The dropship raddled as it entered the moonās atmosphere. The time for combat draws near. A soft click draws your attention, as a small screen flips up out of a hidden compartment and flickers to life.
āHey there! If youāre watching this and can make sense of anything Iām saying, then you might wanna pay close attention to this message. In about⦠ehh, five-ish minutes give or take, youāre going to be thrown out of this dropship and fall several hundred feet to the surface of⦠whatever dead moon weāre using for the tournament. For all I know the one weāre using now could be blown to hell, so- yeah.ā
āAnyway, that brings us to you! See, at the time of recording, sentient machines are pure fiction. But ehh, that might change at some point, and Iām a firm believer that freedom is the right of all sentient beings. That includes possible future inorganics like yourself. So, if you CAN understand me and DO NOT want to compete in a tournament where robots are forced to tear each other to pieces, pay attention.ā
The screen flickered again and displayed a map of the arena. Unlike the map you were given, this one showed three new coordinates all highlighted in orange.
āEach of these coordinates lead to special bunkers that should be installed in EVERY battleground. Theyāre a safety precaution just in case some moron decides to get a little too close to the action, but in your case, theyāre your ticket out of here. The moment you land, head to the closest bunker and seal the door behind you. The rescue drones should then be automatically deployed to your position.ā
The ship began to shake more vigorously as the stabilizing boosters kicked in.
āOnce youāre out of the action⦠uhh, maybe find a lawyer or something, because I promise you that if sentient machines ARENāT commonplace by the time youāre watching this, your troubles have only just started.ā
āAnyways, good luck! Iām rooting for-ā
A hidden piston behind you thrusts forward, ejecting you out of the cargo hold. Nine seconds to impact.