Team Reforged: Vegas, Baby
Copyright© 2026 by FozzieBare
Chapter 15: Finals Day. Finally, Day.
Adrian didn’t even remember getting back to the hotel that night.
Amy told him it was because no one had said a single word the entire trip on the hotel shuttle.
They weren’t even looking out at the lights of the city that never sleeps.
Just peace.
Kevin was the freshest one out of all of them.
He sent out a group text.
Amy and Adrian: Hotel Shuttle at 10:30 AM
Rest of Team: 12 noon shuttle time.
People looked at the text. No one responded. That apparently took too much energy.
Everyone filed into the hotel after getting off the shuttle. The casino wanted their attention. Well, that and their money. Getting people’s attention was a necessary prerequisite to getting their money.
No one cared. No one looked twice.
They just piled onto the elevator.
When they got to the floor, they wearily trundled off toward their assigned block of hotel rooms.
Someone was hosting a party down the hall. Maybe one of the twelve eliminated teams. It was the floor where all the teams were.
They barely had ears for it. Let them party, because they didn’t have to play tomorrow. Or was it later today? The clock was close to midnight. No one checked their watch.
The bed was nothing spectacular. But it was infinitely better than a chair. Hundreds of times better than a hard convention center floor.
And no one would be waking them up except for themselves. Their own alarms.
Most set a just-in-case alarm for something like 11:30. They didn’t expect to sleep that long. It was just a hedge against actually staying asleep that long and having to be woken up and rushed out to play on Finals Day.
Amy and Adrian, of course, could not set something that late. They set their “just in case” alarms for 10:00 AM.
Adrian unlaced one shoe. His fingers trembled. He kicked it off and fell back on the bed.
I’ll unlace the other one in a moment.
Six hours later, he woke up. At some point he had pulled his body completely onto the bed. He hadn’t needed the covers.
The first thing that came to mind once he was coherent enough to think was:
Why do I still have my right foot in my shoe?
Oh yeah.
He managed to get the shoe off, then stretched back out on the bed and set an alarm for two more hours. He didn’t even want food. His body craved it, but his brain said the equivalent of “Sleep now. Food later.”
The two hours passed in an eyeblink.
He still felt exhausted, but at least he felt human.
Having achieved the bare minimum care needed to function, Adrian rummaged around in his suitcase and found three protein bars. They were hard and crumbly. He wished he had something to wash them down with.
But he ate three of them within about eight minutes. He would have continued except he didn’t have any more.
He thought about ordering breakfast from room service, then decided against it because it would take time. Time he really needed to spend eating, not waiting to eat. The protein bars had given him a little more energy, but that was only the start of today’s calories. All the calories from meals they had missed the night before still had to be acquired.
Amy was already in the hotel’s small breakfast area. They didn’t offer much. The hotel clearly preferred that people spend money on the overpriced room service menu, but free breakfast brought people through the doors, so free breakfast existed.
A lone waffle maker. Various mini bowls of cereal. A stand-up cooler filled with tiny milk boxes. A bowl of fruit that was just about past its prime.
It didn’t matter. It was food.
Amy gave a grunt in greeting. She was on her third mini bowl of cereal. Boxes of milk lined up like toy soldiers.
Adrian returned the grunt in kind and started gathering his own army of cereal bowls in preparation for the slaughter to come.
They ate quickly. Efficiently. Amy had her phone out and was staring at the clock face on it.
Despite her best efforts, it continued to tick forward.
Finally, she looked at Adrian.
“Finals Day.”
“Yes.”
“You ok?”
“Not really.”
“Me neither.”
“When we get home? No arena duels for at least a couple days.”
“Wasn’t planning on asking.”
“Normally, I’d ask where Amy is, and how you’re the alien who replaced her.”
“Hah.”
A couple minutes later, Kevin caught a glimpse of them.
“Hey guys.”
Adrian was finishing his second bowl of cereal. Amy answered for him.
“Hey Kev. Everything good with the team?”
“Yeah, the team is fine. It’s you guys that I need to talk to right now.”
Adrian pulled the lid off the third and final bowl of single-serve cereal.
“Please tell me they’ve decided to postpone Finals Day. I’d put up with a plague of locusts if it meant getting another twelve hours of rest.”
“No.”
“Then what’s up?”
As he started to pour the milk into the bowl, Kevin sighed.
“TrueGamers is at it again. Went after Amy, hard. I saw it building on social media yesterday afternoon. It had the smell of astroturfing. Too many convenient names making comments about the team, and Amy in particular.”
The milk splashed over the edge of the cereal bowl. Adrian didn’t notice.
“You’re joking. She’s the best duelist in the tournament. What could they say about her?”
“It’s not her skill they’re going after.”
Amy growled.
“This better not be what I think it is.”
Kevin shook his head.
“It probably is. The headline starts by calling you the ‘Dyke Queen of Dueling,’ and then says, ‘What has competitive eSports come to that a man-hating lesbian bitch is the best duelist at the semi-pro Spring Tournament? Have we really become this woke?’”
Amy opened her eyes wide.
“Kevin, I’d ask if you were joking, but I don’t think you’d ever make a joke that sexist.”
That brought a shake of the head from Kevin.
“If I ever make a joke like that, you have my express permission to put me out of my misery. Start with a kick to the groin, then surgical removal of my head, because I won’t be using it anymore.”
Normally Amy would have jokingly asked if she could get that in writing. But her hands were flexing. She was not mad. She was furious.
She had done so much. Sacrificed her time, energy, and a little bit of her sanity last night, and this was how she was getting treated afterward? Amy closed her eyes for a second. A fresh fire seemed to blaze in them when she opened them again.
“Well. I’ll definitely have to say something at the press conference.”
“They won’t be there.”
Adrian interrupted.
“By choice, or did Kelto do the right thing?”
Kevin shrugged.
“Both, actually. Kelto yanked their media credentials about 1.3 seconds after the story was posted to their social feeds. Someone in the replies said, ‘I was on a flight out of Vegas. The TrueGamers writer? Two rows away.’ That was about the time of our match against the Miraclemakers.”
Amy’s hand clenched a plastic spoon. It was violating some laws of physics that the spoon hadn’t snapped into multiple pieces. Her voice was intense.
“If true, it sounds like they deliberately came to Vegas hoping to record me being all ranty-ravey about how there needs to be more women in leadership roles. When I didn’t play that game, they shifted to their backup attack. They knew they wouldn’t be let in, so they didn’t even stay. Maybe they left an unpaid intern from the company with their press credential so they could be told they weren’t welcome, then write a follow-up article about how ‘Woke Kelto’ banned them for expressing an honest opinion.”
Adrian shook his head.
“Are people buying it? Please tell me folks aren’t that stupid.”
Kevin made that hand wave motion that said “kinda-sorta.”
“It’s culture-war bullshit. The only people inclined to post in support of it are the people who already think that way. Sadly, they make up for actual numbers with volume of posting, combined with a few bot-army accounts, trying to preserve the fiction that there’s a debate to be had. Even with people trying to ‘post through it,’ the general reaction is some variation of ‘What the fuck are you babbling on about?’ Which, of course, the TrueGamers crowd says is proof the whole thing has gone woke and men need to reclaim gaming as their natural birthright. That is a direct quote, by the way.”
Amy snorted.
Adrian’s cereal was starting to go soggy. But he had to confirm that his ears had actually processed Kevin’s words correctly.
“Reclaim the gaming space that is their natural birthright? You’re serious?”
“They are. I try not to be.”
“How the fuck does having XY chromosomes instead of XX, XXY, or whatever the hell else biology comes up with make gaming your natural birthright?”
“Look, I don’t try to think about their arguments, Adrian. That way lies madness. But it’s intruding on reality. That’s what I’m saying.”
He looked down at his cereal and pushed it away. Maybe he’d get another in a moment. Right now, he had little appetite for food and even less appetite for people using biology as an excuse for bigotry.
Amy bounced the plastic spoon off the table. It clattered to the floor. She ignored it.
“So, this is going to overshadow what we’ve accomplished. We have to go over to do a press conference, and I’m going to be asked again about this culture stuff, and not something that’s actually relevant to us making Finals Day. How much do you want to bet they had another backup story ready to go if we got bounced out in two matches, how it was obviously because a woman was a vice-captain, that Reforged were doomed?”
Kevin nodded. “No bet, Amy. It wouldn’t surprise me. It looks like they had more than one angle ready. You were the target either way.”
“Well, put them in a WarMAC, and I’ll make THEM the target. If they can even pilot one rather than talk about how someone else is ruining their day.”
Kevin tried to be philosophical about the whole thing.
“Those who can do, do. Those who can’t? Become pundits. Those who really can’t? They write polemics online to be read by other people who really can’t, and think it’s someone else’s fault they can’t.”
Amy sighed. “And now you’re going to tell me I shouldn’t respond, or be measured, right?”
Kevin and Adrian shared a look. Adrian spoke for the both of them.
“Actually, no matter what you decide to do, we’ll back your play, Ames. You want to go scorched earth? We get out the flamethrowers and prepare for salting the earth after there’s nothing left but ashes. You want to just play? We’ll just play.”
Amy looked at them. That was obviously not what she was expecting.
She softened a bit. Tried to joke.
“Well, we don’t have enough time to hit a supermarket and buy enough salt to make sure nothing ever grows there again. Besides, does Vegas even HAVE supermarkets? All I’ve seen are hotels, pawnshops, bright flashing lights, and kitschy ‘I came to Vegas, lost my shirt, and bought this shirt on layaway’ shops.”
Kevin raised a finger.
“Strip clubs. They exist too.”
Amy looked at him.
“Thank you, Kevin.”
“Just trying to provide an accurate census.”
“Are you trying to redirect my anger at you? Because you’re coming much closer to succeeding than you might like.”
“Nope. Just trying to run with your joke.”
“I know. That’s why I’m not actually angry.”
Adrian raised an eyebrow. He wanted to know how Amy wanted to play it, so he could take his cues from her.
“So?”
“So ... I need to think about what I want to say. Don’t expect me to play nice, but I think bringing out the heavy artillery in anything but WarMAC form would give them oxygen. And right now, I want to strangle them, not let them breathe fully.”
Kevin looked alarmed.
“Strangling meaning metaphorically, right?”
He paused.
“Right???”
Amy grinned.
“No promises.”
Kevin fell back into his seat with mock relief. Then he twitched slightly as something reappeared in his brain.
“Oh, there’s something for you to take over with you on the shuttle, at the front desk.”
Adrian looked at Kevin.
“I have no idea of what you’re talking about.”
“I got a taxi and hit a pharmacy/convenience store when I woke up early this morning. I bought like a case of those energy protein bars. Figured we’ll need them today. I left them at the front desk because I didn’t want to forget them if I had to hunt you guys down.”
Amy laughed.
“Look at you, Kev. Being all responsible and stuff.”
Kevin looked wounded.
“I’m going to be taking legal advice on the libel, defamation and slander you are committing against my bad name. Well, good name, but bad.”
Adrian looked at his cereal bowl, which had dissolved into bits of wheat fiber floating in a bowl of milk that was rapidly warming up.
“Well, thank you. I promise not to have any more than six or seven on the way over.”
Amy pointed at Adrian.
“No. No, you don’t.”
Adrian was confused.
“What am I being accused of now?”
“You are NOT allowed to make a six-seven joke.”
“A what?”
Amy deflated.
“Never mind.”
“You’ll have to explain it to me. Don’t leave me hanging.”
“I’ll explain on the shuttle ride. It’s stupid. It’s funny, because it’s stupid.”
Kevin nodded.
“She’s right you know. It’s stupid and it’s funny because it’s very stupid. But you guys better get ready to go. I’ll start rounding up the Reforged herd. Keep your phones on. If any of our pilots have slipped into an actual coma instead of a sleep coma, I’ll let you know.”
This was the final day of the event, so despite the convention center not being open to anyone but the teams and the media yet, there was a decent crowd milling around the entrance to the building when they got off the shuttle.
There were scattered cheers and shouts of support when people noticed Amy and Adrian. A couple of fans even started up the “RE! FORGED!” chant.
Adrian felt embarrassed, but had to give them a wave.
“I’m surprised they know what we look like.”
Amy looked at him as if he was slow.
“Adrian, our faces were on stream for approximately thirty-one hours yesterday. And don’t tell me there aren’t thirty-one hours in a day. I still feel them.”
They got waved into the convention center by the folks guarding the doors, and made their way down the hallway to registration and the press area.
One of the tournament officials noticed Amy and Adrian’s arrival and hurried over.
“Um, there’s been an incident. Just wanted to warn you.”
Adrian nodded.
“TrueGamers?”
The man sighed.
“You’re well-informed.”
Amy shrugged.
“It’s ... it’s not fine, but it is what it is. Let me guess, you would appreciate it if we didn’t go in and start ripping folks for allowing them in here yesterday?”
The tournament official looked at Amy like she had just announced she was telepathic.
“Well, yes. Not like that, but yes. Pretty much.”
“Don’t worry. The only people I blame are the people that are to blame.”
“That’s, um ... good. I was told to bring you guys in whenever you’re ready. And, uh ... don’t be surprised by the crowd.”
Adrian rolled his eyes.
“Of course there’s a crowd.”
The man made an apologetic gesture.
“Sorry. Doing my job.”
Amy reached out and touched the man’s shoulder.
“And no problem. Thanks for the warning. If we didn’t already know, walking into the press conference right now would be like walking into the Roman Colosseum and wondering why three very hungry lions were staring at you.”
The man laughed and started leading them to the press area.
Adrian glanced at Amy.
“Only three lions?”
“Well, the image was comical if I said they were all lions. Some of them are jackals, anyway.”
They took their seats and looked at the crowd of about twenty-five reporters. Actual camera operators were filming them, not just people pointing phones. Someone even had a boom microphone.
Adrian felt a moment of gratitude that camera crews had been around them for a few weeks. Without that little bit of acclimation, this would have felt claustrophobic.
Adrian waited for a second. When a media representative didn’t immediately speak, he decided to break the ice.
“Well, I was going to joke that we really must have made an impression yesterday with our four-game run to make Finals Day, but I get the feeling a lot of you aren’t here for that. So ask your questions. We’ll handle those, and then start talking about today’s matches.”
One media representative spoke up. “Actually, before we get into that, I wanted to ask about the team. You guys were measurably exhausted yesterday. One of the announcers even said it was a surprise you were still competing. Was the schedule too much? Are you okay? How do you feel today?”
Adrian smiled. “Well, first of all, thanks for asking an actually relevant question. I appreciate it. I won’t sugarcoat anything. We’re exhausted. At least I’m exhausted, and I can’t even speak for my team. They were still resting when we got on the shuttle to come here today. So I’m hoping they’re okay, but let’s not pretend we’re all at one hundred percent.”
Another person, possibly seeking an angle for an upcoming article, followed up. “Five matches yesterday. That seems unfair. Are you guys mad at Kelto for cramming so much action into so little time? Are they risking player health with this much action?”
Adrian considered the question very carefully.
“Well, I’m not going to say it’s been sunshine and roses. I’d be a horrible liar if I did. Some of it is our fault. Because we have such a small roster, we couldn’t rotate players as much as some of the other teams did. But yes, no one is doing cartwheels about having to play five matches in a single day. I can’t put all the blame on Kelto, though. I know it costs a lot of money to rent a convention center for a weekend. Stretching it to three days to get a winner from a sixteen-team tournament might make the whole thing economically infeasible. They’d have to play a round offline, or maybe reduce the number of teams they invite. That’s not good for the semi-pro environment. I’d hope that if there is a way to make things better, they look at it. That’s only human.”
Amy leaned in to support Adrian.
“The reason we had to play five matches is because we lost our first one. It happens. As Adrian said, some of this is on us. We looked at the schedule, but we didn’t understand the schedule. If we had, maybe we could have done things differently. Every team knew what they were in for going in. Obviously, I want things to change. I’m still trying to recover from Day One, and now we’re two matches away from winning our first-ever tournament as a semi-pro team. It’s great to be here. I can feel that and also feel that the process to GET here needs to be looked at from all reasonable angles.”
Another writer tried to finish off the thread of discussion.
“It sounds like you’re not ranking your chances of winning very highly. Is this a matter of being mentally defeated already?”
Adrian snorted.
“If you think we’re already mentally defeated, you don’t know us very well. There are four teams remaining. We’re one of them. We earned our spot here. Are we tired? Yes. Will it affect the way we play? Probably, also yes. Again, we haven’t laid eyes on our team, so they could be great and I wouldn’t be able to tell you. We’ll do our best. Would I make Reforged favorites? Probably not. We have a small roster. We’re here for the first time. We might even just be ‘happy to be here.’ But ‘mentally defeated’? That I can categorically reject.”
Amy followed up.
“There’s a difference between being mentally defeated and being realistic. I would frame it this way: Are we the underdogs? Sure. That’s reasonable. Adrian went over the reasons why we could be considered that. But if you think that means we’ll give up without a fight? Watch our matches from yesterday again and tell me if, at any point, we gave up without a fight. And if you tell me you see it, I’ll tell you straight to your face that you’re lying.”
The press remained professionally neutral, but there were approving murmurs as people made sure they had the quotes down.
One of them decided it was time to open Pandora’s Box.
“So, from Adrian’s comment that started the press conference, it seems you guys are aware of the article on TrueGamers.com calling out Amy’s achievements in rather lurid, strident terms. Can we talk about your feelings and reaction?”
Amy considered that.
“I’d rather not. We just had a fun tactical discussion. Now we’re talking about something outside what you’ll see on stage later today. But pretending it doesn’t exist doesn’t mean other people will ignore it. So we’ll deal with it now, put it to bed, and move on. Okay?”
That got general murmurs from the press. They had expected Amy to be angry. Slamming the table. Looking for blood. If they had spotted her in the small hotel breakfast nook, they might have seen exactly that. But Amy realized she had a chance to pull the monster’s fangs before it did more than nip.
“First off, I would just like to point out the contradictions and incoherence in these articles. Yesterday, they tried to tell the world I was Adrian’s love thrall.”
She turned to Adrian, pretended to look him up and down, shook her head, and turned back, to laughter.
“No idea what that even means. It’s something that’s been repeated multiple times. It’s a certain class of people who can’t help but be jealous that I get to do for a living something they can only dream about. But to say I’m here because of a relationship with Adrian? The only relationship I have with him right now is that we’re teammates, he’s the captain, and I’m the vice-captain. No more and no less. We’re friends, of course. Shared experience has a way of getting folks on a common vibe.”
“Now, today, because I refused to play that game, they tried questioning my sexuality.”
“I had to laugh about them calling me ‘The Dyke Queen of Dueling.’ First of all, my relationships are none of their business. None of yours, either. But even in trying to insult me, they couldn’t get past one simple fact. I’m currently leading the King of Dueling standings entering Finals Day. So I guess it would technically be the Queen of Dueling if I win it. They hate that fact, but they can’t deny it. So they load up on pejorative words around it because they don’t want people paying attention to the fact that I’ve done well this tournament.”
She grinned. It was more aggressive than friendly. The counterattack was about to begin.
“As for one of the social media posts they quoted: ‘A-Bombadier looks like a man-hating lesbian who probably wants to keep men’s balls in her purse.’ First off, I don’t even OWN a purse. And even if I did? Keeping men’s genitalia there? Not fashionable at all. Definitely won’t see it on the runway in Paris.”
The press was taken aback by Amy taking it as a joke.
“But that just proves my point. The whole thing is stupid. I shouldn’t have to defend myself against an attack one day and the complete opposite attack the next. Why should I have to? Don’t tell me it’s part and parcel of being who I am. It’s moronic. It lacks even a tiny bit of coherence. It’s someone going, ‘Well, if she’s not Adrian’s love slave, she has to be a lesbian. Obviously.’”
She looked at the crowd.
“Are we all in agreement that forcing someone into whichever sexual stereotype is convenient that day is just plain weaponized stupidity?”
The press murmured their agreement. They couldn’t deny it, but they had to maintain their decorum. A few were a bit louder than others, however.
“But, since you guys want to know, I’m going to give you guys a scoop. Listen closely, because I’m only going to say this once.”
The press seemed to lean in.
“I am who I am. I’m Amy Williamson. My Gamertag is A-Bombadier. My favored WarMAC? I’ve nicknamed her Furiosa. And the truth? The absolute truth?”
She grinned, and there was humor in that grin now.
“I’m an alien infiltrator from the planet Cedanda XIV. I snuck my way to Earth because I wanted to learn how to pilot a giant robot, and World of WarMachines let me fulfill the dream I had in my creche.”
There was a moment of stunned silence.
Adrian watched. If this were a cartoon, question marks would have been floating over everyone’s head. Then the joke landed, and all the figurative question marks turned into exclamation points.
Screw decorum. That was funny.
That got laughter, loud and sustained.
Adrian joined in the laughter. Amy just looked around, selling the joke.
Her expression read, “I’ve just told you the secret. Why are you all laughing?”
One reporter recovered quicker than the others. While others were still wiping their eyes and trying to calm down, he went for the natural follow-up question to this world-shattering announcement.
“So are there other Cedandans amongst us? And if so, when’s the invasion?”
Amy played the bit to its natural conclusion.
“I’m sorry. That information is classified. High Command will already be furious with me.”
That created another wave of laughter.
The rest of the press conference was done in a more convivial fashion. Since Kelto hadn’t required press interviews after the conclusion of Day One’s play, this became the press’s opportunity to say the equivalent of “We saw you get here. We have trouble explaining it. How did you get here?”
Adrian and Amy were happy to answer those questions.
One reporter seemed amused by the fact that the winning strategy in the last match’s Mass Battle was not a strategy at all.
“I think you’ve introduced the Zen art of Robot Fighting. The winning Robot Fighting Strategy is to not have a Robot Fighting Strategy.”
Adrian hammed it up, doing his wizened old kung fu master routine.
“You have gained wisdom. Most unenlightened folks tend to dismiss it as, ‘Run toward the enemy. Shoot them. Keep shooting them until they fall down or you do.’ But you have taken the first step of Transcendence.”
Then he spoke in his normal voice.
“If you ever figure out the second step, let me know. I’ve been looking for it for years.”
That got another round of laughter.
The press seemed reluctant to let the press conference end. This was actually fun. Reforged treated the tournament as serious business, but they didn’t let it become too serious. Eventually, one of the tournament officials cleared his throat.
“I’m afraid that’s all the time we have. We don’t have post-event press coverage set up because of the time constraints involved in cleaning up after the event, but we’ll pass along the team’s media contact information if you have follow-up questions.”
Despite their outward enjoyment, Amy and Adrian were glad to have the press conference over and done with.
Their excitement was still to come later on stage.
The press officer leaned over, after making sure that their microphones were firmly in the off position.
“Also, uh ... the next team is waiting outside. They’re getting a little irritated.”
Adrian blinked.
“Because we’re running over?”
“A little bit. But that’s not exactly why...”
Amy looked at him.
“They’re mad because we’re getting interviewed?”
The official gave an apologetic shrug.
“Pretty much.”
Adrian stared toward the door.
“They’re complaining because we have to talk to the media?”
“They see it somewhat differently.”
Amy stood up.
“Oh, by all means. Let them experience the glamour.”
Adrian was laughing as he followed Amy out the door. They found a quiet place and checked their phones. Kevin had sent them a message.
“All accounted for. Leaving shortly.”
They failed to check social media, however. That was good. One of the reporters had livestreamed the press conference.
As a result?
The internet had found something new and shiny.
And as the internet tends to do, they were going to grab it, run off with it, and amplify it beyond belief or rationality.
But Amy was smiling. A far cry from the anger she had felt when she saw the story on Kevin’s phone earlier in the day.
“Did you see the look Overpower’s coach gave us? It was like he was saying, ‘Hey, we beat you guys. Why are you getting all the press?’”
“He’s welcome to it.”
“I don’t think he would have appreciated it if I’d said what I was thinking...”
“Oh no. What?”
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