Chapter 23 · Iron Arena - Chapter 23: The Missing Minutes

Ivy's clinic smelled like burned plastic and antiseptic. I stood in the back room while she dug through a drawer of salvaged tech, her gloved hands moving fast. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed. My jacket was still damp from the rain outside, and I wanted to leave.

"You said you had proof," I said.

She didn't look up. "I do. Sit down."

"I'm good standing."

"Suit yourself." She pulled out a small black case, set it on the steel table between us. Her fingers flicked the latch open. Inside, nested in foam, were three neural chips. Standard sync recorders. The kind every licensed mech carried for post-match analysis. Except these looked old. Scratched. One had a burn mark along the edge.

I stared at them. "Where'd you get those?"

"A friend who works disposal at the city morgue." Ivy finally looked at me. Her eyes were tired. She'd been up all night, I could tell. "These were pulled from pilots who died in the underground circuit. Off-books fights. No medical oversight. No one checked their sync rates before they climbed into the cockpit."

My throat tightened. "How many?"

"In the last two years? Fourteen that I know of. Probably more."