Prologue: Part 1 - Undercard

The vibrato of the bantering happening inside the assembly hall was thick enough for us to hear them through the walls. I can see a hundred more journalists here like me, listing down notes and in tune on their headsets, listening through a live stream of the current proceedings. 

The Old World usually does it annually but after 500 more years and two more world wars, we have been holding the United Nations assembly once every quarter. It was to keep each other in check, the old-timers said. Yet, regardless of how much we try to make ourselves accountable, nations will always have grievances to air and complain about. At least this way, major decisions that could affect the world at large can be discussed on a bigger platform much quicker.

Inside the hall are multiple wooden desks which are occupied by all the representatives of the nations, arranged by country name and ranking. Within the first few rows of said hall, a man in his 50s was pointing and shouting at the slender-figured gentleman standing on-stage in front of everyone.

"Point being, evidence already shows they have been keeping almost four times their allotted amount of firearms and are not ignorant of the laws!" The face of this man was red from rage. He is a representative of the Nation of New England, with him are his interpreters and his security entourage which are trying to keep him calm.

There was unrest within the delegation when the evidence presented by New England was shown on the two huge white projection screens placed on either side of the front main platform. Standing on the podium was France's representative, unfazed even after being cut-off mid-speech.

"Please Mr. Sullivan," the Frenchman was visibly offended, "May I ask where did these files come from? I hope your contacts took them through legal means because it seems to be the opposite."

Sullivan retorted, and he's now steaming like a locomotive, "Mr. Pierre, I'd suggest for you to get off your high horse and accept your countries' mistakes. I shall not back down if the security of my people is at stake!"

"Mistakes? Ha! I think you're the one who is mistaken," Pierre threw a smirk to taunt. "You're being aggressive because you know you'll lose if you present this in the Court of Justice. This is clearly a breach of trust and privacy, and your tainted evidence is dismissible." His gambit worked to get the Secretary-General to interject and try to take control of the situation.

"Please gentlemen, don't let your emotions be in the way of logic." 

My friend Paul, who was sitting beside me all this time, started to giggle. He nudged me on my shoulder and tapped his headset for me to listen closely, "This is going to be fun!"

UN Secretary-General Dr. Terrence Smith is quite an eccentric individual, with his wisdom underneath a face full of wrinkles. His voice soothes, like chamomile tea on a Sunday morning. "Mr. Pierre, I applaud your calm demeanor but your sarcasm is never subtle. Mr. Sullivan, I have known you for many years which makes your behavior unsurprising. Yet, your claim is much better raised with our colleagues in the Court. Slandering each other is completely unprofessional."

"Jesus, Terrence, can't you see we're being tricked right under our noses?"

"I'd like to reiterate for you to, again, take it with the Court and they'll know the best move forward."

Pierre slides in with a comment, "I'd suggest you take the Secretary General's advice."

"I'd suggest for you to shut your mouth," Sullivan swung his finger pointing upfront. 

Dr. Smith increased his voice so he can be heard more, "Mr. Sullivan, you are being out of line. The Court will--"

"I'd like to issue a Challenge, Secretary-General. Myself and the French representative, on the grounds of subterfuge."

Half of the room went quiet; the others became restless. All the journalists with us took to a halt on everything they were doing, waiting for what's to happen next.

Pierre had an ecstatic increase in his pitch, feeling giddy to the idea of being challenged. "I kindly accept your Challenge mon ami. I'd like to raise for eligibility and a vote to close."

A man with a dark long suit sitting next to the Secretary General rose in his seat to show his prominence. He's like a shadowy figure, unseen amongst the sea of white collars. His aura exudes as if calamity is about to hit as he's the Adjudicator. The final call if a Challenge is legitimate would be from him, and him alone.

"As both parties have accrued grievances with one another," pausing to let out a cough and scan the room, "I bring the Challenge to Pronouncements."

Sullivan immediately followed, "If I win, France will give unrestricted access for a thorough inspection and inventory of their arms."

Pierre scoffed, "Wow, isn't that too much?"

"Speak your Pronouncements, Mr. Pierre," the Adjudicator darts a stare for him to realize the gravity of the situation.

"Well, then if I win, New England will have to provide the details of how they acquired such documents and move this case to the Court of Justice."

"So be it. I will now call for a vote for the rest of the assembly."

As per United Nations protocol, a vote requires 50 percent plus one for it to succeed, 90% pushed for the Challenge to happen. It was always like this during Challenges with high stakes and against First World countries. They're like vultures hovering over the battlefield, waiting to feast on the winner's spoils; and all they need to do is put in a vote.

"The vote is made, and the Challenge is approved. The Council will weigh in your Pronouncements and provide the details by the end of the day. You may proceed," as the Adjudicator sits down and starts to make multiple calls to his associates.

"If so, may I continue with my speech?" Pierre continued. 

For the uninitiated, the Challenge is a means for nations to settle disputes without requiring the loss of millions of lives. The UN decided to implement the Challenge as a last-ditch effort to keep war at bay.

Men will always resort to violence when backed down in a corner: either to fend off attackers, sheer enjoyment, or no reason at all. Violence is inevitable, which is why the Challenge made sense to most when it was first announced. Why endanger lives of innocent people when we can conclude a major dispute by a one-on-one bout? Less death for a much easier resolution. Efficiency at its best.

Plus, pay-per-views for these matches are insane. It's a national affair and is aired in multiple channels across the globe. Who doesn't find mechanical suits clashing with each other head-on, not entertaining?

Bipedal Physically Worn Mechanical Armor, otherwise just known as 'Armor', previously used for military operations had been the standard equipment for these matches. It provides protection to the wearer and an arsenal of offensive capabilities. Modifications are also allowed, making each Armor unique on its own. 

The meeting continued as normal, but the brewing animosity between Pierre and Sullivan is as thick as tar. The proceedings didn't end immediately and a couple more Challenges were approved for tomorrow, but everyone was completely invested with New England vs France. People placing their bets, theory-crafting on what kind of mods each side would take; the hype was crazy.

"I knew they'll be at each other's throats!" Paul took off his headset as we prepped to leave.

"Yeah, Kinnan was so sure a Challenge will be made today. He won't shut up about it," I replied. "It feels such a coincidence though."

"What do you mean?" Paul asked.

"It's just odd that they have a convenient reason to execute a Challenge, that's all. They were supposed to be allies, why are they fighting now?"

It was the most logical question that no one in this room seemed to notice. The Armor fights are to be expected, but for allies with a long-standing history, it was quite unusual for sure.

Paul finished packing up his stuff. "You were aware that they've been all over the news for more than a month now, yeah?" he said with the most surprised pitch he's ever done.

"Yeah, I know. But something just feels off." It really does.

He's unfazed, and I'm not surprised. "You do you, man. I'm throwing down my money to the old guy. Connor and his gang are meeting up at their hotel to do bets and get drunk. Are you down?"

"Sure, why not. I'd rather get shitfaced than do more work anyway."