Chapter 5: Thomas Spin Kill (Part 1)

Four times gravity!

A crushing weight slammed into Finn from every direction. This time, he felt it—a faint pressure, but it was laughable, barely 1.5x by his guess. The machine's gotta be busted, he thought. Whatever. He'd roll with it.

Normal humans buckled under 1.5x gravity, their bodies groaning in protest. Evantians? They shrugged it off. Trained humans could push past 2x, and at 3x, the gap between species evened out. Word was, only elite soldiers from both sides could handle 4x or more. Finn never pictured himself among them—probably just a glitch in the gear.

Civilian gravity chambers capped at 4x, and Finn was still comfortable. After half an hour, a sheen of sweat finally broke across his skin. He shut it down, hit the shower, and washed away the lingering funk from that meteor scare.

Mark buzzed him via sky-comm—out for the night. Finn just smirked. Mark's playboy life was his own deal; Finn didn't have the charm for it.

He bolted to the game room and booted up Cosmic War.

Everyone played the game their own way. Finn? He was a total outlier. He stuck with the BS001—a clunky starter mech most newbies ditched fast. A few credits could upgrade you out of it, but Finn was hooked. It wasn't about fun; it was about the future. Mechs were his obsession, and there was another kicker: the girl he liked dreamed of a boyfriend who was a hardcore warrior.

In-game, he was Blade Warrior, a small-time legend for all the wrong reasons. He wallowed in the bottom ten rankings. Who else would drag a BS001 out of the newbie zone, picking fights and eating dirt? His score was a pit of negatives, but Finn didn't give a damn. Master the junk heap, and the fancy models would be a breeze.

The BS001 was ancient, but it laid bare the raw guts of mech piloting. Newer rigs masked their flaws, but Finn knew they were there if you dug deep enough.

He logged in, and a barrage of messages hit: "Hey, let me smash you, bro." The usual. Losers loved farming him for cheap wins. Finn didn't mind—he was here to grind skills. They kept coming back because he fought like a demon before crashing. That earned him the nickname Hundred-Loss Soldier.

Nicknames were for the notable. The top ten had theirs, stamped with official cred. Finn was the oddball, but he laughed it off.

Mark swore Finn was a sleeper beast. He didn't play, but he had an eye for talent. Finn's real-world training was insane for a non-Evantian his age. In-game, even with the losses, he pushed that junker mech to its limits. Mark teased, but he secretly bet Finn was bound for greatness. Why else splurge on a gravity chamber just for "practice"?

Finn slid into the virtual cockpit, pulse racing. The sync hit, and a challenge queue popped up—over a hundred long.

Cosmic War ranked players like the military: Private to Five-Star General, seven tiers. Finn was a forever Private, buried in debt from nonstop losses. He didn't care. He scanned the list for a real fight—someone strong, but not untouchable.

Then he spotted it: a Sergeant Major, third tier, ready to throw down. Finn's heart kicked up a notch. This guy was likely military—legit. Stomping noobs barely moved the needle, but beating a higher rank? That was gold.

He tapped accept. ID: Blood Asura. Sergeant Major. 25 wins, 2 losses. Custom Kanuo III. +1 score.

Finn grinned. Jackpot. That record screamed skill.

Battlefield: Desert.

Rough turf. Amateurs floundered; pros owned it. Finn hit confirm.

The arena loaded. BS001 versus a tricked-out Kanuo III. Word spread—hundreds tuned in to watch Blade Warrior get flattened again.

But Finn wasn't planning to fold. Not today. Something felt different.