Chapter 30: Championship Brackets
The announcement of scenario results and bracket placements came at 1900 sharp. By then, the venue's main hall thrummed with nervous energy as competitors, coaches, and support staff pressed toward the towering digital board where the National Championship bracket would appear.
The air was thick with anticipation. The smell of gun oil and sweat clung to uniforms, mingling with the metallic tang of equipment cases. Dozens of conversations overlapped into a low, constant buzz, but as the board flickered to life, silence fell over the crowd like a hammer.
Alex shouldered his way through the crush of bodies, heart pounding in his chest. He scanned the bright white letters scrolling down the bracket—names of the sixteen surviving teams who had endured the brutal opening rounds.
CHAMPIONSHIP BRACKET PLACEMENTS – TOP 16 TEAMS
1. Apex Predators – 847 points
2. Elite Force – 831 points
3. Thunder Strike – 824 points
4. Bravo Company – 819 points
5. Tactical Edge – 815 points
"Fourth seed." Marcus's voice was steady, but Alex caught the fire in his eyes. Pride, tempered by the recognition of what came next. "We're in the championship brackets with a real shot at the finals."
Alex exhaled slowly, absorbing the reality. Fourth seed. Ahead of dozens of veteran squads, ahead of names he'd once only read about on forums. But the glow of achievement was tempered by the stark truth of the brackets: every match from here on out was sudden death.
Around them, rival teams murmured. A coach from Tactical Edge shot them a long, measuring look. Members of Thunder Strike whispered, clearly sizing up Bravo Company's performance. And near the front of the crowd, Alex spotted David Kim of the Apex Predators, arms folded, scanning the board like a predator appraising prey. Their eyes met for a split second, and Kim gave the faintest smirk—acknowledgment without respect.
"What does fourth seed mean for us?" Maya asked, voice pitched low but sharp with focus.
Rodriguez didn't hesitate. "It means we've earned recognition. It also means every opponent from here on out will be studying us like a target dossier. There are no easy matches. Not anymore."
The tournament format unfurled across the board, branching into the single-elimination tree that would cut sixteen teams down to one champion. Bravo Company's bracket was clear: their first opponent would be Storm Front, a thirteenth-seeded Atlantic Division squad with three National appearances already under their belt.
"Storm Front," Sarah read off her tablet as she pulled up archived footage. "Veteran squad. Aggressive playstyle. They excel in close-quarters engagements and rapid tempo. If they dictate the pace, opponents collapse."
Jake frowned. "They'll have seen our rural ops run. They'll expect us to lean on Alex's long-range support. Which means they'll come in prepared to nullify it."
Alex felt the pressure settle across his shoulders again, heavier than his rifle ever was. It wasn't just about his own shots anymore. The opposition would be building their entire plan around cutting him out of the equation.
"What scenario are we up against?" he asked, though part of him already dreaded the answer.
Rodriguez's expression was grim. "Urban combat for the first two rounds."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Urban meant alleys, tight corners, rapid clears—limited sightlines. Alex's greatest strength, his ability to dominate at 600+ meters, would be blunted to little more than a supporting edge at half that distance.
Maya broke the silence first. "Then we fight on their terms. We've trained for this. We adapt."
"Urban scenarios reward tempo and cohesion," Sarah added, scrolling through Storm Front's match logs. "They like to overwhelm early. If we hold composure and force them into prolonged engagements, their aggression becomes a liability."
Rodriguez nodded. "Exactly. They'll try to punch fast and hard. If we endure the opening barrage, we break them."
The team huddled around tactical maps deep into the night, pouring over sightlines, choke points, and contingency plays. Rodriguez dissected Storm Front's favorite tactics, pointing out how their aggressive tempo left weak flanks if countered properly. Marcus built layered response plans: defensive holds to absorb the first push, followed by controlled counter-strikes.
Alex studied the schematics of the urban course, tracing firing lanes with his finger. Unlike rural overwatch, where distance had been his ally, here he would need to think faster, shoot quicker, and deliver under compressed windows of opportunity.
"Your role changes," Marcus told him. "No more sitting at six hundred meters. You're our anchor in medium sightlines—rooftops, courtyards, elevated balconies. Every shot buys us breathing space."
"I can handle that," Alex said, though his stomach coiled with unease. The math of ballistics and distance had always been his fortress. But now? Now he'd be tested in the chaos of angles, corners, and seconds.
They pushed their planning past midnight. When they finally broke, exhaustion etched every face, but the spark of determination burned stronger.
"Tomorrow decides if we're contenders or just tourists," Marcus said quietly. "We've proven we belong here. Now it's time to prove we can advance."
Back in his hotel room, Alex sat with his rifle across his lap, meticulously cleaning each piece until the metal gleamed. His phone buzzed—a message from his mother.
Saw the bracket results online. Fourth seed at your first Nationals! Whatever happens tomorrow, you've already done something incredible. Compete with everything you have.
Alex read the words twice, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. She didn't care about seeding or matchups. She cared about him giving everything he had.
He set the phone down, checked the rifle one final time, and closed his eyes. Tomorrow, Storm Front would come at them like a storm indeed—fast, merciless, determined to erase them.
But Bravo Company wasn't the same team that had walked into Nationals just days ago. They had sharpened into something harder, something cohesive, something dangerous.
The brackets were set. The arena was waiting. And the real fight for the championship was about to begin.
---
Author's Note (Enhanced): This chapter escalates the tension of Nationals by pulling the focus onto the championship bracket system. The atmosphere of the results reveal, the presence of rival teams, and the tactical twist of urban combat sharpen the stakes. By placing Bravo Company in fourth seed, they're in striking distance of the finals but must now adapt to environments that blunt their strongest advantage.
From here, every match is sudden death. One mistake could end their story. One perfect plan could propel them to the finals.
Keep the power stones coming! If you want to see how Bravo Company handles Storm Front's aggression in their first elimination match, your support directly fuels the updates and keeps this championship journey alive.