Team Reforged; Power and Overpower
Copyright© 2026 by FozzieBare
Chapter 5: No Longer Fun. The Tournament Begins
Two evenings before the Summer Tournament, Red waited until practice had ended before asking Adrian for a minute. They found a quiet corner of the Pit. Adrian had been expecting a complaint about the lineup. He was wrong.
“I don’t think I can do this,” Red said.
Adrian looked at him.
“Do what?”
“The game. The league.” Red stared at the empty stations. “It’s no longer fun.”
Adrian waited. Red rubbed his face.
“I thought it was TotalWarfare. The captain. All that bullshit. I thought if I found a team where I could say what I thought without starting a civil war, it’d come back.”
“And?”
“You gave me exactly that.” Red laughed once. “That’s the problem. I can’t even blame anybody here.”
“You’re a good pilot.”
“I know.”
It wasn’t arrogance. It was exhaustion.
“But I sit down at a station and all I can think about is the next practice, the next review, the next argument over a half-second decision. I don’t think about getting to play. I think about having to.”
Adrian looked at the practice floor. He knew what it felt like when a game stopped being a game. He also knew what happened when somebody else decided that meant you ought to keep playing until the feeling came back.
“You want out?”
Red nodded.
“Before the roster locks. I didn’t want to leave you short.”
“You won’t.”
“You sure?”
“We’ll manage the paperwork. We’ve got other pilots.”
Red’s shoulders lowered.
“I was afraid you’d try to talk me out of it.”
“Would it work?”
“No.”
“Then that would be a pretty stupid use of both our time.”
Red laughed. A real laugh this time. Adrian held out his hand.
“Thanks for giving us a chance.”
Red shook it.
“Thanks for giving me one.”
“You know you’re allowed to play something else, right?”
“I’m starting to remember.”
They arranged the release before tournament registration closed. Adrian told the others without making a speech about it. Red had tried. Red had been honest. That was enough. Later, looking over the finalized roster, he found Alex Pitts listed under HenriAteA and Corbin Oliphant under K-Orb.
He hoped both of them still wanted to be there when Summer was over.
The Summer Tournament did not feel like Vegas. Amy decided that was both good and bad. Good because she had slept in her own bed the night before. Good because nobody had needed to haul equipment across a casino floor. Good because there was no tournament schedule apparently designed by someone who regarded sleep as a moral failing.
Bad because sitting in Reforged headquarters made it surprisingly easy to forget that sixty-three other teams were trying to end their tournament. Until the cameras came on. Then it felt real. Every tournament computer had been checked. Then checked again. Kelto’s monitoring software was running on all of them.
One camera had to show each pilot clearly throughout every match. If tournament staff had any questions about who was actually at the controls, a second camera could be required to show their hands and control setup. No substitutions that were not registered. No disappearing off-camera.
No mysterious software. No funny business. Martin had been informed, several times, that the tournament computers were not to be touched after certification. He had looked mildly offended. Kevin had responded by putting a printed sign on one of them.
MARTIN, THIS MEANS YOU.
Martin had added beneath it:
Understood. Redundant notification.
Kevin had left the sign in place. Amy sat at her station and looked at the tournament bracket. Sixty-four teams. Around sixteen had received automatic entry based on their standing in the semi-professional scene. Reforged was one of them. That still felt weird. The rest had fought their way in.
For weeks, there had been open qualifying tournaments. One per day. Win the little tournament, earn a place in the big one. Then came the Second Chance events for teams that had fallen just short or missed their first opportunity. Some teams had played more tournament matches just to get here than Reforged might play during the entire Summer Tournament.
The invited teams had been seeded apart. If everything went according to expectation, none of them would face another invited team before the Round of Sixteen. Adrian had been very clear about what that meant. Absolutely nothing.
Corbin was checking the group-round builds with Henry and Tex. He was still on Reactor Critical’s books, but he was wearing Reforged colors for this tournament, and the registration list said he belonged here. Alex Pitts was at the next station, looking far less worried than he had when he first walked into the Pit.
Nobody had asked either of them to be somebody else. He stood in front of the team before the first match.
“Every year, somebody comes through qualifying that nobody knows.”
People quieted.
“They get drawn against a seeded team. Everybody assumes the seeded team is moving on.”
Adrian looked around the room.
“And then they knock them out.”
Nobody smiled.
“Make sure we’re not that team.”
Amy leaned back in her chair.
“We’re not.”
Adrian looked at her.
“Good.”
“Also, if we lose to someone called TeamTotallyTomorrow, I’m changing my name and leaving the country.”
That broke the tension. Kevin sighed.
“Apparently the name is exactly what it sounds like.”
Amy looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
“They needed a team name. Someone suggested using three words beginning with T.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Amy stared at the bracket.
TeamTotallyTomorrow.
“That’s either incredibly stupid or weirdly brilliant.”
Adrian shrugged.
“They qualified.”
The room settled again. That was the important part. Whatever their name was, TeamTotallyTomorrow had earned its way here.
The duel round taught Reforged that lesson immediately. Amy won once. Only once. That irritated her. Not because she expected to sweep every opponent she faced. She had been cured of that particular delusion a long time ago. But the pilot across from her was good. Very good. Quick. Patient.
Did not bite on half the things Amy expected a qualifier to bite on. She took one fight. Lost the others. When she came out, Adrian wore the expression he used when something had become more interesting than he wanted.
“Your guy good?”
Amy nodded.
“Very.”
“Mine too.”
“How’d you do?”
“One.”
Amy grinned.
“So we’re equally disappointing.”
“Apparently.”
The third Reforged duelist went in. Alex Pitts. HenriAteA on the bracket. The last time Adrian had watched him in a tournament, Alex had been the last RokkitMan standing while his team came apart around him. Now he had people in his corner. Adrian found himself smiling.
“All right, Henri. Show them what we saw in Vegas.”
That was when the mood changed. One victory became two. Two became three. By the end, one Reforged pilot had somehow turned the third slot into a one-versus-three performance that left half the room standing and shouting. Amy was one of them.
“YES!”
The match result locked. Three points to Reforged. Adrian looked at the scoreboard.
“That’s useful.”
Amy stared at him.
“That’s your response?”
“Would you prefer screaming?”
“I’d prefer some appreciation of art.”
“Very useful art.”
“Better.”
The scoreboard read:
REFORGED 3
TEAMTOTALLYTOMORROW 0
Amy stared at it. The score looked comfortable. The duels had not been.
“Three-nothing makes that look easier than it was.”
Adrian nodded.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Nobody gets comfortable.”
Elias found Adrian before the first four-versus-four matches began.
“I looked up their top two.”
Adrian stopped.
“Anything interesting?”
“They’re semi-pro.”
That got Amy’s attention too.
“Actually semi-pro?”
Elias nodded.
“Different team. Apparently their normal organization didn’t have room for them on its tournament roster. They were allowed to play on loan.”
Amy looked toward the TeamTotallyTomorrow roster.
“That explains a lot.”
“Yeah.”
Elias folded his arms.
“The other pilots are decent.”
“But?”
“But they’re not at your level.”
He glanced toward the rest of Reforged.
“Honestly, they’re not at our level.”
Adrian considered.
“So what are you telling me?”
“Don’t get fancy.”
Amy smiled. Adrian did not. Elias continued. “Their two stars can hurt us. The rest can hurt us if we give them chances.”
He pointed toward the match room.
“Concentrate. Make the obvious play. Let them make the mistakes.”
Adrian nodded.
“Got it.”
Amy looked at Elias.
“You know that’s going to make him want to get fancy.”
“I know.”
Adrian started walking.
“I can hear both of you.”
“Good.”
Cass had been working on shot-calling. She was good at it. She was also, according to Adrian, Amy, Kevin, and nearly everyone else who had ever shared communications with her, too talkative. Amy privately thought the criticism had merit.
Cass could communicate a tactical instruction, the reason for the tactical instruction, the probable consequences of ignoring it, and the weather forecast for Bakersfield before most people finished saying “left.”
Still. She was getting better. And when her four-versus-four began, she did exactly what Reforged needed. Nothing spectacular. Nothing clever enough to make Martin sit forward. She had two Reactor Critical pilots with her, both accustomed to working within Reforged’s broader system. Cass kept them together.
Kept them focused. Prevented anyone from chasing. Called targets. Adjusted when TeamTotallyTomorrow tried to isolate one of them. The fight was not dominant. It was not supposed to be. TTT got two kills. The two remaining Reforged WarMACs were hurting by the end. But they were not critical.
More importantly, TeamTotallyTomorrow had no WarMACs left. Four kills to two. Cass pulled off her headset.
“That was ugly.”
Adrian looked at the result.
“Did you win?”
“Yes.”
“Then the tournament does not have an ugly column.”
Amy walked past.
“You kept four pilots doing the same thing long enough to kill four other pilots.”
Cass looked at her.
“That’s shot-calling.”
Cass smiled. Amy continued. “You still talk too much.”
The smile disappeared.
“I knew there was a catch.”
Adrian nodded solemnly.
“Your TED Talk needs editing.”
Cass made a gesture that tournament cameras probably should not have recorded. The scoreboard updated.
REFORGED 5
TEAMTOTALLYTOMORROW 0
Elias put his own observation into practice. Natalia held the pass. That was her job. Not kill everyone. Not perform some heroic last stand. Just make the route through her too expensive to take. TeamTotallyTomorrow tried. Repeatedly. Natalia gave ground. Slowly. Very slowly. So slowly that Amy started wondering if she had mistaken geological movement for retreat.
“They’re going to get through her,” someone said.
Elias’s voice came across comms.
“No, they’re not.”
Natalia’s armor was disappearing. Not catastrophically. Enough to matter. But every second TeamTotallyTomorrow spent trying to force her position was another second they were not getting at Elias. And behind the entire engagement, Trevor was being Trevor. Amy had never been certain whether he heard music while piloting.
If he did, she was fairly sure it was Flight of the Bumblebee.
He whipped from one part of the battlefield to another. Too fast to pin down. Too far away to justify focusing on. Far too annoying to ignore. Becky made it worse. Her electronic warfare did not shut TeamTotallyTomorrow down. It did not need to. A little uncertainty. A little noise. A little delay in confirming what Trevor was doing.
Then Trevor crossed someone’s field of view again. Half-turn. That was all it took. One TTT pilot shifted toward him. Natalia punished the movement. Another looked away. Elias put fire into exposed armor. Trevor did another absurd pass. Two more pilots tracked him. Becky laughed over comms.
“They’re looking at Trevor again.”
Natalia sounded exhausted.
“Hard not to.”
“They’re not shooting him.”
Elias sounded almost pleased.
“They’re just looking.”
Becky laughed harder.
“Oh, that’s worse.”
Trevor’s voice came in.
“Would you like me to continue being distracting?”
Elias did not hesitate.
“Keep being annoying.”
“Extremely broad tactical instruction.”
“Use your imagination.”
Amy winced.
“Never tell Trevor that.”
Too late. TeamTotallyTomorrow’s remaining pilots kept reacting to him. Their better pilots probably would not have. That was the difference. A star pilot knew when movement was irrelevant. A merely good pilot still felt compelled to check. One glance. Half a turn. A moment of divided attention.
Reforged was good enough now to punish moments. When it ended, Elias’s team had won. Not beautifully. Not overwhelmingly. Professionally. Amy looked at the scoreboard.
REFORGED 7
TEAMTOTALLYTOMORROW 0
She whistled.
“Seven-zero.”
Adrian nodded.
“Doesn’t feel like seven-zero.”
“Nope.”
Their top two pilots had been absent from both four-versus-fours. Saved. Fresh. Ready for the larger scoring rounds. Amy looked toward Adrian.
“So.”
“So.”
“You going to listen to Elias?”
“Absolutely.”
Amy narrowed her eyes.
“That sounded suspicious.”
Adrian smiled.
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