This was a most irregular assessment day indeed. Arthur had been watching the candidates “preparations” on a small screen, a wide angle shot of the waiting room through a fish-eye lens. The camera was well hidden and well disguised but he was sure at least a couple of the candidates had still noticed it. Natalie Yamnson in particular appeared to make a point of sitting with her back to the camera.

She also crushed the hidden microphones the moments after she first entered the room. Evidently she couldn’t destroy the camera so surreptitiously. Regardless, Emily Zam was alongside him. Emily Zam was something of an anomaly among the employees of Extech, as her degrees were in drama and English. This was before all arts courses were abolished. The reason Emily Zam had become invaluable to Extech was her knack for corporate espionage. Back when she could still pass as a graduate she would go to assessment days all across the country, posing as a job hunter and obtaining as much information on the other company’s inner workings as she could without revealing the fact that she was still employed, or getting a job offer from the company she was spying on. Eventually other companies became wary and began doing identity checks on all their applicants to make sure they weren’t using fake names or identities, something which Extech had been doing for years.

Still Emily Zam had her uses and abilities, one of which was to perform highly accurate lip reading. Even with the low resolution of the camera she could understand everything that was said by a person facing the camera. Usually candidates didn’t talk much at this stage, they just all readied themselves as best they could without revealing too much to their opponents. Today was different for some reason, and that reason, as far as Arthur or Emily could tell, was Millicent Lute. The young woman appeared to be suggesting that the candidates all ate together.

“We’re enemies, you know that right?” Emily spoke the words as Cyrus Beem, the platinum haired candidate, spoke. Millicent Lute was facing away from the camera at that moment so Emily couldn’t tell what her response was. Regardless she carried on quoting half of the candidates as they protested Millicent’s suggestion, before relenting and all sitting down to eat. Emily said nothing for a while, as the candidates ate. Either no one was speaking or the only those facing away from the camera were speaking, which seemed unlikely.

Arthur checked the time, 15:00. The candidates had finished eating and Millicent appeared to be making some kind of speech. None of them appeared to be making any moves to prepare for battle. Arthur got up and said to Emily:

“Tell the Assessors that the candidates are ready and will be with them shortly.” Emily nodded and Arthur set off towards the waiting room.

A most irregular assessment day indeed. Norman Pearson, Millicent Lute, Natalie Yamnson… This assessment day has attracted some interesting characters.

He entered the waiting room and all seventeen candidates turned to face him. They were all observing him as intently as he had been observing them. They were learning even over the course of this experience.

“It is three o’clock,” Arthur announced, “please follow me, it is time for the final stage of the assessment day.” The candidates all stood in unison, all observing each other as if daring them to try something. But no one tried anything and they all stood and filed out of the room without incident. Arthur led them down a long series of corridors. The arena was located on the lowest basement floor of the Extech headquarters complex but there was no need for them to go that deep. They did need to take the lift however. The lift was large, more akin to a service elevator rather than a lift for people, it could easily hold Arthur and the seventeen candidates. Once they were all inside Arthur scanned his staff identification pass on the scanner by the lift controls. When he did so a button marked “A” lit up and Arthur pressed it.

A for Arena.

The lift shuddered and began to descend. Varying levels of discomfort crossed the candidates’ faces, most likely wary of being stuck in a metal box with each other. The lift finished descending and the doors opened, allowing the candidates to leave quickly, disembarking into a bare corridor.

“This way,” Arthur instructed. He turned left, towards the centre of the complex. The corridor came to a four way junction But Arthur walked straight on into a room with quite a view. The ceiling was concrete, the floor was metal and the three walls were made of glass. The glass allowed the candidates to see what lay in the expanse beyond. It was the arena. Surrounding the arena, at the same level as the box they were currently standing in, were many similar boxes. Arthur knew that there were thirty six, including the one they now stood it. Below the boxes was the arena itself. It was circular, approximately five miles across and fifty metres deep. The arena was a concrete jungle of overlapping and intertwining concrete shafts and walls. It was a maze in all dimensions, looping back in on itself both horizontally and vertically. The candidates’ reactions were as varied as ever. Some excited, some scared, some aloof, one simply glared.

“As you have all likely realised, what you are seeing here is the arena for your battle royale. When the battle royale starts the floor to each of these boxes will open and you will be dropped into the arena. To leave the arena before the victor has been decided is to forfeit.” The attention of the candidates was split between memorising as much of the arena as they could see and listening to every detail Arthur gave regarding the battle. “Each of you must take a tag.” Arthur reached into his jacket and pulled out a small black box. He opened it to reveal its contents. Inside were thirty six tags, thirty six cylinders slightly larger than the nootropics pills Norman Pearson had been unsubtly taking all day. Each tag also had a looped chain, long enough that the tag could be hung from a persons neck, and each tag had a different combinations of colours and patterns on it and a bold number between one and thirty six. One by one the candidates took a tag. Some, like the twitchy Norman Pearson, took a few moments to select a tag while others, like Natalie Yamnson, barely glanced at the tags when they took one. Arthur had a sneaking suspicion Millicent Lute had taken the one that was in her favourite colour. Arthur returned the black box to his inside jacket pocket when all the candidates had taken a tag. “These tags are your life. To lose it is to lose this opportunity.” As he said that all the candidates understood immediately. He could tell that each one was already thinking about where to hide the tags upon their person, and also wondering how to do so without all the other candidates seeing where they’d hidden it.

All of them apart from Hugh Jaman, who immediately pulled the chain off his and swallowed the tag like a pill. Everyone saw this and he knew it, grinning with satisfaction, his expression making his stance clear.

If you want my tag you will have to claw it out of my stomach.

“Every hour after the battle starts, a tone will sound. If you do not have a tag on your person when the tone sounds you have been defeated and will be extracted from the arena.” Though we rarely have to do extractions. “The battle will end when only one of you is left, or when the tone sounds for the fifth time in which case the candidate who has obtained the most tags will be the victor.”

These were standard rules for a battle royale and all of the candidates would have been expecting something along these lines. “This is the final stage of the assessment day. The victor will be offered the position of assistant graduate trainee intern at Extech.”

This had been the final solution to the so called “graduate inflation” that had hit the world. With so many highly capable graduates applying for every possible position it was found that the easiest way to decide who got a job offer was to make the graduates fight for it. Supposedly the man who came up with this solution first implemented it as a television show, where employees would compete every week in a series of challenges until only one remained. Slowly these challenges morphed to keep up with the ever increasing abilities of the contestants. How do you decide a victor when all your contestants are equally highly capable of you job you have on offer? You assess them on something completely different. So business challenges became physical challenges and physical challenges eventually morphed into one on one combat and, finally, the battle royale procedure used by most companies. The process of business negotiations had morphed in a similar way and many company acquisitions, such as Coca-Cola obtaining Amazon, occurred this way.

“The perfect modern employee must possess a razor sharp mind, an unstoppable strength, a stout soul, and no heart.” a philosopher had once said shortly before succumbing to hypothermia while sleeping rough under a bridge.

“The number on your tag indicates the box that you will start in. Please follow me and I will take you to your starting boxes.” Arthur, for the last time that day, led the candidates out into the corridor and around. Natalie Yamnson stayed behind, the bold number one on her tag matching the number one displayed at the entrance of the room. A metal door slid down and closed when everyone but her was out.

Arthur took the candidates around the edge of the arena, and whenever they reached their box they would enter and would be shut in. Arthur was aware that most of them could probably break out if they wanted to but to do so would be to forfeit their chance at getting a job. Once they were all locked in Arthur took a corridor out away from the arena and climbed a couple of staircases to reach the spectators’ box. Already there were Edward Chupton and Isaac Yamnson, who was looking pleased with himself as always, as well as Emily Zam. Below where they were sitting was a group of people at computers, surrounded by monitors with imagery of the arena displayed on them. These were the assessors of the battle royale. Their jobs were two fold. Their first responsibility was keeping an eye on the action and making sure contestants who were defeated were extracted safely and watching for any contestants who tried to leave the arena. More importantly their other responsibility was to make sure that the video screens viewed by Isaac Yamnson were always showing the most important and exciting events at all times.

“They’re ready.” Arthur told the assessors. The chief assessor, a short man with a moustache that Arthur knew was called Lewis Gibb and had been an assessor for nine assessment days but this was his first time as chief, nodded. He began barking instructions and the team of assessors launched into action.

Arthur climbed up to sit alongside the others, Emily, Edward Chupton and Isaac Yamnson. The screen in front of them flashed to life and began displaying the details of the candidates.

Arthur closed his eyes, nothing the screens displayed would be anything he had not already surmised..

In Box One: Natalie Yamnson. Eighteen years old. No weapons. No physical or mental enhancement. Favourite to win. Taking part due to special circumstances.

In Box Two: Jeremy Batter. Twenty Three years old. Weaponry hidden within body, thought to be able to emit toxic gases.

In Box Four: Katie Rell. Twenty Seven years old. Extensive arms training. Has the component pieces of a high powered sniper rifle hidden about her person.

In Box Five: Jack Hight. Twenty Two years old. Entire lower half of body is made of metal.

In Box Six: Arya Jeking. Twenty Three years old. Pockets are full of flammable materials.

In Box Eight: Donald Rugg. Twenty Two years old. Has literally been carrying around a large sword all day and no one seems to have thought anything of it. High dosage of nootropics, indicative of someone still dealing with the after effects of nootropic withdrawal.

In Box Eleven: Millicent Lute. Twenty One years old. Weaponry unknown. Enhancement unknown. Abilities unknown… is good at making friends.

In Box Thirteen: Norman Pearson. Twenty Two years old. Has two pistols hidden in his jacket. Has taken a potentially dangerous number of nootropic pills despite no known history of nootropic withdrawal. Arms have been mechanically enhanced. Badly.

In Box Fourteen: Cyrus Beem. Twenty Five years old. Fights with an extending electrified pole. Taking part due to special circumstances.

In Box Seventeen: Ulysses Kovar. Twenty Five years old. Has at least two of Coca-Cola’s own Protest Suppression Rifles on his person. Ability to use them is unknown.

In Box Eighteen: Jamie Kuwick. Twenty Three years old. Entire body, save for the head and hands, is made of metal. Suspected hidden weaponry. Physical capabilities enhanced due to being made of metal.

In Box Nineteen: Jack Trader. Twenty Three years old. Some sort of hidden weaponry. Thought to be knives. Lots of knives.

In Box Twenty: Julie Summers. Twenty Four years old. Carries a whip. Function unknown.

In Box Twenty Five: Dale Chipp. Twenty Five years old. Might be carrying a crossbow.

In Box Twenty Six: Hugh Jaman. Twenty One years old. Physically huge, almost definitely from extended use of performance enhancing steroids though mechanical enhancements may also be involved.

In Box Twenty Seven: Charles Fitzpatrick. Twenty One years old. Has two swords strapped to his back.

In Box Thirty Six: Moe Monett. Twenty Three years old. Left hand is not a hand but is instead a rocket launcher.

Arthur reflected that the information shown on the screens he wasn’t watching was probably not quite that but all the vital information was there.

“Finally,” Arthur heard Isaac Yamnson say. He opened his eyes.

The first tone sounded and the battle royale began.