The scent of scorched metal and burnt flesh wafted across the arena floor. A cratered carcass was all that remained of the Catapults last opponent, currently being dragged out of the arena by a team of retrofitted industrial mechs. Mechtechs hurriedly rushed around the Catapult, reloading missiles and hosing off the accumulated soot that covered the machines body. The tremor of approaching footsteps, sent them scurrying to safety; as the newest opponent emerged into the glare of the arena.
A blood red Banshee with the legend -La Malinche – dubbed across its torso. Its pilot was undefeated in more than 20 matches and was determined to beat the mech, some had called the ''ghost of the arena''. Both mechs lumbered towards the centre of the arena and came to a halt facing each other. The Catapult pilot, bowing their cockpit in a display of sublime skill; tilted its launchers towards the arena roof, as the Banshee smacked its left fist against its torso. Stepping back, both pilots ran their last pre fight checks; as the crowd roared their bloodlust and the commentator pattered on about pilot statistics and mech survival rates.
The starting of a countdown clock heralded the start of the match, both pilots determined to be the one to survive the timer. La Malinche opened up with all its arsenal, determined to score a lucky hit. The Catapult pilot stomped down on the jump jets, arching a trail of fire over the Banshees head and singing its cockpit. Faster, than it could turn' a salvo of atm's hammered at its rear plate and the Catapult was jumping again. Landing heavily, it was vulnerable for a split second. The Banshee couldn't break through its ecm countermeasures, but its pulse weapons were able to scorch lines up the leg armour. In doing so however, the Banshee had dropped its guard slightly and that was the opening, for which the Catapult pilot had been waiting. Atm's hammered its cockpit, scarring the tough plexiglass cockpit; the mech staggering backwards in distress as its pilot sought to regain its footing.
Another salvo joined the first and then the banshee stumbled back wards into a wall, firing furiously at where the shots had come from. Another salvo powered into its right leg joint and ignited the vulnerable myomer bundles. Temporarily blind and crippled, the Banshee never stood a chance. Another salvo of atm's shredded its leg armour and then gravity pulled it down. A clawed foot resting against the cockpit, was all the motivation the Banshees pilot needed to signal his surrender when he regained consciousness. The ''Ghost'' had struck again, its 60th straight win in the arena and no one had come close to beating it or its mysterious pilot. Some things were meant to be and clearly the ghosts defeat was not one of them.