Molly jumped as the first competitors rushed off toward the finish line. She cursed her luck for starting off at a lower elevation than some of the others, but quickly got to work on making her way up to a higher level of the course. Turrets fired to her left and right, as she narrowly dodged and weaved through shots from every which way she could see. Nets and bolas, beanbags and adhesive rounds, all things designed to slow her down and impede her progress on her way to the top of the roster. She cursed soundlessly as a beanbag round collided with her chest, knocking the air out of her and making her loosen her handhold on the elevated platform that she was trying to climb to.

_'Come on girl, just like dance camp. Up just like dance camp.'_ She thought to herself as she struggled to pull herself up a level with no breath to take into her lungs. She rolled as she stepped up, and avoided a stray shot of adhesive webbing, before laying low to catch her breath for a moment. The others were so far ahead, and so much more advantaged with their elevated positions. She cursed silently again as another beanbag shot winged her shoulder and sent her spinning to the floor of the platform, whereupon a net was deployed over her, pinning her to the ground.

The ground was hard, and cold. Molly did not like it there. She did not belong on the ground, like a loser. A chump, not a champ. With a feral roar and a great, struggling flail, she found a weak gap in the net and tore a hole big enough for her to fit her torso through, making herself a makeshift rope net skirt, before continuing forward. With renewed fervour, she climbed and jumped and rolled and slid as fast and as far as she dared. She was gaining ground quick, she might have even had a chance, if she was quick enough. With a great yell and a running leap, she traversed a gap spanning between two elevated platforms, just barely gaining a fingerhold to pull herself up.

One step closer to one more victory for the Champ. At least, Molly hoped.