A company retreat. Who came up with such a stupid idea?

Messiah must have let out an irritable grunt without realizing it, because he was immediately met with an earful of nagging.

“This is a historic moment. It’s the first time all twenty-six Sentinels have together in the same campus.” His operator, Margaret Sanchel, declared indignantly as they walked down the quiet tunnel together. “I can’t believe you forgot. Walking into the breakfast hall in your pajamas, and then asking what’s going on, aren’t you even a little bit embarrassed?”

Sometimes, he wondered if she was able to read his mind. Impossible, of course, because Maggie was human, and he couldn’t even understand his own mind sometimes – but after ten years of working with him, the woman had developed a knack for efficiently getting on his nerves. “I don’t get embarrassed,” he muttered. “And I don’t give a shit about any of this.”

“Well, too bad. It’s your job.” Maggie tucked her short brown hair over one ear and scoffed. “I wrote up a sparse schedule for you. I’ve already pardoned you from, like, everything.”

Pulling up a virtual copy of the schedule in front of his vision, Messiah frowned. “Then you can pardon me from the rest of this, too.”

“No! Don’t you remember why you’re here?” Maggie’s sharp voice hushed down to a whisper.

“I do. And I have my own way of doing things,” he replied brusquely.

“Arghhhh, you...!” Maggie stopped and let out a frustrated growl, but he ignored her and kept walking. Eventually, he heard her sigh, and run back up to him with light footsteps. “Okay. Fine. Nobody’s going to force you to participate in anything. But at least show up, please.”

“Hm.” Messiah uttered a noncommittal grunt.

“Half of them are with Atlas in the West Gym right now, playing ice-breaker games. The others are cycling through their regular check-ups.” As they reached a junction, Maggie slapped him on the back with a massive bang that echoed through the tunnels. “Go and give some presence. I have a meeting with the other operators that I’m already late for.”

“Good grief, bye.” Messiah muttered.

She had already been running off, but she paused to turn and throw him double middle fingers. “Behave! Jeez, why did I have to end up with you...”

 Behave, she says as she swears at me with her fingers... Messiah watched her hastily retreating silhouette until it had disappeared around a corner, then sighed to himself and took a tunnel west. Ice-breaker games...? What was Ypsilon doing, suddenly treating them like kids on their first day of elementary school? Sentinels were weapons... they had been created to be used. What was the point of organizing recreational events for a bunch of tools?

There must be another reason. He frowned uneasily to himself. What are they really up to...?

Deciding to actually look at the schedule Maggie had given him, Messiah pulled it up again. From now until lunch, the Sentinels would be swapping between activities in West Gym and their physique check-ups at the adjacent lab. After that, they would be free to explore the city for lunch, before gathering again for more recreational activities. At 5 PM, they were meeting for a two-hour security and company protocol refresher – he was definitely excusing himself from that one – and then at 7 PM, there was a short 15-minute meeting that Maggie had outlined for him in red. A debrief...? He could probe the system for details, but Messiah didn’t feel particularly motivated to find out right now. After that, the Sentinels were excused for the night.

If Ypsilon really was planning something strange, it was probably going to be tomorrow, and he hadn’t been sent any details for that yet. Deciding to figure it out later, Messiah slid the schedule into the back of his mind and approached the dark metal cube that they called the West Gym.

There was a single hallway stretching from one end of the building to the other end, and doors leading to several facilities on either side. As soon as he entered, he saw an arrow sign pointing left towards the gymnasium. There were thumping sounds coming from the open doors, and as Messiah walked reluctantly closer, he heard laughter and a sudden outbreak of cheering.

Half-expecting to find them playing tag or something just as ridiculous, Messiah peered inside. They had closed the dividers, and were only using half of the gym. Large grey mats had been laid out in the center, and he counted ten people – Sentinels, all changed into active wear – standing in a haphazard line on one side of the mats. At the head of the mats, he recognized the aged but stylish figure of grey-haired Atlas – a human... the Ypsilon executive in charge of training Sentinels in combat. Atlas had been hired after Messiah had completed most of his own training, so he wasn’t particularly close to the man. But he did know that Atlas’s light-hearted and childish personality was an oddity amongst the other executives – and that despite his friendly grin, the old man used to be a professional assassin.

“Hoho! Pretty good, pretty good!” Atlas was clapping and chortling brightly at the two people on the mats. One of them had been thrown down, and was being helped to his feet by the second. Messiah had only glanced over them idly, but he felt his eyes flicker back to the second Sentinel with a start.

The Sentinel’s back was turned, but he recognized their blue-tinted, ashy-blonde hair. Codename Lamb... Ypsilon’s youngest Sentinel. He and Codename Hermes had only been released to duty last year, as the last additions to a ten-year vigilante experiment. If all went well, Ypsilon would likely create more Sentinels in the future, and attempt to extend their influence to other nations.

“You almost lasted a full minute!” Atlas cheered good-naturedly, and the Sentinels watching from the side laughed. “Who wants to go next?”

The laughter faded quickly as they glanced at each other. Lamb, standing still in the center of the mat, seemed oblivious to everything else around him.

“Hey, you go.” There was some jostling and a blond-haired man was suddenly pushed forward. “You said you’re a Dispatch Sentinel, right?”

“Oooh yeah, let’s see what you guys are made of!” A few others began to cheer.

Blond hair, green eyes... Messiah narrowed his gaze on the young man and felt a name appear. Codename Cinders... he had been added as a Dispatch Sentinel two years ago. It looked like they had been sparring... but the outcome of this match was obvious. Were a human’s predictive abilities really so pathetic? … Or did Atlas want to watch this Dispatch Sentinel beat up the runt of Ypsilon?

“Alright, if you say so!” Strangely enough, there was a slight catch to Cinders’ voice as he stepped up to the mats.

“Attaboy!” Atlas clapped his hands together and grinned at Lamb. “Go easy on him now.”

“What? Sir, give me a break.” Cinders protested with a breathy chuckle, but his eyes glinted as he lowered himself in front of Lamb. “I’m not losing to a baby.”

Lamb didn’t say anything – he didn’t even move from his relaxed stance. He didn't move at all, even as everyone began to chant three, two one... he didn't move until the word go erupted enthusiastically into the gym.

Cinders didn’t make the first attack – Messiah saw him hang back for a moment, arms already lifted defensively close to the right side of his chest. It was strange for a Dispatch Sentinel, who ought to be confident in this situation – but Messiah soon realized that it hadn’t been hesitation.

So quickly that he’d barely seen the boy move, Lamb appeared at Cinder’s right side and swung a loose kick at the man’s shoulder. If Cinders had moved in right away like Messiah probably would have, that kick would have landed freely on his back, and he’d have found himself flat on his face in the mats. Instead, Cinders appeared ready for the move and ducked, then reached out and attempted to grab Lamb’s leg. But it swept past too swiftly, and in a fluid continuation of his kick, Lamb landed on the same foot and whirled his other in a second kick at the same side.

Cinders managed to block the blow with his arm, but Messiah saw him flinch. Recovering with a grit of his teeth, he shoved Lamb’s foot away with force meant to throw him off balance, then lunged forward.

Lamb stumbled back a little, but managed to regain his footing quickly enough to leap back and avoid Cinders’ attack. Swiftly, he grabbed one of Cinder’s arms before the man could pull away and twisted it outwards.

Jumping and rolling mid-air to avoid a dislocated wrist, Cinders followed up with a threatening kick to the side that forced Lamb to release him. By now, Messiah found himself leaning against the cold metal of the door, watching with more interest than he’d expected to show.

He didn’t have any specific data on Cinders or Lamb, so Messiah had calculated the likely outcomes based on a compilation of generic Civilian and Dispatch Sentinels statistics. Over ninety percent of the generated outcomes had shown Lamb flattened to the mats within three seconds.

“That guy... is he really on the Civilian team?” Some of the Sentinels on the side had begun to chat amongst themselves.

“Wha - seriously?!” One of them gasped incredulously. “Wait, I thought he was in Dispatch, too! Shit, and he wrecked me so hard!”

“It's okay, me too.” Another laughed a little forlornly. “I mean, look at him go.”

Hmm. Messiah eyed their fight thoughtfully, noting the younger Sentinel’s fluid movements. This was clearly someone who had undergone heavy advanced training with Atlas. His form was good, and his kicks were impressively well-controlled. But his instincts... some of his choices... the aim of his blows... they were not completely ideal. Cinders was a Dispatch Sentinel, but he was relatively inexperienced, and he was fighting clumsily. In a real situation, neither of them would be good enough –

A sudden impressed ooh from the onlookers interrupted his deep analysis and Messiah looked up just in time to see Cinders throw a blow point-blank at Lamb’s chest. But instead of the solid thud of a good punch, he heard a swish, and saw Lamb bend over backwards to avoid the blow, revealing his face... and the blindfold wrapped firmly over his eyes.

Lamb’s abdomen was left wide open by his evasive maneuver, and with a triumphant gleam in his eye, Cinders pulled his arm back in an unnecessarily wide charge, then punched it forward. In the same split second, Lamb’s hands planted firmly on the mat – and he kicked his foot upwards, striking Cinders in the chest and hurtling the young man back before his punch could land.

Thrown a good few feet away, Cinders landed on his back with a gasp, and didn’t get up. Lamb nimbly turned the momentum of his kick into a backflip and recovered back on his two feet, though he promptly squat down with a tired huff.

“Cinders, you okay?” Atlas sounded more pleased than concerned.

“... Fuck.” Cinders puffed, but lifted his hand in a thumbs up. “I’m fine...”

“... Who’s a baby...?” For the first time since Messiah had arrived, he heard Lamb speak. The boy’s voice was disgruntled, but not nearly as breathless as it should have been. In front of him, Cinders laughed hoarsely and sat up.

“Alright, you win.” A Sentinel went over to help Cinders up, and as he walked back to the side, he rubbed his chest and winced. “I take it back. Happy?”

… I take it back, too. Messiah blinked and quickly re-played the motions of Lamb’s final kick several times. Even the other Dispatch Sentinels can’t fight like that without visual stimulus. Codename Lamb... is he really just a Generation One?

Vaguely wishing he'd been more diligent and looked at Lamb’s file ahead of time, Messiah shifted against the door. The metal frame creaked, and Atlas’s head immediately snapped over. “Oh!” The man’s face crinkled into a smile so wide that Messiah felt a shiver. “Messiah, what an honor to be in your presence. Did he catch your interest?” He gestured at Lamb, who was still cluelessly squatting in the center of the mat. “Wanna give him a try?”