[Rule One – Five players to a team]
[Rule Two – Each match will be one team against one team]
[Rule Three – Team composition is fixed before the start of the first match]
[Rule Four – Teams may select up to two alternates, who may not be part of any other team]
[Rule Five – Juggernaut configurations may be updated between matches]
[Rule Six – Equipment designated as limited edition, custom, or unique cannot be used]
[Rule Seven – Arena battlefields will be provided for matches. Venues will not be announced prior to the commencement of the match]
[Rule Eight – There will be a 30-second countdown prior to the start of each match]
[Rule Nine – There is no time limit on matches. Battle will continue until one team is unable to fight]
[Rule Ten – Preliminary matches will be held to narrow the field to 64 teams. The number of matches will be set once the number of entrants is determined. Some teams may have to battle up more time than others due to uneven numbers of entrants; matchups to be determined by random draw]
[Rule Eleven – 64 teams will enter group play. 8 brackets of 8 teams will compete in a round robin format (see Appendix C). The top two teams from each group will advance to the finals]
[Rule Twelve – The finals will consist of a single-elimination bracket, with team seeded based on performance in group play and (in the event of ties) potentially preliminary matches (see Appendix H for points system used for seeding)]
[Rule Thirteen – There is no such thing as bad luck]
[Rule Fourteen – The only prize will be the Valhalla West Tournament Edition Valkyrie Juggernaut. Five will be given to the victorious participants in the grand final match. Non-participating alternates or players who have been replaced by an alternate prior to the grand final match are not eligible]
[For additional questions and concerns, please consult the Valhalla West First Annual Ragnarok Showdown FAQ on the Armored Souls Forums]
Frank’s chewing of a corn dog was the only sound left when the broadcast ended. “Lotta lip flapping to pretty much just say: knock the snot out of the other guys we line you up with.”
“There’s a lot to digest, but it’ll digest a helluva lot easier than that corn dog,” Chase countered. “I’ll pick this info dump apart and figure out if there’s anything exploitable: loopholes, gotchas, anything like that.”
“How about we figure out how to play fair and still win?” June asked.
Roger snorted. “Sounds like loser talk to me—making up excuses for when we come up short. ‘Oh, but we followed every rule to the letter.’ Dig to pay dirt, buddy. Find us an edge.”
“No edges,” Reggie insisted. “You know we’re going to be under a load of scrutiny. Half the Internet’s going to be watching us.”
Chase snorted. “There’s eight billion people on the Internet. Welcome to the future, Rip Van Winkle. We’ll be lucky if this tournament draws a million viewers. But that’s still enough to worry about. Point taken.”
“Well,” Reggie said with a sigh. “Now that we know what we’re up against, all we need now is to find out who.”
Chapter Eleven
Vortex stood at the age of the crater on a blasted hellscape. Of course, the illusion only held up looking down at the ground. Overhead, puffy white clouds floated by as if they were curious onlookers to the destruction wrought below. Reggie and his platoon were still on Nibelheim, and the construction bots had just finished creating the arena that showed up in the Valhalla West promo videos. There haven’t been schematics or dimensions available, so Reggie had done his best to describe to the machines how to modify the terrain.
This was to be there training ground.
“You just can’t make Nibelheim look like shit,” Chase said. “It’s the sunshine. Can’t have a proper shit hole with sunshine like this. Maybe we could plant a bunch of factories around this, you know the smokestack polluting kind, and give this place a little ambiance.”
“Ambience isn’t what we care about,” Reggie said, shaking his head. His tactical scanner told him that this place was a hexagonal arena 10 km along each side. It wasn’t meant to be ugly. It wasn’t meant to be pretty. It was meant to simulate, as best they could envision, the site for the preliminary rounds of the Ragnarok Showdown. “All that matters is we get ourselves ready for combat in a place like this. I want us learning how to use the rims of craters as cover. I want us familiar with the footing…”
Chase cut in. “What about being familiar with the lighting? Glare and gloom are completely different.”
Reggie huffed, fingers gripping the edge of the console of his juggernaut. “Fine,” he snapped. “Practice is off for today. You want realistic lighting effects? Fine. I’ll shove out another half-million credits, and we can wait another three days. During those three days, every other team is going to get into fighting shape while we sit on our asses watching bots build pointless factories just to pollute the air on the subcontinent. Is that what you’d like?”
The pilots of the other juggernauts shifted nervously, pacing the crater in their vehicles.
“No,” Chase relented. “We need the practice.”
Reggie surveyed the scene. The promo video had been heavy on special effects and light on the sweeping, panoramic cinematography that would’ve been ideal for landscaping a battlefield. He’d done what he could. The browns and grays of the Nibelheim geology couldn’t match the Martian red of whatever planet sprawled in the background behind Ken Bradley in the video. He couldn’t match the location of the major craters nested within the single massive crater that seemed to be the arena’s boundaries. On the whole, though, he felt it was a good representation, a good feel for the place.
June piped up to break the tension. “You hear? We’re up to three other platoons from Wounded Legion.”
“You’re paying them boys too much,” Frank grumbled. He fired his Beam Cannon-L into the side of one of the craters, leaving a scorch mark. “Ten million smackers ought to a thin the herd a little better.”
Reggie made Vortex shrug. “Hey, when the gravy train leaves the station, everyone gets paid. We’re a victim of our own success.”
Chase snickered. “I keep tabs on the finances of our members. I bet if they wanted to, we could field another six teams. It’s just a matter of who wants to join and who thinks they stand a chance. Not everyone is willing to cough up that much cash just to say they played. Scuttlebutt is that there’s another group trying to pull a team together, but last I heard they only had three committed. So, including us, we’re probably only looking at either four or five teams from Wounded Legion.”
“That’s still a lot,” Roger commented.
“I’m not worried about any of them,” Reggie said. “We’re Alpha platoon. I picked you guys because you’re the best.”
“I seem to remember the recruitment pitch a little different than that,” Chase said with a chuckle. “Besides, don’t get me wrong, I think it’s a sign of a healthy faction that we’re bringing so many.”
“Omnus Domini will be bringing more,” June said.
“We’re not Omnus Domini,” Reggie countered.
“Only one platoon is going to win,” Chase pointed out. “All that matters is we’re the one.”
If only it were that simple. If only it were a simple coin flip, either Reggie and his pals would win, or they would lose. 50-50. If only it were a matter of them being at their best. But flawless execution was only the beginning of victory. They could do everything right and still lose. Hell, that was probably the most likely outcome. Drill until their brains went to mush and lose to someone a little better. Every pro sport had the same issue. You could bring together hundreds of top players, winnow them down to a dozen or so, and from there it was a crapshoot. Luck played too big a role in the outcome to predict beyond that.
Reggie was convinced that they were at least among the dozen in that scenario. But what would win them t
he crapshoot?
Luck.
Reggie hated that. The luck of the draw was a fact of life. Hell, he was dead, and the luck of the draw was still a thing.
“Well,” Reggie said. “There’s a million factors in this contest we can’t control. Want to know the one we can?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Workin’ our asses off.”
Chapter Twelve
The water bubbled and came up to Reggie’s neck as he lounged in the hot tub beside June. She tucked in beside him, resting her head on his arm, half-asleep. The sound of a football game didn’t seem to bother her, nor did the fact that she couldn’t see the screen with her cheek pillowed on Reggie’s chest. Chase had rigged it up so that Reggie could watch real-world sports on a coma-length time delay. Games showed up on schedule, twelve years after they originally aired. Did games even “air” anymore? Nearly everything had been digital even before Reggie’s injury. In the meantime, had the last dregs been squeegeed out of existence?
It didn’t matter. It was still relaxing—a reminder of home. His old home, anyway. The real world.
June felt real. The warmth of her skin was real. The soapy smell of her hair was real. The touch of her wondering hands as she tried to distract him from the football game was all too real.
An alert popped up, breaking the illusion of normalcy.
Reggie squeezed his eyes shut. “Voice only. Accept call... What is it, Roger? Six hours of practice and you still got questions?” He tried not to sound exasperated but knew he failed.
“Um, yeah… practice was great. Thanks. Um, that’s not what I called about though. You see…”
June threw her head back. “Ugh, just spit it out. We have things we’d rather be doing.”
Reggie felt his face warm and was glad there was no video feed on the call.
“I joined Rough Raiders,” Roger blurted.
“What’s ‘Rough Raiders’?” Reggie asked evenly, keeping a simmer on an anger that threatened to boil the water away from the hot tub. He knew the names of nearly every faction worth mentioning, and he would have gotten a priority notification if one of his faction officers had jumped ship. Roger had clearly meant something else.
Roger cleared his throat. Reggie could envision the nervous aversion of the man’s gaze even on a voice-only call. “It’s me and four of my real-life buddies. We signed up for the Ragnarok Showdown together.”
Water splashed and sloshed onto the tile floor as June shot up from the tub. “You little bastard! You’re backing out on us!”
“I’m sorry!” Roger added hastily—desperately if Reggie was one to judge. “I don’t want to quit Armored Souls or anything, but… well, Mike was best man at my wedding. Kip and Lisa stop by Thanksgiving at my parents’ house every year. How could I say no?”
“N-O. Simple,” June said. “What the hell are we supposed to do now? You’ve completely fucked us over.” June reached out a dripping finger and tapped at a blank spot in the air.
“What menu are you in?” Reggie asked quietly, hoping that the mic wouldn’t pick up his words for Roger to hear.
“Am I second in command here or what?” June asked.
Reggie lunged, but it was too late. Just before he grabbed the wrist of her menu-tapping hand, a system message popped up.
The transmission cut off abruptly.
[Player BuckRoger Kicked Out of Wounded Legion]
“You didn’t have to ban him.”
“Consequences,” June said. “He knew going in that stabbing his boss in the back was a risk. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so nervous.”
“Roger’s been with us since Star League: Civil War.”
“All good things come to an end,” June replied. She reached across Reggie and fumbled with the console for the hot tub. The motor hummed anew, and the water heated up once again as the jet spouts redoubled their efforts. “But this soaking isn’t one of them.”
Mind swirling, Reggie put the football game back on. Thanks to the miracle of recording technology, he hadn’t missed a single play. At least, he hadn’t until multiple distractions tore his attention away from the action on screen.
Squirming beneath June’s weight, Reggie lifted an arm far enough above the water to access the in-game menu.
[Faction > Roster > News (72) > Rewards > Info]
Reggie tapped the Roster link and swiped down to the bottom.
[Invite Player]
Reggie tapped in BuckRoger and hit Invite.
THAT PLAYER IS ALREADY IN A FACTION.
Reggie scowled.
“What?” June asked. “He not accepting? Give him a minute. Maybe he’s practicing with his RL friends.”
She’d worked out that he was trying to re-recruit Roger, but that wasn’t the problem. Maybe someone had already let him back in. Reggie had plenty of officers with invite privileges.
[Faction > Roster > News (74) > Rewards > Info]
Reggie selected Roster, and the entire list of Wounded Legion showed up, all 1177 players.
[Search: BuckRoger]
PLAYER BuckRoger NOT FOUND.
“He must have joined another faction,” Reggie said. “Wonderful. Now we’re not only out a fifth for our platoon, we’re missing an operations officer.”
June put her arms around Reggie and eased him lower in the water. “I’m sorry, Reggie. I didn’t mean to kick him out for good. Sometimes a little scare and a kick in the ass are good for discipline.”
In his head, Reggie was already scanning the roster for possible replacements. Problem was, most of the likely candidates were already part of one of the other entries from Wounded Legion. It wasn’t like the rest of the faction was clueless about who the top pilots were. Those aces got snatched up or banded together shortly after the initial announcement. Whoever they got, it was going to be a castoff that nobody else invited.
“Reggie?” June cooed, snapping him back into the moment. She was straddling him, riding high in the jetted waters. “There you are.” She sank down and lowered herself onto him. “Lost you for a minute there. Just relax. This isn’t a problem you need to fix this instant.”
Reggie looked up into her eyes. “But I—”
A hand at the back of his head forced Reggie’s gaze downward. “Hey, my tits are down here.” She rose and pulled Reggie’s face against her chest.
Reggie gave in. He put his hands on her hips and let June ride him until they were both exhausted.
Slouching back in the water, Reggie was on the verge of drifting off to sleep when June spoke again. “Feeling better?”
Reggie grunted an affirmative.
“Good. Because I know who we’re going to get to fill out the roster.”
“Oh?” Reggie managed to ask, eyelids drooping.
“Yup,” June said. “Lin.”
Chapter Thirteen
It was only three days until the opening round of the Ragnarok Showdown. Reggie had no time to waste. A quick check of his Valhalla West friends list confirmed that Lin Chen was indeed logged in at the moment—just not to Armored Souls. She hadn’t been to Reggie’s neck of the digitized woods for years. He tried to recall the exact circumstances of her departure, but in typical Lin style, her goodbye had been perfunctory, flippant, and bereft of sappy sentimentality. MilkmanDave had left the faction with more pomp.
But Lin was still around in the general sense. Valhalla West was still by far the biggest game in town when it came to brain-scanning play-while-you-sleep gaming technology. She made her living live streaming—a profession that baffled Reggie to this day—and couldn’t abandon the biggest pond to fish elsewhere.
Tonight, Reggie’s friends list located Lin in Close Quarters Combat, an uninspired name but an accurate assessment of the general idea behind the game.
[Armored Souls > Logout]
Reggie tapped the word.
[Really Logout? Y/N]
Yes. Reggie vanished.
[Relog options: Apartment - Armored Souls - Silent Shuriken - More Options]
[More Options: … ]
Reggie swiped a short way down the alphabetical listing and found Close Quarters Combat.
Reggie entered in spectator mode and found Lin mid-game. There was a glass-walled lobby like a luxury box at a sports stadium. A scattering of gamers was splayed across the glass, watching the action in the fishbowl spread below them.
Reggie joined them.
The in-game music was piped in through speakers. Thudding, techno beats mimicked the accelerated heartbeat of the players battling for life and death in the arena. The announcer had a game show host leer in his voice.
“Ooh, that’s gotta hurt!” the announcer bellowed when one of the players caught a rocket grenade in the face and despawned in a shower of gore.
[Faction > Roster > News (82) > Rewards > Info]
[Info]
[Player Search: Linchpin]
That was the name Lin used outside of Armored Souls.
Reggie now saw Lin with a targeting bracket around her so that he could track her movements. The arena was a maze of ramps and bridges with plenty of cover and places to sneak up on an unsuspecting player to catch them in an ambush. It was all decked out in sleek, glossy grays and whites, with neon markings for areas whose purposes Reggie could only guess.
Lin sprinted into an area marked with a pulsating blue plus sign, and a wash of tiny blue plusses wafted from her like chimney smoke. Her half-empty health bar refilled rapidly.
Another player bounded along a catwalk toward her location, and Reggie found himself trying to grip the glass as he leaned in to watch. Move… move, Lin… MOVE!
His concerns were misplaced. Lin’s super space-soldier armor had a helmet equipped with side mirrors. Without even turning to look, she shot over her shoulder and scored a center-of-mass burst that ratcheted her would-be assailant’s health meter to zero in nothing flat.
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