We were one of the first guests to arrive that evening. We were all kind of nervous, but it was an excited kind of nervous. Marina had told me that the dress code was a bit dressier than the last party we had been at. Daddy had worn blazer, slacks, and a dress shirt, though he had skipped the socks and simply slipped into his loafers. Mom and I had sorted through her closet again for something sexy and chic, some club wear that looked a little fancier than what we had worn last time. Mom had settled on a sleek and clingy black dress with an open latticework up both sides; it was obvious that the only thing under the dress was Mom. I wore a black satin dress that was cut to the waist front and back and slit to the waist up both thighs. There was actually a lacy black elastic band that went around my waist that the top and bottom were connected to. Again, it was obvious that I was naked beneath it. Both Mom and I wore black fuck-me pumps with our outfits. We also wore some long coats. The harpoon cable drags behind him and around the base of the column, suddenly tightening and jerking the dark bulk of the other frame forward, disturbing its rhythm and causing a spiked knee to strike the floor. Before it can recover, the green gladiator has rounded the pillar and is able to take a moment to leer at his enemy, tugging again at the nanotube cable as he beats his chest and roars at the deafening crowd. Struggling to turn, the almost-black mass of the other frame gets to its feet and you can see for the first time both the face of its pilot and where the harpoon is lodged within its midsection. Anger but no pain registers on her face, as the bulky machinery completely encloses what is left of her original body. Her dark red mohawk and visored eyes jerk towards the showboating enemy and she is able, weakly, to deflect the sweep of its clawed fist with her own massively armoured arm and shoulder. It is enough to give her a moment to swing her own weapon, a snarling buzz.
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