Team Reforged; Power and Overpower
Copyright© 2026 by FozzieBare
Chapter 10: The Same Equation. An Accidental Canary Trap
Adrian was not scouting Overpower. Not officially. He had told himself this several times. He was relaxing. Relaxing could involve watching WarMAC. Lots of people relaxed by watching WarMAC.
Admittedly, most people did not pause the video every thirty seconds, rewind it, make notes, and occasionally mutter tactical obscenities. But relaxation was personal. Overpower was scrimmaging Electrum.
That was interesting mostly because Electrum was attempting to rebuild itself after Amarillo had ripped out its captain, vice-captain, and another starter in the middle of the Summer Tournament. They were going to be different. They had to be. Adrian wanted to see what different looked like.
Martin walked through the room carrying a plate. Adrian glanced over.
“Actual food?”
“Yes.”
“Voluntarily?”
Martin stopped.
“What?”
“You’re eating an actual meal without someone forcing you.”
“I routinely consume meals.”
“Pizza isn’t a meal every time.”
Martin considered this.
“False.”
He started walking again. On screen, an Overpower Thanatos raised its right arm. Martin stopped. Adrian did not notice at first.
Then:
“Go back.”
“What?”
“Go back.”
Something in Martin’s voice made Adrian obey before asking why.
“How far?”
“Seven seconds.”
Adrian rewound. Martin moved closer to the screen.
“Play.”
The Thanatos rotated. Raised its arm. For perhaps half a second, the right shoulder stopped moving as it passed vertical. Then continued. Martin’s plate lowered slowly.
“Again.”
Adrian replayed it. Martin stared.
“Again.”
“Martin?”
“Again.”
Adrian replayed it. Martin set the plate down.
“Focus on the Thanatos. Close up.”
Adrian zoomed as far as the VOD allowed. The movement repeated. Tiny. Barely visible. The right shoulder actuator froze for half a second while passing vertical. Then resumed as if nothing had happened. Martin’s face changed. Adrian had known him long enough to understand that Martin did not react to problems like most people.
Most people got louder. Martin got quieter.
“This is problematic.”
Adrian looked at him.
“That sentence means something different when you say it.”
Martin ignored him.
“When was this scrimmage?”
“Yesterday.”
“Date.”
“July fourteenth.”
Martin closed his eyes. Adrian waited. When they opened again, Martin was pale.
“Adrian.”
“Yeah?”
“I need the VOD.”
“Sure.”
“Send it to my computer IMMEDIATELY.”
Adrian sat straighter.
“Okay.”
“Full resolution. Original source if available. Do not alter file.”
“Martin, what is going on?”
Martin picked up his plate. Then stopped.
“Ask Antonia for a large, filling meal.”
Adrian stared at the plate already in his hands.
“You have food.”
“This is insufficient.”
“For what?”
Martin looked back at the screen.
“I’m fearing something catastrophic has happened.”
That was worse than shouting. Much worse. Adrian sent the VOD. Then he called Antonia.
Four hours later, Martin came out of his office. Adrian had spent most of those four hours trying not to hover. He had failed. Amy arrived after the first hour. Elias after the second.
Marcus after Adrian called him and said, approximately:
“Martin saw something in an Overpower video, went white, requested emergency calories, and locked himself in his office.”
Marcus had arrived twenty minutes later. Kevin joined them because Kevin had developed an unerring instinct for detecting when Reforged’s day was about to become stupid. Martin opened the door. Everyone stood. That seemed to surprise him.
“Adrian.”
“Yeah?”
“Call Amy.”
Amy raised a hand.
“Here.”
Martin blinked.
“Call Elias.”
“Also here.”
“Marcus.”
“Right here.”
Martin looked around.
“How long have you been waiting?”
“Long enough,” Marcus said.
Martin nodded once.
“We have a large problem.”
Adrian stood.
“Would you like to expand on that, Martin?”
Martin looked at him.
“Someone has committed corporate espionage against us.”
Silence.
Then:
“And succeeded.”
Kevin slowly sat down.
“Okay.”
Nobody looked at him. He raised both hands.
“For once, I have nothing.”
The private Pit conference room had never felt small before. It did now. Martin connected his computer to the projector. The Overpower scrimmage appeared. Marcus sat at the head of the table. Amy sat rigidly beside Adrian. Elias had stopped making jokes entirely.
Kevin had been instructed to keep the rest of the team out and to tell anyone who asked that High Command was in a meeting. Kevin had objected to the title. Then used it immediately. Marcus folded his hands.
“Martin.”
“Yes?”
“You didn’t say we’d been hacked.”
“No.”
“You very specifically said espionage.”
“Yes.”
“Care to explain?”
Martin advanced the video.
“Observe right shoulder actuator.”
The Thanatos moved. Frozen shoulder. Half second. Continued. Martin played another clip. Different angle. Same machine. Same hitch. Another. Then a different Overpower machine. Same hitch. Another. Amy leaned forward.
“How many?”
“Four machines.”
Martin clicked. A spreadsheet appeared.
“Thirteen different observed instances.”
Marcus stared.
“Holy fuck.”
“Yes.”
Adrian looked from the screen to Martin.
“What are we seeing?”
“A defect.”
“In Overpower?”
“In us.”
That got everyone. Martin changed slides.
“May twenty-first.”
A development log. Images. Test notes. A Reforged machine. The same shoulder hitch.
“During testing of the material integration process, we created an interaction between armor load distribution and actuator calibration.”
Adrian stared at the old footage. The shoulder froze. Exactly the same.
“We fixed that.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“June eighth.”
Martin showed another clip. Same machine. No hitch.
“Current Reforged machines do not exhibit this behavior.”
Marcus’s voice was very quiet.
“So Overpower independently discovered the exact same mistake?”
Martin looked at him.
“No.”
No hesitation. No qualification. Just no. He changed the display again. Server logs.
“July ninth.”
A highlighted entry.
“The development archive containing the May twenty-first process was accessed.”
Marcus leaned forward.
“By who?”
“Unknown.”
“You said espionage.”
“I can prove unauthorized access. I can prove what was accessed. I can prove Overpower fielded four machines displaying a defect produced by that process five days later.”
Martin paused.
“I cannot yet prove Overpower performed the intrusion.”
That distinction mattered. Of course Martin would make it. Amy’s hands had curled into fists.
“So someone stole it.”
“Yes.”
“And gave it to them.”
“That is the most probable explanation.”
Adrian stared at the July ninth date. Five days. Five days from stolen archive to Overpower machines showing the old defect. He suddenly remembered James’s interviews. The accusations. The demands that Reforged explain itself. The endless implication that Kelto was protecting them. His chair moved backward.
Amy grabbed his forearm. Not hard. Enough.
“Not yet.”
Adrian looked at her.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You stood up.”
“I can stand.”
“Sit.”
He sat. Marcus looked at Martin.
“What do we do?”
Martin took out his phone.
“I am calling Aleks.”
Aleks answered on the third ring.
“Martin?”
“Where are you?”
“Office.”
“Good. Listen carefully.”
Something in Martin’s voice eliminated any sleepiness.
“Okay.”
“Development servers are to be physically disconnected.”
“From external?”
“From everything.”
Aleks paused.
“Everything?”
“Network cables removed. Wireless disabled. If hardware permits, physically remove wireless capability.”
“Okay.”
“Do not investigate.”
Another pause.
“Wait.”
“Yes.”
“You want me to disconnect it, but not look?”
“Correct.”
“Why?”
“Preservation of evidence.”
Silence.
Then:
“Oh.”
“Yes.”
“Do I reboot anything?”
“No.”
“Run updates?”
“No.”
“Clean logs?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Touch files?”
“No.”
“Got it.”
“Aleks.”
“Yeah?”
“No server reconnects until I personally tell you.”
“Understood.”
Martin ended the call. Marcus was already standing.
“Four tickets to Seattle.”
Adrian looked at him.
“Tonight?”
“Now.”
Amy stood.
“Who?”
Marcus pointed.
“Me. Martin. Adrian. You.”
Elias frowned.
“I’m staying?”
“You’re running the team.”
“Fair.”
Marcus grabbed his phone.
“I’m pulling every favor Kelto owes me.”
Martin began shutting down his laptop.
“Do not transmit evidence.”
Marcus stopped.
“Why?”
“If an internal system was accessed, I do not wish to send the primary evidence over a network until scope is known.”
Marcus nodded.
“Hand carry.”
“Yes.”
Amy looked at Adrian.
“We’re going to Kelto.”
Adrian looked at the frozen image of the Overpower Thanatos.
“No.”
He stood.
“We’re going to war.”
Martin frowned.
“No.”
Adrian sighed.
“Metaphor.”
“Poor one.”
“Thank you, Martin.”
It was the middle of the night when they arrived at Kelto headquarters. The head of QA was waiting for them. He looked terrible. He also looked furious.
“Goddamnit, Martin.”
“Hello.”
“You better have fucking proof.”
“I do.”
“You’re making a loud accusation.”
“I am making a precise accusation.”
The QA head pointed at him.
“That sentence is why my department uses your face for Nerf target practice.”
“I remain honored.”
“Conference room.”
Kelto had lawyers present within twenty minutes. Tournament Operations arrived within forty. Coffee appeared. Then more coffee. Martin did not drink any. He began. May twenty-first. The defect. June eighth. The correction. July ninth. Unauthorized archive access. July fourteenth. Four Overpower machines.
Thirteen occurrences. The QA head stopped him halfway through.
“Run the shoulder footage again.”
Martin did. The QA head leaned closer.
“Fuck.”
“Yes.”
“Could it happen naturally?”
“Anything could happen naturally.”
The QA head glared at him. Martin clarified.
“The probability of the same visible symptom arising from unrelated causes is not zero. Therefore, more evidence is required.”
“Thank you.”
Tournament Operations spoke.
“We have raw tournament and scrimmage footage.”
“Good.”
“Every camera.”
“Good.”
“Machine telemetry too.”
“Better.”
The room became busy. Kelto staff pulled every available piece of Overpower footage from before the Electrum scrimmage. Spring Tournament. Training events. Previous scrimmages. Summer preparation. Machine certifications. Nothing. No hitch. Not once. Then the Electrum scrimmage. Four machines.
Same defect. Tournament Operations pulled the machine modification records. Every major competitive modification had to be performed through recorded interfaces for verification. They watched. Martin stopped the first video.
“Again.”
The technician replayed it. Martin stood.
“Again.”
The QA head looked at him.
“What?”
Martin pointed.
“That gesture.”
“What gesture?”
“Left control. Rotation. Pause. Return.”
“It does something?”
“No.”
Everyone looked at him. The QA head rubbed his face.
“Martin.”
“It does nothing.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“In May, I believed the previous state needed to be manually cleared.”
“And?”
“I was incorrect.”
The room went silent. Martin brought up his archived procedure. The old May twenty-first version. They put it beside Overpower’s modification recording. Step. Step. Pause. Gesture. Duration. Everything. Tournament Operations began timing. Within one tenth of a second. Again. Second machine.
Same. Third. Same. Fourth. Same. The QA head sat back.
“That’s a typo.”
Martin looked at him.
“Functional equivalent.”
“They copied the fucking typo.”
“Yes.”
Martin nodded.
“Had I deliberately introduced that error as an identifying feature, it would be called a canary trap. But I didn’t. The error serves no useful purpose. In fact, it is actively detrimental to the procedure’s efficiency.”
He paused.
“Nevertheless, it is an identifying feature. I find it extraordinarily unlikely that they independently reproduced an obsolete build of our software, including a completely unnecessary bug.”
“How unlikely?” the QA head asked.
“Not absolutely conclusive. But the probability of coincidence would have so many zeroes after the decimal point that even the most credulous observer would have difficulty believing it.”
Tournament Operations stood.
“Alright.”
Everyone looked over.
“Tell Overpower they are to be here by two PM tomorrow.”
He looked at the lawyer.
“Coach and owner.”
The lawyer nodded.
“If they refuse?”
“Tell them they are disqualified.”
“From Summer? They’re not in the tournament, you know”
“From every Kelto event until we finish figuring out what the hell this is.”
The lawyer began typing. The tournament director looked at Martin.
“We are not accusing them of theft yet.”
“Correct.”
“We give them one chance.”
“Yes.”
“To show us their development trail.”
Martin nodded.
“If they independently created this process, they will possess failed iterations, intermediate versions, timing changes, notes, experiments.”
“And if they don’t?”
Martin looked at the copied useless gesture frozen on the screen.
“They did not independently create it.”
Overpower’s owner called James at nine in the morning.
“Kelto wants us there.”
James’s stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“They say there’s been a breakthrough with Reforged.”
James stopped breathing for a second.
“A breakthrough?”
“That’s what they said. They want you and me.”
James looked at the stolen process on his screen. Finally. They found it. Kelto had finally found what Reforged had been doing. Maybe not the theft. Maybe the process itself. Maybe James had been right after all. Not about everything. But about the thing that mattered.
“I’ll be ready.”
“Good.”
The owner disconnected. James stared at the process. He did not tell him.
The room at Kelto was larger than it needed to be. James noticed that first. The second thing he noticed was Reforged. Adrian. Amy. Marcus. Martin. His stomach dropped. Overpower’s owner slowed beside him.
“Oh.”
James said nothing. The Kelto official gestured to two empty seats.
“Please sit.”
They did.
Nobody offered coffee. That felt significant. The presentation began. Overpower’s owner watched with increasing confusion. James watched with increasing horror. May twenty-first. The shoulder defect. June eighth. The fix. July ninth. The intrusion. July fourteenth. Their machines. Four of them.
Thirteen times. Then the modification video. The old process. The useless gesture. Within a tenth of a second. The owner turned toward James. James stared straight ahead. The Kelto official finished.
Then:
“We would like Overpower to provide its development documentation.”
The owner frowned.
“Of course.”
James closed his eyes.
“Test history, prior iterations, engineering notes, failed versions, personnel involved.”
“Yes, of course we can.”
The owner looked at James.
“Right, Coach?”
James did not move.
“Tony?”
Nothing. Across the table, Adrian stood so fast his chair nearly fell over.
“You.”
Marcus caught his shoulder.
“Adrian.”
“You fucking knew.”
“ADRIAN.”
Adrian pointed across the table.
“Tell us.”
His voice shook.
“Tell us, or as God as my witness, I’ll...”
Marcus’s hand tightened.
“ADRIAN! STOP.”
Adrian stopped. Barely. James looked at him. For weeks, James had imagined this moment. Reforged caught. Reforged exposed. Adrian forced to admit that James had been right. Instead Adrian looked like he wanted to tear him apart. James could not blame him.
“He’s right.”
The words were almost too quiet to hear. The owner turned.
“What?”
James looked at Adrian.
“He’s right.”
Adrian’s face changed. Not calmer. Worse. The owner stared.
“Tony.”
James swallowed.
“One of the players knew someone.”
The room went absolutely still.
“Someone who said he could get into Reforged’s systems.”
The owner’s face lost color.
“No.”
James continued because if he stopped, he might never start again.
“He came to me.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him he did not have permission.”
The owner exhaled.
Then James said:
“I did not tell him not to do it.”
The owner stared. James forced himself onward.
“I knew exactly what I was doing.”
No one spoke.
“I wanted to know whether Reforged was cheating.”
Adrian laughed once. There was no humor in it. James looked down.
“The files came back. It wasn’t a client hack. It was the armor process.”
Martin corrected automatically.
“An obsolete version.”
James nodded.
“An obsolete version.”
The owner’s voice was barely controlled.
“And you used it?”
“Yes.”
“How many machines?”
“Four.”
“You put stolen information on four of our machines?”
“Yes.”
“For the Electrum scrimmage?”
“Yes.”
The owner stood. James finally looked at him. The man looked devastated. Not angry. Not yet. Devastated.
“What the fuck did you do?”
James had no answer. The owner’s hands shook.
“We already qualified.”
“I know.”
“We won Spring.”
“I know.”
“We didn’t need this.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
James looked at Martin. Then Adrian. Then the copied process on the screen.
“Because I thought they were destroying the game.”
Amy made a sound of disbelief. The owner turned away. For several seconds, nobody spoke. Then he turned back.
“You’re fired.”
James nodded once. The Kelto official spoke immediately.
“You are suspended. We will be opening procedures to have you permanently banned from Kelto-sanctioned competitive play, coaching, management, team operations, or participation in any competitive capacity.”
James looked at him. No appeal. No argument. Nothing left to argue.
“I’m done.”
He stood.
“And I should be.”
For a second, it looked like he might say something else. To Adrian. To Martin. To the owner. He had nothing. James walked out. The owner took one step after him. Stopped. Closed his eyes. Then turned back toward Kelto.
“How fucked am I?”
The Kelto official leaned back in his chair.
“In the halcyon days of college sports, they had a phrase.”
The owner waited.
“Lack of institutional control.”
“That bad?”
“Your head coach knowingly used stolen proprietary information on team assets.”
A pause.
“Yes.”
The owner sat down.
James made it to the lobby. Then outside. Then halfway down the block. His phone was in his hand. He did not remember taking it out. He found the number of one of the news sites that had carried his comments.
The one that had turned the neutral expert’s careful statement into:
EXPERT: REFORGED WARMaCS CANNOT BE REPRODUCED
James called.
“News desk.”
“I need whoever is handling the Reforged story.”
“Who is this?”
“James.”
Pause.
“Coach James?”
“Former Coach James.”
Longer pause.
“Okay, very funny.”
“Send me a video link.”
“What?”
“Video call. Now.”
“Why?”
“I want you to see my face so you know this isn’t someone screwing with you.”
Thirty seconds later, his phone buzzed. James accepted. A reporter appeared. The reporter’s expression changed immediately.
“Jesus.”
“Yes.”
“It is you.”
“Yes.”
“You said former.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
James sat on a bench.
“Start recording.”
The reporter went still.
“Are you sure?”
“Very.”
“You want this on background?”
“No.”
“Anonymous?”
“No.”
“James...”
“Use my name. Use my face.”
He swallowed.
“Don’t clean this up for me.”
The reporter stared. Then nodded.
“Recording.”
James looked into the camera.
“Reforged wasn’t cheating.”
Silence.
The reporter blinked.
“What?”
“I was wrong.”
James forced himself to continue.
“Worse than wrong.”
“What does that mean?”
“I accused them of violating competitive integrity.”
His throat tightened.
“Then I violated it myself.”
The reporter said nothing.
“One of my players knew someone who offered to break into Reforged’s systems.”
The reporter’s eyes widened.
“I did not explicitly authorize it.”
James took a breath.
“I also deliberately did not forbid it.”
“Why?”
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