Riptor, the genetically engineered velociraptor-human hybrid, prances triumphantly around the reflective blue puddle collected in the middle of the arena. Across the chasm, seated at a long conference table, three Ultratech scientists hurriedly write down the results of the match.

“That was quick,” say Dr. Matters.

“You said it. I certainly didn’t expect the frozen alien to lose to the dinosaur,” Dr. Keilwen says as he chews on his pen cap. “I mean, didn’t the ice age kill those things?”

“No, Stan, a meteor killed them,” says Dr. Pritch. “Read a book.” He rips a page out of his notepad, crumbles it up, and tosses it over his shoulder. It falls into a endless pit. “Do you want to create a meteor creature, too? Would that make you happy?”

Dr. Keilwen glances at his colleague and then down at his hands. “No.”

No one is very happy with the results of this match. Ever since Ultratech decided to have a contest to determine what the ultimate weapon on Earth is, Glacius has been the favorite around the lab; he’s the perfect mix of alien shapeshifting technology and liquid cool, and made a hell of an ice tea, which was very handy for those fights scheduled on the lava flow.

He was much easier to control than Cinder, could be stored in a mason jar, unlike Fulgore, and ate less of their colleagues than Riptor. If he won the Killer Instinct tournament, the head of the company had already decided he was going to renege on his deal to set him free and use him as the ultimate police force for his oppressive corporate regime.

So what happened? Why was Glacius, the best fighter in the competition, so quick to submit to Riptor, the second lowest-ranked fighter on the ladder — behind only TJ Combo? Why didn’t he ruin that ankle-biting piece of shit?

According to the test results coming out of Ultratech labs, there was a third, unseen competitor in the arena that day: global warming.

The next day, the scientists gather in their lab at the base of a spooky mansion to run tests. They’re working harder than they’ve ever worked. They’re working through their grief.

“Holy shit,” Dr. Pritch whispers. He holds the test results in his hand. “Our CO2 levels are through the roof! Why has no one noticed this before?”

Dr. Matters looks up from his daily Fulgore examination. “I guess we were all a little busy building killing machines, weren’t we?” The scientists all grumble and nod.

“Look at this. There’s been a seven degree rise in temperature over the past year alone. No wonder Glacius lost! He was being baked alive by greenhouse gasses,” says Dr. Pritch. “We killed him with our dependence on fossil fuels!”

“Don’t be so dramatic, pal,” says Cinder. “This feels great. It’s like I’m in a warm bath all the time. Plus, if it killed that icy blue prick, it must be good.”

Dr. Keilwen chases Cinder out with a fire extinguisher.

“We have to do something about this,” Dr. Pritch continues. “Ultratech is destroying our fragile ecosystem. It’s up to us to show some corporate responsibility! I mean, think of it this way, what if we enslave another ice-based alien who has crash landed on our planet? Do you really want to go through another heartbreak?”

The other scientists are silent. Finally, Dr. Matters speaks up. “It sounds great, Peter. It really does; but you know how busy we are with getting that ancient mystical warlord out of his dimensional prison. It’s a lot of work. Maybe we can set this global warming thing aside – at least until the competition is over.”

Most of the Ultratech staff shows up for Glacius’s service, at least ten times more than for Chief Thunder’s. A few sniffle when the priest pours the jarful of alien over a small flower bed and says, “Keep breaking those combos, cool guy.”

Dr. Pritch stands in the back, donned in dark sunglasses. He scratches Sabrewolf behind the ears and swears to make a difference in this world, whether Ultratech likes it or not. And, strangely enough, it’s right when he makes that promise to himself that the Ultratech goons show up and toss him in the back of a black van.