Jessa’s shoulder blade scraped the cold steel of the cabinet door. Zaven’s grip on her bicep felt less like a touch and more like a brand. His face, inches from hers, was a mask of furious confusion, his eyes – the deep, unsettling shade of a bruised twilight sky – raking over her features. The scent of his practice sweat, sharp and musky, filled her nostrils, a suffocating intimacy. “Who the hell are you?” he repeated, his voice a low growl that vibrated through her chest. Every nerve ending screamed, a silent siren warning of exposure. This was it. The game was over before it began. She forced herself to meet his gaze, channeling the same feral defiance that had carved a niche for her in Xentria’s grimy under-arenas. “I’m Renzi,” she rasped, her voice rougher than usual, a deliberate mimicry of her brother’s lazy drawl, amplified by the sudden pressure in her throat. “Or at least, I was. That match… it was an epiphany.” She pushed the words out, a lie so flimsy it felt like a single sheet of paper against a typhoon. “Something… clicked. The way I’d been playing, it was all wrong. I saw the lines differently, felt the current.” Zaven’s grip tightened, his knuckles whitening. His eyes narrowed, searching. He was looking for Renzi, for the familiar tell-tale flicker of boredom, the casual shrug. Jessa offered him only a burning intensity, a calculated ferocity that was all her own. He leaned closer, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Her pulse slammed against her ribs in a jagged, erratic rhythm. If he pressed any further, if he could just feel the difference in the muscle structure, the subtle curve of her neck, the game was over. “An awakening,” Zaven scoffed, the word dripping with venom. “You expect me to believe that the ‘Ghost Blade’ who’s been phoning it in for three seasons suddenly transformed into a frontline slaughterhouse? You moved like a phantom, Renzi. You cut through the Obsidian Sentinels like they were tissue paper. That wasn’t an awakening. That was a completely different player.” Just as Jessa was about to retort, to double down on the absurd lie, the locker room door swung open again. Manager Toris stood framed in the doorway, a trim, severe figure with silver hair pulled back in a tight knot. His eyes, sharp and intelligent behind gold-rimmed glasses, swept over the tableau: Jessa pinned against the steel, Zaven’s hand still clamped on her arm. Toris’s expression remained unreadable, but a faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through Jessa. The manager was too calm. “Captain Vance,” Toris’s voice was a dry rustle, like old parchment. “Release your teammate. We have an Omni-Core debriefing shortly.” Zaven shot Jessa one last look, a promise of future interrogation, before reluctantly releasing her. His fingers left a faint, burning impression on her arm. He stalked past Toris, shoulders stiff with resentment, and exited the changing room without another word. Toris stepped inside, the door hissing shut behind him. The silence in the room became heavy, suffocating. He walked slowly towards Jessa, his gaze unwavering. “That was… an unexpected performance, Renzi.” His voice was quiet, carrying the edge of a scalpel. “Especially considering your usual penchant for… ‘strategic’ napping during mid-match lulls. Remember the incident with the Lynx tournament? You almost cost us the sector gate because you were ‘meditating’ on the respawn timer.” Jessa stiffened. The Lynx incident. Renzi had indeed been caught napping, costing the team a crucial capture. But how could Toris know? No, that wasn’t right. Renzi had spun it as a ‘meditative focus exercise.’ But the true detail, the private, embarrassing truth that only Renzi would have told his closest confidante, his sister… he’d actually been trying to debug a rogue VR-sickness patch on his personal rig while in-game. And he’d told Jessa, swearing her to secrecy, lamenting how the ‘meditation’ excuse had barely flown. Toris knew. She knew Jessa wasn’t Renzi. Toris's gaze hardened, no longer merely observant, but piercing. “The contract you signed, ‘Renzi’,” he continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “is worth eighty-five million credits over five seasons. Biometric fraud, on the other hand, carries a maximum penalty of thirty cycles in the Veridian Penal Labor Colony. Without parole. Unless, of course, the corporate sponsors decide to make an example of you.” Her words were delivered with the calm precision of a surgeon dissecting a specimen. “The Iron Qilins are poised for their first Apex Vanguard championship in seven years,” Toris said, stepping closer, his scent a faint, sterile ozone. “This is my final season before mandatory retirement. My legacy. You will ensure it. You will win. And you will not, under any circumstances, allow your… ‘breakthrough’ to be anything but flawless. Do you understand?” Jessa swallowed, her throat dry. The consequence was plain: *one slip, and you’re gone.* “Understood,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper. Toris gave a curt nod, a thin, humourless smile touching his lips. “Good. Now, on to your next assignment. The Omni-Core has just issued a team-wide order.” A sharp chime echoed through the benches, followed by the familiar, synthetic voice of the Omni-Core Director. `[OMNI-CORE DIRECTIVE: MANDATORY POST-TRAINING NEURAL RECOVERY PROTOCOL INITIATED.]` `[ALL ACTIVE ROSTER MEMBERS ARE TO REPORT TO GEOTHERMAL HYDROTHERAPY CHAMBER A-7 WITHIN TEN MINUTES. BIO-MONITORING FOR NEURAL STRAIN REDUCTION IS CRITICAL. COMPLIANCE IS NON-NEGOTIABLE.]` A sickening vertigo hit her. Mineral pools. Hot springs. Communal baths. A sick, twisted joke. Her carefully constructed facade, already stretched thin, felt ready to shatter into a million pieces. The thought of being exposed, naked, among her new male teammates, was horrifying. It was a guaranteed, instant trip to the Veridian Penal Colony. She couldn’t do it. “Manager, I…” Jessa began, trying to find an excuse, any excuse. A sudden, acute allergy? A pre-existing skin condition? Anything. Toris cut her off with a flick of her wrist. “No exceptions, Renzi. The Omni-Core is absolute. Any deviation from a mandatory order will result in immediate point deductions and potential suspension. Your performance in the soak will be just as critical as your combat statistics.” His eyes flickered with a knowing glint. “Don’t disappoint me.” With that, Toris turned and walked out, leaving Jessa alone with the certainty of her impending doom. A bare quarter of an hour remained to figure out how to disappear, how to fake an injury that would allow her to avoid a communal bath, how to perform a miracle. Her mind raced, frantic, desperate. But there was no escape. The Omni-Core’s directives were absolute, monitored by every single biometric sensor woven into the fabric of the Qilin Compound. A sudden, dramatic injury would trigger alarms, bring medical teams, expose her. She was trapped. She arrived at the hydrotherapy chamber last, her thin, standard-issue bath towel clutched tightly around her waist. The air was thick with steam, carrying the faint, earthy scent of minerals. The sound of splashing water, of male voices, echoed from within. Through the opaque mist, she could make out hulking silhouettes. Her stomach twisted into knots. “Finally, Renzi!” A voice, sharp and laced with impatience, cut through the steam. Zaven Vance stood at the edge of the largest pool, bare-chested, water glistening on his powerful shoulders and sculpted torso. His dark eyes, still burning with suspicion, fixed on her. “Don’t just stand there gawking. Get in the water.”

The Proxy