Steam curled from a cup of dark roast as Dexter stirred it with slow, deliberate movements. The café was quiet except for the hum of conversation, the gentle clink of porcelain, and the faint hiss of the espresso machine. Moon light filtered through the tall glass panes, brushing across the edge of his white formal shirt and black vest, catching the silver frame of his glasses.
Outside the window, the city pulsed with motion and beyond the traffic, the form of a rising skyscraper cut through the skyline.
Across its face, a single line of text caught the sun.
DEXTROTECH INDUSTRIES: BUILDING THE FUTURE
Dexter's reflection overlapped the letters, and for a moment, the sight almost made him pause. The structure was still incomplete, a few weeks away from its grand opening. Yet even now, it stood as a symbol not just of progress, but of control.
Every beam of alloy, every circuit hidden in its walls was part of his design. The foundation wasn't merely concrete; it was a network of servers, power conduits, and concealed systems wired to his specifications. The world would see it as a company but he knew better. It was a fortress of innovation the first pillar of his greater plan.
Still, blueprints alone could not make a name rise. Not in a world where genius and spectacle competed for attention every day. Fame was no longer built in laboratories; it was forged in arenas.
And nothing captured the world's fascination faster than the WRB—World Robot Boxing, a modern colosseum where technology and ambition collided under roaring lights.
Dexter's gaze shifted to the holographic tablet resting on the table. Two translucent profiles hovered above the screen:
Charlie Kenton.
Harold Cooplowski.
Two pilots. Two distinctly different stories.
One, a fallen champion trying to climb back into relevance. The other, a new face with reckless drive and untested potential. Both, perfect tools for his next phase.
He watched the screen change, now displaying footage of an underground WRB arena — machines crashing together in clouds of sparks and thunderous applause. Each movement calculated, each hit worth thousands in betting circuits. The glow of advertisements and sponsors flickered across the metallic ring like digital graffiti.
It was chaos but within chaos, there was always a pattern.
Dexter leaned back slightly, the edge of a thought sharpening behind his calm gaze. These fights, brutal and theatrical as they were, dictated the direction of markets faster than any speech or innovation. Fame equaled trust and trust equaled influence.
To rise above the noise, DextroTech didn't need marketing campaigns or glossy interviews.
It needed champions.
Soon, he thought, DextroTech would be the name whispered backstage, shouted in crowds, bet on in every underground circuit.
Not as a hopeful startup…
But as a force.
His cup was nearly empty now, the last trace of coffee swirling in the porcelain. He set it down gently beside the tablet, straightened his tie, and glanced once more out the window.
It was all falling into place.
Ding!
The soft tone of his wrist device drew his attention. A holographic interface flickered to life against his sleeve, a minimalist design glowing in cyan light.
The computer's voice came through clearly, smooth and feminine. [Both pilots have arrived at the designated meeting site.]
Dexter's eyes lingered on the confirmation as two profile windows opened beside the alert, each displaying a status line pulsing faint green.
He took a quiet breath, his reflection merging again with the rising tower beyond the glass.
With a final glance at the half-finished headquarters, he rose from his seat, collected his coat, and stepped into the moonlight. The bell above the café door chimed softly behind him, a simple sound, yet one that seemed to mark the turning of another gear in his vast design.
Dexter crossed the street and approached the building's temporary entrance. Security drones scanned him instantly, doors unlocking with a hydraulic hiss.
Inside the dim, unfinished lobby of DextroTech Industries, two figures stood waiting beneath the skeletal framework of exposed beams and half-installed lights.
Their eyes turned toward him the moment he entered.
Dexter stepped further into the unfinished lobby, his shoes echoing on the bare concrete floor. Charlie Kenton and Harold Cooplowski watched him with curious, cautious eyes.
"Thank you for coming, gentlemen," Dexter said, voice steady, controlled. "I know you have many questions, but for now… please follow me."
Charlie raised a brow at Harold, who shrugged. A silent exchange, a mutual decision.
They followed.
Dexter led them through a side hallway where the walls were already paneled and sleekly lit. It was a stark contrast to the skeletal lobby. Here, the floors gleamed, the lights were warm, and the air smelled faintly of polished wood and new electronics.
He stopped at a glass door and pushed it open.
Inside was a fully furnished meeting office: dark oak table, ergonomic chairs, minimalist shelves, a holo-display screen mounted across the wall. The contrast to the unfinished state outside said everything.
Dexter prepared this room deliberately.
"Please," Dexter gestured. "Have a seat."
Charlie and Harold settled into the chairs, still unsure but intrigued.
Dexter stood at the opposite end of the table, hands clasped behind his back.
"My name is Dexter Labs," he began. "I am the owner of this company."
Charlie blinked. "No offense, kid, but you look about twelve."
Dexter smiled politely. "I get that a lot."
He adjusted his glasses, eyes sharpening. "I also assume you already know who I am."
Both men nodded.
"Then I won't waste time," Dexter continued smoothly. "You two are the most promising pilots I've identified. And I'm giving you a choice, you're either in… or you're out."
He reached for two folders resting on the table, sliding one to each man.
"If you agree to the contract, sign the last page. Then we proceed."
Charlie and Harold exchanged another look. This time, it wasn't uncertainty, it was calculation.
They opened the folders.
The papers outlined salary, housing, sponsorships, exclusive rights, medical coverage, and bonuses depending on WRB ranking. Dexter wasn't offering a job.
He was offering a career.
Five minutes passed.
Charlie clicked his pen first.
Harold followed shortly after.
They slid the signed documents back across the table.
Dexter's smile sharpened as he collected them.
"Welcome to the family."
He walked to the mounted screen, picked up a small remote, and pressed a button. The lights dimmed. The holographic display flared to life.
Two robotic figures appeared — rotating models, shining with augmented details and technical diagrams.
Dexter began.
"These will be your partners."
The first hologram zoomed in, a muscular gold-and-black robot with armored fists.
MIDAS
Height: 8'4
Weight: 1,420 lbs
Core: Twin-motor electro-pulse
Features: Shock-absorption knuckles, enhanced stabilizers, aggressive stance algorithms
Dexter nodded toward Charlie.
"This one is yours."
Charlie leaned back, a slow grin forming. "Not bad."
Dexter kept going.
"And Midas now has two additional features unique to DextroTech:"
A second screen lit up.
— Vocal Command Input
Allows pilot to trigger specific moves or combos via direct speech.
— Shadow Mode (Advanced Mimicry) Reads pilot's body posture to replicate movements with near-instant responsiveness.
Charlie let out a low whistle. "That's… actually insane."
Dexter only smiled.
Then he switched the display.
A darker frame appeared, bulkier, rougher, metal scarred in a way that suggested past battles.
BIO-WAR
Height: 8'7
Weight: 1,580 lbs
Core: Enhanced arc reactor hybrid
Features: Redline servos, reinforced plating, power amplification burst limiter
"This one," Dexter said, turning to Harold, "is yours."
Harold studied the machine intently, eyes narrowed with sharp focus. Then nodded. "Looks like a monster."
"Exactly," Dexter replied. "Bio-War was designed to overwhelm its opponents with brute efficiency. And like Midas, he now possesses both vocal command protocols and Shadow Mode."
The holograms faded slightly as Dexter placed the remote down.
"You will both have three days to familiarize yourselves with your assigned robots. Training begins tomorrow morning."
He stepped away from the screen, hands finding the edges of his pockets.
"On the fourth day, we enter competition."
Charlie perked up. "Already?"
"We don't have the luxury of waiting," Dexter replied simply. "Visibility is everything."
He pointed to Charlie first.
"Midas will defend his championship title at Crash Palace."
Charlie's eyes lit up. "Good."
Then Dexter turned to Harold. "And Bio-War will be introduced in an underground circuit — The Lone Star Club."
Harold blinked. "That bar with the wooden circular ring?"
"Yes," Dexter said. "Your debut must be loud enough to create momentum but not reckless enough to kill you."
Charlie snorted. "Good luck with that one."
Harold smirked.
Dexter lifted the remote again, turning the lights back on as the holograms faded.
"Prepare yourselves," he said simply. "Tomorrow will be the debut of DextroTech's rise."