He felt almost… giddy. One more frag, and the match was his.

Alto opened up a panel on the side of his arm and inserted a chip, watching his armor go from the deathmatch-default blue to his usual white, grey, and teal. On the side of his peripheral, small white text notified him—“weapon equipped: AIR SLASHER.”

Below, somebot was destroyed and teleported back to a respawn point. Alto’s eyes swept over to the Robot Master still standing, crosshairs overlapping and locking onto his target.

DWN.013

tag: OPPONENT

Alto grinned and leapt from his perch. The wind rushed through his synthetic hair and roared in his audials.

Straightening his legs at the last second, Alto landed a swift kick on his opponent and was back on his feet right away.

It gave up some power for speed, but he wasn’t lacking in power. Alto bared his claws and dove in for the metaphorical kill.

Everything became a blur of slashing and dodging.

The match was over in seconds.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” shouted the announcer, “weeee have a winner for this match—let’s give it up for Alto, DTN.001! Stay tuned for his appearance in tomorrow’s match!”

From the arena, Alto couldn’t hear any cheering. He could hear the exhausted whirring of engines around him, or some complaints from his fellow Robot Masters.

That was fine. He didn’t need applause.

Once again, he couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling of being in the moment, in the heat of battle. How it had felt going in for the kill and delivering the last blow.

How it had felt, for just a second, to burn; to be intense and wild; to lose control.