49. TRENCH WARS

“GET YOUR BETS IN PLACE,” the announcer screamed, “BECAUSE WE START IN TEN… NINE…”

When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Wendell, Alhannah, and Dax hit the nightclub GAH to stir the waters—and it worked. After a flashy faceoff with Grand Champion Darcy Dunnit, things spiraled into a public fight that made headlines. With Trench Wars officially underway, Alhannah enters the arena and shows why she's still a force to be reckoned with… even as unknown forces threaten the outcome.

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Those who win in combat aren’t necessarily those with the greatest strengths, but the least number of weaknesses.

Even through the reinforced walls, I could hear the crowds.

The Trench arena was filling up—fast. Two hundred thousand bodies packed into the upper sections of the building, barely protected by chain link fencing. I imagined them stampeding through the gates, racing to find their seats, all pumped and ready to see us beat each other into scrap.

I sat next to Nat, watching him work like a madman, adjusting the Trench-issued computers to match his shortcut preferences. A six-foot-wide table, four padded chairs—standard fare for a RAT team, supposedly for the four programmers. But it was just him now.

“You sure you’ll be able to handle all this, Nat?” I asked, watching his fingers twitch over the desk. The poor guy had been grinding non-stop for two days prepping for this first event. He looked like he hadn’t slept, but his hands were still steady. I gave his shoulder a pat.

“I… think so,” he said, stretching his fingers across the counter, eyes flicking between monitors. Out in the stands, a swarm of fans were still flooding through the gates. Vendors were already hawking snacks and shouting over the din. Nat glanced my way and gave me a weak grin. “Just don’t tell them I’m scared, alright?”

“Not a word,” I promised.

Five corporate inspectors waddled past the table—big-bellied gnomes in blinding white lab coats—scrutinizing every crate and cable. Nat was practically growling under his breath, “Come on, come on. Check your list and get out already, will you?”

Freak and the crew were doing their final check on Banshee while he and Socket set up the emergency flash welder. Dax was hauling crates and making himself useful. The pit was spotless. The S.L.A.G. was prepped on the lift.

The only thing missing…