ABOUT THE GAME: CTF 2187 from Advanced Gaming Enterprises features teams of Battle Bots pitted against each other in Arenas. Two or four sided contests are possible, as well as a yearly Free-For-All contest where a group of Bots fight to see who's "the Best in the Arenas". Some players act as Independents, allowing the GMs to put them with any group of Pilots. Others organize themselves into teams, either official (on record with AGE) or unofficial. This story centers around characters who are actual Pilot characters in CTF 2187, with only some basis in game play; mainly it captures the historical and political climate in which the ‘backstory’ of the game is based. This story follows "Past and Future Intertwined," previously published by Sabledrake Magazine in February 2003, though the diary passages within give new perspectives on events from nearly every story previously published by Sabledrake Magazine. Some material contained within is copyrighted by Advanced Gaming Enterprises and used by permission. I’ve been playing the game for over ten years, but that’s my only association with the company. For more information, write: Advanced Gaming Enterprises, or see their website at http://www.ageforfun.com.

E. C. Vileslayer, fresh from Academy graduation, looked forward to a career as an Arena pilot. She'd worked hard to convince her mother, Shannon, and stepfather, Lyvik, to let her take this path in life, difficult given how overprotective they both were of her. E.C. knew why; her mother wanted so hard to hide her whereabouts from E.C.'s father so they could try to live a new life.

But the old man had been dead for some time now, after getting blown up in an abandoned armory while remaining faithful to his megalomaniac boss Ryker Lorne. There was no need to worry about Victor Cartwright anymore. The whole situation ended up with a much higher price tag as her estranged older sister Vienna Cartwright, so bent on vengeance, infiltrated the Sisters of Silicon and nearly destroyed the team from within. The twist in that was that for her Vienna's new identity she used the names of the two people long absent from her life -- Elise Shannon -- while E.C. legally changed her name from Elise Victoria Cartwright to E.C. Vileslayer to try and cut ties with the past.

At long last, E.C. graduated the Academy, in the midrange for her class. Now came the next step after graduation, getting formally assigned a number for tracking purposes and declaring their choice of a team if they so chose to join one. With many people potentially having similar or identical names, the media developed a longstanding policy of assigning "call numbers" to pilots currently active in the Arenas, to be recycled upon the death of Pilots.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternal wait, E.C. found herself at the head of the line. The administrator punched a sequence of buttons on his console, and information printed out on an attached terminal display.

E.C. looked down at the digital readout on the terminal: CADET E.C. VILESLAYER [PN209]

She looked from the readout, to the administrator, back to the display.

"Is this someone's idea of a sick joke?" she said, horrified.

The administrator shrugged.

"It's all the luck of the draw, Cadet. We just got a bank of over 900 numbers to ID active pilots. Slap them on without any real significance."

"'Luck of the draw,' my left foot. Change the number then."

"Sorry, Cadet. Against policy. Are you declaring a team today?"

"I don't do teams."

E.C. turned and stormed out of the room, back to her Academy quarters, which would still be her home for a little while longer, as she got a grace period to find new housing.

As she came up to her door, E.C. found a rolled up paper -- something rarely seen in this age -- nestled against her front door. She picked it up, noting it sealed with a wax impression of a lion's maw open wide. She brought it inside the Spartan quarters and carefully ripped around the seal. Inside, a handwritten note read: "I know who you are and commend what you are doing. Your father would be proud. I offer you the chance to carry on the mission he believed in. Join with us and become part of the newest force that shall dominate the Arenas and eventually the world, The Lion's Maw."

More information followed, but E.C. angrily crunched up the paper and threw it against the wall. She wondered if the specters of darkness would ever stop haunting her.

Opening her closet, E.C. took out a box she'd long dreaded opening. The Arena officials sent it to her after Alias' death in Arena 320 and the revelation that E.C. Vileslayer and Elise Victoria Cartwright were one in the same; as next of kin, she inherited all of Alias' possessions.

Inside she found an assortment of old uniforms, a bag of mechanic's tools she presumed originally were her father's, and a pocket-size rectangular object inscribed: ALIAS [PN209]

A latch on the side caused the object to flip open, and looking at the controls E.C. realized what she held in her hands was a holo-diary. Though some were available as fashionable versions, such as lockets or bracelets, this palm-sized one was standard issue as a kind of graduation present for Pilots as an outlet of release.

E.C. pressed the start button and the now infamous image of Alias' face appeared, with her bright dyed-red hair and scarred face from a badly-done plastic surgery to mask her identity. E.C. couldn't recognize her as the older sister she barely remembered before her mother and E.C. escaped their miserable existence in Arengas.

"Elise," Alias began, immediately astonishing E.C., "Whether I'm showing this to you because I found you, or somehow you have it after I'm dead, I wanted you to know what I went through in the name of our family while hoping to find you."

E.C. continued to listen to Alias' speaking holo-face as she went to sit on the couch.

******

I came up to the door of Femme Fatale's office, and heard voices from within.

"I'm really sorry, Femme," a young female voice said. "I know I promised I'd go out in Arena 178 with you, but Dad just got diagnosed with a fast-moving disease. I've got to help him move into a place equipped to give him intensive therapy. The move's going to take a little longer than the startup timeframe you're shooting for. Maybe I'll just go independent for the first Arena I can get into, and hook up with you after that."

"Dorian," I heard Femme reply. "You know how much my father cared about yours. I totally understand, and Dad would certainly want to see everything done to keep your father Darian healthy. Just let me know when you're ready, anytime."

I waited, pacing and impatient, until the long conversation ended and Dorian Blackheart stepped out into the hallway, nearly walking into me mid-pace.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" Dorian yelled at me, hands on her hips.

"Watcha where you goin," I muttered back while pushing through Femme's sliding office doors before they closed.

Femme looked up from her desk to see my fiery red hair, with choppy cropped hair and scarred face.

"Excuse me, but I don't believe we have an appointment."

"You lika busy?" I told her in that horrible broken lingo I used to hide who I was.

"No," Femme responded, "but protocol--"

"Screwa protocol. You needa someone to filla out your ranks for Arena?"

"Well, yes, I do have one open position."

I pointed to myself.

"Now you alla handled. I here. Cadet Alias."

Femme got up from behind her desk.

"I thank you for volunteering, Cadet I, but there's still a matter of induction--"

"Forget tha red tape. You need, I here. Let's go."

Femme sighed.

"You really have me over a barrel. The Sisters really need to take this mercenary contract for the income. And you're a woman who wants to join, and my policy is to be open to everyone, but that doesn't mean I don't at least guard myself first with a background check."

Femme reached over and opened her desk drawer, and took out the Sisters of Silicon membership packet. She handed it to me.

"Welcome to the Sisters, Cadet Alias. Let's see what you're made of. Formal ceremonies will just have to wait."

******

E.C. sat down on the couch, interested. She didn't realize Femme and Alias ever fought side by side. That little fact didn't really make the all the newscasts after her sister's death. Alias went on to explain exactly what happened, from her point of view.

******

The Arena officials who arranged 178 put Femme Fatale and I at total opposite ends of the Arena. This completely frustrated me, as I couldn't do anything to try and trip the Sisters of Silicon leader up. True, rules prevented me from actually shooting the witch, but that didn't mean I couldn't get in Femme's way and block her shots, or be an obstacle in other ways.

So in response, I decided to do my own thing with complete disregard for Femme Fatale's orders. But things went real south real fast. By Turn 6, I'd Ejected from my Hornet with a crappy Victory Rating of .85 compared to a Damage Rating of 2.53.

Though I escaped the Arena, I did not escape a talking-to by Femme Fatale for my performance after that stupid induction thing alongside new member Dorian Blackheart.

"I was fortunate with I.M. Shirley Wright and I thought lighting might strike twice when I chose to sign you on the spot," Femme Fatale lectured me in the Team Commander's office. "Boy, did I live to regret my choice. Cadet I, I wasn't impressed with your performance in the Arena or your attitude. I'd like to see you spend some time here at HQ learning how to hone both those things before I send you out again. I'm assigning you to assist with clerical and reception duties and observe the demeanor of those around you, in hopes you will learn what is truly expected of a member of the Sisters of Silicon."

Just then, the door buzzer rang. Femme, looking relieved that something broke up the confrontation, answered it.

"Femme Fatale's office."

"Hi love," came an annoying sing-songy male voice through the speaker. "Just heard you were in from 178 and couldn't live another minute without my beautiful wife."

Femme buzzed Rus in. Her broad-smiling, blond-haired, blue-eyed husband practically waltzed into the office and swept Femme off her feet. I have to admit, though he's annoying and not really capable, Racubus Sterling does have a certain charm about him.

"Rus! When did Arena 182 end?"

"A little while ago. Don't you love it when you don't know which Arena gets done first?" he said as he put Femme down. "Was hanging at Lazer's until I knew you'd be free. You know how much it means to me, to us. Thought about waiting to meet you at the Arena, but didn't think I should mix business and pleasure."

Only then did he recognize I also stood in the room.

"Oops, guess you weren't done with business."

Femme sternly pointed toward the door.

"Actually, we were. Cadet, remember what I told you. Shape up or you may historically become the first person blacklisted by the Sisters."

I turned around and slowly walked as Rus blabbed to his wife about his recent Arena feats, so I could listen in a little.

"Grey Mauser and Dao Marik and I had a horrible time. I mean, we weren't last place but we might as well have been--"

At that moment, I felt lower than last place.

******

E.C. settled back and continued to listen. So her sister had at least had a passing interest in Racubus Sterling, not all of that was a ruse. Not that it mattered much now. She turned her attention back to the holo-diary, realizing she'd tuned out a little bit of her sister's rambles, but tuned back in as the conversation turned to Arena 196, where Femme Fatale won her Individual Victory.

******

I stood in the back of the room watching Femme receive the award for the Individual Victory in Arena 196. No rejoicing here. The woman who had stolen so much from me continued to celebrate victory, while I had nothing. I despise her.

Then that dark-haired Dorian Blackheart tramp approached me.

"Femme asked me to see how you were doing," Dorian said, sounding tired. "I just found out my Dad passed away after a long illness, so I'm not so chipper myself. Maybe we can commiserate?"

"Don't wanna."

"Maybe it'll help both of us to talk to someone."

"Doncha hava brother? Go talka him. Least you got family."

"Damian's taking care of things, and well, there's just some things he can't understand. And maybe I can help you."

"Go. Don't wanna talka."

"But--"

"Go bugga someone elsa!"

Dorian fled the room in tears, which did not escape the notice of Femme Fatale, currently chatting with Major General Blaze. Angrily she marched over to me.

"Cadet Alias! You have proven you learned nothing while I was gone! That is no way to treat any Sister, much less one that just lost her father. I should blacklist you here and now, but I will give you one more chance, just one more. But you will not set foot again in the Arenas unless someone requests to team with you. I cannot afford to let you be an embarrassment to us."

I scowled. That's when I decided Femme Fatale would never see another completed Arena.

******

E.C. reached over and sat the unit on the coffee table as it continued to play. She hadn't expected the diary to be this long and thorough. Apparently Alias really cared that her sister truly understand all that transpired.

******

I spent my time doing the clerical office work that witch forced me to do, while Femme Fatale prepared to round up a team for what would become Arena 218. One day while doing routine work, a daring and fairly new Sisters pilot named Crosse Check came up to me. Crosse Check asked if I was free to go out and be on a team. She'd recruited another Sister named Galatia Nina and just itched to see some action.

"Justa tightbeam our leader lady for da OK, and I go witcha," I replied.

Crosse Check must have had some sway with Femme (much to my surprise) because soon I found myself slated to pilot an Avenger bot in Arena 210. While it meant a slim chance existed that I might not see the results of my sabotage handiwork firsthand, at least it would draw some suspicion from me to be busy and active in the Arenas.

I knew there wasn't much time before they'd be looking for me in the Pre-Game area to get ready for Arena 210. Hidden in my bag, I carried my Sisters of Silicon uniform for a quick change. I wore an oversized mechanic's outfit as I walked into the Bot Storage Arena for Arena 218, having done my best to tailor it down without being too obvious. It was one of Daddy's old suits though, and he always had been a big man. My bright red hair I shoved tight under an oversized, old-fashioned "baseball" cap.

"Research" done while I pretended to do clerical work told me exactly what type of Bot Femme Fatale had chosen for this contest -- a lightweight 50 ton Reaver. Immediately I walked up to a Reaver bot where a couple of techs were just winding down their inspection, both male in this instance.

"Hello," I said, dropping out of the aggravating phony grating accent I'd adopted in my other identity. "Got sent over with orders to check the ejection seat on this unit one last time. Femme Fatale's got a history of needing to hit the button."

"Where were you lately?" laughed one of the other techs. "She just got the Individual Victory in 196."

"A fluke, maybe. Now let a woman's eyes check out this job and make sure it works for the first lady of the Arenas."

The two men stepped back to let me enter, clearly taken by a female mechanic who held her own. Which made it all too easy for me to "check" the inside and get a couple chips crossed. Not to mention a replacement of the damage detection chip with a misprogrammed one, set to not run a diagnostic on the ejection system. I'm definitely Daddy's little girl.

Just as I barely finished, I heard over the loudspeakers:

" First call -- all Pilots for Arena 210 please go to the Pre-Game Preparation Area. All Pilots for Arena 210 to the Pre-Game Preparation Area."

Flustered, I stuck my head out of the cockpit.

"Good to go, got to go," I said, grabbing the bag and running out of the room.

Ducking into a predetermined closet down the hall, I performed a quick change into my uniform, leaving the bag and mechanic's uniform behind. Luckily, since Daddy did a lot of independent and sometimes under-the-table work, it bore no specific markings that would trace back to me. I seriously had to hope the short launch window between Arenas would work in my favor and those techs wouldn't notice the enhancements.

Hoping my absence wouldn't be too noticeable, I slinked out of the closet and finished the sprint down the hall to where Crosse Check and Galatia Nine waited.

Early on in Arena 210, I decided to charge toward where I guessed Team 3's Command Post would be. Only Crosse Check came for backup. From the beginning, I found myself ganged up on and at Moderate Damage and High Heat after only two turns. Bot 7 in particular, a Ravager, seemed determined to run from me after taking some early damage himself. I decided since Ravagers traditionally had poor track records, that he might make an easy kill.

Interestingly enough, Bot 7 chose to duck behind his team's Command Post for cover. I noted that the CP had already taken a fair amount of damage from Crosse Check's efforts and decided maybe destroying it instead -- and stealing a medal from the very person who'd recruited me -- might be the better course of action. After all, I wanted something for enduring all this agony while waiting for the perfect moment to destroy Femme Fatale.

So, by Turn 8, I came up right next to the Command Post and used my damaged Battle Blade to attack it. The damage meant that the blade only unleashed half its effectiveness, but in three phases it was enough as the Post exploded into ruins. Though my team had no chance of winning the game, at least I would shine this day. About time, I thought.

Boy, was that short-lived.

As Crosse Check, Galatia Nine, and I got out of our Bots at game's end, I closed my eyes and waited for the crowds of press to flank me for my CP Kill.

Then I heard the barrage of questions... from across the room.

I opened my eyes to see all the reporters swarming around Crosse Check, each trying to out-shout the other.

"How does it feel scoring the highest Light Bot Victory Rating ever? You're the first female pilot to accomplish this, any comments?"

I hopped out of my cockpit and ran from the room, seething. Once again, victory went to others this day.

Now to find out what the news was of other Arenas, and to see if silent victory might yet be mine.

******

E.C. listened, in a mix of shock and interest. Alias took a great risk documenting what she'd done, if this had been found while she lived Alias would have had much to answer for. She wondered if anyone had ever come to this conclusion behind the scenes after Alias' death but hadn't made it public.

******

I entered the Post-Game green room to see that Arena 218 was down to the final stretch; not all Arenas ended in the same turn duration so the possibility had existed it had already concluded.

I entered to hear the aftermath of what my work unleashed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, in all my years in the Arena I've never seen an Ejection seat fail like this," announced Grumio Camaletti, a prior generation pilot now turned into one of the Arena's foremost gamecasters. "Nothing quite this shocking has happened since the explosion of Frank Forsythe's Andromeda Bot over twenty years ago. Today's technology and expert mechanics should catch defects like this before any disaster can take place."

Miniature floating cameras zoomed in close as medics carefully lifted Femme Fatale onto a hovering gurney. Overseeing them all, a doctor with salt-and-pepper hair raced ahead of them toward a set of emergency doors opened in one wall.

"Has the disaster that plagued her father come back to haunt the next generation?" Grumio announced in an almost menacing tone. "Did Ryker Lorne or followers of his reportedly twisted power dreams live on? If so, they have not succeeded this day, for reports from the field are that Femme Fatale is alive though injured."

I seethed with rage that Femme still lived despite the injury of the ejection seat failure. As often as Femme ended a game ejecting from a Bot, that should have been a near sure-fire way to get her. But even that had failed!

With everyone's eyes on the vidscreens watching the news reports, I slipped out into the Gamestown night and got into my vehicle, racing down the quiet streets. Not only was it a late hour, everyone probably had their eyes glued to the vidscreens to find out the fate of the Arenas' current first lady. Soon I arrived at my destination. -- Lazer's.

I grabbed a large carry bag out from under my back seat, and gloves from my storage compartment. After slipping the gloves on, I made my way to the back end, where the waste compactor units were, clearly still full with materials that hadn't yet been processed. I opened my bag and took out flammable liquids, which I poured over the waste compactor units.

"Her luck gotta run out," I muttered.

"E.C.?" came a slurred answer. "Whatcha talking about?"

******

E.C. jumped back, startled. Someone asked about her and yet Alias never knew or realized a connection right under her fingers. She continued to listen to discover just who it was.

******

I jumped, realizing I wasn't alone. Taking a small flashlight, I searched the area and found a Cadet, his flight uniform shabby and unbuttoned, hair long and unkempt, nursing a bottle of cheap beer.

"Getta outta here," I told him. "Useless."

"Come on, E.C.," the man slurred. "I know you love your stepbrother Gorrik Vileslayer. Why you calling me useless?"

"You drunka offa your ass."

I picked up the pilot and tossed him towards the street.

"Go. Go away."

The pilot stumbled off into the distance, still nursing his beer. I waited a moment for him to gain some distance, then ran back. I pulled a grenade out of my bag and threw it at the waste compactors, causing them to burst into flame. The intensely building heat began to engulf the building.

I got back in the car and casually hid the bag under the seat and put the gloves away, then turned on the engine, establishing the appearance as if I had just arrived on the scene. Then quickly, I turned it off again, and leaped out of the car as patrons of Lazer's began running out of the building.

Maybe at last, one of my plans would see success.

******

E.C. pitied Alias for never recognizing her opportunity, and marveled at how incriminating the whole diary was. Either Alias lived her life determined to prove herself to Elise if she ever found her, or secretly hoped she'd get caught to put the whole ruse to an end, maybe both.

******

I came back to the site of Lazer's the next day and watched from a distance, waiting to see where Rus Sterling's devotions lay. Based on what he'd said at Femme's office, this place was as sentimental to him as his wife and held many memories. A weakling sap like him shouldn't be able to resist a visit to the place.

And I was right. Soon he appeared, walking up to the lines where the damaged hangout had been roped off by the safely commissioners. I walked up to meet him.

"Bad whata happen here," I said. "I know ita important to da Sisters."

Rus broke out of his daze. "Oh, hi, I. Yeah, Lazer's was here before the gyms and rest areas that make up the rest of the complex, but it's the heart and soul of the place. It's got memories for all of us. I can't believe this happened."

"Builda it up again."

"Huh?" Rus responded, still staring transfixed at the ruined Pilot hangout.

"Taka that passion, builda the place betta than before."

Rus fidgeted.

"I don't know. I'm no leader type."

"I'll even helpa out," I whispered, leaning in close.

"Thank you, I. It's going to take a lot of people working on it, and I'd love to have it done before Femme gets out of her physical therapy. Probably a pipe dream, but if you and I work closely together maybe it can happen."

Boy, did Daddy teach me well.

******

E.C. reached out and pressed the pause button. For a long time, she contemplated all she'd taken in, amazed at the fact no one confiscated this holo-diary as evidence. Everything was laid out, every answer to the big puzzles -- how Femme got hurt, why Lazer's burned down.

Then she realized, maybe the Arena officials had done so already, and now just fulfilled Alias' last wish of letting E.C. hear it all firsthand. No reason existed to reveal any of this to the press, at least not immediately. She wondered if Femme knew. She certainly deserved to know.

After taking a breather, E.C. went back to the diary to see if anything else remained. Sure enough, another entry followed.

******

I returned to the dingy, low-rent quarters that never felt like home. Had to sell the Arengas shack to pay for this surgery that totally ruined my face.

When I got home, there was this message on ancient paper, sealed with an impression of a lion's maw open wide. I opened it and read:

"I know who you are and commend what you are doing. Your father would be proud. I offer you the chance to carry on the mission he believed in. Join with us--"

Without reading further, I crumpled up the paper. No one controls Vienna Cartwright. No one.

******

The holo-diary kept playing as E.C. tuned out Alias' ramblings and bee-lined for the piece of paper crumpled up in the corner. She unfolded it and read it over again. Once more, she took in the handwritten words: " I know who you are and commend what you are doing. Your father would be proud."

With a heavy sigh, E.C. walked over and looked at herself in the mirror as she heard Alias continue to detail about preparing to go into Arena 320 with Derrick Deathex. She looked at the paper, then at herself in the mirror, taking in her cropped blond hair and brown eyes. Her father's eyes, the eyes of a hired killer, a genetic hand-me-down from the kind of person E.C. knew she seemed destined to be.

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CTF2187:

Spectres of Darkness

Copyright © 2003 By Shannon Muir