rocked as the machine straightened.

  "Hang on tight," his voice came through a speaker by her ear. Another hand rose before her as a brace. "I'll try not to drop you."

  They plunged into the trees. Massive trunks blocked the view, looming like displeased sentinels.

  "I can't see a thing," Una whispered.

  "You don't need to," he said, amused. "I can."

  Fear slowly gave way to excitement. When light flared directly ahead, Una held her breath—he knew. Idemi had known it would be like this. That was why he hadn't turned on the lights.

  Pillars of white light shot into the sky, visible for miles. A quarter-hour later, chilled and exhilarated, Una stood on the ground. The five or six MESMDs she'd seen earlier were the last arrivals. Thirteen total filled the clearing—some identical, some wildly different. Shiny new models stood beside machines painted in garish, aggressive patterns. A massive, dented, rust-streaked unit loomed in the center; beside it, the others looked elegant and slender.

  Beyond the MESMDs and their operators, two dozen people milled about—men and women in military uniforms. Smiles flashed across faces. They laughed, joked, drank. The relaxed atmosphere pulled Una in. Minutes after Idemi introduced her to nearby comrades, the knot in her chest loosened. When music began playing from scooters at the clearing's edge, she felt, for the first time that week, like she belonged.

  An invisible conductor guided the gathering. Una heard no commands, but at one point the operators moved in unison. Spectators turned toward the center. A faint pinkish shimmer enveloped the clearing—an inertial shield that bent the light, keeping the spectacle hidden from orbital patrols and casual witnesses. Someone climbed onto the lower branches of the Iza trees at the edge. Idemi walked over and offered to lift her up too. She chuckled. Minutes later, perched on a branch, she had a clear view despite being farthest back.

  Then the fight began.

  The exoskeletons were unarmed, but still lethal in close combat. Screeching metal and clanging impacts drowned beneath an upbeat, driving beat from the speakers. From her vantage, it might have been a holo-film—but the cold night air biting her cheeks made it real. Incredible. These were actual MESMDs, active-duty military, and she was here, witnessing it.

  Giant machines clashed, locked in fierce struggle. Heavy blows sent them flying meters through the air; small maneuvering thrusters flared to stabilize their landings. She watched the surprisingly quick moves of the hulking figures. The crowd roared. Una's cheeks ached from smiling. This was the kind of thing you only got to see if you were incredibly lucky—or incredibly stupid. A deep happiness settled in her chest—she'd found the courage to come here, leaving prudence at her doorstep. Her real-world circle offered nothing captivating. The virtual world had grown tiresome with its predictability. And Idemi, as her guide into this bright, noisy, alive world, suddenly seemed far more interesting than Ron ever had.

  The MESMDs fought one-on-one without restraint. Arms torn from sleek models, control units ripped from damaged spines, joints smashed at weak points—the operators inside endured every impact. The elimination round lasted nearly an hour. Then the six winners paired off, taking up almost the entire clearing. Spectators wisely retreated to the edges. The huge, battered "tank" Una had dubbed earlier stepped between the two rows and raised its hands. Silence fell. When the massive fists slammed down and the "tank" shot upward, chaos erupted beneath it. Una's breath caught—she wiped a tear from her cheek without realizing she'd been crying.

  Idemi was taken out in the third minute. A flurry of blows targeted his joint connections, followed by a heavy strike to the sternum. He fought to stabilize the machine—then a second opponent crouched and swept its legs, toppling Idemi's MESMD. He limped over to Una with a pained laugh and dropped to the ground at the base of her tree.

  "You got knocked out!" Una yelled down.

  "Gets easier every time," he called back with a crooked grin. "Feels like these matches train us better than scheduled drills."

  He rummaged in the cockpit, pulled out a toolkit, and started unscrewing the chest armor—urgent repairs, she assumed. Her gaze drifted back to the fight. Ten minutes later, only one MESMD from Idemi's side remained standing against three opponents.

  "You guys lost completely, Idemi!"

  "Sure did!" he shouted.

  "Get me down? I'm freezing up here!"

  "It's not much warmer down here, trust me!" He dug into a pocket. "Catch!"

  She barely cupped her hands in time. A small disc, about an inch across, landed in her palms.

  "Put it on your chest and press the middle."

  "What is it?"

  "Still don't trust me?"

  Una followed the instruction. A thin, almost invisible layer of insulation formed around her like a second skin. She felt the hood settle over her head, examined her shoulders, and looked down. Idemi was already climbing back into the exoskeleton. By the time the hatch clicked shut and he walked back, warmth spread through her limbs.

  Spectators who had retreated earlier now gathered toward the center, laughing, shouting, reenacting moves from the fights. As Idemi neared the group, a single phrase rose above the noise—repeated, rhythmic. A woman Una hadn't met ran to a monocycle. The music died. For a moment, only voices reached Una. Then she recognized the drawn-out, intense chords of the track used in Anachron Battles. Youth adored it—it was the unofficial anthem of every party, the track that emptied the floor and filled it again.

  Idemi's MESMD waved its arms, shooing away those standing too close. Una lifted her tired, smiling face, hoping for something new. And as that pile of armored metal-plastic began to dance, her jaw dropped.

  Delight turned to admiration, then something deeper. Tears streamed down her cheeks—she hadn't expected to cry. She'd felt this only once before: last summer, during the youth league tournament of Anachron Battles, when Markus Riviera—hers and Athra's closest childhood friend—had won. She and her classmates had screamed, laughed, cried together, proud of their friend, overwhelmed by the moment. Una started a retinal recording. She had to share this—the raw talent, the power, the sheer spectacle—with Markus. He would appreciate it. Absolutely.