Behind her, the sergeant shifted her attention to the rest of the unit. Her tone changed to a firmer now. Command-grade.

"The rest of you, listen up."

Four pairs of eyes locked in.

“You’ve trained for this. Infiltration. Response. Adaptive assault. Don’t let the fact that it’s a test dull your edge.”

Then the sergeant’s voice sharpened further.

"And one more thing, this is her trial, not yours. Give her space. Unless protocol demands intervention, you let her move. Let her lead her part."

Her gaze swept across them, landing last on E-107.

"Do not assist unless you have no other option. She is to be observed in active conditions. You are here to maintain operational integrity. Nothing more."

The squad nodded in sequence.

Aria, still at the stalls, felt the weight of those words press into her back. The people assisting her weren’t really her teammates. Not yet, at least.

Aria’s boots moved with hesitant certainty across the metallic flooring, coming to a halt in front of the weapons array.

They stood upright in magnetized slots, blades, staff weapons, hammers, and energy rifles, all neatly categorized and humming faintly with dormant Xenon circuits. This time, the selection was broader than before.

Earlier, nearly everything had been a firearm, which hadn’t felt right at all. Not her style-
Style?

The thought made her hesitate.

She scanned the racks again, her pulse slowly aligning with the low resonance in the air, and felt her body gravitate toward what seemed familiar. Smaller weapons. Quick to draw and easy to maneuver. Her fingers twitched, lifting halfway toward a thin blade with a hooked end.

But the sergeant’s voice still echoed:

You haven’t shown us anything yet.

She blinked.

Her first round had been all reflex, pure reaction without control. She hadn’t chosen how to engage or even thought about what she was doing. She had simply moved, reacted, and tried to survive.

She remembered the field readings then. Wilst and Isabelle had monitored her Xenon behavior the day they put her through some tests. They tracked her control, storage, and endurance capacities. The core attributes of any viable operator.

What good were sharp reflexes if the system couldn’t measure how well she managed her own power?

She turned her gaze away from the blade.

To her right, a small sidearm rested on a rotating rack, its matte casing and light frame built around a compact energy cell at the center. When she picked it up, the core was already active, faint Xenon pathways running through the barrel like veins beneath skin.

A focused conductor.

The real question wasn’t how many shots it could fire, but how much energy she could channel into each one, how much strain her system could take, and how long she could push before hitting overload.

This weapon surely measures endurance and storage capacities, she thought.

Then her eyes drifted farther down the row, almost passing it by. A collapsed staff, sleek and industrial, caught her attention. The tip ended in a fixed spike, slightly dulled and clearly meant for impact rather than penetration. When she picked it up, the grip sat comfortably in her hand, weighted just right. A press of a hidden switch sent the shaft expanding with a clean mechanical snap until it reached full length.

Unlike a blade, it wasn’t meant for slicing or precision. It was a channel for force, meant to be used through motion, balance, and presence rather than finesse. It would show what her body could sustain, how much power she could push through in a single strike.

That was what they needed to see.

She glanced back toward the smaller blade, half instinct and half habit, but her hand never followed.

“Two.”

Wilst’s voice came from her right, gruff and blunt, like he was stating a law of physics rather than offering advice. She turned slightly and caught him mid-sip of his coffee.

“Two weapons, yeah? Standard.”

He noticed her choices. “Hm. Smart choices,” he said. “The staff’s good for output. The gun’ll test how clean your channeling really is.” His tone hardened a notch. “But fair warning, if you overfire and it kicks back through your neural links, no one’s pulling you out mid-run.”

She gave a small nod, no bravado in it. Just acknowledgment. He held her gaze for a moment longer, then stepped back with a faint grunt.

She stayed where she was, hands tightening slightly around her weapons. Not what she would’ve chosen in another life.

The sergeant’s voice cut through the air.
“To the line. Secure formation. Test begins in sixty.”

They moved together at once. Aria stepped into the center position as instructed. Max flanked her right, S-024 her left, both light on their feet with tension coiled beneath the surface. Wilst stood just behind them, arms folded, expression unreadable as the scanner on his wrist synced to life. And at the rear flank stood Cove, calm and steady, rifle already powered, visor locked in place.

The field before them stretched wide and uneven. Concrete walls had shifted, angled platforms raised mid-air. Towers rotated slowly like old war relics reactivated for show. Nothing about the setup felt predictable.

Fifteen seconds.

Aria's hands flexed around her chosen weapons, the sidearm resting against her thigh, the staff gripped loosely in her left hand. Her eyes flicked to the countdown.

14. 13. 12…

“You look like you’re waiting to be executed.” Max’s voice cut in. “What’s the bet if you win?” he added, tilting his head just enough that she could see the grin in his eyes.

7…

She inhaled sharply. Exhaled slower.

“If I succeed,” she said coolly, “I’ll give you the challenge of your life.”

There was a beat of silence. Even Wilst raised one eyebrow faintly. Cove didn’t move. S-024 turned slightly.

Then Max burst into laughter. “You serious? You know, I’ve lived through a level six tunnel breach in sub-52 with a cracked knee plate and two medtabs.”

He leaned slightly closer, eyes gleaming. “I’ll prolly survive.”

“Yeah? Then you just made it worse.”

This time, S-024 snorted. “He really did bring it on himself...” Then she added, “You’re already down one bet. You really want to lose another?”

3.

Aria allowed herself the faintest smile.

Max grinned, confidence clear in his voice. “The only time losing is fun is when it matters positively. I’ll survive a couple losses... If I lose.”

2.

Aria glanced at Cove.

He hadn’t moved once, still rigid, weapon pre-aimed, shoulders square. But she knew he was listening. His presence grounded the backline, like steel beams holding up a collapsing structure.

She didn’t know if now was the right moment, but still…
Thanks, she thought, for saving me.

1.

The timer hit zero.

A heavy klaxon rang once, and the field shifted.

Metal platforms began retracting into the ground. A drone shot past overhead, scanning. Red lights blinked along the outer walls.

The sound of gates sliding closed thundered behind them.

“Phase Two; Live Scenario Simulation: Begin.”

The sergeant’s voice echoed one last time, then cut off completely.

Aria’s foot crossed the threshold first, and the world ahead felt hostile and uneven, built to challenge every step. She could feel it already… They were being watched.

The ground beneath them shifted with a low mechanical groan as the gate behind them sealed shut. The terrain blended derelict structures with open industrial corridors, modular and brutal, while a towering concrete wall to the east flickered with holographic markers, signaling that the test had officially begun.

This wasn’t the sterile, enclosed facility from Phase One. Instead, it was a sprawling landscape beneath an endless sky, where trees rustled gently in a breeze that felt almost real.

Aria blinked, stepping cautiously forward, eyes wide as she took in the scene. “Are we… outside?” she asked, disbelief tinged in her voice.

A crackling response came through her comms, Wilst’s voice, who had stayed behind the now-closed gates. “No. It’s all projections. Holograms extend the horizon and the sky, while the ground itself is a giant mechanical platform. As you move, sections retract and slide beneath you, simulating miles of terrain.”

Max, scanning the perimeter, added with a smirk,
“Feels pretty convincing. You’d swear you’re out in the wild. But every step you take, you’re still inside. It’s like walking on a giant treadmill made of steel.”

S-024, checking her gear, nodded.
“It’s a smart setup. Forces you to stay alert. The environment can change dynamically, adapting the terrain and obstacles based on how you move.”

Aria let out a slow breath, still trying to absorb the scope of it all.
“So... it’s like the field stretches forever, but we’re really just inside a giant machine.”

Wilst’s voice came back, “Exactly. And that’s why every move counts. The illusions are distractions, so don’t let them fool you.”

The team exchanged determined looks. 

Aria stood in the middle of the formation. S-024 flanked her left, visor gleaming, the quiet whirr of her shoulder drone spinning to life. On Aria’s right was Max, already crouched forward like he was ready to run a sprint. Further behind, Cove adjusted the scope on his kinetic rifle, taking high ground against a battered scaffolding structure.

The only voice missing from their formation came from somewhere distant, yet ever-present and persistent.

“First segment’s live,” Wilst’s voice cracked into the comms, “Partitioned grid, 5 quadrants, each with a simulated threat vector. Aberrant-class units have adaptive scripts so treat them like live targets.”

No one questioned the order.

Wilst was watching from the analyzer’s bay, eyes locked on their vitals, energy signatures, movement paths.

“Aria, take front. S-024 supports left lane with recon feeds. S-011, scout high, keep to the walls unless I say otherwise. E.107, anchor and watch for long pulls.”

“Copy that,” Cove replied, voice clipped.

“On it,” said Max, already darting ahead, footsteps whispering across the steel ledge like water on stone.

“Drones deployed,” S-024 muttered, activating her left gauntlet. Two spherical scout drones hovered out, blinking with violet sensors, mapping heat signals and environmental changes in real time.

Aria stayed silent, focusing on her breath. The staff felt natural, attached to the left side of her hip, folded and compact for the moment, while her sidearm rested cool against her hip, humming with a faint Xenon pulse. And yet, even with her gear’s reassurance, she felt completely lost and utterly clueless.

“Watch for groupings of threes,” Wilst continued. “Test has favored triplets in first wave formations. Watch your angles.”

As he said it, the walls up ahead slid open.

A new corridor emerged, and from the darkness came the high-pitched synthetic screech of simulated Aberrants. Three of them, humanoid in outline, but wrong in every other way, crawled low and fast. Light glinted off their artificial sinew, and their teeth clicked as they accelerated.

They didn’t hesitate.

“Hostiles approaching,” S-024 confirmed. “ETA ten seconds.”

Aria locked in. Breath even. Grip steady.

“Remember your metrics,” Wilst warned in her ear. “Storage. Endurance and control. Don’t burn all your strength too early.”

She didn’t need the reminder. She’d already been thinking about it. How long could she hold the pace? How much Xenon could she channel through the weapon before the recoil turned against her?

The staff in her hand elongated with a sharp snap.

The first Aberrant reached her, a skittering thing, too fast for its frame. Aria pivoted low, sidestepped its swipe, and cracked the staff into its temple with a clean, arcing blow. The spike at its tip discharged a faint pulse of Xenon as it struck. The synthetic skull fractured, and the unit dissolved into particle dust.

The next second, one came from the right.

“One flanking low!” Max called, leaping down from the higher platform in a blur of movement. He hit the ground with enough force to displace dust and kicked the projection mid-lunge. It staggered just enough for Aria to shift and shoot.

The first shot from her sidearm buzzed in her hand. It was precise, no flare. It pierced through the unit’s core. 

It collapsed.

“Your discharge pattern’s stable,” Wilst’s voice buzzed in, just slightly less clinical. “You’re pacing it well. Good control.”

Third unit rounded the bend, but a quick series of pulses from S-024’s drone disoriented it. Blue flickers of strobe light scrambled its pathing just long enough for Cove to fire from above.

One round. Through the spine. 

And boom. Lights out.