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The data space unfurled slowly, and Chrome and Wanshi saw each other seeing themselves.

Chrome brushed the Inver-Device with a fingertip. “Simulation battle preparing to commence. Terrain loading: Sector 35.”

A soft electronic chime answered. Ghostly blue light gave birth to heaven and earth. Beneath their feet appeared the streets of an abandoned town—cars reduced to rust-eaten skeletons, gasoline drums, buildings whose every window had been punched out by violence… all excruciatingly real. Wanshi drew a deep breath. Yet there was no smell—no gunsmoke, no petrol, no summer heat. Nothing.

“I chose the terrain. You pick the weapons.” Chrome dipped his head toward Wanshi in invitation.

The equipment menu bloomed across the holographic mirror, a parade of gaudy, life-stealing toys. One second later the electronic voice confirmed. Chrome lowered his gaze to the dagger that had materialised in his hand. Five paces away, Wanshi spun his own blade in a lazy flourish. Sensing the question in Chrome’s stare, Wanshi lifted one shoulder. “Is there any weapon in here you’re actually bad with?”

Chrome: “…I’ve trained with all of them.”

“Ha.” A dry laugh scraped out of Wanshi’s throat. “Having to square off against the Captain himself… truly the worst possible draw.” He let his arms dangle as if boneless, no strength in them at all. “Guess we might as well keep it simple.”

Chrome watched him refuse even the most basic guard and frowned, helpless. “Have some faith in yourself, Wanshi.”

“Pain feedback is active in the data space, and damage is recorded in real time, but it won’t actually harm the frame.” Chrome stressed the point one last time, sinking his centre of gravity, reversing the dagger so the blade lay flat along his forearm. “So don’t hold back. This match ends when one construct can no longer move.”

Wanshi inclined his head. Golden lenses flicked upward from beneath lazy lids. “Go easy on me, Chrome. You know I hate pain.”

Battles demanded solemnity, no matter the opponent. Chrome had steeled himself for that, yet the look Wanshi gave him still froze his stance for a fraction of a heartbeat. It was not a battlefield gaze; it dragged him back to certain tangled, breathless moments—
The next instant, a gasoline drum hurtled toward Chrome’s face.

Chrome—already on the back foot. He hadn’t even registered when Wanshi had drifted close enough, or when that lazy leg had snapped up in a kick. Visual processors whirred, tracing the drum’s arc, then kindly warned him: residual gasoline inside. Shatter it and the blast would bloom. Everything in this field was real enough to hurt. Real enough to kill.

Chrome chose a lateral dodge, springing again the moment he touched ground. Mid-air, the explosion’s shockwave shoved at his back like a burning hand. More importantly, Wanshi’s low sweep was already kissing the spot Chrome had meant to land. Five paces—gone in a blink. Feint, bait, predict, pursue: one seamless breath. If Chrome didn’t know Wanshi’s habits…He rode the fall, driving his dagger toward those golden lenses lit crimson by the blast. Two war machines locked eyes mid-clash: Chrome suspended, unable to twist away; Wanshi still crouched from the sweep, unable to rise. From below, Wanshi whipped his knife upward—

Steel screamed against steel.

Neither lingered in disadvantage. After parrying Chrome’s dagger, Wanshi rolled sideways and opened distance. The gasoline drum still burned on the far side of the street. Chrome reset his stance, eyes nailed to every careless twitch of the other construct, advancing slowly. “…This isn’t quite the dagger duel I had in mind.”

Wanshi narrowed his eyes in a sly smile. “Take it as a compliment.” The dagger spun between his fingers, then settled firm in his grip. “Shall I get serious, then?” At last he squared up—left arm barred across his chest, right hand hidden at his hip with the blade. In close-quarters dagger work, letting the armed hand be controlled spelled disaster; that was elementary. Did Wanshi think hiding the knife behind his body would help? Chrome took the bait, stepping in with a feint, planning to draw the left arm wide—The blade only sliced fabric. Once again Wanshi twisted away from a frontal stance with impossible grace and simply ran.

He bolted for the building’s entrance. Let Wanshi inside and Chrome would be dragged into the ambush game the man loved best. Outstanding soldiers used terrain; outstanding enemies did the same. A hulking mass roared past Wanshi’s ear, close enough to stir his hair. An entire car wreck slammed down in front of the doorway and crumpled like tin foil, perfectly sealing the entrance. Wanshi swore inwardly: fine, Chrome had learned to throw things at him too, and with Chrome’s all-or-nothing personality…Wanshi never slowed. He sprinted straight at the wreck, planted a foot, launched upward, fingers clawing for the second-floor ledge. All the while bricks, tyres, nail-studded planks rained down without mercy. One leap left. Wanshi sucked in a breath, swallowed the pain, cranked his arm servos to maximum output. A construct’s light frame and monstrous power let him move in ways no human could—such as hauling himself into the air by arm strength alone from a dead hang. The ground fell away.

Abruptly, his ascent jerked to a halt. His shoulder sank under sudden weight. He whipped his head around and met burning, emotionless blue lenses—
The Smith family monster had pole-vaulted up to the second floor using a streetlamp as a staff.

…This really wasn’t the dagger duel Wanshi had imagined, either.

Fingertips slipped from the ledge. Wanshi felt Chrome’s arm lock around his throat like a steel collar and yank him down from the second floor. The world spun. Constructs didn’t need to breathe; he ignored the chokehold and twisted mid-air, desperate to flip Chrome beneath him while freeing his weapon hand for a killing thrust. Chrome read the intent instantly, countering with brutal force while clawing for Wanshi’s wrist. In that single frozen second, neither could dominate the other. They knotted into a single writhing sphere and crashed to the ground.

The back of Wanshi’s skull slammed concrete. Upper teeth cracked against lower. A sickening, dull agony rippled through the entire cranial frame; shards of glass prickled like cold, temperatureless stars across his cheek—exactly like Chrome’s merciless eyes. Wanshi groaned, forcing down the scarlet error messages flooding his vision, thrashing to untangle himself. Yet pain seemed to slide off Chrome like water. Same fall, same dishevelled hair and grime-streaked cheeks, yet Chrome still lunged wordlessly for the knife hand, relentless.

That utter disregard for his own frame—even in the middle of combat—ignited a sharp, searing irritation in Wanshi. Another oil drum sat inches away; both noticed it at the same instant. Still not letting go? Still not afraid of pain? Wanshi’s fingers scrabbled across the ground and closed around a short length of rebar. “Hey, Chrome!” He swung the metal high. Chrome assumed the target was himself and snapped his head aside. Wanshi hurled it with all his strength at the drum one arm’s length away.

Vision flashed white, then black. Something white slammed over Wanshi’s upper body, shielding him completely. The impact was so sudden his nose throbbed as if broken. He was pinned flat, cheek pressed to the frantic rhythm of another construct’s power core—thump-thump, thump-thump, a racing mechanical heartbeat.

The rebar clanged hollowly against the drum, rolled away, and went silent. The drum swayed once, twice, then settled.

…Empty.

Wanshi lay cradled in Chrome’s arms, the power core hammering against his ear. Instead of scorching heat came only the soft black fabric of a Strike Hawk undersuit, the shared detergent scent of the squad’s laundry, and beneath it the yielding warmth of synthetic muscle. Familiar mechanical fingers cradled the back of his skull; the dagger was long gone. Chrome had shaped his entire body into a living shield. In a simulated deathmatch, the Captain had still chosen to protect him? Safety and battle-lust tangled until the Ego Ocean turned strange, motor circuits drowning in contradictory commands. In the end Wanshi let his own dagger fall, arms sliding around Chrome’s back instead. He could almost hear Chrome’s processor stall—his own was half-frozen too. Yet this embrace felt like the optimal solution, overriding combat parameters, rooted in something unspoken and achingly fundamental.

They stayed locked together for several seconds. At last Chrome rose first, brows knitted. “Why try to detonate the drum? At that range we’d both be caught in the blast. There was no advantage for you.”

Wanshi answered lightly, almost flippant. “You neither cherish yourself nor fear pain. So why shield me?”

The words crossed a line. Chrome’s brow arched; his expression flickered between petulance and tenderness before settling into helpless resignation. He sighed. “…Don’t you hate pain?”

A slow trickle of warmth doused the irritation in Wanshi’s chest. He let Chrome haul him upright and press the dagger back into his palm. Fingers tracing the grip, Wanshi opened his mouth—Idiot? Thank you?—but nothing came. In the end he simply tapped Chrome’s shoulder, gentle.

“What?” Chrome waited, patient.

Wanshi smiled at the dust-smudged face. “Just now, we were both worried about the same thing.”

Chrome’s frown softened into a smile. After a long moment he lifted his gaze to the distant data sky, as though some inexorable will hovered there. “Still… today’s match only ends when one of our frames stops moving.”

“Yeah. No more running. Let’s do this properly.” Wanshi gave a wry shake of his head. “Though honestly, I probably can’t win like this…”

Chrome stepped back two paces and settled into stance. “You’ve beaten me in sparring before. Don’t decide the outcome until the fight is over.”

Wanshi tilted his head, noncommittal, then raised his dagger again. The tip pointed straight between Chrome’s eyes. “Maybe. Either way—let’s make it quick. I really don’t like being your enemy, Chrome.”

Was a construct’s body a gift or a punishment? They were forced to keep dancing this blood-soaked waltz, unable to stop. The opening and closing of wounds swallowed every sensation of the frame. Right now Wanshi felt like a tattered lantern shredded by wind (though the Captain was hardly faring better). In this knife-range melee, neither could walk away unscathed.

Case in point: Chrome’s lightning forehand thrust. Wanshi parried the first, shoved the second outward with his forearm. Chrome flipped his wrist and drove straight for the temple. Wanshi could only tilt his head as far as it would go; cheek flashed cold, then hot (layer upon layer of pain like a fading dusk, and Chrome drew another glittering contrail across it). No time to wipe the cycling fluid from his face. Wanshi dipped his left arm a fraction, seized Chrome’s knife wrist, yanked him forward along his own momentum, and slashed deep into the crook of Chrome’s right elbow with his own blade. Chrome couldn’t retract; he let Wanshi slice his arm like sashimi, stubbornly clinging to the dagger, then snapped the blade inward within the cramped space and carved open the inside of Wanshi’s left wrist. Too cunning, abusing that monstrous pain tolerance…! The instant Wanshi’s grip slackened, Chrome’s left arm slipped free like a fish. The blade was coming for his back (unless Wanshi slit Chrome’s throat first and forced a parry, a gamble of lives).

Wanshi stepped in, casting the terror at his spine aside, and swept from upper right to lower left across Chrome’s shoulder-neck artery line. Chrome retreated with textbook precision, letting the cut land shallow across his chest. Fabric parted with a hiss, baring synthetic muscle swollen taut and soaked in coolant. Strike missed. Wanshi dropped low; Chrome’s follow-up blade skimmed his spine exactly as predicted.

But had Chrome noticed that the tip was now aimed straight at his own heart?

Wanshi ducked, twisted, drove his knee into Chrome’s right fist. If everything went perfectly, Chrome would impale himself on his own dagger. Yet the knee struck only the smooth heel of a mechanical palm (no hilt). Why no hilt?! The kick merely slammed Chrome’s fist into his own chest. And the lethal dagger… Wanshi looked down. Chrome’s left hand waited at his hip, a single cold glint at the tip. In that sliver of time he had switched hands—

Wanshi’s blade stabbed downward in panic, but Chrome’s blow had been charging far longer, heavy and vicious. It only glanced aside, missing the lower abdomen by inches, yet the upward hook carried every ounce of force. A searing bite bloomed across his front; cycling fluid sprayed and drained. Wanshi felt his body leaking from every seam, a punctured balloon. He staggered back, stabbing blindly, dizziness spinning as he hooked a leg to trip Chrome. He wasn’t sure whose leg he caught. Either way, two scarred constructs crashed to the ground again and rolled, grappling in a haze. Through the vertigo those blue lenses burned (exhausted, frenzied, unquenchable).

Another knee drove into his abdomen. Wanshi retched a mouthful of cycling fluid, curling spasmodically. His dagger clattered away. Chrome seized the opening: left hand pinning both Wanshi’s wrists overhead, nailing them to the concrete so thoroughly resistance was impossible, then kicked Wanshi’s blade out of reach.

He, too, was at his limit. After securing control Chrome collapsed forward onto Wanshi’s chest, dagger planted in the ground, gasping. The gash across his own chest lay flush against Wanshi’s; jagged metal edges dug in. Beyond pain, the position felt almost like true temple-to-temple intimacy. Wanshi coughed hoarsely beside his ear. “…Cough… cough… so damn cautious, Captain… Even if you hadn’t kicked it away, cough! I wouldn’t have the strength to pick it up again…”

“…Ha.” Chrome closed his eyes, a weary smile. “I’ve had enough of your tricks for one day.”

He rose to straddle Wanshi and looked down. The battered frame beneath him could no longer kick; wrists stretched high overhead bared vulnerable ribs and a lean waist. Clothing hung in shreds across the chest, cuts revealing glints of inner machinery that heaved with simulated breath. The eyepatch had flown off long ago; dishevelled white hair fell back from a forced arch, exposing the forehead. Nothing hid that face now: brows gently creased with pain, a slash from cheekbone to the corner of an eye. Golden lenses half-lidded in exhaustion, shadows deeper beneath them, gaze resting on Chrome with unreadable weight. Traces of cycling fluid still clung to the corner of his mouth, lurid. Chrome felt Wanshi shift restlessly between his thighs (predictably failing to throw him off). At last Wanshi seemed to surrender, exhaling long and slow. “Do it, Chrome. Let me fight to the very end.”

Chrome raised his right arm.

The slicing wound Chrome had carved into that arm still throbbed with every pulse. He reversed the dagger, tip hovering above Wanshi’s face, directly over the electronic brain beneath. He would ruin Wanshi’s face, grant him a machine’s death… It was only a simulation; it wouldn’t truly harm Wanshi. Chrome repeated the mantra silently, avoiding those golden lenses, sinking shoulder and wrist to deliver the killing blow.

But he never expected that even in absolute desperation Wanshi could still startle him. Risking shoulder dislocation, Wanshi wrenched his neck at an impossible angle; the dagger stabbed only air. Before Chrome could withdraw, Wanshi turned his face sideways and clamped his teeth on the blade. He bit down with the force of a dying vise. Chrome yanked twice, yet the dagger refused to come free. In the struggle the edge dragged across lips and tongue; Wanshi choked on more crimson foam yet never loosened his grip. Why go this far? What meaning was there beyond making himself suffer more?! Chrome was forced to meet his gaze. That look sent a shudder rippling through every servo. He saw Wanshi’s lips curve in a frail, exhausted smirk, eyes refusing to fall, as if saying: You and I, right down to the marrow, we’re the same kind of monster that won’t die easily.

The resistance transmitted through the steel was unyielding. In that shudder Chrome finally understood what Wanshi meant by fighting to the very end. Ruthlessness surged. He answered with the same weapon: teeth sinking into the exposed artery line at Wanshi’s twisted neck. Alloy incisors tore skin, severed the thin, soft tubing. Cycling fluid flooded Chrome’s mouth in a scalding rush; the taste and pressure turned his stomach. Wanshi’s cheek lay against his own, chests pressed flush. He felt the frame beneath him dissolve into faint, helpless tremors (the overture of death). Chrome bit harder. A tendon snapped between his jaws. Wanshi’s defiant teeth slackened at last, leaking a futile wheeze.

The dagger was his again. Scarred right arm groping to Wanshi’s left ribs, Chrome slid the blade in beneath the armpit, pushing slowly toward the mechanical heart, then twisted crosswise. Power-core casing and pump lines warped and shattered in turn.

“Chro…!”

The body beneath him arched once, violently, then melted into utter limpness. For a long, long moment Chrome kept his teeth buried in Wanshi’s neck, gripping the murder weapon, as though locked in a frenzied kiss.

An electronic chime sounded. The world and their bodies dissolved into scattering particles. Soothing darkness folded over his vision. Consciousness slid back into real flesh; pain vanished without a trace, yet the soaked weight of cycling fluid clung like a ghost. Chrome groaned and pushed open the link-pod hatch.

Wanshi had apparently emerged a while ago, half-draped over the rim of Chrome’s pod. “Took you long enough.”

Eyepatch askew, cheeks unmarked, golden lenses languid, the man was pristine white, as if he’d just stepped out of an operating theatre. Chrome stared blankly until Wanshi waved a hand in front of his face. Only then did he answer hastily. “Ah, yeah… you got out fast.”

Wanshi gave him a knowing glance and asked nothing more.

“Didn’t expect we’d actually have to fight to the death… no, I mean me dead, you alive.” He stepped away from the pod to make room, stretching lazily with both arms overhead. “That last part really fucking hurt… yawn…” The pose (arms raised, spine arched) overlapped eerily with the ghastly corpse he’d worn moments ago in the data space. How did he do it? The same man who drifted through life like cigarette ash, who wore laziness and defeat like badges of honour, yet in mortal combat refused to yield until he was ground to dust (a hidden edge, softest and fiercest of close-quarters blades). Thinking this, Chrome climbed out of the pod and reached without thinking, fingers gently circling Wanshi’s wrist. Wanshi offered no resistance, letting himself be drawn close.

“What is it?” Honey-gold lenses fixed on Chrome; the question came low.

Like humans helplessly repeating a cursed fate, Chrome’s right hand settled on Wanshi’s left waist while his lips brushed the column of Wanshi’s throat. The body beneath his palm stiffened. Last time, the ending had been a spray of crimson death. This time, only the lightest graze, a kiss that barely lingered.

Chrome heard Wanshi’s soft laugh against his shoulder. Both wrists slipped free of their loose confinement, palms soothing down Chrome’s back.