#latenightlessons

The Grid revealed itself all at once.

Blue light cut the darkness into perfect geometry, lanes stretching endlessly beneath Wells’ light cycle as if the world itself had been drawn with intention. The hum of energy vibrated through his chest, steady and mechanical, syncing with his breath. He didn’t question how he’d arrived. On the Grid, you never did.

Ahead of him, another cycle ignited, sleek, sharp, edged with neon green light that pulsed with clinical precision.

PDU-767.

No face. No expression. Just efficiency rendered in glowing lines.

The signal pulsed. The race began.

They launched forward, engines screaming into the luminous corridors. Turns came fast. Too fast. Walls of light snapped into existence behind Wells, slicing off paths with ruthless efficiency. PDU-767 rode perfectly—no wasted motion, no hesitation—forcing Wells tighter and tighter into narrowing angles.

This wasn’t about speed. It was about control.

Wells leaned harder, trusting instinct over calculation, skimming dangerously close to the light wall as he cut a sudden arc. For a brief moment, the Grid opened, space, possibility, and he surged ahead. The finish line flashed into existence.

Then everything shattered into white.

The arena reformed.

The race was over. The disc battle remained.

Wells stood on the glowing platform, identity disc warm and humming against his back. Across from him, PDU-767 materialized without sound, his black latex bodysuit traced with sharp neon green circuitry, every line glowing with quiet menace. The disc was already spinning in his hand.

The first throw came without warning.

Wells caught it barely in time, the impact ringing up his arm. He countered, sending his disc skimming low, bending impossibly around the arena’s invisible angles. PDU-767 deflected it effortlessly.

Back and forth they moved, discs flashing, ricocheting, rewriting physics with cruel elegance. Wells felt the pressure build, not fear, not panic, but the exhaustion of constant response. No room to pause. No room to think.

A fraction too slow. The disc came straight at him......

and the world snapped apart.

Wells jolted upright on his couch, heart pounding, the Grid replaced by the dim amber light of his condo. His hands clenched into the cushions.

The coffee table was a battlefield.

Taco Bell wrappers. Bags. Crumpled napkins. Sauce packets like fallen soldiers. A half-empty drink sweated onto the wood, leaving a ring that absolutely was not there yesterday.

Across the room, someone cleared their throat.

Wells turned.

PDU-767 sat calmly in one of his chairs, posture perfect, still wearing the black latex Tron suit with glowing neon green accents, the circuitry softly illuminating the room. His helmet rested neatly by his feet. In his hands: a controller.

The TV flickered with blocky neon shapes.

Tron: Deadly Discs.

On an old Atari 2600.

The electronic beeps filled the silence.

“You dropped your guard,” PDU-767 said flatly, nudging the joystick. “Again.”

Wells stared at him. Then at the TV. Then at the coffee table.

“You’re telling me,” Wells said slowly, “that I dreamed an entire light cycle race… because I ate a Crunchwrap Supreme at midnight.”

On-screen, a pixelated disc struck home. A harsh victory chime rang out.

PDU-767 didn’t look away. “Correlation is strong.”

Wells dragged a hand down his face and groaned. “That’s it. That’s the last time I have Taco Bell on cheat day.”

PDU-767 paused the game. Turned to him.

“Statement logged,” he said. “Historical data suggests you will forget this decision in approximately… nine days.”

Wells grabbed the spare controller and leaned back with a smirk. “Yeah, well. Next time I’m upgrading to Baja Blast resistance training.”

The game resumed. Neon pixels clashed.

Somewhere deep in the code of the universe, discipline won.

But not tonight.

Some lessons come from training. Some come from dreams. Some come from Taco Bell at midnight.

Train hard. Dream weird. Don’t eat Taco Bell past midnight. Stand with the Gold. Contact our recruiters: @polo-drone-001, @polo-drone-166, @franco-gold94, @polo-drone-125