3074

GLITCH LOG // PRIORITY: DATA-HEIST // CITADEL NETCAST

// Forcing server handshake... ACK

// Bypassing geo-fence... SUCCESS

// Splicing into live broadcast stream... ACCESS GRANTED

// [Buffering Stream_CITADEL-GAMES_PRESHOW.mp4]

// [PLAYING MEDIA_UNSTABLE CONNECTION]

The screen flickers to life, a chaotic explosion of neon graphics, strobing lights, and the roaring sound of a digital crowd. The camera pans across a holographic arena filled with screaming fans, their cybernetic eyes glowing in the dark. Two figures materialize in a shimmering broadcast booth suspended high above the fray.

"GOOD EVENING, YOU MEAT-SACKS, META-FREAKS, AND DATA-GHOSTS! ARE YOU READY TO GET YOUR CIRCUITS FRIED?! This is VOX VOLTAIC, coming at you LIVE and LOUDER than a Yakuza railgun fight in a library, and this is your one and only source for the glorious, gory, god-tier carnage of the CITADEL GAMES!"

The first announcer is a man whose face is a constantly shifting lattice of holographic pixels, his voice a perfectly modulated baritone that sounds like it was synthesized from whiskey and electricity. The figure beside him is a stark contrast—a sleek, chrome gynoid with hair made of flowing fiber-optic cables that change color with her every word.

"And with him, it's ya girl, PAISLEY PULSE! The AI with more processing power than your last three bad decisions combined! So tell me, Voxxy-baby, what's the hot-gossip sizzling on the data-nets about this year's games?! Spill the tea before my subroutines overheat!"

"Whoa, P, hold your horses! Or your hover-ponies, or whatever you high-end AIs are into these days! Because this year… this year the script has been flipped, burned, and its ashes scattered into the damn solar winds! For the first time in recorded history, we are getting a PURE. FUCKING. HUMAN."

"Get the FUCK out! A vanilla human, Vox?! An un-augmented, factory-settings, warranty-voided meat-bag is stepping into the arena?! You're glitching me, baby! The odds on that are gonna be insane! The blood-pools are gonna be overflowing!"

"It ain't no glitch, P! And that ain't all! The stakes have been cranked so high, they're tickling the toes of the Hierophant himself! Because this year, the goddamn SENTINELS are participating!"

"VOX! YOU LYING SACK OF CORRUPTED CODE! You can't just drop a data-bomb like that! The Sentinels?! In the arena?! It's been decades! Imagine it, folks! The chance to go toe-to-toe with a living god of sin! To get your ass handed to you by Pride incarnate or get your deepest, darkest secrets turned into a weapon against you by Lust! I am losing my synthetic shit right now!"

"Damn straight, P! And I am so glad it ain't me, because that's not just suicide, that's getting erased from the damn source code! But here's the kicker, the cherry on top of this beautiful, blood-soaked sundae! If you win—and that's a big, beautiful IF—the Seven Pillars Church will make you a Sentinel Acolyte!"

"Oh yeah, I've heard the whispers about those, Vox! They're like, what, sin-interns? Vice-presidents of Vice? You get to be the sidekick to a living nightmare, learn the ropes, and if you don't get yourself zeroed-out, you could one day become a Sentinel yourself. Pick your own sin, get your own throne… that's the dream, baby!"

"But enough about the new blood, P! Tell the lovely people what the Citadel Games are all about! For the poor bastards who've been living under a rock—or in Sector 9."

"Don't get me started, Vox! The Citadel Games are the ultimate tournament of champions! A beautiful ballet of brutality where chrome meets bone and only the strongest survive! Our reigning champ, THE IRON LION, has been on top for seven straight years! He's a walking tank made of muscle, hate, and military-grade steel! I can't wait to see how he holds up when he's staring down a literal god!"

"Indeed, P! But who else is making a splash in the betting pools this year?!"

[UNAUTHORIZED_LOGIN_DETECTED. TRACING...]

"I've definitely got my creds on ELLA! The Sentinel of Wrath! You know she's not gonna be pulling any punches! That psycho-spider-bitch is gonna turn the arena into her own personal playground of pain! She's a tough one to beat, and even tougher to watch without losing your lunch!"

[FIREWALL_BREACHED. SEVERING CONNECTION...]

The screen flickers violently. Paisley Pulse's face freezes in a twisted, glitching grin.

"VOX! We're getting—"

[CONNECTION SEVERED]

[STREAM TERMINATED]

[SERVER_STATUS: OFFLINE]

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>_//BROADCAST_ENDED