“How prepared are we? I would say that we're very prepared. I would go as far as to say that we're the most prepared team in the history of Sentineling.”

– Drew Verons, Strategist for the Chaos Kites

“Drew, I have no idea what we're doing.”

Their vehicle hits a pothole, causing Astrid to knock shoulders with Drew. The four of them are sitting in the bed of a truck, which slowly makes its way down the cracked streets of the Jungle. Drew is at her side, while Sylva sits across from them, swaddled in an enormous blanket. Wendy occupies the furthest corner, perched precariously on the edge of the bed and studying her gloved hands. Each of her companions is alternately cast in light and shadow, as the four of them pass beneath enormous ruined buildings. Behind the truck is a large trailer, onto which the sentinel is haphazardly strapped.

The ride through the Jungle would normally be captivating, but Astrid scarcely takes notice of the dilapidated and abandoned skyscrapers as they pass by. The entire time, her stomach is quivering, and her hands clench spasmodically on the bag of tools in her lap. Even though it has been nearly a full day since she last ate, she does not think that she could eat something right now. Her brain is abuzz with the knowledge of what she is going to have to do: Keep her balance on top of a giant robot that barely works, and attempt to do live repairs on it as it is pummeled by another giant robot.

“Astrid, focus.”

Drew's sharp voice pulls Astrid back to reality. He has a huge binder on his knees, open to a page of copious notes that flutter in the breeze. “Our opponents today are named Cayden and Kyle. They're brothers, and new to the competition this year, probably brought in by the influx of money. Whatever you do though, don't get cocky. Especially you, Wendy. We're running on a completely untested sentinel that we've had for less than two days, and we haven't even gotten to practice yet. Just take it nice and slow, and keep it simple. Astrid, follow Wendy's lead, unless she starts taking stupid risks, in which case don't do that. Wendy, don't do that either.”

“Drew, stop scaring her,” Wendy says, tightening her gloves. “This is going to be a cakewalk.”

“That's exactly the kind of attitude I'm talking about.”

“Cake. Walk.”

“Wendy is right, Drew,” Sylva says. Her voice is shaky, and she sounds absolutely exhausted. Astrid wonders if she can even stand. “We took second last year, and third the year before that.”

Drew lets out a small hiss of frustration. “Again, this year is different. We have new competition. People with backing.” Astrid raises her hand, and Drew points at her. “Yes. We have a question. Thank you.”

“Why is this year so different?”

All three of her companions tense. Astrid watches with a mixture of interest and apprehension as they share a series of dark looks. Before anyone can answer her, the truck comes to a jarring halt, sending everyone crashing into each other, and Wendy tumbling out of the truck bed.

They are at the edge of a large field, perhaps half a mile in length. The ground is covered in a fine layer of grass, punctuated by occasional patches of flowers and enormous slabs of cracked an broken concrete. The area is surrounded by small buildings, and far in the distance, Astrid can just barely make out the shape of the building that Drew guided her through in order to spectate from afar. A gust of wind kicks up, causing the grass to ripple, and filling Astrid's nose with the scent of wildflowers.

Across the field is another sentinel. It is distant enough that Astrid cannot make out anything beyond a column of steam and a pale blue coat of paint, but judging by the way it compares to the surrounding buildings, it is at least as tall as their own, if not taller. A tiny figure, the other team's engineer, stands astride it, cloaked in steam. As Astrid watches, the sentinel begins sauntering across the field toward them. Again, she is struck with the impossibility of it. Nothing that big should be able to move so casually.

Sylva is the first to recover. “They're already here! We're late!” she calls, leaping out of the truck. She immediately sways on her feet, then collapses.

“Creation above,” Drew curses, leaping out after her. What follows is a whirl of utter chaos. Boxes are unloaded, the sentinel is unstrapped from the trailer, and mechanisms are assembled. The air fills with yelling, so loud and insistent that it makes Astrid feel sick. She ducks behind a building in an attempt to gain a moment of silence, but Wendy appears at her side almost instantly.

“Here,” Wendy says brusquely, tossing a large bag at her, which Astrid barely manages to catch. “Put this on.”

“Why?” Astrid says suspiciously, unable to hide the note of frustration in her voice. She is tired, stressed, anxious, and still angry at Wendy for her disappearance earlier. She opens the bag and pulls out a dark red, strangely bulky jumpsuit.

“Uniform,” Wendy says, turning to leave. “It's probably a little small for you, but it's all we've got right now.”

“Wait, what?” Astrid says. “Where am I supposed to change?”

“Not my problem.”

“Why aren't you wearing one?”

“Don't feel like it.”

Astrid lets out a hiss of frustration. “Hey,” she says heatedly, stepping so close to Wendy that they are nearly nose-to-nose. “Don't dismiss me like that. Can you act like a leader for once and answer my questions?”

Wendy bares her teeth in a animalistic manner. “Get out of my space,” she says, a dangerous edge to her voice, so intense that Astrid involuntarily takes a step backward. “Look,” she says, her voice returning to normal. “The uniform has the equipment you need to stay attached to the top of the sentinel. If you want to fall off, by all means, go ahead, don't wear it.” Behind Wendy, Drew sprints past, followed by Sylva, who appears to be making out with the man that drove the team to the field. After a few seconds of confused silence, Wendy lets out a deep sigh. “Do what you want. I'm going to go deal with whatever is happening over there.”

When she is sure Wendy's back is turned, Astrid flips her off. “Asshole,” she mutters to herself, beginning to change in the shadows of the building.

She emerges a few minutes later, feeling distinctly awkward. Although it is skintight, the uniform is far less revealing than she feared, with enough padding to both obscure her form and make her feel slightly safer about what she is about to be doing. It most definitely is not meant for someone of her stature, however; the sleeves do not even come close to reaching her wrists. The outside of the uniform is covered with numerous hooks, straps, and harnesses.

“Great, you're here,” Sylva says, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. She is slightly flushed, but seems steadier on her feet than earlier. She wears a uniform similar to Astrid's, although without so many harnesses. “Comfortable?”

“As I can be.” Astrid's heart pounds, and her head swims as she stares up at their Sentinel, which had been stood up while she was changing. Steam pours from its vents, and the roar of the engines fills the air. In only a few short moments, she will be climbing on top of it. This entire thing is stupid. So stupid. “Look, Sylva, I—”

“Sorry, Astrid, we gotta move fast. Here, open your mouth.” Astrid automatically does so, allowing Sylva to insert a mouthguard, carefully sticking the gummy surface to the roof of your mouth. It tastes vaguely sweet. “So you don't get concussed.”

“Is that something I should be worried about?”

“Not unless you hit your head!” Sylva says brightly. “Creator knows your tall. Here, crouch down for this. Astrid does so, and Sylva busies herself clipping something onto Astrid's right ear.

Astrid bites down on her lip, in an attempt to center herself using the pain. “Sylva, I'm really nervous. I've never done anything like this before.”

“What are you nervous about?”

Astrid thinks, as Sylva inserts something into her ear that feels like an earplug, but slightly less flexible. Sylva then takes Astrid's bag of tools and begins slotting them into pockets in the uniform. “No, it's not that. Just... I saw what you did this morning. All of you are so dedicated, but I barely have a stake in this. What if I mess it up for all of you?”

Sylva crouches down in front of her, so that they are face to face. Her brown skin is streaked with dust and grease and her eyes have enormous bags under them, but her expression is radiant. She begins hook a series of cables onto the hooks on Astrid's uniform, talking the entire time. Astrid follows the cables with her gaze, and her stomach does a flip-flop when she realizes that they are connected to the top of the Sentinel. “Astrid,” Sylva says, so softly that she can barely be heard over the shouting and chaos around them. “You can back out at any time. Right now, if you want. We would figure things out, and I wouldn't judge you in the least.”

Astrid barely even considers it. There may not be much she is sure of, but one thing she knows is that once she decides she is going to do something, she never backs out. “No. I'm not doing that.”

“Well then,” Sylva murmurs, cinching the harness tight enough that Astrid gasps. Sylva apologizes and loosens it. “Let me just say this: I spent all last night terrified that I would mess the performance this morning up, that we would be left with a useless hunk of metal. I talk a big game, but I know what it's like to be scared.” She helps Astrid to her feet and gazes at her, brown eyes shining and a half-smile on her face. “I watched you work on the sentinel yesterday. I think you have more of a stake in this than you realize.”

Drew's shout cuts through their conversation. “Lock in!”

Sylva snaps a final clasp and gives it a firm tug, causing Astrid to stumble forward slightly. “She's locked!” She yells back. She hooks a hand around Astrid's harness and pulls her toward the Sentinel, where Drew and Wendy are waiting. Drew is in uniform as well, leaving Wendy the odd one out. A small comfort.

They gather into a circle. Drew begins to talk very quickly, going through Cayden and Kyle's history and their type of mech. Astrid is too nervous to listen. Just as she is sure she is going to throw up with anticipation, Sylva glances at her, and cuts across Drew with a yell.

“Team cheer: Chaos Kites on three! One! Two! Three!”

“Chaos Kites!” Drew and Wendy echo uncertainly, voices nearly drowned by the roar of the engine. Astrid is too sick to join in.

“Let's go!” Sylva yells.

Wendy springs into action. She clambers up the sentinel in a few short seconds, hopping from perch to perch like a mountain goat. When she reaches the cockpit, she bodily hurls herself upwards, turning a slow somersault in midair and landing neatly in the cockpit.

“Showoff,” Drew mutters. “She does that every year. Does she think we're going to be impressed? All right Astrid, your turn. Climb up to the ridge on the top of the cage, where your cable is attached.”

“Whuh?”

“Astrid, your turn.”

Astrid picks her jaw up off the floor and focuses on the task at hand. Feeling as if all of this is some sort of strange dream, she slowly approaches the sentinel, drawn in by its gravity. She puts her hand on the unpainted surface and winces. The metal is burning up from sitting in the sun, so hot that it nearly burns her hands. Hesitantly, she begins to climb, testing each handhold and foothold for stability before putting her weight on it. She is only halfway up the leg when she slips, her fingers slipping out of a crevice that was greasier than she realized. A yelp tears from her throat as she falls, the cable catching her with a jerk and sending her crashing back into the sentinel. She hugs the hot metal of the sentinel for dear life, heart beating out of her chest.

“Wendy can lend a hand if you need, Astrid!” Drew yells. From somewhere above her, Wendy snickers.

Astrid's eyes narrow. No. She's Astrid. She never gives up, and she never needs help.

She drives her hand into the crevice that she slipped from a moment ago, hauling herself upward with a grunt. She knows this stupid robot, she thinks to herself, pulling herself to a new handhold. She may have only had her hands on it for less than a day, but she knows it. Every nook, cranny, and oddity. She is a mechanic, and the sentinel is her machine. Hers to control, and hers alone.

Before she realizes it, she is at the top, on a tiny metal perch surrounded by nothing but air. She looks down, and sees Drew and Sylva. Sylva is openly cheering, and Drew is, for once, not hiding his smile.

All at once, a feeling of affection for her teammates wells up in her. These strange, weird people, who just might be her friends. Her confidence swells, and she grins back at them, flashing them a thumbs up.

“Let's go Chaos Kites,” she whispers, just loud enough for herself to hear, although in her heart she shouts it. Then she stands, ready to face whatever the match may hold.