The Brass Fist
Kasper's jaw exploded with pain as Brock's fist connected, the taste of copper flooding his mouth. The training arena spun around him, a kaleidoscope of brass and neon. Holo-screens flickered with rapidly changing betting odds, their art deco frames glowing against the Academy's metallic walls.
"On your feet, de la Fuente!" The instructor's voice cut through the ringing in his ears.
Pushing himself up, Kasper wiped blood from his split lip. His nano-enhanced training suit flickered, damage indicators flashing angry red across its surface like warning lights on an airship's control panel. Three weeks at the Bounty Hunter Academy, and he'd already made an enemy of the biggest cadet in his class.
Brock Hammerstein sneered down at him, all muscle and malice. "Should've stayed in your backwater district, street rat. This Academy is for the elite."
The words stung worse than his throbbing jaw. Kasper hadn't fought and scraped his way into the Academy just to be dismissed by some privileged bully. He thought of his application letter, stained with grease from his stepfather's workshop, and the promise he'd made at Javier's grave.
Top of the class or die trying. That's what it'll take to hunt down the ATA.
Around them, cadets pressed against the force-field barrier, their faces hungry for violence. Credits changed hands as brass automatons with ticker-tape readouts recalculated odds.
Brock circled, bronze-knuckled gloves gleaming under the holo-lights. "What's wrong? Realized you don't belong here after all?"
Kasper's nanobots hummed beneath his skin, working overtime to minimize the damage from Brock's last blow. He needed to end this quickly.
"I belong here more than you know," Kasper muttered, shifting his stance. The training arena's brass floor plates creaked beneath his boots.
Brock charged like a freight train, telegraphing his attack with a roar. This time, Kasper was ready. He sidestepped, using his smaller frame and the momentum-redirection techniques from yesterday's combat class. His enhanced reflexes made the difference – instead of meeting Brock's charge head-on, he guided it, letting the bigger cadet's weight work against him.
Brock stumbled, off-balance. The crowd's jeers turned to murmurs of surprise.
Now.
Kasper struck, targeting the weak points in Brock's stance. His fist connected with a satisfying crunch, the nanobots in his system amplifying the force of the blow. Brock stumbled back, blood streaming from his nose, genuine shock in his eyes.
"You little gearhead!" Brock spat, wiping at the crimson stream with the back of his hand.
"Call me what you want," Kasper replied, settling back into a defensive stance. "Just remember my name when I'm top of the class."
A gong sounded, signaling the end of the first round. Kasper retreated to his corner where Sean O'Malley waited, medical kit already open.
"Not bad for a rookie," Sean said, pressing a nano-infused patch to Kasper's split lip. "But you'll need more than luck to beat Brock. He's sponsored by Cygnus Industries. Top-shelf enhancements."
"I've got a few tricks of my own," Kasper winced as the patch began knitting his skin together.
Sean raised an eyebrow. "I noticed. Where'd a district kid get military-grade nanobots?"
Kasper's mind flashed to the basement of his family's apartment, to the syringe in his stepfather's trembling hand. The Prometheus Serum, a gift and a burden both.
"Long story," he replied.
The gong sounded again. Sean slapped him on the shoulder. "Well, whatever you've got, use it. Brock's trying to make an example of you. He does this to one newbie every semester."
Kasper nodded, rising to his feet. Across the arena, Brock was receiving similar treatment from his own corner men, though with considerably more advanced equipment. The disparity was obvious – Brock's suit had barely registered damage, while Kasper's flickered with warning signals.
"Round two," announced the automated referee, its brass-plated chassis hovering above the arena floor. "Commence."
This time, Brock was more cautious, circling Kasper with calculated movements. "That serum in your blood," he said, voice low enough that only Kasper could hear. "Interesting signature. Almost like Project Lazarus tech."
Kasper froze. How could he know about that?
The momentary distraction was all Brock needed. He lunged forward, landing a devastating blow to Kasper's ribs. Pain lanced through him as something cracked. The arena tilted dangerously, the edges of his vision blurring.
"Not so special after all," Brock taunted, pressing his advantage with another strike that Kasper barely managed to block.
Images flashed through Kasper's mind: smoke choking Mirage City's art deco skyline, the desperation in Aldair's eyes as he dragged himself home half-dead after the attack, Javier's empty bed the morning after.
I didn't come this far to fail on my first month.
With a clarity born of desperation, Kasper saw his path forward. Brock was stronger, better equipped, but he was also arrogant. And arrogance bred predictability.
Kasper feinted weakness, staggering slightly, letting his guard drop just enough. As expected, Brock moved in for what he thought would be the finishing blow. But instead of blocking, Kasper dropped completely, sweeping Brock's legs from beneath him.
The bigger cadet crashed to the ground with an earth-shaking thud. Before he could recover, Kasper was on him, using everything he'd learned in the backstreets of the Lower District. Not the sanitized combat techniques taught in class, but the brutal efficiency of someone who'd grown up fighting to survive.
"Yield!" Kasper demanded, applying pressure to a nerve cluster beneath Brock's jaw.
"Never," Brock gasped, thrashing beneath him.
Kasper increased the pressure, leaning close. "What do you know about Project Lazarus?"
Brock's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed with calculated malice. "Enough to know you're playing with fire, de la Fuente. There are people at this Academy who'd dissect you just to see what makes those nanobots tick."
A cold dread settled in Kasper's stomach. Before he could press further, Brock surged upward with unexpected strength, throwing Kasper off. They both scrambled to their feet, circling each other once more.
The crowd had fallen silent, sensing that this was no longer just a training exercise. Even the betting automatons had stilled, their brass gears silent as they processed the unexpected turn of events.
Brock charged again, but this time his movements were different – more precise, almost mechanical. Kasper barely evaded the first strike, and the second caught him in the solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs.
He's holding back, Kasper realized with dawning horror. He's been toying with me.
For a heartbeat, Kasper saw Javier's face the night before he died – his brother's eyes bright with purpose as he packed his investigation gear, ready to infiltrate the ATA's Mirage City operation. "Sometimes, mijo," Javier had said, ruffling Kasper's hair, "the people watching you are more dangerous than the people fighting you."
As if reading his thoughts, Brock smiled coldly. "Did you really think someone with my connections would waste time on a nobody like you without reason?"
Another blow landed, this one to Kasper's kidney. His vision swam, warnings flashing across his suit's diagnostic display. One more hit like that and he'd be in the medi-bay for weeks.
Think, damn it! Kasper's mind raced. If Brock knew about the Prometheus Serum, about Project Lazarus, then this wasn't just a hazing ritual. He was being tested.
Time seemed to slow as his nanobots kicked into overdrive, heightening his perception. He remembered Aldair's words the night he'd received the serum: "The nanobots will adapt to your needs, mijo. But they can only amplify what's already there. Your strength, your speed... your will."
Will. That was it.
Kasper stopped trying to match Brock's strength and speed. Instead, he focused inward, on the connections between his consciousness and the nanobots. He could feel them, a microscopic army awaiting direction. Not just following his body's automatic responses, but capable of so much more if guided properly.
When Brock came at him again, Kasper was ready. Instead of dodging, he met the strike head-on, channeling all his will into the nanobots at the point of impact. His forearm should have shattered under the force of Brock's blow, but instead, it held firm.
Brock's eyes widened in genuine surprise. "How—"
Kasper didn't let him finish. He countered with a strike of his own, the nanobots clustering to reinforce his fist at the moment of impact. The hit connected with enough force to send Brock staggering backward.
For the first time, real uncertainty flickered across Brock's face. He glanced towards the observation deck where the senior instructors watched from behind tinted glass. Whatever he saw there must have unsettled him, because his next attack was rushed, almost desperate.
Kasper sidestepped, using Brock's momentum against him once more. This time, when Brock stumbled, Kasper didn't hesitate. A devastating combination of strikes – each one enhanced by the nanobots' precision targeting – and Brock crashed to the ground.
This time, he didn't get up.
Silence fell over the arena, broken only by the soft hum of the holo-projectors and Kasper's ragged breathing. Slowly, the betting automatons whirred back to life, their ticker-tapes spitting out a flurry of updated odds.
The automated referee hovered over Brock's prone form, scanning his vital signs. "Match concluded," it announced. "Victor: De la Fuente, Kasper."
The crowd erupted into chaos – shouts of disbelief, scattered applause, angry mutters from those who'd lost credits on what should have been a sure bet. Through it all, Kasper remained still, trying to process what had just happened.
I won. But at what cost?
If Brock knew about Project Lazarus, others might too. And that put not just Kasper, but his entire family at risk.
A towering figure shoved through the crowd, his muscular frame drawing eyes as he approached. His blond hair was cropped short in an almost military style, and a jagged scar ran across his right eyebrow.
"Fuck me sideways!" The newcomer's voice boomed across the arena, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "That was something else, rookie."
Kasper tensed instinctively. There was something in the man's intense blue eyes that set him on edge—a hungry, calculating look that reminded him of the street fighters back home.
"Sean Covington," the man introduced himself, extending a hand covered in combat wraps. "First-year. And you just cost me fifty credits." Despite his words, he didn't seem angry—more... intrigued.
Kasper accepted the handshake cautiously, feeling the excessive pressure Sean applied. A dominance move he recognized well.
As the adrenaline faded, exhaustion hit him like a freight train. He swayed on his feet, the nanobots in his system working overtime to repair the damage he'd sustained.
Sean caught his arm with surprising speed, steadying him. "Whoa there, fresh meat. You want to dance with Hammerstein, you better learn to handle the after-party." His grip was like iron, unnecessarily tight. "Let's get you patched up before you leak all over the training floor."
"I'm fine," Kasper said, trying to pull away.
"No, you're not. And I want to know exactly what kind of tech you're running that let you take down Cygnus Industries' golden boy." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "People are going to be very interested in those enhancements you've got. I've seen what happens when corps find something they want. Watch your back."
Kasper noted the fishing for information. Sean wasn't just a friendly face—he was connected, dangerous, and clearly had his own agenda.
They limped towards the exit, the crowd parting before them. Whispers followed in their wake, speculative glances that made the back of Kasper's neck prickle with unease.
"That was more than just a lucky punch," Sean murmured, his earlier boisterousness replaced by something sharper, more focused. "Nobody takes down Brock Hammerstein. Not first-years, anyway."
Kasper's mind reeled with the implications of what had just happened. One fight didn't make him a hero, but it had definitely put him on the radar – for better or worse.
"I'm just trying to survive," he said wearily.
Sean shot him a sidelong glance, something predatory in his gaze. "Aren't we all?" His tone suggested layers beneath the casual comment. "But some of us do more than survive. Some of us hunt." He tapped the eagle tattoo visible beneath his rolled-up sleeve.
The medi-bay doors hissed open with a pneumatic wheeze, promising relief. But as Kasper stepped inside, klaxons suddenly blared throughout the academy. Crimson emergency lights bathed the corridor in an eerie glow, turning the brass fixtures into pools of liquid fire.
Sean's expression transformed instantly, all trace of his earlier intimidation tactics vanishing. His hand dropped to a concealed holster at his hip, a move so practiced it seemed instinctual.
"Fuck," he whispered, suddenly all business. "Not now."
"What is it?" Kasper asked, exhaustion forgotten as a new surge of adrenaline coursed through his system.
Sean's eyes narrowed, scanning the corridor with practiced efficiency. "Lockdown," he said grimly. "We're under attack."
A cold realization dawned on Kasper. The timing couldn't be coincidental – his unexpected victory, and now this? His thoughts raced to the ATA, to his brother's killers. Had they found him already?
As cadets and instructors alike rushed to battle stations, one thought crystallized in Kasper's mind with terrifying clarity: he hadn't come to the Academy to escape the fight.
He'd walked right into the heart of it.
Through the medi-bay's panoramic windows, he could see attack ships descending from the clouds, their hulls bearing the unmistakable emblem of the Army of Technological Awakening.
I'm coming for you, Kasper thought, his hands curling into fists as the nanobots hummed beneath his skin. For Javier. For everyone.
His thoughts drifted momentarily to his stepfather's workshop back home. Aldair would be hunched over his workbench now, brass-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, the exoskeleton whirring softly as he tinkered with some new invention. "You carry our hopes with you," Aldair had said the night before Kasper left, his voice rough with emotion. "But more importantly, you carry our love."
Kasper took a deep breath, centering himself. The Academy, Project Lazarus, Brock's cryptic warnings—all pieces of a puzzle he'd only just begun to solve.
The real fight, it seemed, was only just beginning.