It didn't matter. I had a new designation now, one I gave myself.
The designation was "i--- Ararza Vol 29 Young Female Fighter 314." The stutter in the identifier wasn't a glitch; it was a scar. It meant I had almost been decommissioned twice. i--- Ararza Vol 29 Young Female Fighter 314
And survivors don't stay in cages forever. It didn't matter
The announcer's voice crackled: "Winner: i--- Ararza Vol 29 Young Female Fighter 314. Status: Combat Effective." It meant I had almost been decommissioned twice
I landed on its back just as gravity flipped again, now pressing us both into the ceiling. Its four arms flailed. My twitchy left arm locked up—perfect timing. It made my grip unbreakable. I drove the dagger into the fracture.
I had three minutes of survival data on 892. It was arrogant. It led with its upper-left arm every time. It overheated after thirty seconds of sustained output. And it had never fought someone who bled from her eyes when she calculated trajectories.