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The bottom line Maxwell Jonas would always remember the rains that sheeted out of the dreary grey sky on that cold autumn evening. The thick military rain coat he had adopted as his regular buffer against the chill and onset of winter kept the worst of the heavy rains from soaking into his clothes, and he walked with a stiff limp that he told many was the result of shrapnel from one of the recent wars, but in truth was the result of a mishap trip and headfirst flight down a long set of stairs. The large brimmed hat he wore kept his head dry of course, but it had a habit of funnelling water, which soaked through a small hole at the base, and directly down the pack of his neck. In short, Maxwell felt like a downspout. Turning the key in this latch, Maxwell turned to view the drab, grey concrete jungle he lived in, with the occasional broken neon lamp advertising this eating establishment, or that entertainment complex, breaking through the thick downpour. He shook his head, more in disgust at his surroundings than to shake the water off his hat, then entered his small apartment. His wife, Merel, working in the apartment's small kitchen leaned back, her head extending into the short hallway, to see who had entered. Maxwell fought hard not to chuckle at the vision of a disembodied head sticking out of the hallway wall, which always plagued him when she did that. Covering his sudden grin by shaking off his wet overcoat, he called down to her, inquiring how her day went. As always, she responded indifferently, another day at the office. Maxwell didn't know whether his job as a mechanic in the inner city district lent him a certain absolution from having to prepare dinner, since he always arrived home much later, or if Merel simply found it as good an excuse as possible to keep him away from the foodstuffs before they were presented on the kitchenette table. Paul Jonas, Maxwell's only son and heir incipient, stumped down the stairs with his small 7 year old feet and climbed up onto the chair in his accustomed place at the dinner table. Looking up at his mother stirring something that smelled moderately edible in a pot, he held up his small soup bowl with sorrowful eyes, mouthing the phrase, please ma'am, might I have some more? Maxwell didn't know where his son had gotten his hands on the old classics, much less the time or interest to have read through one of them, cover to cover, but shrugged it off. At least it proved a small comic relief for what could be a long evening. Merel stirred the pot for one last time, then carried it over and placed it on the small table. Sitting down, she glanced enquiringly at Maxwell. Maxwell shrugged, then ladled a portion of it into his bowl, then flicked on the vidscreen to catch the pre-game highlights. The announcer listed all the contestant, the regular local group, who would be competing against his employer's droid, as they filed into the subterranean cavern, an opening the size of a small city carved out of the concrete junkyard that infested the lower levels of the metropolis. Most he had seen compete before, all owned by deckers trying to make a name for themselves by knocking out the leader of the local pack, who, in this case, was the decker Guillame, Maxwell's employer. Maxwell grinned at his son who had finished his bowl of soup, and was dismounting the large char, then padded off with his slippered feet back upstairs, where he kept his own small vidconsol. Maxwell frowned. Surely his consol friends weren't more important than an arena fight sporting his dad's own employer, was it? Maxwell shrugged it off and turned back to the vid. Guillame, a skinny young man, with a mop of greasy hair that ran in tangles to cover his face more than half the time, was being flashed across the vidscreen as he spoke to the camerabot. Ohya, he said, I'll take em all out see? I always do, neh? One or two of the droids, or their deckers, Maxwell didn't recognize, and there was even a droid who's decker refused to let himself be seen. Maxwell recalled the base that had been built in the outlying mountains, whose decker communicated with his employees through a double blind, an untraceable text only server system, with an obscure need for privacy. Maybe this mystery droid belonged to that decker, what was his alias again? Avi flashed across the screen. Maxwell nodded his head. That was it, that's the one. The droids were picking their way out into the arena, over fallen rubble, around twisted steel construction girders fallen into long disuse and across huge slabs of ancient concrete. The occasional droplet of water fell from the dark subterranean sky, filtered through miles of shattered concrete, ironically showing that even the droids could not escape the chill autumn rains. The droids huddled there, waiting for the council to sound the gong that would start the arena. Camerabots flittered around, searching out druids and sending the images back over the nets, which were promptly spliced onto the vids for the many masses of people watching, waiting in anticipation. As the last seconds trickled down, Maxwell shifted in his chair, looking around to find that he, along with Merel, had finished the last of the soup, unnoticed. Wondering why his son would fore go watching tonight's game, Maxwell shrugged and turned back to the vidscreen. A low, persistent, humming vibration permeated the arena, growing in volume and taking on a brassy twang as the gong was charged. The view shifted to an alcove high above the arena, where the council waited, looking down upon the druids that would set upon each other with unrestrained ferocity. One of them picked up the mallet, and lightly tapped the huge vibrating gong. The huge brassy clang that resulted belied the force with which the council member struck the gong, as the immense sound echoed throughout the entire subterranean cavern. As is the case with hastily built alliances, they often shatter. It's nice enough to ally against a common, stronger enemy, but fewer allies to share the win with, the better. The nineteen droids arranged against Guilllame's huge war machine took quick potshots at each other, those who were close enough sustained significant damage. Of the twenty droids in the arena, only eleven survived the first ten seconds. Maxwell noted with relief that Guillame's droid was still in the running, and also that mystery droid, Avi that he had decided to keep an eye on. Maxwell and Merel sat there, eyes glued to the vidscreen as one by one, Guillame's droid hunted down and methodically pulverized each of the enemy droids into formless piles of slag metal and twisted wires. Ironically, Avi was doing similarly, keeping Guillame within sensor range, but out of firing distance, until between them they had eliminated all competition. Perhaps sensing that this foe was more than met the eye, Guillame became cautious, and the two droids circled each other in the surreal twilight cavern. Guillame's droid twitched as it's sensors caught sight of the rag doll, hooked onto a twisted girder in a recessed alcove. The droid sprang into rapid motion, covering the distance rapidly, but Avi was right behind him. The huge droid reached the alcove and sent a probing arm for the doll, as Avi came rushing up behind, guns blazing. Guillame swivled his mini guns into firing position, but until he had the doll, Guillame could not turn to bear his heavy weapons on the little droid. Maxwell groaned as Avi, with impressive precision, blasted off each of Guillame's mini guns. Guillam'es pincher had the rag doll, but it was not coming loose, and suffered Avi's gunfire ripping through his armor as he carefully pried the rag doll loose. A stray shot of Avi's hit the rectractable arm, and it hung there motionless, the rag doll gathered loosely in it's grip. The camerabots on Guillame showed the young man shouting orders desperately at his employees, even as his hands flickered rapidly on a console out of the camerabot's range, beads of sweat rolling down his face. In the arena, Guillame's droid had now turned to face Avi, and Avi backed his droid off as they traded potshots, neither doing too much damage However, the damage was accumulating and one way or another this fight would be over very soon. One of Guillame's hatches opened, and a missile shot out, ramming into Avi's left tank tread with brutal force, then detonation, shearing the tread clear off. Avi stumbled, falling onto his left side, as his right tread spun hopelessly in the air. Guillame slowly approached, to perform his abject humiliation close, by rolling his droid over an opponent's thoroughly crushing it inoperable. But as the big droid's huge form shadowed over Avi's small helpless wreck, a small hatch opened, revealing a small innocent looking laser, a last defence. Maxwell thought, grinning, preparing to enjoy his employer's victory and his own substantial bonus that came to him and his fellow employees with each win. Maxwell's face turned to ashes however, as the small innocent looking laser, bored a hole straight through the bigger droid's armoured control station, slicing through the wiring and connections that made up the droids computer brain. The big droid stopped dead. Maxwell howled in frustration as Avi's small pincher reached out and gently removed the rag doll from Guillame's limp extractor arm. The camerabot in Guillame's base had frozen the image of Guillame's face just as he realized he had tasted defeat, a look of unspeakable loss, and the image was glued to the vidscreen as the humming vibration and brassy clang rang again, the gong announcing that the fight was over. Fighting of the disappointment of his lost bonus, Maxwell slowly, quietly ascended the stairs to go to bed, and sleep off his sudden sense of loss. As he approached his room, he saw the light on under Paul's door. Peeking in, he saw Paul, asleep in front of the consol. In retrospect, Maxwell was glad that his son didn't have to see his father's embarrassing loss. Gently, Maxwell picked up his son and tucked him into bed, then sought out his own bed, where he promptly fell asleep. His son, Paul Jonas, unknown as yet to the world by his alias, Avi, lay there asleep in the darkness, a small little smile playing across his lips. Written by Avi