LunaWolve

[TAS] Volume 2 - Chapter 41 - UHF 101: Challenges & Aces

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------------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) -------------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Volume 2 - Chapter 36 - Names has just released on RR with no changes.

For the Wolf Lords, this chapter is unchanged.

And also: Please do not read the chapters here on Patreon, but go for the googledoc, .pdf or .epub instead. Patreon butchers all forms of formatting and you're missing out on easier and more enjoyable reading experiences.

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HEAVILY EXPERIMENTAL CHAPTER!

Trying to make the lectures not too dry and boring, so throwing in some timeskips, PoV changes, etc.

Let me know how this one feels!

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I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the link to the chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1VTB6XYRWKs2XPcdaL_cGeJwVZTPaXG19aMjtXs-gfXc/edit?usp=sharing

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Volume 2 - Chapter 41 - UHF 101: Challenges & Aces

JUNO VESARI (opening remarks):
"Welcome back, listeners. In this follow-up to our ever-popular segment on the UHF Challenge System, we once again bring you direct voices from within the ranks—raw, unfiltered perspectives from Recruits and Privates aboard the Recruit and Main-Force Transport Vessels in the fleet. 

This week, we’re stationed aboard the Imperator of Deserts.

Whether eyeing a coveted Alpha slot, holding the line in Beta, or observing from the sidelines, every voice tells part of the story. So let’s hear what they had to say, shall we?"

—

PRIVATE LIAN YU, Squad: “Vespitula”, Support, Unchallenged:
"Oh, it's cool, I guess. Gotta be kinda scary though, no? Like—one day you're eatin’ your lunch, next thing you know, someone calls your role and now you’re in the shit, having to prepare to stand on the field gettin’ your face wrecked by someone with three Gold-rarity Abilities and a personal grudge—or just a whole bunch of drive. I just… try to stay low and train. Ain’t ready to step in that kinda ring yet. Maybe next Assessment."

—

RECRUIT MIRA SAAD, Squad: “Onigiri”, Offensive Heavy, Two-Time Challenger (Unsuccessful):
"Honestly? It's rough. I’ve challenged twice for Beta already. Both times, I thought I was ready. And I was—on paper. But paper burns quick when you’re up against someone who’s been in serious squad formations for several months longer than you have. Still, no regrets. Learned more in those fights than any class the UHF threw at us. Next time? I’ll win."

—

PRIVATE HENRY LIMAR, Floater, Support (Mechanic):
"Look, ain't nobody challenging or being challenged by Mechanics. We're the glue behind the guns, man—ehh woman. But that whole Challenge System? It's stressful even just watchin’ it, honestly. You see someone train for three months, build their whole loadout, work their ass off in the Assessment, then train for another month straight. Finally they get into the Challenge and… then get bodied in twenty seconds. Still, it's fair, I guess. Brutally fair. Best people rise. The rest keep tryin’. Nothing else to be said about it."

—

PRIVATE JULES HARVEY, Floater, Offensive Heavy (Self-Identified ‘Benchwarmer’):
"I train. I eat. I run simulations. I’ve written five full loadout guides for Offensive Heavies. Am I ever gonna challenge for one? Maybe not. But if someone else fails and there’s an opening in one of the top squads? AND I managed to get a pass from a class or Assessment? I’ll be there with my homework and my medkit. Not all of us gotta swing a hammer to make a dent."

—

PRIVATE ELI VERAN, Squad: “Falsetto”, Defensive Heavy, Unchallenged (Yet):
"I watch the roster shifts every night before bed. Like clockwork. It’s inspiring... and completely terrifying. I train six hours a day, every day, and I still don’t know if I’m good enough to challenge anyone. But I’m planning to. Soon. I just need the right window. One clean opening. That’s all it takes, right? So… Maybe next Assessment, or when a Prof thinks I’m ready and hands me a slip."

—

PRIVATE ELIAH MORDEN, Squad: Alpha, Recon (Two Successful Defenses):
"First time I got challenged, I puked three times before stepping into the first sim. Twice more before the second. Wasn't scared of losing though—was scared of not being good enough, y’see? You don't realize how much that damn place means until someone tries to take it from you. Now? I dare them all to fucking try. I’ve bled for this Emperor-forsaken spot. Let 'em all come and break themselves on me."

—

PRIVATE RUSSEL JANG, Squad: Beta, Offensive Heavy, Former Floater:
"I challenged Beta’s Offensive Heavy role last cycle. Got through by the skin of my teeth. Was on fire the whole fight—dodging, taunting, dragging half the sim’s aggro. Walked out missing a leg, an arm and my entire armour was broken beyond recognition, but I walked out. Craziest part? Next day, someone challenged me. The win didn’t bump my points enough to get above the people that also had an eye on the spot, but hadn’t gotten a proper Challenge Slip. But when I unexpectedly took it, they were technically above me in the ratings, so… Yeah. No rest. Just relentless fucking pressure."

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JUNO VESARI (closing remarks):
“In the UHF, prestige is not given. It is contested, earned, and defended under fire. 

Whether they succeed or fall, Marines who engage with the Challenge System do more than shape their squads—they shape themselves.

Stay vigilant. Stay hungry. 

And if you’re aiming for a Named Squad, remember: The challenge begins long before the Committee calls your name, and continues to persist long after…”

—

[GalNet Archive – Citizen’s Voice | Weekly Segment: Challenge Accepted]
Originally aired: 938 PFC
Segment Host: Juno Vesari, UHF Media Liaison and Podcast Host

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PoV: Tiberius Soren

“Yes, once a Challenge concludes, the loser gains immunity from any further Challenges until the next quarter,” Professor Harrow explained, his tone light with amusement. “The winner, however? No such luck. It wouldn’t exactly be fair if someone in Alpha Squad, for example, got challenged once, won, and then got to coast through the rest of the quarter untouched, right?”

He gave a short laugh to himself before continuing. “No, no. Immunity’s for the one who falls short. The winner has to keep defending their slot until every last Challenge has been resolved—or until they lose. It’s stressful, absolutely. But that’s kind of the point. That’s what separates the best from the rest of you lot: Whether or not they can take the pressure and hold the line.”

Tiberius jotted the note down on his datapad, nodding slightly to himself. 

It wasn’t exactly surprising. He’d already assumed that the Challenge System wouldn’t hand out protection to the winners—not in a place as competitive as the UHF.

‘Makes sense. It’s not like anyone can just throw their name into the ring for a top slot anyway…’ he thought, tapping his stylus against the corner of his pad. ‘To even Challenge an Alpha member, you’d have to either outperform them in an Assessment, outrank them once the full Recruit ratings go public after the second Assessment, or somehow get your hands on a Challenge Pass from a professor…’

Which, from everything he’d learned about the UHF so far, probably bordered on a downright mythical occurrence. 

The UHF as a whole was nothing if not fanatical about its regulations. 

Even the existence of a professor-sanctioned bypass was already surprising. 

The idea that such a Pass would be even remotely common? Absolutely laughable.

Still, the fact that they existed at all?

‘That’s worth remembering.’ He scratched his jaw, brushing his fingers through the rough stubble on his chin as his eyes flicked back to his notes.

Professor Harrow had been lecturing for about half an hour now, and most of that had gone straight into the Challenge System’s structure, mindset, and regulations. Which made sense—based on the tension in the room, it was clearly what most Recruits were here for anyway.

‘Glad he doesn’t waste time with needless fluff. Straight to the good parts… Can definitely respect that.’

Tiberius had even made a point of sitting a few seats away from Roland. 

His squadmate had many talents—studying quietly during a lecture wasn’t one of them. 

And with how dense Professor Harrow’s explanation of the Challenge System had been so far, Tiberius wasn’t about to let himself miss a single word.

‘If I want to Challenge anyone this Assessment cycle, I need the full rules rundown... No gaps, no guesswork.’

From everything Harrow had laid out so far, he’d already started identifying a couple of viable paths—possible angles he could work with. 

But one route had become immediately and irrevocably closed, almost immediately.

Challenging Alpha Squad’s Recon/Sniper? Guaranteed suicide.

He’d initially thought it might be possible—under the right sim conditions, with a scenario tailored just right, he might have had a shot. But after Professor Harrow had broken down how the scoring for Recon/Sniper worked, Tiberius had tossed the idea out straight away.

It wasn’t necessarily that the scoring was in any way different from the other roles, of course, but rather what the actual Mandatory Sub-Roles for that particular spot included. 

His eyes flicked toward the back of the lecture hall, to where Thea McKay sat with Karania Faulkner beside her. As always. 

She wasn’t in uniform for once, and he barely registered it until a half-second later, when it occurred to him that the outfit wasn’t half bad. Pale blouse, dark pants, nothing flashy. 

Looked like she was finally starting to get comfortable in her skin—at least more so than she had been earlier when he had entered the hall and saw her continuously tugging at her clothes like they were booby-trapped.

Still. Fashion wasn’t his game.

“She’s a real fucking monster for that role, isn’t she…” he muttered under his breath, barely audible even to himself.

He’d already known that, deep inside. Everyone had. 

After the Assessment, no one with even half a functioning cortex could pretend she’d just lucked her way into Alpha Squad. 

She hadn’t just won her spot—she’d buried the competition. 

And not just Sovereign Recruits. Other ships too. And a good chunk of the Privates as well.

But even with all that in mind, Tiberius had still held onto the idea that there were parts of the Role where he could outperform her. That with the right sim setup, under the right scoring parameters, he could land a convincing enough win to Challenge her properly.

And honestly? He still believed that.

The problem was, those particular strengths weren’t part of the official scoring metrics for the Recon/Sniper Role. 

At least, not in a way that mattered when it came to passing the Challenge.

His notes on the subject were a mess by now. 

Sections had been scratched out, redrawn, restructured, and marked up with half-legible shorthand. There were at least three different question marks next to several entries and a cluster of half-sentences near the bottom that he had planned to turn into actual questions—questions he’d wanted to ask Professor Harrow directly.

But by the time he’d looked up, half those questions had already been answered by other Recruits tossing out their thoughts from across the room.

Still, the base information was solid. The structure of the Challenge Scoring was clear enough now, even if it wasn’t exactly what he’d hoped for.

Tiberius narrowed his eyes at the datapad in his hands, reading over the bulleted section one more time:

Recon/Sniper Mandatory Sub-Roles:

• Advanced Recon: The skill to locate, track, and assess enemy positions before the rest of the squad makes contact, as well as spotting traps, ambushes and enemy-prepared installations ahead of time.

• Long Range Accuracy: The capacity to reliably take out high-value targets at distances over 1km.

• Tactical Communication & Spotting: The ability to relay enemy positions, squad routes, and priority threats with clarity and speed.

• Stealth & Infiltration: The know-how to approach or reposition without detection, both in urban and natural environments.

Recon/Sniper Optional Sub-Roles:

• Counter-Recon/Sniping Capability: Specialized training in detecting, out-positioning, and eliminating enemy Recon/Snipers.

• Forward Sabotage: Ability to breach or disable key infrastructure before a unified assault.

• Climbing/Traversal Expertise: Proficiency in vertical and horizontal advanced movement, urban mobility, or difficult terrain to access otherwise unreachable vantage points.

• Escape & Evasion: Personal survival skillset allowing solo extraction when separated from squad or under heavy pursuit.

• Mobile Firing Solutions: Skill with on-the-move combat, snapshots, and close-range fallback weapons when forced out of position.

• Distraction & Disruption: Capability for deployment of individual strategies or psychological squad-tactics to confuse and split enemy attention.

• Trap Setting & Disarming: The capacity to place or identify and disarm traps that manipulate movement or delay pursuit.

• Solo Operative Viability: Ability to operate fully independently for extended periods without resupply or direct support.

“Haaa,” a sigh slipped out as Tiberius scanned the notes again, frustration tugging at his brow.

He’d already done the math—painfully, thoroughly—and marked off every single sub-role where he’d thought Thea McKay might, or was very likely going to, outperform him. 

Which had left him staring at a list where every box was crossed out, save for two: “Mobile Firing Solutions” and “Trap Setting & Disarming”.

And even for that first one he hadn’t dared give himself a clear edge on. Or any edge, really.

Just a shaky “40/60” scribbled next to it.

Tiberius knew his strengths. 

He was bulkier, stronger, and far better equipped to push through close and mid-range encounters with sheer brute force. 

If it came down to a one-on-one at thirty meters, especially with him geared up in his vastly heavier loadouts, he was confident he had a chance at beating her with sheer stats—armour, raw Strength, weapon difference; the whole package.

But that wasn’t what the sub-role was testing.

‘It’s not about who wins a fight in a vacuum or in a one-on-one…’ he reminded himself, frowning. ‘It’s about who can maintain pressure while moving, who can keep fire consistent in dynamic environments without compromising recon integrity or wasting unnecessary amounts of time or ammo.’

Raw strength didn’t score points here. Not unless it was paired with utility and control.

And, frankly, with Thea McKay’s uncanny precognitive abilities, Tiberius was seriously doubting if he even stood a chance there. He had been very optimistic in his hopes for the simulation parameters when giving himself the 40% shot at taking her down for that sub-role.

The only other sub-role he hadn’t managed to make any real judgements on was “Trap Setting & Disarming.” 

It had a lonely question mark next to it, the last flicker of possibility. 

There hadn’t been any footage of Thea working with traps during the public feeds—none at the Awards, none in the post-Assessment releases so far.

‘But that doesn’t mean she can’t do it. Just that it wasn’t her focus in the clips they showed us…’

And that was the problem. 

Even if he had a slim edge in one or two areas, she absolutely dominated the rest. 

Her sheer level of aptitude in most of the sub-roles was beyond anything Tiberius had considered possible at their level, yet here she was… Holding onto that Alpha Squad spot with an iron-fist that would make Terra itself proud.

‘No, the Recon/Sniper role’s locked down. No getting around that. But the Squad Leader or Support roles? Those definitely have potential...’

With another low sigh, he let his gaze drift further down his notes, flipping past the headings.

Squad Leader Mandatory Sub-Roles:

• Tactical Oversight: The capacity to read the battlefield in real time and issue decisive, adaptable orders based on shifting combat dynamics.

• Command Presence: The ability to maintain control over the squad’s morale, positioning, and cohesion under pressure.

• Astute Situational Awareness: The know-how to keep a constant, accurate mental map of friendly and enemy positions, resources, mission objectives, and environmental factors.

• Strategic Adaptability: The skill to rapidly pivot when plans collapse or unexpected threats appear—often without full information. Capacity to continue directing the squad effectively even when under jamming conditions or physically separated from the Battlefield Commander or HQ.

Squad Leader Optional Sub-Roles:

• Multi-Squad Coordination: Ability to communicate and synchronize actions with allied squads or command units in real-time.

• System & UHF Interface Proficiency: High fluency in using UHF-specific and System-linked commands, tactical markers, comms channels, and live-feed analysis tools.

• Combat-Capable Command: While not required to outgun the Offensive Heavy, a Squad Leader should possess sufficient combat capabilities to be able to effectively support any other member of the Squad.

• Crisis Mediation: Skill in de-escalating internal disputes, managing emotional responses, or pre-planned prevention of Squad collapse in chain-of-command scenarios.

• Post-Mission Deconstruction: Can lead tactical after-action reviews to identify weaknesses and restructure future squad behavior.

• Fallback Authority & Expertise: In the absence of a Battlefield Commander, can temporarily assume operational control over larger units without major loss of efficiency.

For the Squad Leader position, things were already looking a lot better for Tiberius—especially since he had a far more complete picture of Sylarion’s capabilities than he did Thea McKay’s.

‘It’s lucky that even Alpha and Beta Squad’s leaders aren’t locked away in some private comms channel during the squad leader meetings… I really should thank Major Quinn for those glorified intel dumps at some point,’ he thought with a faint smirk, tapping his stylus against the edge of his datapad.

While both he and Sylarion obviously covered the mandatory sub-roles for the Squad Leader position the optional ones were where things got interesting. Thea McKay had been near-impossible to touch in her role. 

Sylarion, though? Sylarion had cracks—and not just hairline ones.

‘The most glaring weaknesses are in “Multi-Squad Coordination,” “Fallback Authority & Expertise,” and—most of all—“Combat-Capable Command.” When it comes to raw frontline performance, Sylarion ranks in the bottom twenty percent of active Squad Leaders aboard the Sovereign in my estimate... That’s a major black mark.’

He’d already run the numbers.

On paper, he had a clean 50/50 shot at winning a Challenge against Sylarion. 

It wasn’t a longshot. It was actually viable. 

The real problem—the part he hadn’t quite cracked yet—wasn’t Sylarion himself.

It was his squad. Or rather, any squad he was in.

‘The real killer is his [Direct Order] Ability… I can’t possibly match the kind of compound boost that gives when it’s applied to monsters like Isabella Itoku, Karania Faulkner, and Thea McKay, all at once... They’re already at the top of their game—add a command-tier multiplicative buff on top and there’s just no competing with that level of synergy. Not with anything I’ve got or can get right now…’

He’d gone in circles trying to solve that one problem and come up blank every time.

Still, on every other front?

He had Sylarion beat.

He was better at fighting while leading. He didn’t need to hang back or micromanage; he could direct and execute in real time. He had practical experience with multi-squad deployments, having orchestrated them multiple times during the Assessment Phase—something Sylarion himself had admitted lacking during a squad leader debrief.

And when it came to large-scale operations and tactical planning? That had been one of Tiberius’s main focuses since day one. 

He wasn’t just confident—he was certain he had the edge there.

The rest of the optional sub-roles were a mixed bag. Some might lean toward Sylarion, sure—but there were several that Tiberius knew were more up in the air.

‘All things considered… it’s not just possible. It’s doable. Maybe even likely.’

While he couldn’t Challenge Sylarion this cycle, as he had also won an MVM medal as was, thusly, immune, it was a definite consideration he’d have to make in future ones, if he couldn’t manage to get into Alpha by the start of the second Assessment.

He tapped his datapad, circled Sylarion’s name twice—then underlined it.

Then he scrolled down further on his list, passing by the Offensive Heavy sub-role section—which, like the Recon/Sniper one, had been almost entirely crossed out in red; nothing there had been viable for him at this point. 

But then his eyes landed on the Support Role.

“The Support role’s a weird one, isn’t it…?” he muttered to himself, tapping the screen and zooming in slightly to get a clearer look at the sub-roles.

It was the only Role that had genuinely surprised him when Professor Harrow had broken it down earlier in the lecture.

The surprising part? There were no mandatory sub-roles for Support.

None.

Unlike every other UHF-designated Role within the Marine Corps, the Support slot was built entirely from optional sub-roles—plus one major twist: any mandatory sub-role from other Roles could also be pulled into its overall evaluation.

In effect, it was like a wildcard slot. 

A single Role designed to overlap with every other member of the squad and provide additional coverage wherever needed. Recon. Defense. Offense. Command. 

All of it, wrapped up into a single designation.

That kind of flexibility was dangerous—and full of opportunity.

Tiberius leaned back slightly, raising an eyebrow as he processed that again.

‘Didn’t even have Desmond Reimart on my radar before… But with how wide the Support category stretches, he might actually be the best possible target. Sylarion’s a gamble. Desmond Reimart, though? He might be the path of least resistance...’

The Drone Operator of Alpha Squad didn’t have any standout abilities, at least not that Tiberius had been able to uncover. 

He wasn’t firmly locked into the squad’s core either—not like Sylarion or Thea McKay. 

No specific anchor Role. No real commanding presence.

Tiberius scratched thoughtfully at his chin, eyes flicking over his handwritten notes. 

He hadn’t even bothered writing out the full list of optional sub-roles for Support. 

There were just too many. 

But he had jotted down the ones that either he or Desmond could reasonably fulfill.

Out of the twelve he'd marked?

Seven went to him. Five, to Desmond.

‘And on top of that… I cover more than three times as many mandatory sub-roles from other core Roles. That should definitely count for something with the committee.’

And yet, even with that clear advantage in mind, there was one thing that gave him serious pause. One unknown that kept buzzing around the back of his mind:

The Drone Operator problem.

Tiberius had spent the last week digging through every scrap of intel he could find about the members of Alpha Squad, in order to figure out his whole Challenge situation, which had proven particularly prudent—especially since Professor Harrow had just confirmed that the cutoff date for Challenges was two weeks post-Assessment. 

That left about five days to make a move.

In the process, he’d stumbled on dozens of cached GalNet articles buried in the Sovereign’s intranet. Every single one of them praised Drone Operators to high heavens—especially higher-Tiered ones—as some of the most dangerously flexible builds in the entire Galactic War.

And they weren’t fringe opinions or fan blogs. 

These had been interviews with veteran officers, post-deployment breakdowns, tactical commentary. 

The kind of stuff that mattered.

‘If Desmond manages to stretch his Assessment rewards the right way… even partially… he could already be fielding enough utility drones to cover half the sub-roles I’m relying on beating him out on… One well-upgraded support drone, a recon model, something with AI-assisted comms or line-of-sight relay tech… It’s bound to add up damn quick with the sheer number of Optional sub-roles the Support role has...’

Tiberius frowned as he stared down at Desmond Reimart’s name on his pad, the stylus hovering.

‘I only get one shot before the next Assessment window. If I misjudge this, I’m out of the running completely. And a halfway-realized Drone Operator with the right toys… could dismantle my odds in minutes.’

He didn’t cross the name out. Nor did he circle it.

But he did draw a question mark next to it. 

Big. Bold. And underlined.

Just then, a line from the ongoing lecture broke through Tiberius’ thoughts and snapped his attention forward again.

“Great question!” Professor Harrow said brightly, a wide grin spreading across his face. “And one that’s perfect for steering us away from the more Challenge-centric talk we’ve been buried in for the past half hour, right?”

Tiberius looked up as the professor began his usual slow, deliberate circle around the podium—a habit Tiberius had already clocked as a sort of ‘here comes the long speech’ indicator. 

He leaned back slightly in his chair, datapad still in his lap, stylus hovering mid-air.

“The question,” Professor Harrow continued, glancing toward the crowd, “for those of you who weren’t paying attention or maybe didn’t catch what the good Recruit in the third row asked—was this: What’s even the point of the Challenges, when the ranking boards already show who’s the best at each Role?”

He paused briefly, then smirked.

“Now, the answer to that is about as complicated as you’d expect from a military bureaucracy, but lucky for me—and unlucky for all of you—I’m gonna shamelessly use that open-ended mess of a question to pivot us toward the next part of the lecture that I was going to cover anyway.”

A ripple of laughter moved through the room.

Tiberius couldn’t help but crack a small smile. 

The Professor had this way of being honest and cutting while still somehow keeping things light. It wasn’t showboating, not exactly—more like controlled chaos, wrapped in charm and delivered with a scalpel.

“One of the reasons,” Professor Harrow said, having resumed his pacing, “is that the UHF wants you to strive for greatness. Over and over again. You get put in a room with Stellar Republic drones and yeah, you’ll learn to shoot straight and follow orders. But that’s not growth. Not real growth.”

He stopped, turning to face the rows of Recruits more directly now.

“We want you fighting people who are just as good as you are. People breathing down your neck. Pushing you. Forcing you to adapt. Because that’s where the real stuff happens. That’s where the sharp edge of your instincts gets truly honed.”

He let the words settle… then added, quieter, but more pointed:

“Because we don’t want you to be Marines.”

That landed with weight. 

Tiberius caught several heads turning around the room. 

Confused glances. Raised brows. A few whispers.

Professor Harrow didn’t speak for a moment—letting the silence linger long enough to turn uncomfortable.

Tiberius didn’t need the explanation. 

He’d been thinking the same thing from the moment he stepped into his first briefing. 

‘If the UHF just wanted Marines, they wouldn’t be limiting their recruitment drives as heavily...’

“We want you to be Aces,” Harrow finally said, voice calm but razor-sharp. “You get it? Marines are a dime a dozen. We lose hundreds of thousands every month across the galaxy. It’s a harsh truth, but it’s the truth.”

He swept a hand across the room, pointing a finger briefly into the air for emphasis.

“Tens of thousands get Zero’ed on every front—on every ship, every station, every campaign across the borders of our territories. And not because they weren’t good Marines. But because being a good Marines isn’t enough anymore. We don’t need bodies who know how to pull a trigger. With only a couple decades left in this war, we need something else, right?”

He paused again, this time locking eyes with several students in the front rows.

“We need Aces. People who can change the outcome of a battle on their own.”

Then he came to a full stop at the center of the podium, hands loosely folded in front of him, his posture suddenly formal in a way that made the room quiet down all over again.

“Now. What are Aces, exactly?”

For a moment, no one said anything—half the room unsure if it was rhetorical or not.

Then, slowly, a few Recruits began to shift upright in their seats, postures straightening as if they’d just realized this wasn’t a rhetorical question after all.

One hand went up near the front—hesitant, but steady.

Professor Harrow pointed with an easy flick of the fingers, his head tilting slightly as his eyes locked on the boy. “Go ahead.”

The young man cleared his throat. “Aren’t… Aren’t they the ones that get the Ace Slots on Battlefields? Like… the higher-Tiered Marines that act as heroes or something? The ones that help turn the tide?”

A sharp, double-tongue click came from Harrow—something he’d done a few times before. 

Not quite a “tsk,” not quite a pause, but more of a habit that signaled his gears were turning.

“Those, dear Recruit, would be what we call Battlefield Aces,” Professor Harrow replied, his voice light but quick to correct. “It’s a bit of a terminology minefield, if I’m entirely honest... You’re not wrong—but you’re not entirely right either.”

He walked over to the side of the podium and tapped at his pad, throwing a projection up on the large datascreen at the back wall. A crude diagram bloomed to life—circles, arrows, numbers, and a few hastily drawn stick figures, all scrawled in handwriting that looked like it had been copied straight from a mad scientist’s notebook.

“There are two types of Aces in the UHF,” he went on, tapping at two separate parts of his chart, even as he kept talking. “There’s your standard Ace—someone who outperforms in practically every way, across their specialization, role, coordination, situational judgment, the works. That’s the goal of this program. That’s what you’re here to become.”

Then he tapped the other side. “Battlefield Aces, on the other hand, are… limited. And I mean that in the strictest technical sense. Their number is capped, agreed upon in advance by both Factions in any given Battlefield, before the first shots are even fired.”

He zoomed in on a section labeled “Tier 1 Battlefield,” a few red circles highlighting certain names.

“Imagine a Tier 1 deployment. That’s what you’ll be seeing the most of during Digital Missions, the Assessments, and, if you make it, your early deployments as actual Privates. Tier 1 is where the bulk of combat happens. It’s the mud, the blood, the front line, right?”

He looked out across the crowd, letting that hang for a beat before saying it plainly.

“And most of you? That’s where you’ll stay for your entire life.”

The murmur that followed wasn’t loud—but it was sharp. 

A quiet ripple of disbelief and unspoken insult passed through the gathered Recruits, several turning to look at one another like someone had just slapped them in the face.

Tiberius, for his part, barely blinked. 

He shifted slightly in his seat and sighed through his nose, already annoyed by the sudden wave of shock from his fellow Recruits.

‘It’s just math,’ he thought, glancing at the others. ‘How do they not get that if tens of thousands of Marines get Zero’ed every day, the vast, vast majority of them are Tier 1? You think Tier 2s are disposable? Tier 3s? It’d be suicide trying to run this whole war machine that way.’

The room was still buzzing, low whispers crackling like static across the hall, but Professor Harrow didn’t bother waiting for it to die down. 

He clicked his tongue again—twice, sharp—and zoomed the diagram back out with a swipe of his hand before continuing, his voice steady and just loud enough to cut through the noise.

“Generally speaking,” he said, pacing along the edge of the podium again, “Tier 1 Battlefields come with what we call a Battlefield Ace +2 modifier. Which means that any slot granted the Battlefield Ace designation—however many the Factions agree on for that engagement—can hold up to a Tier-3 Prime Power Participant. Marine, Soldier, Specialist, doesn’t matter what you call them. You could have a “Dog-Man” in that slot, and it would be perfectly within the rules.”

He paused just long enough to let the chuckles settle before adding, “Now here’s the kicker: All Battlefield Aces are Aces. But not all Aces are Battlefield Aces.”

The diagram shifted again on the screen behind him, forming two new shapes—two circles. 

One was massive, taking up most of the display. The other was tiny, barely the size of a firing pin’s head by comparison.

“This big one?” He tapped the larger circle. “These are your Aces. There’s a dozen or two of them per drive, per ship, give or take. We call someone an Ace when they embody the pinnacle of performance within their role—or a cluster of sub-roles—in a given operational environment, right?”

His eyes scanned the crowd, then drifted toward the back of the room.

“Take our very own Aces sitting with us here today as prime examples.”

Tiberius didn’t turn, though he could feel the shift in the room as a wave of heads swiveled toward the back. He already knew who Professor Harrow had pointed directly at.

“Our two Alpha Squad members in today’s lecture—thank you both for showing up, by the way—are prime Aces. Top of their roles. The Assessment made that clear enough.”

He clapped once—sharp—snapping the room’s attention back toward the front, and gestured toward the smaller circle. “This tiny one here? These are the Battlefield Aces. A fraction of a fraction. They’re the chosen few, handpicked out of the massive number of Aces by the brass to represent the absolute peak of what the UHF has to offer. They’re not just Marines. They’re symbols, right? The tip of the spear, forged out of everything the System and the Marine Corps can offer.”

Then, with a theatrical sweep of his hand, he gestured again toward the back row. “Now, will these two women become Battlefield Aces someday? Who knows. That part’s still unwritten. But if you ask me?” 

He gave a slow shrug, letting a knowing grin tug at the corner of his mouth. “I wouldn’t bet against them. It’s not every cycle that a Recruit comes out of an initial Assessment with that many medals. Especially medals that impressive. Let alone two.”

That earned another round of murmurs, scattered whispers of disbelief and curiosity rippling through the seated Recruits. 

Tiberius rolled his eyes with a quiet scoff.

‘He’s buttering them up again. Feeding them just enough to keep their jaws slack.’ He leaned forward slightly in his seat, watching the others react like they hadn’t seen it coming. ‘But that’s not really his fault. They’re letting it happen… Morons.’

Professor Harrow clapped again, louder this time, clearing the mental fog in the room like a gunshot.

“If you put half as much effort into learning and reflecting as you do whining whenever I deliver a truth that stings,” he said, tone dry but amused, “you might just earn the right to be called an Ace yourselves. Maybe even a Battlefield Ace, if you’re particularly studious.”

Tiberius watched him smile—wider now, fully in control of the moment—and felt that quiet sting of respect that came from recognizing someone dragging the room into a perfect ambush like that.

‘Classic.’

“Now, when it comes to Battlefield Aces, they vary wildly in role and purpose, right?” 

Professor Harrow began again, his tone shifting slightly as he walked to center stage. “Some are strategic planners, others are pure-blooded combat monsters. Some are field medics, or infiltration experts, or logistics miracles. It all depends on the battlefield’s demands, and what the brass deems most valuable to drop in like a sledgehammer, right?”

He waved his hand, shutting off the diagram behind him with a flick. 

The soft hum of the projector faded as he stepped into the open, no podium, no barrier—just him, talking like he was explaining things to a group of half-curious friends instead of a room full of Recruits.

“Now—like I said earlier—the terminology? Absolute nightmare. Battlefield Aces, on the actual battlefield, usually aren’t called ‘Battlefield Aces.’ People just say ‘Aces’.” 

He looked around the room, as if daring someone to challenge that point.

“In most situations, that’s fine. Because most of the chatter planet-side is about squads, not individuals. Unit positioning, objectives, mission flow. No one’s sitting around debating who counts as a proper Ace in the middle of a firefight.”

He held up a finger, pacing again.

“So, to lock this down nice and tight: Aces are the best at their roles—or clusters of sub-roles—in a given combat environment. Battlefield Aces are still Aces, but they’re the handpicked, specially authorized kind. The elite-of-the-elite types who get their names on mission briefings and kill lists. They’re your tide-turners, right? The ones Command drops in when they need to say, ‘This battle isn’t over yet.’ Or… I guess ‘This battle is about to be over,’ depending on which ones they send in.”

He paused, let that sink in, then gave a pointed look across the room. “And when you’re on a Battlefield, and someone says ‘Ace,’ they almost always mean Battlefield Ace. Context is king. Clear enough?”

Tiberius nodded, arms folded across his chest, but he could already see the confusion on a few faces around him—Recruits blinking slowly, eyebrows furrowed, still trying to puzzle out the categories like it was some kind of trick question.

He sighed and leaned back with a low groan, one hand dragging down his face.

‘This is gonna be a long lecture…’

Right on cue, one of the Recruits spoke up—loudly enough to pierce the rising murmur. “So, uh… if a Battlefield Ace meets an Ace on a battlefield… what do they call each other?”

A second of stunned silence passed.

Tiberius closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

‘No, really. This is going to take for-fucking-ever, isn’t it…?’

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[ND] Chapter 138 - Future

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------------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) -------------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Chapter 133 - Lessons has just released on RR with no major changes.

For the Fixers, this chapter has seen no changes.

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Straight up torching some of y'alls mentals in this one.

😎

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I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the link to the chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1WXoRmD_O8SihvQ-fyflObVp1LxgPGIE8Bwcub6ZiHC8/edit?usp=sharing

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Chapter 138 - Future

It wasn’t long after wrapping up the last of the downloads and locking in my Perks that I heard the front door’s biometric lock beep, followed by the familiar hiss and click of it swinging open.

Still stretched out on the couch, I glanced toward the entryway and spotted Gabriel trudging in, looking like he’d just gone twelve rounds with a punch-clock. His expression was all kinds of drained—sleeves rolled up, collar loosened, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to his brow. 

Classic post-shift exhaustion.

“Welcome home, Gabe,” I called out, tossing him a relaxed smile from my cozy sprawl.

“Ah, hey, Sera. Thanks,” he replied with a tired nod. His eyes flicked toward me, then squinted a little. “Huh. Very un-you to just be lounging like that. Or, I guess… not un-you if we’re talking old you. You used to basically live on that couch anytime nobody else was around.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been a long-ass day,” I said with a shrug. “Figured I’d steal some quiet before the chaos hits. Family dinner’s looming over me like a damn corporate inquiery—I just needed a minute. Just me, the couch, and the sound of absolutely nothing. Old-me likely knew what she was doing.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckled, already veering off toward the bathroom. “Gonna rinse off real quick—don’t think Mum would appreciate me bringing the scent of public transport and busted AC units to the table. Catch you after?”

“Uh-huh,” I hummed, sinking deeper into the cushions as he disappeared behind the door.

For a few moments, the apartment was quiet again. But my thoughts weren’t.

‘I really should talk to him more…’ I frowned at the ceiling. ‘I mean, we live in the same apartment. Share a room. And I still barely know what the hell he does, outside of being a cashier at some kind of store, I guess. But beyond that? No clue. No idea what his dreams are, if he’s got any. No idea what he even wants from life. Hell, we’re supposed to be siblings. That’s supposed to mean something, right?’

I sighed, dragging a hand over my face.

‘Not that I’d know. But maybe it’s time I started figuring it out...’

—

By the time Gabriel wrapped up his shower, dumped his work clothes into the washer-compartment of the closet, tossed on something casual, and finally trudged back into the living room looking marginally less dead inside, close to forty minutes had passed.

He didn’t quite look ready to take on the world—but at least he didn’t look like he was about to collapse face-first into the carpet anymore. 

So… progress?

I tilted my head slightly at the sight of him. 

Seeing Gabe without his usual faux-punk hairstyle was a bit jarring—his hair now flopped lazily to one side, still damp and clearly unbothered with existing. 

Guess he hadn’t bothered to re-spike it after the shower. Not that I blamed him. 

At this point, even getting dressed deserved a small medal.

Shuffling to the far end of the couch, I kicked my legs up and made room for him. He sank down beside me with a groan that sounded like it came from the depths of his soul.

“Rough day?” I asked, trying to slide into what I imagined a ‘supportive and approachable sister’ was supposed to sound like. Honestly, I was mostly winging it. 

My only real reference points were sitcom siblings and anime characters, and most of those involved punchlines or melodramatic yelling. 

Neither seemed particularly helpful in this situation.

“Understatement,” Gabe muttered, leaning back into the cushions. “Got bumped up to customer-facing recently, right? I thought it’d be a promotion. And pay-wise, it technically is. But turns out, it’s more of a downgrade than anything. I’d kill to be back in the storage unit, alphabetizing crates or checking inventory. Literally anything that doesn’t involve talking to customers.”

That, I could sympathize with—hard.

In my past life, I’d practically been a retail veteran. Grocery stores, fast food joints, the occasional nightmare-tier holiday gig at some mall pop-up shop… 

Been there, hated that.

“I feel that,” I said with genuine empathy, then caught myself. “I mean—I think I feel that.”

Technically, Sera had never worked a day in her life, as far as I was aware. 

And really, at fourteen—well, closer to seventeen-and-a-half by Earth-year standards—that wasn’t exactly shocking. From what I’d pieced together, the old Sera hadn’t even really had time to think about jobs. Between her home-studies, family stuff, and whatever her rebellious teenage years had done to her, punching a clock hadn’t made it onto her radar.

Still. 

It made me feel a little weird, remembering that while I felt the sympathy, Sera technically didn’t have the resume to back it up.

We spent the next half hour or so catching up, bouncing the conversation between us like we were tossing a ball around. 

It felt… nice.

Strangely familiar, almost—even if a bit of guilt lingered underneath because I couldn’t exactly be truthful about everything going on.

Instead of the whole Operator gig and gang drama, I talked about my recent stints at Mr. Shori’s stall. I mentioned the new recipes he’d been showing me, how much I was starting to enjoy the rhythm of cooking, and even cracked a joke about how much the old customers loved having me around—earning a satisfying laugh from Gabe.

Then the conversation drifted to Miss K’s dojo, and I asked him how he was holding up with training.

Gabe grimaced, rubbing his neck like he could already feel the soreness setting in. "I'm alive. Barely. But between pulling extra shifts at work to cover for the downtime after getting injured and Miss K running us ragged every session… Man, I’m lucky if I’m still standing by the end of it."

I chuckled sympathetically, nodding along. "Yeah, she’s not exactly the type to let you slack off. But hey—if you ever want to practice together, or if there’s something specific you need to work on, just let me know. I’m actually doing pretty well over there, surprisingly enough."

Gabe shot me an appreciative smile, the tiredness lifting from his eyes just a bit. "Seriously? That… Would actually be great, to be entirely honest. I’d hate to end up as “that guy” in every session that gets singled out for messing up everything. Thanks, Sera. And hey, for what it’s worth, I’m really glad you’re doing so well at the dojo. Seeing you get excited about something safe for a change is honestly a huge relief."

I rolled my eyes dramatically at the mention of "safe," even though I definitely couldn’t blame him for thinking like that. 

After all, considering all the Operator and gang-related chaos I very deliberately hadn’t mentioned, Gabe wasn’t exactly wrong. 

But still—dojo training wasn’t exactly a walk in the park either.

"I mean, I don’t know if I'd call anything involving Miss K 'safe,'" I retorted, grinning as Gabe laughed. "But yeah, it's nice having something… steady, I guess."

He nodded warmly, sinking deeper into the couch like just sitting there was healing his bones. "Exactly. Steady is good. We could use more steady."

Couldn’t really blame him for leaning so hard into that word. 

With everything that had happened lately—Sera’s “death,” the whole amnesia mess, him getting stabbed and nearly bleeding out on the floor—it was kind of a miracle either of us were even functioning, let alone casually chatting on the couch like nothing ever happened.

Didn’t take a licensed shrink to spot the trauma radiating off him like heat from a busted vent.

‘Wish I knew what to say to actually help him here… Why isn’t there a [Psychologist] Skill or something? Come on, System. Help me out here.’

We let the silence stretch for a bit after that. 

One of those comfortable ones, though. No pressure. 

Just the two of us sharing space without needing to fill it with noise.

Eventually though, Gabe shifted, turning toward me again with that thoughtful look he always got when he was about to drop something heavier than expected.

“Say, what are your plans, Sera? Like… long-term? You gonna keep working for Mr. Shori? Make a career out of it?”

The question caught me a little off guard—wasn’t expecting the deep-life-direction conversation to pop off in the middle of lazy couch time—but I recovered quick enough.

“Honestly… I’m not really sure yet,” I admitted, scratching the back of my neck. “I like helping out at the stall, don’t get me wrong. Mr. Shori’s great, and the customers are super chill. But it’s not like I dream of becoming the next noodle overlord or anything, y’know?”

“Fair,” he muttered, nodding slowly. “Probably still better than a lotta places, though…”

“Yeah, probably. But I’ve actually been really enjoying the programming stuff lately, too,” I added. “Thanks again for the shard, by the way. That thing’s been a blast and a half.”

“Right!” His eyebrows went up slightly, like he’d almost forgotten about it. “Yeah, I mean, programming’s definitely a solid choice. Could make some serious Creds doing that, as long as you don’t wander into anything shady. Honestly wish I had the patience for that kinda work myself.”

And there it was again—another perfectly reasonable, steady and safe path for my life, said with warmth and encouragement, that I absolutely was going to take in the most roundabout and chaotic way possible. The kind of way that involved shady contracts, back-alley deals, and maybe a sprinkle of gang warfare on the weekends. 

Hell, just to underscore it all, my very next programming-related gig was selling [Venombite] to an absolutely unhinged lunatic who was definitely planning to zap himself halfway to cardiac arrest just to see what it felt like.

I cringed inwardly at the mounting list of truths I wasn’t telling him. 

If this was a game of two truths and a lie, I was working on three lies and a nervous smile.

‘Am I actually that much of a thrillseeker…? What the hell is wrong with me…?’ I thought, watching my brother unknowingly outline all the safe, normal, functional versions of my life that I was not choosing.

Not really wanting to stare too hard into that particular mirror, I tossed the question right back at him—anything to dodge a round of self-actualization.

“What about you, Gabe? Doesn’t sound like you’re all that thrilled with where you’re at right now… You thinking about trying something else?”

He let out a long, tired sigh. “Haaa… Y’know, I knew it was gonna go this way. That’s just how conversations work. I ask you something, you bounce it back at me. You ask me something, I bounce it back at you… But damn, I was kinda hoping maybe this time, just this once, it wouldn’t.”

God, I felt that in my bones.

The amount of times I’d been in the exact same spot in my past life? Too many to count. 

Just sitting there, getting called out by the natural rhythm of conversation.

“It’s fine, we really don’t have to talk about it,” I said quickly, knowing that gnawing feeling way too well—the dread of being asked about future plans when all you’ve got is a hot ball of nothing and a bunch of aspirations and dreams that will never come to pass.

But he shook his head. “Nah… I think I asked for a reason, y’know? Maybe I wanted someone to make me say it out loud. If my baby sister asks me what I’m doing with my life, I can’t exactly just shrug and go ‘No clue,’ right? Kinda forces the question.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing at his face with both hands like he could scrub the thoughts away.

“I just… I don’t know, Sera. I always wanted to carve out something for myself. Not ‘Valeria’s first born son,’ not ‘Oliver’s child,’ just… me. Something that was mine and nobody else’s. And now I’m working a horrible job I can’t stand—and this is with one of the good bosses, if you can believe that—barely holding on to what few perks I get from being Mum’s kid, like the dojo. And even that’s slipping away from me lately. I just feel like I’m… drifting. No direction. No grip. No grand plans or anything…”

I didn’t have anything to say to that.

Because… yeah. I’d been there. I’d lived there. 

That suffocating feeling of time slipping by, while you kept running on autopilot, waiting for something to click that never came. 

The endless, sleepless nights of insomnia, that made you toss and turn in bed, wondering where it had all gone wrong—where you had all gone wrong.

Wondering if, maybe, had things been different in this instance or that one, you would be living an entirely different life. One free of all the stress, the struggle, the uncertainty.

That, maybe, if you had actually applied yourself to the things you had wanted to pursue and dreamed about earlier in your life, before obligations, taxes and rent payments came a-knocking, you’d be living a life that you could actually be proud of.

And in those late-night moments, you’d make a deal with yourself. 

That tomorrow, maybe you’d change things. You’d actually try for once. You absolutely knew you had what it took, how to get where you wanted to be. 

You’d just have to try, for one, single time.

But tomorrow always came with an alarm clock and a schedule and a hundred little things that shoved all those big thoughts into a dusty mental drawer labeled “dead dreams and discarded ambitions.”

Until the next sleepless night came around to dust them off again.

And truth was, I never figured out how to fix any of that.

I had just... died.

And then woke up here—taking over Sera’s life, in Neon Dragons. 

Whole new world. Whole new problems. And none of the chains I used to drag around.

I got lucky. Crazy, cosmic-lottery-type lucky. One in a quintillion, if not more. 

Anyone else? They didn’t get that second shot, as far as I knew. 

Just me.

So… I didn’t have anything to say that would magically help. 

No perfect words to drop some life-changing epiphany on my brother.

Just the quiet echo of everything he’d said bouncing around in my chest. And the raw, honest truth that I still remembered exactly how it felt.

Gabriel’s voice pulled me back from the edge of that mental spiral as he spoke up again, his tone heavy, “I think… I might ask Mum or Dad for a referral. Try out the corpo-life. As much as I don’t think it’s for me at all…”

I blinked. That caught me completely off guard. 

I just stared at him, my mind blank—no words forming, nothing coherent rising to the surface.

He let out another one of those long, tired sighs—the kind that seemed to deflate his whole being. “I was already thinking about it like two months ago, honestly. My job’s a dead-end. I’m barely scraping together enough Creds to do anything beyond survive, let alone plan ahead. Corpo-life, though? For all the bad talk it gets, it’s stable. You put in the work, you get the rewards. You put in extra work? You climb. There’s structure. Predictability. No guesswork.”

I didn’t interrupt. 

I was still trying to process the idea of Gabriel—my hoodie-wearing, punk-rock, but kind-hearted, older brother—willingly throwing himself into the corporate grinder.

He glanced at me then, something raw behind his eyes. “And then everything that happened to you… I felt useless, Sera. Totally, utterly useless. What good is a store clerk, when his sister nearly dies, huh? What can a cashier even do in that situation? But Mum? Dad? They had real means; power. Mum’s insurance covered the hospital and all kinds of crazy doctors to take a look at you. Dad pulled every string he could to get you the best meds and equipment as well. And me? I just stood there. Couldn’t do anything but hope you’d get better…”

I swallowed hard, but the lump in my throat wasn’t going anywhere.

He wasn’t supposed to carry that weight. That kind of burden didn’t belong to him. 

He was my brother—not a parent, not a provider. 

But I could see how deep that helplessness had sunk its claws into him.

His hands were back on his face, fingers laced through his hair, elbows digging into his knees. Exhaustion clung to him like smoke—emotional, physical, all of it piling on.

“And then, when I got stabbed… I’m scared, Sera. Genuinely scared. It hurt so, so much… More than anything I’ve ever felt. That knife just… split me open from the inside, ripping everything out that made me, me. I still get flashes of it. Nightmares. Sometimes I wake up feeling like it’s still there.”

His hands dropped slightly, and he looked back at me. 

No mask, no walls. 

Just raw, aching honesty.

“If I’d been a corpo? With a jacket that screamed ‘don’t touch me’? With a badge on my chest? Those scavs wouldn’t’ve come near me. They’d never, ever risk it. Even the most psychotic of them would know not to get close.”

He held my gaze, something desperate and quiet in his voice. “Is it wrong to want that kind of safety, Sera? The kind of stability, that means I don’t have to worry whether walking to-or-from home is going to get me killed for no fucking reason…?”

That was when it hit me.

It was the first time I’d ever heard Gabriel swear. 

And somehow, that was the detail that stuck. 

Out of all the heavy stuff he just unloaded… it was that one cracked syllable that drove the point home.

I just sat there for a second, my mind scrambling, stuck somewhere between guilt and disbelief.

‘How the hell did I miss all this…?’

He had been bleeding, screaming on the inside, trying to hold himself together with tape and sheer will, and I hadn’t even noticed. 

Too wrapped up in my own maze of Operator meetings, Skill grinding, dojo sessions, code reviews, near-death experiences, and whatever else I’d decided to throw on the ever-growing pile of chaos that made up my life now.

Gabriel had been drowning right next to me, every single night, and I hadn’t even looked over to check if he could still breathe.

My stomach twisted hard.

Before I could even really think it through, my body just moved on instinct. 

I shuffled over, crawled across the couch, and wrapped my arms around him—tight. 

Like I was trying to hold all the broken pieces of him together by sheer force alone.

I didn’t say anything. There weren’t any words that would’ve made it better, not really.

No tears fell, either. It wasn’t that kind of hug. 

Just… solid.

The kind of hug that said I’m here, without making a whole speech out of it.

He didn’t react much at first—his shoulders tense under my arms—but after a moment, I felt him shift slightly, letting out a breath he probably hadn’t even realized he was holding.

We stayed like that for a while. Ten, twenty minutes, maybe.

Long enough for the apartment to feel less heavy.

Eventually, I finally found my voice. "I don't think it's wrong at all, Gabe." 

My words felt small, but genuine. "If that’s what you truly want—if that’s what makes you feel safe, stable…then the corpo life might honestly be your best shot."

He shifted slightly, his breath hitching, but stayed silent.

"There's a good reason why Oliver and Valeria went that route. Fuck, why so many people across this whole damn city choose corpo life, really. It's not a failure of you as a person; it's just another path. You might give up some freedoms going that route, yeah…but if it gives you security, gives you a life where you don't have to worry constantly about surviving another day—that's its own kind of freedom, y’know?"

I tightened my grip around him, squeezing him just a little harder as though I could somehow force my sincerity through sheer physical contact alone. “And it doesn’t mean you’re not your own person anymore. You're still you, Gabe, no matter where you work or what you do. Always.”

Gabriel shifted slightly under my arms, leaning back just enough to look at me, his face heavy with doubt. 

“It’s not that simple, Sera,” he said, his voice low. “Once you go corpo… that’s it. You don’t just walk away from it. It’s like stepping onto a road with no exits—you keep going until the road decides to swallow you whole. And I don’t know if I want that for myself. For us.”

I tilted my head at him for that, but stayed quiet, letting him talk.

“I’d be working all the time,” he continued, his jaw tightening. “Every single day, locked into whatever project they threw at me, grinding out hours until I’m too tired to do anything else. Barely time for dojo sessions, no time for… for even this,” he gestured between us. 

“I’d lose any chance of actually living, y’know? And…” He hesitated, his eyes flicking to me with a faint shadow of guilt. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to follow me. Or Mum. Or Dad. If I go corpo and everyone else already is, and you’re not… it’s gonna feel like you’re the black sheep of the family. I don’t want to put that on you.”

That last part hit me like a sucker punch. I hadn’t even considered it from that angle. 

Gabriel was talking about his future, his survival, and he was still worrying about how it might affect me? It was both thoroughly infuriating and… deeply touching.

I took a breath, leaning back slightly to meet his gaze, my tone firmer now. “Gabe… this isn’t about me. It’s your life. If going corpo is what you need to feel safe, to feel like you’ve got a shot at something solid, then you should take it. Don’t let me—or anyone else—be the reason you don’t.”

He looked ready to argue, but I didn’t let him. “Yeah, maybe it is a road with no exits. But not every road needs an exit. Some roads just get you where you need to go. And if that’s what you think will work for you, if that’s where you can build something that’s yours and something you’re proud of… Then screw the rest of it. You don’t need my permission, and you don’t need to worry about me following in your footsteps.”

I gave his shoulder a squeeze, softening my tone even more. “I’m not gonna suddenly be the black sheep just 'cause I’m not wearing a shiny corpo badge, Gabe. I’m still me. And you’re still you. You don’t need to carry my choices on your back like some kind of martyr. This is your decision. Just yours. And no matter what you decide, I’ve got your back. Always.”

I paused, then grinned. “If you wanna ask Mum for a referral and need me to grovel at her feet to sweeten the deal, I will. No shame. I’ll throw my pride straight into the trash for you, no hesitation.”

His eyes widened, caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief.

“I’m serious,” I continued, pressing a hand dramatically to my chest. “I’ll kiss the ground she walks on if it’ll help you get that referral. You’re not the only sibling who knows how to be dramatic, y’know? I can make it all about me too. Selfless sacrifice for the greater Gabriel good. I’ll do it all of tonight, even!”

That did it. 

He laughed—really laughed—and for a moment, it actually looked like the weight on his shoulders got a little lighter.

“That’s something I’d have to record,” he said through his grin. “A once-in-a-lifetime masterpiece. You, begging at Mum’s feet? I’d sell tickets.”

“Absolutely not,” I shot back, scandalized. “I’d rather die than let that be caught on film.”

We shared a brief, comfortable silence—one that didn’t need to be filled.

Then he nodded, a bit of steel returning to his eyes. “Thanks, Sera. I think… yeah, I think I’ll ask Mum tonight. Just get a read on what kind of offer the handlers would even throw at me. Dad might’ve been a better option, but with the OriginTech mess still eating up all his bandwidth, I doubt he’s got time to worry about what I’m doing. EtherLabs is a heavy hitter anyway. Should be plenty of ways to move up if I commit to it.”

He looked steadier now. 

Not all the way sure—but at least not crumbling under the weight of indecision.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, say the word,” I said with a nod. “Oh… And probably ask for your referral before I ask for my favour from Mum. I have a feeling mine’s going to be a bit less likely to go over well…”

Gabriel blinked, then smirked. “That’s probably the better order, yeah… Let’s go with that, then.”

His eyes flicked over to the TV, which had defaulted to its idle-mode clock. “Speaking of which… we should probably start getting ready. Mum and Dad’ll be back any minute, and you know Mum’s not gonna waste time before launching straight into dinner mode. So, uh… Let’s get spruced up while we still got some time to spare?”

I gave him a mock salute. “Aye aye, captain. And don’t forget—tonight only, limited-time offer: Full-service feet grovelling, for your benefits.”

He flashed me a wide, toothy grin—no words needed—as he pushed himself off the couch and headed for our room. I followed close behind, already mentally bracing myself.

‘Time to throw the dress back on, smile like I’ve got no ulterior motives, and pretend to be the picture-perfect corpo daughter Valeria wants me to be… All while planning to ask for the exact thing she really doesn’t want to give me: A link to old-Sera’s past life...’

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[TAS] Volume 2 - Chapter 40 - Fashion

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------------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) -------------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Volume 2 - Chapter 35 - VIP Consultation has just released on RR with no changes.

For the Wolf Lords, this chapter is unchanged.

And also: Please do not read the chapters here on Patreon, but go for the googledoc, .pdf or .epub instead. Patreon butchers all forms of formatting and you're missing out on easier and more enjoyable reading experiences.

------

Time Skip completed!

Let me know how this one felt, as I'm not really used to time skipping around a lot!

------

I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the link to the chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-9PlaqQnM5poN3Vu8853B_kC-EPe6LAyUlmceCZrJkQ/edit?usp=sharing

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Volume 2 - Chapter 40 - Fashion

“Alpha and Beta Squads do not exist to elevate the few. 

They exist to elevate the many. 

Competition is not a threat to unity—it is its foundation.”

— Fleet Admiral Kaelin Tovarch, Founder of the Recruit Challenge Protocols

The Challenge System: Rivalry as Progress

The UHF Challenge System was never designed to reward ego, but to refine excellence. 

On every Recruit vessel across the Galactic Bubble, the names Alpha and Beta Squad carry weight—and with it, responsibility. These Squads are not just mere designations; they are aspirational symbols, pillars meant to spur the entire Recruit body forward, with their very existence.

Alpha Squad, in particular, is held in the highest of regards. 

Its members receive near-unrestricted access to the ship’s AI, enhanced training environments, exclusive simulations, and personal quarters that far outclass the standard Marine dormitories. Beta, while slightly less privileged, still enjoys elevated access, better resources, and a level of autonomy unmatched by the general Recruit population.

The driving force behind this structure is not favoritism, but friction. 

Friction that forges a need for improvement. 

The Challenge System encourages—and demands—open competition.

At its heart, the system embodies the belief that competition—when structured, fair, and purpose-driven—creates this very excellence we strive for as a Faction.

At the heart of every Challenge, however, lies a simple truth: You don’t challenge a person. You challenge a role.

Roles are functional positions within the Squad framework, each with clearly defined criteria. The system avoids personality-based confrontations by requiring Recruits to challenge what the role requires, not what the current holder happens to be good at.

It’s not about beating someone in a straight-up fight—though combat prowess often plays a part—it’s about proving you can fulfill the functions the Squad needs.

The Challenge Committee—typically composed of shipboard Command, AI analysts, and independent adjudicators—reviews each request and oversees every match. 

The more complete your demonstration of a role’s core responsibilities, the more likely you are to win.

Take, for example, the Offensive Heavy role—a cornerstone of any frontline-focused squad.

The mandatory sub-roles for an Offensive Heavy are clear:

• Durability: The capacity to take sustained punishment without immediate collapse.

• Focus Target: The ability to draw enemy aggression away from more vulnerable squadmates.

• Heavy Damage Potential: The damage output necessary to punish any lapse in the previously mentioned enemy focus.

A challenger must convincingly demonstrate their ability to fulfill all mandatory sub-roles in controlled simulations, squad evaluations, and assessment scenarios. 

However, there are also optional sub-roles, which, while not strictly required for the squad to remain “functionally complete,” are factored in as point bonuses during evaluation:

• Suppression Capabilities – Ability to deny movement or lock down key areas.

• Breakthrough Power – Tools or tactics designed to crack entrenched enemy positions.

• Melee Prowess – Specialized skill in close-quarters dominance.

• Self-Recovery – On-the-fly healing or damage mitigation without Squad Medic support.

The Challenge Committee scores each challenge based on consistency, role coverage, tactical synergy with the rest of the Squad, and psychological fitness. 

Rarely are challenges about pure strength. They are about overall function.

The ultimate aim is not humiliation or chaos—but forward motion. 

Even unsuccessful challenges often end in recalibrated respect, increased personal growth, and clearer Squad cohesion. Every battle, every evaluation, every rising star shapes not only their path—but the paths of all those around them as well.

As the doctrine states:

“To challenge a name is petty. To challenge a role is purpose.”

“Alpha is not a reward. It’s a burden. You climb into the crucible, and if you burn brighter than all the others, you stay. If not—you melt. Simple as that.”
– Anonymous Alpha Squad veteran, Post-Challenge debrief, PFC 722

[Excerpt from “Excellence Through Design: The Philosophy of the Challenge System”, UHF Recruit Training Codex, PFC 724]

=======

=======

Waking up in her room aboard the Sovereign had become second nature to Thea by now. 

The sterile lighting, the subtle hum of machinery in the walls, the familiar weight of the ship pressing gently through the floor—it had all settled into her routine. 

But this morning was different. Today wasn’t just another recovery day.

The break following the Assessment was officially over.

Lectures and classes were starting up again, kicking off with the much-anticipated UHF 101 session—mandatory for all new Recruits. 

After that, the real highlight of the day would begin: The initial opening of the Digital Missions. Finally, she’d be able to jump back into combat sims, rack up some score, and maybe even test out some of the ideas she had been toying with over the past few days.

Despite the anticipation for that, however, the ending of the break was still something that made Thea a bit mournful that day.

‘Why do breaks always feel like they pass in a heartbeat…?’ was the first thought to float through her mind as she groggily rolled out of bed and headed for the shower.

Life inside the Sovereign’s DDS had been pretty damn good this past week. 

With most of her time spent recovering from the grueling Assessment, she’d had the rare luxury of doing—well, basically nothing. 

For probably the first time in more than two years.

Nothing except hanging out with Alpha Squad—especially Karania—and spending her way through what felt like a small fortune in Credits. The shopping spree, the weapons, the schematics... it had all scratched an itch she hadn’t been able to ever truly scratch back on Lumiosia.

Winning tournaments in the Golden Age Arcade had been great, sure, but they didn’t exactly pay in cutting-edge tech, or enough Credits to acquire them. And even if they had, Lumiosia never had much of that to begin with for her to buy, even if she did somehow end up with the Credits. The few pieces of new-tech she’d ever gotten her hands on had mostly come from James, passed along through a quiet connection here or there.

But two days ago, all of that had changed.

That shopping trip—where she’d unexpectedly run into a kindred tech-spirit in the form of Peria, and walked out with a haul of weapons and research materials worthy of a small militia—had launched her into a state of tech-fueled bliss.

‘So many technical documents to read through…!’ That thought alone had been excitedly looping in the back of her head ever since.

Stepping out of the shower, still drying her hair, she made her way to the wardrobe—then paused. A familiar hesitation curled in her chest as she reached toward the handle.

Ever since the shopping trip with Karania, the wardrobe had become a bit... intimidating.

It wasn’t the storage itself, of course, but what was inside it now. 

The moment she was going to open it, she’d be greeted by an explosion of new outfits. It was a whole mess of unfamiliar fabrics, colors, and cuts—most of which she had no idea how to properly wear, much less put on in the first place. 

Layers, straps, weird seams in weird places… nothing made any sense at all.

Karania had been absolutely thorough in her selections. 

While Thea had successfully dodged the dress trap—thanks to borrowing a page from Corvus’ and the UHF’s playbook and spinning a slight half-truth about how dresses reminded her of the pleasure districts in the Undercity, where delicate fabrics would just get shredded while moving through broken-down ruins and rusted stairwells—that hadn’t saved her from the rest of Kara’s full-blown fashion campaign.

She’d said it with just enough weight to draw sympathy, and Karania had backed off after that.

She'd won the dress battle, but not the wardrobe war.

But the real reason?

Well, that was a little more complicated.

Thea had always kind of… wanted to try a dress.

Back during the Luminarus Festival that James had taken her to, she remembered seeing girls in flowing silks, laughing as lights shimmered off their clothes. The glowing fabrics, the way the lights played off them—it had left an undeniable impression. She and James had watched from a distance one year—just long enough for the envy to sink in and settle deep. 

But that particular truth felt way too dangerous to hand over to Karania. 

Not yet. Not without thorough preparation.

‘If I ever admit to that,’ she thought, slowly cracking open the wardrobe like it might bite her, ‘I’m doing research first. I need to know how dresses even work.’

The concept still baffled her to her core. 

‘How do you jump through a broken window or climb a pipe with a whole sheet of fabric flapping around your legs? Isn’t it just begging to get caught on something?’

The whole thing just seemed really impractical. She needed to be able to move, not just twirl.

Maybe one day she'd figure it out.

But for the foreseeable future… pants would do just fine…

—

Mid breakfast-pancake bite, Thea felt an ominous shiver run through her spine when Karania’s footsteps stopped earlier than usual, still several steps away from the dining table.

‘Oh no,’ was all Thea could think before Karania’s words drifted over.

“Excuse me, Miss McKay?” came her best friend's voice from behind, a dangerous edge of forced politeness slipping into her tone. 

Thea pretended not to hear it. If she stayed still enough, maybe Kara would think she was part of the furniture.

Across the table, Corvus raised an eyebrow. Desmond didn’t bother hiding his smirk. This wasn’t the first time they’d witnessed this particular showdown.

“Hellooo? Kara to Thea? You in there?” Karania continued sweetly, her voice closer now, dripping with the kind of sugary menace reserved exclusively for fashion emergencies.

Thea slowly turned her head with a big, forced smile. “Ahh! Kara! What a surprise. Good morning! You’re looking great today, by the way.”

Karania smiled right back—sharklike. “And I’d love to say the same, but please tell me: What, and I mean this with all the love and kindness in my heart, in the fuck are you wearing? Sure, the UHF 101 lecture primer said you could wear anything you want, but that?” 

Her open-handed gesture somehow encompassed Thea’s entire existence.

The snort from Desmond turned into full-blown chuckling. 

Thea did her best to ignore it. 

This was a high-stakes conversation. Distractions meant certain death.

“Well... I thought it’s the first day back at lectures, so I should be comfortable, right?” Thea tried to reason meekly. “So… I grabbed the pullover.”

She knew immediately that was the wrong answer. 

Karania’s eyes narrowed, a look of utter disappointment spreading across her face. 

It wasn't that Thea didn't understand Kara’s desire for her to develop an actual fashion sense—it was just that she genuinely had no idea how or where to start. Karania had been tutoring her on things, slowly but surely, she was nowhere near proficient enough yet to try it out in the real world.

Rather than risk embarrassment by trying something new and messing it up horribly, she'd retreated to the safety of the familiar old pullover.

Karania let out a heavy, dramatic sigh, shaking her head slowly. “You spent more than eight hundred Credits—eight hundred—on clothes, and yet, somehow, you turn around and wear the same thing every single day. Where, exactly, did I go wrong with you…?”

From across the table came the sound of sudden choking and sputtering as Desmond, mid-drink, started coughing violently. Corvus leaned forward quickly, pounding gently but firmly on Desmond’s back to help clear his airways.

“What—?!” Desmond gasped between coughs, eyes wide with disbelief, “Eight… hundred Credits?! On clothes?!”

“Actually, I’d really like to hear more about this too,” Corvus added with a wry grin, his eyebrows practically climbing into his hairline.

With a sigh, Thea slowly turned back to face Karania. She’d spun around earlier to make sure Desmond wasn’t dying, only to now find her best friend staring at her with a look that somehow blended smug amusement, relentless patience, and quiet, wounded indignation—all rolled into one annoyingly expressive face.

Clearly, she was still waiting for Thea’s explanation.

“Well, like I said… I just wanted to be comfortable for the first day back around the rest of the Recruits,” Thea said, doing her best to sound confident. “And the pullover’s the most comfortable thing I own. Everything else is… just different.”

She stood her ground, shoulders squared. 

She had lost this exact battle yesterday—spectacularly so. 

That loss had resulted in a two-hour long crash course on "Intro to Looking Presentable," featuring far too many outfit changes and Kara lecturing her about silhouettes, layering, and how ‘vibes’ were apparently a thing that mattered.

Most of those outfits had been sorted into categories she barely understood—stuff for shopping trips, just hanging out, or ‘relaxed high-fashion,’ whatever that meant. 

And none of them, she was certain, were suited for today.

Today was serious. 

Today was lectures and Digital Missions and getting her score back on the board. 

She needed to be sharp, focused, and comfortable.

So, no. Not again.

She was absolutely not budging on this one…

—

Sitting down in the lecture hall for the start of UHF 101, Thea tugged absently at the hem of her beige blouse. She and Kara had been assigned to the same session—something Thea was half-convinced wasn’t entirely pure chance, though she had zero proof and no idea how she’d even begin to check up on it.

Still, she appreciated it.

“Stop fiddling with it, Thea. No wonder you’re never comfortable if you keep drawing attention to it,” Karania said, shooting her a look from the seat beside her.

Thea grumbled under her breath and forced her hands to stay still, but it wasn’t easy. 

Her arms felt weirdly exposed, the sleeves stopping far too early for her liking, and the lower neckline wasn’t helping either—the slight chill on her collarbones was just noticeable enough to keep reminding her that, yes, she was not wearing her trusty pullover today.

That said… it wasn’t all terrible.

‘Okay, the fabric is really soft,’ she admitted, glancing down for a second. ‘And the new pants are probably the best-fitting thing I’ve ever worn. Kara actually nailed that part. I’ll give her that much. Still not sold on the blouse, though…’

Watching the other Recruits trickle into the lecture hall, Thea found herself focused on the clothes they were wearing. It wasn’t like she cared, really—fashion still felt like a side quest she’d never picked up—but Kara had told her it helped to build a mental library. 

Something about "outfit synergy" or "understanding silhouettes," whatever that meant.

Still, if she had to suffer through this whole wardrobe thing as a result of Karania’s weird obsession with it, she was going to at least try to do it right.

Most of the guys wore simple t-shirts, jackets, or lightweight utility gear—practical stuff that leaned toward “casual” or “training casual,” depending on how recently they’d been on a run. 

A few of them had clearly tried a little harder, though, with layered outfits and some neat patterns Thea vaguely recognized as “trendy” from last night’s GalNet article reading on the topic.

The girls were a more varied bunch. 

She spotted a handful who clearly fit into Kara’s idea of “relaxed high-fashion”—flowy cuts, expensive-looking fabrics, and accessories that looked like they came with instructions. 

Most, though, landed somewhere in the “shopping casual” tier, with soft sweaters, smart boots, and jackets tied around the waist in that way that said, “yes, this outfit was intentional.”

Thea narrowed her eyes, trying to categorize everyone into the little mental boxes she’d thrown together after yesterday’s two-hour fashion ambush with Karania. 

‘Okay… casual, shopping casual, relaxed high-fash—what even is that guy wearing? Is that some kind of… silk? Absolutely no shot that’s combat-rated…’

Then, suddenly, a thought slammed into her—sneaking in through the side door of her brain—triggered by a half-buried memory from her time back in the Golden Arcade.

She’d been sitting there for days-on-end, many times, sifting through a ridiculous number of armor pieces she’d unlocked through blood, sweat, and overly difficult boss fights. 

Tweaking stats, rotating gear, trying on different cosmetic shaders and applying hard-earned dyes until she landed on the perfect combo: Something that looked insanely cool but still somehow hit all her defensive requirements to let her tank a hit or two when needed.

Her fingers froze mid-fidget on the edge of her blouse.

‘Wait…! This… this is basically just Fashion-Hunting! Just like back then…! You pick pieces that fit together and look cool, but still fit with the overall theme of what you’re going for and provide the amount of flexibility you require…!’

Her eyes slowly widened as the horrifying truth clicked into place.

‘Fashion… is just real life transmogging?!’

She turned in her seat to stare at Karania with the kind of betrayed expression usually reserved for plot-twist betrayals in high-stakes dramas.

‘People were just… Out here transmog flexing with their clothes this whole time… and I’ve been getting absolutely owned without even realizing it?!’

“You should’ve told me sooner, Kara! Fuck!” she blurted, voice way too loud for the mostly quiet lecture hall, drawing eyes from a lot of the Recruit body inside the room.

Karania jumped. “Wha—what?! Told you what? What happened?!”

Her eyes darted around, like she expected someone to have died behind her.

Thea just stared at her, utterly betrayed. “You knew. You knew this was a thing…!”

“I... I don’t… What are you talking about, Thea? What happened?” Karania asked, confusion and concern flashing across her face like she genuinely expected some sort of catastrophe had just taken place.

“You’re coming to my room later tonight,” Thea declared, voice low but intense, “and you’re giving me a full rundown of every single piece of clothing I own. No skipping, no brushing past stuff. I need the full, detailed breakdown. I can’t believe you let me walk around like I did without informing me I was getting absolutely mogged out here the entire time!”

Karania’s brows furrowed, eyes narrowing in sheer confusion before widening again in some kind of helpless cycle. “Ehh… Sure. Yeah, we can do that…?” she offered, slowly nodding along like she wasn’t entirely sure whether Thea was joking or not.

But Thea wasn’t joking.

She gave a firm nod back, like they had just signed a blood contract, and turned her attention back to the incoming Recruits. A bunch of them were glancing her way now, probably confused about the outburst—but she didn’t care. 

That wasn’t important anymore.

Her mind was too busy scanning clothes, silhouettes, and color coordination combos like her life depended on it.

‘Just you wait, fellow hunters… I’ll show you what a true fashion hunter looks like in the flesh...’

—

One of the last people to enter the room caught Thea’s attention immediately—someone she actually recognized.

‘Tiberius Soren… That heavy sniper guy from the Awards,’ she remembered, glancing him over from top to bottom. His outfit was purely practical and entirely black—exactly the kind of thing she’d have worn herself just yesterday.

A smug little smile tugged at her lips, ‘He doesn’t even realize he’s getting absolutely owned right now, does he…?’

Feeling a newfound sense of confidence, she straightened herself up in her seat, letting the blouse fall more naturally around her shoulders. 

She was surprised to find that simply adjusting her posture like that, abruptly made the lightweight fabric feel softer and more comfortable, flowing gently along the curves of her body instead of clinging to them awkwardly like they had before.

Thea still didn’t fully understand how that worked, but it was undeniable. 

As much as she hated to admit it, she was also beginning to grasp why Kara had insisted on pairing this blouse with these particular pants.

They weren’t just random picks—they were both part of a full set. 

The cut allowed for decent maneuverability, the materials complemented each other, and the colors balanced out in a way that felt… intentional. 

Understated, sure, but purposeful. 

Clean lines, soft contrast, and nothing that screamed for attention.

‘It’s a smart set,’ she admitted, almost reluctantly. ‘Quiet style points. Solid maneuverability. Nothing too flashy—but just enough contrast to count as actual fashion hunting. Definitely counts as a solid-ass set for showing up for casual runs.’

Finally, though, the waiting came to an end a few minutes later as the side door next to the podium hissed open—and in walked the professor for today’s lecture.

Thea didn’t recognize him, but the moment he stepped into the room, her brain hit pause.

The man was tall, somewhere in his mid-thirties maybe, with sharp features softened slightly by the light stubble along his jawline. 

His hair was deep brown, short at the sides and styled back with just enough messy volume on top to look artfully undone—intentionally unkempt, in that maddening way that probably took a good twenty minutes of effort every time you tried to leave your home.

But it was his outfit that hit hardest by far, Thea now began to understand.

Her high levels of Perception were only intensifying the level of scrutiny she could manage to muster at the professor’s outfit, and the details… They were impeccable.

He wore a deep navy long coat, left open to reveal a tailored black turtleneck underneath, paired with subtly textured charcoal slacks. 

The coat had a muted trim along the inside edges—barely noticeable unless you were looking. The sleeves were rolled back just enough to show off a high-end, just somehow antique-looking watch and a few sleek bands on one wrist, without it seeming flashy. 

Everything about him was thoroughly polished, yet utterly relaxed. 

Nothing looked forced, nothing looked loud. 

It was confident and effortless at the same time. 

Annoyingly perfect in a way that Thea couldn’t even properly place.

Thea stared for several seconds too long.

‘He knew exactly what he was doing when he told us to come in casual clothes,’ she thought, narrowing her eyes slightly in suspicion. ‘What even is that—relaxed high-fashion academic? Battle-professor chic? How the hell do you even categorize that…?’

She wasn’t sure whether she respected him or wanted to fight him, but either way, he had her full attention now.

The professor reached the center of the podium with a few unhurried steps, let his gaze drift calmly across the room, and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Morning, Recruits,” he said, voice smooth and calm, like he had all the time in the galaxy and no intention of wasting any of it. “My name’s Professor Cael Harrow. I’ll be running your UHF 101 lecture today and the follow-ups for the rest of the year—assuming none of you run screaming to Major Quinn or Captain Cross by the end of the first ten minutes.”

There was the faintest curve of a smirk on his lips as a few chuckles scattered through the hall.

He gave the room a small nod, then continued. “Now, normally, this lecture would’ve happened before the Assessment. You know—when you were still confused, utterly terrified, and blissfully unaware of how deep in the void you were all about to get tossed.” 

His eyes scanned the room again, this time with a little more sharpness behind the casual tone. “Unfortunately, the Sovereign’s timetable for this cycle was… Let’s just say compressed. And apparently no one listens to me about scheduling. Figures, right?”

He shrugged one shoulder in a deliberately lazy way, the kind of movement that made it clear he wasn’t apologizing. “Point is, I think pushing this lecture until after the Assessment was a mistake. But, well—'nother battle for another day, yeah?”

He stepped forward, resting one hand on the edge of the podium.

“Let’s get a few things outta the way first: This class isn’t about the history of the UHF. I’m not here to give you a sermon about its founding principles, and I’m definitely not going to bore you with any tenets unless they’re directly relevant to the Allbright System. UHF 101 is not philosophy. It’s practical. It’s about how the UHF interfaces with the Allbright System. How policy meets practice. How Marines like you get built, managed, evaluated—and sometimes thrown under a bus made of data, if it becomes necessary for the Faction to survive.”

A few Recruits shifted in their seats. 

Thea just tilted her head, intrigued by the brutally blunt openness.

“You’re going to hear some things that might not be in the official documentation,” Harrow continued. “Because I don’t do lectures the same way as most folks around here. Mine are free-form. Guided chaos, if you will. I’ll cover what I need to cover, but the shape this takes?” 

He tapped a finger lightly against the podium, tap-tap, “It depends on what you ask. So speak up. If you’re confused, curious, or just little nosy fuckers—ask. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned about the UHF, it’s this, and that’ll be your first thing to note down on those cute data-pads you all brought: The stuff they don’t go out of their way to tell you is usually the part that matters most.”

He paused, looking around again.

“Oh, and one more thing.” His brow lifted slightly, voice dipping into that more relaxed cadence from the start again. “I tend to repeat the word ‘right’ a lot when I’m warming up a point. Just… something to get used to. Doesn’t mean I’m asking for agreement—just means my brain’s shifting gears. You’ll live.”

With that, he cracked his neck once, then leaned back against the edge of the podium, arms crossed.

“So… Let’s get started, right? First order of call: The Challenge System. What’s it all about, how does it work, why was it such a big deal at the Awards Ceremony…”

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[Wolf Lord+ | Draft] Volume 2 - Chapter 41 - UHF 101: Challenges & Aces

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------------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) -------------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Welcome to the draft release of Volume 2 - Chapter 41 - UHF 101: Challenges & Aces for y'all.

As always, a quick reminder that this chapter is still in the process of being workshopped by me and that this is simply the first-draft.

And also: Please do not read the chapters here on Patreon, but go for the googledoc, .pdf or .epub instead. Patreon butchers all forms of formatting and you're missing out on easier and more enjoyable reading experiences.

------

HEAVILY EXPERIMENTAL CHAPTER!

Trying to make the lectures not too dry and boring, so throwing in some timeskips, PoV changes, etc.

Let me know how this one feels!

------

I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the link to the chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1VTB6XYRWKs2XPcdaL_cGeJwVZTPaXG19aMjtXs-gfXc/edit?usp=sharing

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Volume 2 - Chapter 41 - UHF 101: Challenges & Aces

JUNO VESARI (opening remarks):
"Welcome back, listeners. In this follow-up to our ever-popular segment on the UHF Challenge System, we once again bring you direct voices from within the ranks—raw, unfiltered perspectives from Recruits and Privates aboard the Recruit and Main-Force Transport Vessels in the fleet. 

This week, we’re stationed aboard the Imperator of Deserts.

Whether eyeing a coveted Alpha slot, holding the line in Beta, or observing from the sidelines, every voice tells part of the story. So let’s hear what they had to say, shall we?"

—

PRIVATE LIAN YU, Squad: “Vespitula”, Support, Unchallenged:
"Oh, it's cool, I guess. Gotta be kinda scary though, no? Like—one day you're eatin’ your lunch, next thing you know, someone calls your role and now you’re in the shit, having to prepare to stand on the field gettin’ your face wrecked by someone with three Gold-rarity Abilities and a personal grudge—or just a whole bunch of drive. I just… try to stay low and train. Ain’t ready to step in that kinda ring yet. Maybe next Assessment."

—

RECRUIT MIRA SAAD, Squad: “Onigiri”, Offensive Heavy, Two-Time Challenger (Unsuccessful):
"Honestly? It's rough. I’ve challenged twice for Beta already. Both times, I thought I was ready. And I was—on paper. But paper burns quick when you’re up against someone who’s been in serious squad formations for several months longer than you have. Still, no regrets. Learned more in those fights than any class the UHF threw at us. Next time? I’ll win."

—

PRIVATE HENRY LIMAR, Floater, Support (Mechanic):
"Look, ain't nobody challenging or being challenged by Mechanics. We're the glue behind the guns, man—ehh woman. But that whole Challenge System? It's stressful even just watchin’ it, honestly. You see someone train for three months, build their whole loadout, work their ass off in the Assessment, then train for another month straight. Finally they get into the Challenge and… then get bodied in twenty seconds. Still, it's fair, I guess. Brutally fair. Best people rise. The rest keep tryin’. Nothing else to be said about it."

—

PRIVATE JULES HARVEY, Floater, Offensive Heavy (Self-Identified ‘Benchwarmer’):
"I train. I eat. I run simulations. I’ve written five full loadout guides for Offensive Heavies. Am I ever gonna challenge for one? Maybe not. But if someone else fails and there’s an opening in one of the top squads? AND I managed to get a pass from a class or Assessment? I’ll be there with my homework and my medkit. Not all of us gotta swing a hammer to make a dent."

—

PRIVATE ELI VERAN, Squad: “Falsetto”, Defensive Heavy, Unchallenged (Yet):
"I watch the roster shifts every night before bed. Like clockwork. It’s inspiring... and completely terrifying. I train six hours a day, every day, and I still don’t know if I’m good enough to challenge anyone. But I’m planning to. Soon. I just need the right window. One clean opening. That’s all it takes, right? So… Maybe next Assessment, or when a Prof thinks I’m ready and hands me a slip."

—

PRIVATE ELIAH MORDEN, Squad: Alpha, Recon (Two Successful Defenses):
"First time I got challenged, I puked three times before stepping into the first sim. Twice more before the second. Wasn't scared of losing though—was scared of not being good enough, y’see? You don't realize how much that damn place means until someone tries to take it from you. Now? I dare them all to fucking try. I’ve bled for this Emperor-forsaken spot. Let 'em all come and break themselves on me."

—

PRIVATE RUSSEL JANG, Squad: Beta, Offensive Heavy, Former Floater:
"I challenged Beta’s Offensive Heavy role last cycle. Got through by the skin of my teeth. Was on fire the whole fight—dodging, taunting, dragging half the sim’s aggro. Walked out missing a leg, an arm and my entire armour was broken beyond recognition, but I walked out. Craziest part? Next day, someone challenged me. The win didn’t bump my points enough to get above the people that also had an eye on the spot, but hadn’t gotten a proper Challenge Slip. But when I unexpectedly took it, they were technically above me in the ratings, so… Yeah. No rest. Just relentless fucking pressure."

—

JUNO VESARI (closing remarks):
“In the UHF, prestige is not given. It is contested, earned, and defended under fire. 

Whether they succeed or fall, Marines who engage with the Challenge System do more than shape their squads—they shape themselves.

Stay vigilant. Stay hungry. 

And if you’re aiming for a Named Squad, remember: The challenge begins long before the Committee calls your name, and continues to persist long after…”

—

[GalNet Archive – Citizen’s Voice | Weekly Segment: Challenge Accepted]
Originally aired: 938 PFC
Segment Host: Juno Vesari, UHF Media Liaison and Podcast Host

=======

=======

PoV: Tiberius Soren

“Yes, once a Challenge concludes, the loser gains immunity from any further Challenges until the next quarter,” Professor Harrow explained, his tone light with amusement. “The winner, however? No such luck. It wouldn’t exactly be fair if someone in Alpha Squad, for example, got challenged once, won, and then got to coast through the rest of the quarter untouched, right?”

He gave a short laugh to himself before continuing. “No, no. Immunity’s for the one who falls short. The winner has to keep defending their slot until every last Challenge has been resolved—or until they lose. It’s stressful, absolutely. But that’s kind of the point. That’s what separates the best from the rest of you lot: Whether or not they can take the pressure and hold the line.”

Tiberius jotted the note down on his datapad, nodding slightly to himself. 

It wasn’t exactly surprising. He’d already assumed that the Challenge System wouldn’t hand out protection to the winners—not in a place as competitive as the UHF.

‘Makes sense. It’s not like anyone can just throw their name into the ring for a top slot anyway…’ he thought, tapping his stylus against the corner of his pad. ‘To even Challenge an Alpha member, you’d have to either outperform them in an Assessment, outrank them once the full Recruit ratings go public after the second Assessment, or somehow get your hands on a Challenge Pass from a professor…’

Which, from everything he’d learned about the UHF so far, probably bordered on a downright mythical occurrence. 

The UHF as a whole was nothing if not fanatical about its regulations. 

Even the existence of a professor-sanctioned bypass was already surprising. 

The idea that such a Pass would be even remotely common? Absolutely laughable.

Still, the fact that they existed at all?

‘That’s worth remembering.’ He scratched his jaw, brushing his fingers through the rough stubble on his chin as his eyes flicked back to his notes.

Professor Harrow had been lecturing for about half an hour now, and most of that had gone straight into the Challenge System’s structure, mindset, and regulations. Which made sense—based on the tension in the room, it was clearly what most Recruits were here for anyway.

‘Glad he doesn’t waste time with needless fluff. Straight to the good parts… Can definitely respect that.’

Tiberius had even made a point of sitting a few seats away from Roland. 

His squadmate had many talents—studying quietly during a lecture wasn’t one of them. 

And with how dense Professor Harrow’s explanation of the Challenge System had been so far, Tiberius wasn’t about to let himself miss a single word.

‘If I want to Challenge anyone this Assessment cycle, I need the full rules rundown... No gaps, no guesswork.’

From everything Harrow had laid out so far, he’d already started identifying a couple of viable paths—possible angles he could work with. 

But one route had become immediately and irrevocably closed, almost immediately.

Challenging Alpha Squad’s Recon/Sniper? Guaranteed suicide.

He’d initially thought it might be possible—under the right sim conditions, with a scenario tailored just right, he might have had a shot. But after Professor Harrow had broken down how the scoring for Recon/Sniper worked, Tiberius had tossed the idea out straight away.

It wasn’t necessarily that the scoring was in any way different from the other roles, of course, but rather what the actual Mandatory Sub-Roles for that particular spot included. 

His eyes flicked toward the back of the lecture hall, to where Thea McKay sat with Karania Faulkner beside her. As always. 

She wasn’t in uniform for once, and he barely registered it until a half-second later, when it occurred to him that the outfit wasn’t half bad. Pale blouse, dark pants, nothing flashy. 

Looked like she was finally starting to get comfortable in her skin—at least more so than she had been earlier when he had entered the hall and saw her continuously tugging at her clothes like they were booby-trapped.

Still. Fashion wasn’t his game.

“She’s a real fucking monster for that role, isn’t she…” he muttered under his breath, barely audible even to himself.

He’d already known that, deep inside. Everyone had. 

After the Assessment, no one with even half a functioning cortex could pretend she’d just lucked her way into Alpha Squad. 

She hadn’t just won her spot—she’d buried the competition. 

And not just Sovereign Recruits. Other ships too. And a good chunk of the Privates as well.

But even with all that in mind, Tiberius had still held onto the idea that there were parts of the Role where he could outperform her. That with the right sim setup, under the right scoring parameters, he could land a convincing enough win to Challenge her properly.

And honestly? He still believed that.

The problem was, those particular strengths weren’t part of the official scoring metrics for the Recon/Sniper Role. 

At least, not in a way that mattered when it came to passing the Challenge.

His notes on the subject were a mess by now. 

Sections had been scratched out, redrawn, restructured, and marked up with half-legible shorthand. There were at least three different question marks next to several entries and a cluster of half-sentences near the bottom that he had planned to turn into actual questions—questions he’d wanted to ask Professor Harrow directly.

But by the time he’d looked up, half those questions had already been answered by other Recruits tossing out their thoughts from across the room.

Still, the base information was solid. The structure of the Challenge Scoring was clear enough now, even if it wasn’t exactly what he’d hoped for.

Tiberius narrowed his eyes at the datapad in his hands, reading over the bulleted section one more time:

Recon/Sniper Mandatory Sub-Roles:

• Advanced Recon: The skill to locate, track, and assess enemy positions before the rest of the squad makes contact, as well as spotting traps, ambushes and enemy-prepared installations ahead of time.

• Long Range Accuracy: The capacity to reliably take out high-value targets at distances over 1km.

• Tactical Communication & Spotting: The ability to relay enemy positions, squad routes, and priority threats with clarity and speed.

• Stealth & Infiltration: The know-how to approach or reposition without detection, both in urban and natural environments.

Recon/Sniper Optional Sub-Roles:

• Counter-Recon/Sniping Capability: Specialized training in detecting, out-positioning, and eliminating enemy Recon/Snipers.

• Forward Sabotage: Ability to breach or disable key infrastructure before a unified assault.

• Climbing/Traversal Expertise: Proficiency in vertical and horizontal advanced movement, urban mobility, or difficult terrain to access otherwise unreachable vantage points.

• Escape & Evasion: Personal survival skillset allowing solo extraction when separated from squad or under heavy pursuit.

• Mobile Firing Solutions: Skill with on-the-move combat, snapshots, and close-range fallback weapons when forced out of position.

• Distraction & Disruption: Capability for deployment of individual strategies or psychological squad-tactics to confuse and split enemy attention.

• Trap Setting & Disarming: The capacity to place or identify and disarm traps that manipulate movement or delay pursuit.

• Solo Operative Viability: Ability to operate fully independently for extended periods without resupply or direct support.

“Haaa,” a sigh slipped out as Tiberius scanned the notes again, frustration tugging at his brow.

He’d already done the math—painfully, thoroughly—and marked off every single sub-role where he’d thought Thea McKay might, or was very likely going to, outperform him. 

Which had left him staring at a list where every box was crossed out, save for two: “Mobile Firing Solutions” and “Trap Setting & Disarming”.

And even for that first one he hadn’t dared give himself a clear edge on. Or any edge, really.

Just a shaky “40/60” scribbled next to it.

Tiberius knew his strengths. 

He was bulkier, stronger, and far better equipped to push through close and mid-range encounters with sheer brute force. 

If it came down to a one-on-one at thirty meters, especially with him geared up in his vastly heavier loadouts, he was confident he had a chance at beating her with sheer stats—armour, raw Strength, weapon difference; the whole package.

But that wasn’t what the sub-role was testing.

‘It’s not about who wins a fight in a vacuum or in a one-on-one…’ he reminded himself, frowning. ‘It’s about who can maintain pressure while moving, who can keep fire consistent in dynamic environments without compromising recon integrity or wasting unnecessary amounts of time or ammo.’

Raw strength didn’t score points here. Not unless it was paired with utility and control.

And, frankly, with Thea McKay’s uncanny precognitive abilities, Tiberius was seriously doubting if he even stood a chance there. He had been very optimistic in his hopes for the simulation parameters when giving himself the 40% shot at taking her down for that sub-role.

The only other sub-role he hadn’t managed to make any real judgements on was “Trap Setting & Disarming.” 

It had a lonely question mark next to it, the last flicker of possibility. 

There hadn’t been any footage of Thea working with traps during the public feeds—none at the Awards, none in the post-Assessment releases so far.

‘But that doesn’t mean she can’t do it. Just that it wasn’t her focus in the clips they showed us…’

And that was the problem. 

Even if he had a slim edge in one or two areas, she absolutely dominated the rest. 

Her sheer level of aptitude in most of the sub-roles was beyond anything Tiberius had considered possible at their level, yet here she was… Holding onto that Alpha Squad spot with an iron-fist that would make Terra itself proud.

‘No, the Recon/Sniper role’s locked down. No getting around that. But the Squad Leader or Support roles? Those definitely have potential...’

With another low sigh, he let his gaze drift further down his notes, flipping past the headings.

Squad Leader Mandatory Sub-Roles:

• Tactical Oversight: The capacity to read the battlefield in real time and issue decisive, adaptable orders based on shifting combat dynamics.

• Command Presence: The ability to maintain control over the squad’s morale, positioning, and cohesion under pressure.

• Astute Situational Awareness: The know-how to keep a constant, accurate mental map of friendly and enemy positions, resources, mission objectives, and environmental factors.

• Strategic Adaptability: The skill to rapidly pivot when plans collapse or unexpected threats appear—often without full information. Capacity to continue directing the squad effectively even when under jamming conditions or physically separated from the Battlefield Commander or HQ.

Squad Leader Optional Sub-Roles:

• Multi-Squad Coordination: Ability to communicate and synchronize actions with allied squads or command units in real-time.

• System & UHF Interface Proficiency: High fluency in using UHF-specific and System-linked commands, tactical markers, comms channels, and live-feed analysis tools.

• Combat-Capable Command: While not required to outgun the Offensive Heavy, a Squad Leader should possess sufficient combat capabilities to be able to effectively support any other member of the Squad.

• Crisis Mediation: Skill in de-escalating internal disputes, managing emotional responses, or pre-planned prevention of Squad collapse in chain-of-command scenarios.

• Post-Mission Deconstruction: Can lead tactical after-action reviews to identify weaknesses and restructure future squad behavior.

• Fallback Authority & Expertise: In the absence of a Battlefield Commander, can temporarily assume operational control over larger units without major loss of efficiency.

For the Squad Leader position, things were already looking a lot better for Tiberius—especially since he had a far more complete picture of Sylarion’s capabilities than he did Thea McKay’s.

‘It’s lucky that even Alpha and Beta Squad’s leaders aren’t locked away in some private comms channel during the squad leader meetings… I really should thank Major Quinn for those glorified intel dumps at some point,’ he thought with a faint smirk, tapping his stylus against the edge of his datapad.

While both he and Sylarion obviously covered the mandatory sub-roles for the Squad Leader position the optional ones were where things got interesting. Thea McKay had been near-impossible to touch in her role. 

Sylarion, though? Sylarion had cracks—and not just hairline ones.

‘The most glaring weaknesses are in “Multi-Squad Coordination,” “Fallback Authority & Expertise,” and—most of all—“Combat-Capable Command.” When it comes to raw frontline performance, Sylarion ranks in the bottom twenty percent of active Squad Leaders aboard the Sovereign in my estimate... That’s a major black mark.’

He’d already run the numbers.

On paper, he had a clean 50/50 shot at winning a Challenge against Sylarion. 

It wasn’t a longshot. It was actually viable. 

The real problem—the part he hadn’t quite cracked yet—wasn’t Sylarion himself.

It was his squad. Or rather, any squad he was in.

‘The real killer is his [Direct Order] Ability… I can’t possibly match the kind of compound boost that gives when it’s applied to monsters like Isabella Itoku, Karania Faulkner, and Thea McKay, all at once... They’re already at the top of their game—add a command-tier multiplicative buff on top and there’s just no competing with that level of synergy. Not with anything I’ve got or can get right now…’

He’d gone in circles trying to solve that one problem and come up blank every time.

Still, on every other front?

He had Sylarion beat.

He was better at fighting while leading. He didn’t need to hang back or micromanage; he could direct and execute in real time. He had practical experience with multi-squad deployments, having orchestrated them multiple times during the Assessment Phase—something Sylarion himself had admitted lacking during a squad leader debrief.

And when it came to large-scale operations and tactical planning? That had been one of Tiberius’s main focuses since day one. 

He wasn’t just confident—he was certain he had the edge there.

The rest of the optional sub-roles were a mixed bag. Some might lean toward Sylarion, sure—but there were several that Tiberius knew were more up in the air.

‘All things considered… it’s not just possible. It’s doable. Maybe even likely.’

He tapped his datapad, circled Sylarion’s name twice—then underlined it.

Then he scrolled down further on his list, passing by the Offensive Heavy sub-role section—which, like the Recon/Sniper one, had been almost entirely crossed out in red; nothing there had been viable for him at this point. 

But then his eyes landed on the Support Role.

“The Support role’s a weird one, isn’t it…?” he muttered to himself, tapping the screen and zooming in slightly to get a clearer look at the sub-roles.

It was the only Role that had genuinely surprised him when Professor Harrow had broken it down earlier in the lecture.

The surprising part? There were no mandatory sub-roles for Support.

None.

Unlike every other UHF-designated Role within the Marine Corps, the Support slot was built entirely from optional sub-roles—plus one major twist: any mandatory sub-role from other Roles could also be pulled into its overall evaluation.

In effect, it was like a wildcard slot. 

A single Role designed to overlap with every other member of the squad and provide additional coverage wherever needed. Recon. Defense. Offense. Command. 

All of it, wrapped up into a single designation.

That kind of flexibility was dangerous—and full of opportunity.

Tiberius leaned back slightly, raising an eyebrow as he processed that again.

‘Didn’t even have Desmond Reimart on my radar before… But with how wide the Support category stretches, he might actually be the best possible target. Sylarion’s a gamble. Desmond Reimart, though? He might be the path of least resistance...’

The Drone Operator of Alpha Squad didn’t have any standout abilities, at least not that Tiberius had been able to uncover. 

He wasn’t firmly locked into the squad’s core either—not like Sylarion or Thea McKay. 

No specific anchor Role. No real commanding presence.

Tiberius scratched thoughtfully at his chin, eyes flicking over his handwritten notes. 

He hadn’t even bothered writing out the full list of optional sub-roles for Support. 

There were just too many. 

But he had jotted down the ones that either he or Desmond could reasonably fulfill.

Out of the twelve he'd marked?

Seven went to him. Five, to Desmond.

‘And on top of that… I cover more than three times as many mandatory sub-roles from other core Roles. That should definitely count for something with the committee.’

And yet, even with that clear advantage in mind, there was one thing that gave him serious pause. One unknown that kept buzzing around the back of his mind:

The Drone Operator problem.

Tiberius had spent the last week digging through every scrap of intel he could find about the members of Alpha Squad, in order to figure out his whole Challenge situation, which had proven particularly prudent—especially since Professor Harrow had just confirmed that the cutoff date for Challenges was two weeks post-Assessment. 

That left about five days to make a move.

In the process, he’d stumbled on dozens of cached GalNet articles buried in the Sovereign’s intranet. Every single one of them praised Drone Operators to high heavens—especially higher-Tiered ones—as some of the most dangerously flexible builds in the entire Galactic War.

And they weren’t fringe opinions or fan blogs. 

These had been interviews with veteran officers, post-deployment breakdowns, tactical commentary. 

The kind of stuff that mattered.

‘If Desmond manages to stretch his Assessment rewards the right way… even partially… he could already be fielding enough utility drones to cover half the sub-roles I’m relying on beating him out on… One well-upgraded support drone, a recon model, something with AI-assisted comms or line-of-sight relay tech… It’s bound to add up damn quick with the sheer number of Optional sub-roles the Support role has...’

Tiberius frowned as he stared down at Desmond Reimart’s name on his pad, the stylus hovering.

‘I only get one shot before the next Assessment window. If I misjudge this, I’m out of the running completely. And a halfway-realized Drone Operator with the right toys… could dismantle my odds in minutes.’

He didn’t cross the name out. Nor did he circle it.

But he did draw a question mark next to it. 

Big. Bold. And underlined.

Just then, a line from the ongoing lecture broke through Tiberius’ thoughts and snapped his attention forward again.

“Great question!” Professor Harrow said brightly, a wide grin spreading across his face. “And one that’s perfect for steering us away from the more Challenge-centric talk we’ve been buried in for the past half hour, right?”

Tiberius looked up as the professor began his usual slow, deliberate circle around the podium—a habit Tiberius had already clocked as a sort of ‘here comes the long speech’ indicator. 

He leaned back slightly in his chair, datapad still in his lap, stylus hovering mid-air.

“The question,” Professor Harrow continued, glancing toward the crowd, “for those of you who weren’t paying attention or maybe didn’t catch what the good Recruit in the third row asked—was this: What’s even the point of the Challenges, when the ranking boards already show who’s the best at each Role?”

He paused briefly, then smirked.

“Now, the answer to that is about as complicated as you’d expect from a military bureaucracy, but lucky for me—and unlucky for all of you—I’m gonna shamelessly use that open-ended mess of a question to pivot us toward the next part of the lecture that I was going to cover anyway.”

A ripple of laughter moved through the room.

Tiberius couldn’t help but crack a small smile. 

The Professor had this way of being honest and cutting while still somehow keeping things light. It wasn’t showboating, not exactly—more like controlled chaos, wrapped in charm and delivered with a scalpel.

“One of the reasons,” Professor Harrow said, having resumed his pacing, “is that the UHF wants you to strive for greatness. Over and over again. You get put in a room with Stellar Republic drones and yeah, you’ll learn to shoot straight and follow orders. But that’s not growth. Not real growth.”

He stopped, turning to face the rows of Recruits more directly now.

“We want you fighting people who are just as good as you are. People breathing down your neck. Pushing you. Forcing you to adapt. Because that’s where the real stuff happens. That’s where the sharp edge of your instincts gets truly honed.”

He let the words settle… then added, quieter, but more pointed:

“Because we don’t want you to be Marines.”

That landed with weight. 

Tiberius caught several heads turning around the room. 

Confused glances. Raised brows. A few whispers.

Professor Harrow didn’t speak for a moment—letting the silence linger long enough to turn uncomfortable.

Tiberius didn’t need the explanation. 

He’d been thinking the same thing from the moment he stepped into his first briefing. 

‘If the UHF just wanted Marines, they wouldn’t be limiting their recruitment drives as heavily...’

“We want you to be Aces,” Harrow finally said, voice calm but razor-sharp. “You get it? Marines are a dime a dozen. We lose hundreds of thousands every month across the galaxy. It’s a harsh truth, but it’s the truth.”

He swept a hand across the room, pointing a finger briefly into the air for emphasis.

“Tens of thousands get Zero’ed on every front—on every ship, every station, every campaign across the borders of our territories. And not because they weren’t good Marines. But because being a good Marines isn’t enough anymore. We don’t need bodies who know how to pull a trigger. With only a couple decades left in this war, we need something else, right?”

He paused again, this time locking eyes with several students in the front rows.

“We need Aces. People who can change the outcome of a battle on their own.”

Then he came to a full stop at the center of the podium, hands loosely folded in front of him, his posture suddenly formal in a way that made the room quiet down all over again.

“Now. What are Aces, exactly?”

For a moment, no one said anything—half the room unsure if it was rhetorical or not.

Then, slowly, a few Recruits began to shift upright in their seats, postures straightening as if they’d just realized this wasn’t a rhetorical question after all.

One hand went up near the front—hesitant, but steady.

Professor Harrow pointed with an easy flick of the fingers, his head tilting slightly as his eyes locked on the boy. “Go ahead.”

The young man cleared his throat. “Aren’t… Aren’t they the ones that get the Ace Slots on Battlefields? Like… the higher-Tiered Marines that act as heroes or something? The ones that help turn the tide?”

A sharp, double-tongue click came from Harrow—something he’d done a few times before. 

Not quite a “tsk,” not quite a pause, but more of a habit that signaled his gears were turning.

“Those, dear Recruit, would be what we call Battlefield Aces,” Professor Harrow replied, his voice light but quick to correct. “It’s a bit of a terminology minefield, if I’m entirely honest... You’re not wrong—but you’re not entirely right either.”

He walked over to the side of the podium and tapped at his pad, throwing a projection up on the large datascreen at the back wall. A crude diagram bloomed to life—circles, arrows, numbers, and a few hastily drawn stick figures, all scrawled in handwriting that looked like it had been copied straight from a mad scientist’s notebook.

“There are two types of Aces in the UHF,” he went on, tapping at two separate parts of his chart, even as he kept talking. “There’s your standard Ace—someone who outperforms in practically every way, across their specialization, role, coordination, situational judgment, the works. That’s the goal of this program. That’s what you’re here to become.”

Then he tapped the other side. “Battlefield Aces, on the other hand, are… limited. And I mean that in the strictest technical sense. Their number is capped, agreed upon in advance by both Factions in any given Battlefield, before the first shots are even fired.”

He zoomed in on a section labeled “Tier 1 Battlefield,” a few red circles highlighting certain names.

“Imagine a Tier 1 deployment. That’s what you’ll be seeing the most of during Digital Missions, the Assessments, and, if you make it, your early deployments as actual Privates. Tier 1 is where the bulk of combat happens. It’s the mud, the blood, the front line, right?”

He looked out across the crowd, letting that hang for a beat before saying it plainly.

“And most of you? That’s where you’ll stay for your entire life.”

The murmur that followed wasn’t loud—but it was sharp. 

A quiet ripple of disbelief and unspoken insult passed through the gathered Recruits, several turning to look at one another like someone had just slapped them in the face.

Tiberius, for his part, barely blinked. 

He shifted slightly in his seat and sighed through his nose, already annoyed by the sudden wave of shock from his fellow Recruits.

‘It’s just math,’ he thought, glancing at the others. ‘How do they not get that if tens of thousands of Marines get Zero’ed every day, the vast, vast majority of them are Tier 1? You think Tier 2s are disposable? Tier 3s? It’d be suicide trying to run this whole war machine that way.’

The room was still buzzing, low whispers crackling like static across the hall, but Professor Harrow didn’t bother waiting for it to die down. 

He clicked his tongue again—twice, sharp—and zoomed the diagram back out with a swipe of his hand before continuing, his voice steady and just loud enough to cut through the noise.

“Generally speaking,” he said, pacing along the edge of the podium again, “Tier 1 Battlefields come with what we call a Battlefield Ace +2 modifier. Which means that any slot granted the Battlefield Ace designation—however many the Factions agree on for that engagement—can hold up to a Tier-3 Prime Power Participant. Marine, Soldier, Specialist, doesn’t matter what you call them. You could have a “Dog-Man” in that slot, and it would be perfectly within the rules.”

He paused just long enough to let the chuckles settle before adding, “Now here’s the kicker: All Battlefield Aces are Aces. But not all Aces are Battlefield Aces.”

The diagram shifted again on the screen behind him, forming two new shapes—two circles. 

One was massive, taking up most of the display. The other was tiny, barely the size of a firing pin’s head by comparison.

“This big one?” He tapped the larger circle. “These are your Aces. There’s a dozen or two of them per drive, per ship, give or take. We call someone an Ace when they embody the pinnacle of performance within their role—or a cluster of sub-roles—in a given operational environment, right?”

His eyes scanned the crowd, then drifted toward the back of the room.

“Take our very own Aces sitting with us here today as prime examples.”

Tiberius didn’t turn, though he could feel the shift in the room as a wave of heads swiveled toward the back. He already knew who Professor Harrow had pointed directly at.

“Our two Alpha Squad members in today’s lecture—thank you both for showing up, by the way—are prime Aces. Top of their roles. The Assessment made that clear enough.”

He clapped once—sharp—snapping the room’s attention back toward the front, and gestured toward the smaller circle. “This tiny one here? These are the Battlefield Aces. A fraction of a fraction. They’re the chosen few, handpicked out of the massive number of Aces by the brass to represent the absolute peak of what the UHF has to offer. They’re not just Marines. They’re symbols, right? The tip of the spear, forged out of everything the System and the Marine Corps can offer.”

Then, with a theatrical sweep of his hand, he gestured again toward the back row. “Now, will these two women become Battlefield Aces someday? Who knows. That part’s still unwritten. But if you ask me?” 

He gave a slow shrug, letting a knowing grin tug at the corner of his mouth. “I wouldn’t bet against them. It’s not every cycle that a Recruit comes out of an initial Assessment with that many medals. Especially medals that impressive. Let alone two.”

That earned another round of murmurs, scattered whispers of disbelief and curiosity rippling through the seated Recruits. 

Tiberius rolled his eyes with a quiet scoff.

‘He’s buttering them up again. Feeding them just enough to keep their jaws slack.’ He leaned forward slightly in his seat, watching the others react like they hadn’t seen it coming. ‘But that’s not really his fault. They’re letting it happen… Morons.’

Professor Harrow clapped again, louder this time, clearing the mental fog in the room like a gunshot.

“If you put half as much effort into learning and reflecting as you do whining whenever I deliver a truth that stings,” he said, tone dry but amused, “you might just earn the right to be called an Ace yourselves. Maybe even a Battlefield Ace, if you’re particularly studious.”

Tiberius watched him smile—wider now, fully in control of the moment—and felt that quiet sting of respect that came from recognizing someone dragging the room into a perfect ambush like that.

‘Classic.’

“Now, when it comes to Battlefield Aces, they vary wildly in role and purpose, right?” 

Professor Harrow began again, his tone shifting slightly as he walked to center stage. “Some are strategic planners, others are pure-blooded combat monsters. Some are field medics, or infiltration experts, or logistics miracles. It all depends on the battlefield’s demands, and what the brass deems most valuable to drop in like a sledgehammer, right?”

He waved his hand, shutting off the diagram behind him with a flick. 

The soft hum of the projector faded as he stepped into the open, no podium, no barrier—just him, talking like he was explaining things to a group of half-curious friends instead of a room full of Recruits.

“Now—like I said earlier—the terminology? Absolute nightmare. Battlefield Aces, on the actual battlefield, usually aren’t called ‘Battlefield Aces.’ People just say ‘Aces’.” 

He looked around the room, as if daring someone to challenge that point.

“In most situations, that’s fine. Because most of the chatter planet-side is about squads, not individuals. Unit positioning, objectives, mission flow. No one’s sitting around debating who counts as a proper Ace in the middle of a firefight.”

He held up a finger, pacing again.

“So, to lock this down nice and tight: Aces are the best at their roles—or clusters of sub-roles—in a given combat environment. Battlefield Aces are still Aces, but they’re the handpicked, specially authorized kind. The elite-of-the-elite types who get their names on mission briefings and kill lists. They’re your tide-turners, right? The ones Command drops in when they need to say, ‘This battle isn’t over yet.’ Or… I guess ‘This battle is about to be over,’ depending on which ones they send in.”

He paused, let that sink in, then gave a pointed look across the room. “And when you’re on a Battlefield, and someone says ‘Ace,’ they almost always mean Battlefield Ace. Context is king. Clear enough?”

Tiberius nodded, arms folded across his chest, but he could already see the confusion on a few faces around him—Recruits blinking slowly, eyebrows furrowed, still trying to puzzle out the categories like it was some kind of trick question.

He sighed and leaned back with a low groan, one hand dragging down his face.

‘This is gonna be a long lecture…’

Right on cue, one of the Recruits spoke up—loudly enough to pierce the rising murmur. “So, uh… if a Battlefield Ace meets an Ace on a battlefield… what do they call each other?”

A second of stunned silence passed.

Tiberius closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

‘No, really. This is going to take for-fucking-ever, isn’t it…?’

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[ND] Chapter 137 - Downloads, Downloads, Downloads

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---------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ----------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Chapter 132 - Probatio has just released on RR with no major changes.

For the Fixers, this chapter has seen no changes.

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Some people will hate this chapter, but that's why I made it double as long, to fit all the downloads into ONE chapter instead of two.

If you hate the downloads and Sera's thinking on things, skip this one, you will miss nothing.

For everyone else that enjoys this part: Enjoy the double-length feature!

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I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the googledoc to the actual Chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1pModLVTu9cbarLa-kt_Bxtgw_jLZeggrziRxKCwuqHg/edit?usp=sharing

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Chapter 137 - Downloads, Downloads, Downloads

Returning to the apartment felt weirdly nostalgic.

‘I literally left like… three hours ago. How is this already giving “homecoming” vibes?’ I thought, cracking a small smile as I keyed the door shut behind me.

To be fair, a lot had changed in those few hours.

I was now officially part of the OPN. An actual Operator. 

I had contacts—Cryo, Pina, and Mouse—though I still owed the latter a Blip of [Venombite] at some point. 

More importantly, however, I had access. Freedom. To jobs, to Fixers, to opportunities beyond the walls of Delta. To choice as a whole.

Sure, I technically could’ve left before—but back then, there hadn’t really been a reason to. 

No leads. No momentum. No Creds. 

Just raw risk. 

But now? I could hit up the Task board, chase down work through a Fixer, or even walk into the Valedictorian and see who needed a job done. No more waiting for life to simply happen to me as I tried my best to work my stats up.

That rush of potential freedom hit. And it hit hard.

“Also helps that the air doesn’t taste like spicy smog and burnt synth-oil in here,” I muttered, already halfway out of my clothes on the way to the shower. Sweat, dried blood, and enough nervous adrenaline to bottle—none of that was going to go over well with the family. 

Especially not Valeria.

“Haaa…” I let out a long breath as the hot water poured over me.

It figured. 

That would’ve been way too simple.

What should’ve been the biggest hurdle—a once-in-a-lifetime favor from Vega, a shot at impressing an Operator like Cryo, and fast-tracking into the OPN—ended up being the easy part.

I was going to have to face Valeria. And ask her for a favor. And that favor would involve going directly against her express wishes: Asking for Rina’s contact ID, so I could try to dig into the parts of Sera’s past life she wanted buried.

“Easy peasy. Not gonna be a big deal at all. Just ask nicely and she’ll comply, right? No reason this should go bad at all,” I muttered to myself, fully aware I was spewing premium-grade bullshit.

My one sliver of hope was Oliver. That he’d help up his end of the bargain and done something to prep Valeria for this ask—whatever “preparing her” looked like in his world—and that he’d actually back me up when the time came. 

Ideally with words. Possibly with some piece of flak-armor.

But that was a later problem. Right now? I had something else to focus on—my Skills.

‘Alright. Priority one: Get [CQC] and [Contortion] leveled up so I can spend those Perk Points. [Martial Arts] is a Level 4 download, so maybe hold off on that for now… [{Anima Razor}]’s only Level 2, but it’s still Anima-related, and who knows what kind of mental haymaker that’s gonna swing at me when it hits.’

I was finally trying to be a bit smarter about my Skill downloads. 

No more cramming five upgrades in a row and wondering why I was almost vomiting in corners from the pain and tripping over my own feet for hours afterward.

Instead, I’d space them out. Let my brain breathe between installs. Maybe, maybe, I’d get through the day without having to lie on the floor twitching like a broken Synth.

I pulled up the System Interface, navigated to the Skills menu, and sat down on the shower floor—just in case. 

Then, with a deep breath, I accepted the [Contortion] Level 3 download.

The moment I confirmed the download, a rush of pressure surged through my skull—like a balloon inflating behind my eyes—then popped into clarity.

It was like someone had injected a year’s worth of practice directly into my nervous system—hours upon hours of stretching, controlled breathing, pain management, anatomical mapping, and practical drills, all compressed into a few overwhelming seconds of raw data shot right into my brain and muscles.

My joints pulsed with this strange… awareness, like they’d just been oiled and re-socketed. 

I could feel the difference between overextension and safe range instinctively—no thinking required. My shoulder blades suddenly knew how to flatten properly, my ribcage how to compress just enough to slide between narrow gaps. 

I suddenly understood how to dive through a one-foot-wide pipe with arms pressed flat against my sides, chin tucked perfectly to avoid scraping.

The names of poses and transitions flashed across my mind like subtitles to a documentary I hadn’t watched but now remembered intimately. 

I knew I could now pull off something called a standing drop into a contortion bridge—basically a backbend with a mid-air twist and no visible prep, as I had just learned—and recover from it into a low crawl without losing all of my momentum. 

I now also knew how to execute a dynamic elbow thread—twisting both arms behind my back, snaking one through the crook of the other, then popping out of it like a human pretzel mid-roll—which, frankly, I didn’t know how useful that was really going to be, like ever.

But it was something I learned.

My breathing patterns had adapted too, however. 

Which at first was a bit odd, but became second nature almost immediately.

I now knew when to exhale to loosen abdominal tension, when to inhale to brace certain spinal segments during risky transitions, and how to minimize pressure across sensitive joints during long holds.

Even my posture had changed—my spine sat more fluidly upright, hips relaxed but ready to spring into action at every moment. Every joint felt… unlocked for a lack of a better word.

Like my muscles had been locked at sixty percent their whole life—tight, stubborn, just barely doing what I asked of them—and someone had finally cut the safety wires. 

Everything moved smoother now. Deeper range, less resistance. 

Like my joints were finally doing what they’d been built to do, not just what I’d forced them to manage against their will.

“Whoa…” I let the breath slip out, stunned at the difference.

‘Definitely one of the more instantly noticeable downloads,’ I thought, flexing my spine in place with a grin. ‘Is this why people always swore by yoga in my old life…? Was this what they meant? Should’ve listened, maybe. This is absolutely nuts.’

I twisted gently on the wet floor of the shower, testing my limbs. 

Even the smallest motions felt… ridiculously fluid and controlled. 

Like I could fold myself into a suitcase and still walk it off after. 

With just a slight bit of effort, I pushed up into a handstand, palms pressing into the tile, body straight and steady even in the thoroughly cramped space. 

Balance didn’t even feel like a concern—just instinct. [Elemental Balance] wasn’t even helping me out here, as I wasn’t in a combat stance. 

This was just pure [Contortion] goodness coupled with my [Body] stat of 5, as it definitely carried its weight here too, providing the raw strength to hold these poses. 

But the flexibility and control? That was all [Contortion 3], and it was both exhilarating and a little terrifying alike.

‘Didn’t even know people were supposed to be able to move like this…’

I slowly dropped myself back down onto the floor, still breathing a lot more calmly and deeply than expected, and flicked open the Perk selection screen. 

[Coil Spring] [Requirement: Level 3 [Contortion]]
Cobrastriiiiiike! You gain the ability to contort and compress your body in unique ways, significantly enhancing the height and distance of your jumps from a crouched, coiled position.

[Narrow Twist] [Requirement: Level 3 [Contortion]]
Dear god, they’re like a fucking slime! You gain the ability to twist and contort your body to slip through the smallest of openings, navigating spaces others would consider utterly impassable.

[Slippery Body] [Requirement: Level 3 [Contortion]]
Nobody can keep you locked down! You gain the ability to wriggle free from nearly any physical restraint or hold actively placed upon you by somebody else.

[Escape Artist] [Requirement: Level 3 [Contortion]]
Houdini would be proud! You gain the ability to escape from most bonds or restraints with ease—only high-tier equipment resists your escape attempts.

I’d done a bit more thinking on the walk back to Delta—and then again on the elevator ride up to the apartment—about which Perks I actually wanted to grab for [Contortion] and [CQC]. I wasn’t flying totally blind anymore, at least not like earlier when the lists had first hit me like a brick to the face. 

Which, to be fair, was entirely my own fault, in a way. Nothing was really stopping me from checking out all the Perk Trees once I reached Level 1 in a Skill, after all. 

But considering how much mental overhead I was already juggling… It wasn’t exactly something I wanted to deal with, until it became important enough to worry about.

‘[Slippery Body] is probably the first to go, but mostly because it’s the one I thought about the most. It sounds cool in theory—evasion, grappling resistance, all that jazz—but in practice? I’ll just die slightly more quickly. If a ‘Borg gets their hands on me in my current state, I’ll still only be one solid squeeze away from becoming a protein smoothie. Grapple-resistance doesn’t exactly mean much when your bones snap like twigs and your skin bursts like a waterballoon at the slightest application of cybernetic force… Once I become a bit more durable, it’ll be a lot more solid of a pick—probably even the best one in the whole selection. But for now? Definite pass.’

[Coil Spring] got the axe next. The mobility bonus could’ve been clutch—more verticality, more escape options—but I already had [Wall Runner], and with how well it had worked in Delta so far, adding [Coil Spring] felt like buying two upgrades for the same slot. 

Not the most efficient use of my severely limited Perk budget.

[Escape Artist] gave me some pause. It wasn’t useless. Just situational.

‘It’s nice, but honestly, when am I really ever going to get tied up? My main problems are psychos with blades and murder-cyborgs. Against someone like Valir? Yeah, no... Doesn’t matter how good I am at slipping restraints if she just puts a foot through my chest like she did last time. And she hadn’t even been trying to kill me back then. If we go again, she’ll make sure that foot goes straight through my heart and make a blood-splatch out of it.’

I paused, cupping my chin and mentally circling back on Scavs.

‘Still… against low-level Scavs or some back-alley crew? Could come in extremely handy. But I don’t want to spend a whole damn Perk slot prepping for niche scenarios like that...’

Ultimately, though, my eyes had landed on a better option.

‘[Narrow Twist] makes more sense,’ I decided, glancing over its details again in the interface. ‘If I can avoid getting caught at all, there’s no need to bust out of anything. And being able to slip through tight spaces—vents, security gaps, crawlspaces—means more options on any infiltration gig. More chances to disappear. More chances to stay alive.’

After feeling how much the Level 3 download had just altered my range of movement, I could only imagine what this Perk would add on top. 

If it scaled with my newfound flexibility? 

Yeah, I was about to be sliding through tight spots like a damn shadow. Or a slime, apparently—that’s what the Perk flavor-text had called it, anyway. 

With a quick nod—more to back myself up than anything else—I selected [Narrow Twist] as my [Contortion] Perk.

As always, I half-expected something to shift in my body, or a little System jolt, maybe even a weird stretching sensation in my spine or something. But nope. 

As usual, the System just slotted the Perk in silently. 

No fanfare. No flashing lights. No downloads of any kind.

The only sign it had worked at all was the little “Available Perk Point” icon vanishing from the Interface like it had never existed.

‘Alright… One down, one to go,’ I mused, already flicking over to the next Skill tab.

[CQC], Level 3 download, staring back at me. Combat training condensed into a neat little punch to the brain. I took a breath, then muttered to myself:

“Here goes nothing.”

And I hit Accept.

The download hit like a pressure wave behind my eyes—tight, focused, and just on the edge of pain. Not unbearable, but definitely noticeable. It was a good thing that I had decided to stop after this one for the initial downloads, as I could feel the System-induced migraine knocking at the door immediately.

Then the muscle memory came.

My spine straightened and adjusted from my relaxed [Contortion] stance without me thinking about it. My shoulders pulled back, loose but ready to spring into action, like my hips before. 

Every joint seemed to realign from the previous fluid relaxation to optimizing for speed and control. I suddenly felt like I knew how to brace for firearm recoil in tight quarters—how to absorb it through my frame and use it to roll straight into the next strike. 

My fingers twitched momentarily like they were holding a combat knife in a reverse grip, slipping through tight corridors and stacked bodies.

A flood of motion cues played out through my muscles like a pre-recorded fight reel. 

I instantly understood the subtleties of weapon positioning—how to precisely angle my blade during a knife disarm, striking an opponent's wrist with a sharp downward flick and twisting simultaneously to wrench the weapon from their grip, while using their own momentum to drive them to the ground.

Toward the tail-end of the download, an even more refined set of sequences slid into place—stuff you only learned after months of daily drills. 

Then came the more advanced stuff, things you’d learn deeper into a full year’s worth of Operator-grade training. 

Drop-step into a clinch. Pivot the off-hand to intercept a gun barrel before it comes fully up. Slam it into the wall, force it out of the grip, ram the knife into center mass, twist and tear. 

No flair. No wasted movement. Just brutal, practiced economy.

Another scenario drilled itself in alongside it: Knife-to-wrist redirection, meant for tight quarters—redirecting an overhead stab with your forearm, trapping the elbow, and driving the attacker into the nearest surface with enough force to daze them, knife forgotten mid-fall.

These weren’t flashy moves. 

They weren’t made for style—they were made for ending a fight before it even properly started. Everything about it screamed purpose. Subdue, disarm, disengage. Or finish. Fast.

Like what I imagined special ops members would learn in their years of training.

I exhaled slowly, blinking as the flood slowed to a trickle.

‘Holy shit… That was a lot.’

And I hadn’t even picked the Perk yet.

Pulling up the Perk selection right away, the dull headache inside my head warning me of any further downloads for the time being, I read them over once more.

[No-Space Fighter] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
Snake-people can do snakey things… You gain the ability to remove all typical penalties from cramped positioning of all close-combat actions in tight spaces such as, crawlways, ducts, lift shafts or when otherwise similarly impeded.

[Snap Sheathe] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
Draw, Sheathe, Repeat. Draw, Sheathe, Repeat… You gain the ability to rapidly sheathe/stow and subsequently redraw your weapons in one fluid motion, as long as your upper-body movement isn’t impeded.

[Lethal Flow] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
One down… Two… Three… Ten… You gain the ability to immediately follow up a melee kill with a dash, reposition, roll, or vault action without impacting your stance, stamina or situational awareness.

[Kinetic Battery] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
First you get hit a lot, then you hit ‘em with a KABOOM! You gain the ability to store a portion of kinetic energy upon successfully parrying heavy attacks that can be spent to power your next melee attack with explosive force.

[Gun-Kata] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
Every angle is accounted for. Every bullet has a purpose… You gain the ability to seamlessly transition between strikes and point-blank fire. While within melee range, you can chain firearm discharges directly into melee attacks without delay, even firing from non-standard positions (underarm, off-hand, behind-back, etc.) mid-motion. Enemies struck by a melee hit are momentarily tracked, enabling follow-up shots to auto-correct for movement if fired within one half-second.

The choice for the [CQC] Perk had been a pain in the ass, honestly. 

I remembered from my past life how all of them had been fan favorites at one point or another—every build guide, every sweaty min-maxer had at least one of these Perks sitting front and center like it was the holy grail. 

Trying to pick just one felt like I was being asked to choose a favorite limb.

That said, some had been easier to cut than others.

First to go had been [Gun-Kata]. Not because it sucked or anything—far from it—but mostly because I knew for a fact it showed up in other Trees too. [Pistols] and [Firearms] were a given. It was a genre staple, flashy as hell, and there was no way the System didn’t recycle it at least once or twice. I figured I’d rather pick it up later, where it had the potential to synergize better.

The next one to go had been [Kinetic Battery].

‘Extremely good. And the idea of being able to punch harder than Jin and make him question his life choices, is honestly extremely tempting… But I don’t have the know-how of parrying really powerful people yet. Even Jin’s attacks are almost too much for me to handle, and he’s definitely still holding back. A real ‘Borg? I’d be turned to liquid if I tried to actually parry anything they throw at me. No, definitely not an option yet. Amazing later on, once Miss K teaches me a bit more about parrying attacks like that and I get some more toughness into my body as a whole—maybe a few durasteel bone replacements for myself or something...’

[Snap Sheathe] had a similar problem. 

Looked flashy, sounded cool—quick-switching between knives and gear like some kind of cyber-ninja—but my loadout was practically nonexistent. No arsenal, no tricked-out sheathes, barely even a proper selection of knives. 

It just wasn’t the time for it.

‘Maybe for later as well, once I dump a whole bunch of Creds at Misha’s for some serious upgrades…?’

Which left me with two real contenders: [No-Space Fighter] and [Lethal Flow].

And that decision? That one sucked.

‘Both are truly amazing… Not being limited by tight spaces is such an amazing Perk to have. Especially considering I just picked up the slime-body Perk with [Narrow Twist], potentially landing me in even more tight situations than ever before… But [Lethal Flow]... It has that certain extra bit of potential…’

That had ultimately been the thought process I had gone down.

[No-Space Fighter] was the safe, boring and useful option. It was guaranteed to come in handy one way or another, at some point.

[Lethal Flow] on the other hand, was a bit more risky, but still provided a guaranteed level of safety and versatility to my current kit.

‘A bonus action for movement is really, really strong… Should give me a brief moment to consider where to go and potentially even drag a body with me, if I’m strong enough, as it specifically doesn’t mention that I can’t do that in the Perk. Amazing for stealth-kills, which is likely what I’ll be focusing on for now, considering my relative lack of brawling prowess…’

That particular consideration had been what had ultimately clinched the victory for [Lethal Flow] over [No-Space Fighter] in my head.

The sheer fact that there was some more synergy in there, that could help me in dangerous situations.

Where [No-Space Fighter] stopped being useful the second I stepped out of a narrow space, [Lethal Flow] would be guaranteed to go off, any time I killed somebody with my knife.

That could allow me to get out of dodge in an emergency, by getting a kill and immediately dashing away from all other incoming dangers. Something that [No-Space Fighter] couldn’t really offer in the same way.

‘Or at least that’s my rationale, I guess…’ I thought with a bit of a lop-sided smirk, before locking it in.

With both Perks locked in and my freshly upgraded Skills still humming under the surface, the System-induced migraine was already coiling at the base of my skull—like a very patient, very pissed-off wasp, just waiting for the right moment to sting. 

I figured it was probably smart to not poke that hornet’s nest again.

So I stepped out of the shower, towel-dried my hair, and pulled on some loose, comfy clothes. Then I flopped face-first onto the couch in the living room like a dying fish.

“I deserve to just… relax for a bit,” I muttered into the cushions, a tired grin tugging at my lips.

I really had been sprinting toward this moment like a lunatic—burning through days, skipping sleep, finishing [Venombite] on fumes just to make it in time for today. And now that I was actually here, Operator status locked in, Skills leveled, Perks chosen?

Yeah. It hit me just how not relaxed I’d been. 

Not since before Valir cracked half my ribs like stale breadsticks. 

Not since the Vega favor. 

Not since… basically the start of this whole “Sera becoming a real-ass Operator” arc.

I hadn't let myself breathe, let alone sit still without thinking about the next objective or the next download or the next survival-critical Task. 

It was long past time I gave myself at least some grace.

‘I can pick the grind back up after dinner,’ I told myself. ‘Better to have a clear head when facing Valeria than trying to brute-force progress with a scrambled brain and a half-functioning body.’

With that decision made, I just let my eyes fall closed and sank into the silence of the empty apartment. I didn’t sleep—too alert for that—but I rested. 

Let my thoughts drift. 

Sometimes thinking about the future. Sometimes just… vibing into the void.

Eventually, after what felt like both five minutes and a small eternity, in reality being a few hours, I sat back up, gave the System a nod, and queued up the last of the day’s downloads: [Martial Arts] Level 4, [{Anima Razor}] Level 2, and Edge 5. 

I started off with the theoretically most taxing of the three: [Martial Arts].

The moment I confirmed the download, that familiar pulse of heat spread down my spine and into my limbs. My muscles tensed instinctively, bracing for what I already knew was coming.

Level 4 was… deeper, in a way.

Where Level 3 had felt like a year of intensive foundation work—stances, basic counters, power generation, breathing, timing—this one picked up right where that left off. 

It was still the same language, just with more nuance. Like going from fluency to early poetry.

My shoulders shifted without me consciously thinking about it, rolling into the start of a transition from an open Muay Thai stance to something lower and tighter—half Krav Maga, half Bajiquan. 

The download didn’t just give me basic forms anymore—it gave me adaptability. 

The ability to blend techniques, flow between styles, and recognize, on the fly, what kind of strike someone was about to throw from their foot placement alone, as long as I could recognize the form in the first place.

Deeper parts of concepts like kinetic redirection and destructive entry slotted into my brain like they’d always been there, further reinforcing the fundamentals that the last download had planted. 

I suddenly understood how to more effectively exploit micro-movements in an opponent’s stance—not just blocking and redirecting, but downright stealing their balance, taking their centerline and turning their momentum against them while further reinforcing my own.

The memory of previous training sessions I never actually lived played in flashes—dozens of variations on takedowns, checks, joint locks, and position control drills. 

One sequence showed me how to slip into an arm-drag straight into a knee shield pass and hammerfist drop, all from a clinch that wouldn’t have lasted more than two seconds.

And then… there was [Elemental Balance].

That Perk added a strange, deeper clarity to everything that I hadn’t really expected.

The Tai Chi influence it had already implanted—those calm, spiraling movements and rooted footwork—now met with the practical brutality of these new techniques. Aikido’s redirection principles didn’t just make sense now; they synced with my balance control, helping me flow instead of resist. Even the Zen Meditation framework the Perk had provided kicked in subtly, letting me more easily separate thought from reaction.

Yoga principles reemerged too—hip alignment, spinal integrity, control over breath and flexibility—blending seamlessly with what I had just picked up from the [Contortion] download as well. 

It all somehow just… fit together. 

The System wasn’t just handing me disconnected pieces anymore—it was building something. A toolkit of sorts. A way of moving and fighting that felt almost… alien, yet undoubtedly instinctive as it was burned into my body and mind.

I caught myself breathing harder now, each inhale dragging a little more effort than it should. The download had definitely taken its toll—on my body, on my nerves, on whatever part of my brain was responsible for keeping me upright.

‘[Martial Arts] really is one of the most brutal Skills to download, huh…?’ I thought, wincing as another pulse of memory sent a phantom jolt down my spine. ‘God damn. Just a single Level 4 and I feel like my skull’s about to crack open. And this isn’t even counting, like, stacking it with other stuff. There’s gotta be a way to make this suck less in the future… right?’

I sat back and focused on my breathing, cycling through the techniques I’d just picked up. 

Deep diaphragmatic pulls from [Contortion] for physical regulation, mixed with the calm, centering exhales from [Martial Arts]—somewhere between meditative breathing and prep for a strike. 

It helped. A bit.

Tension eased off in stages, my heartbeat slowing from a borderline sprint to something closer to a brisk jog. 

The rattling aftershocks of the download were still there—locks, transitions, armbars, intricate positions that I hadn’t even known existed just a few minutes ago—but now they played like background noise, less overwhelming and more… informative.

Eventually, the fog in my head lifted just enough to think straight again.

‘Edge and [{Anima Razor}] still to go... Yeah, Attribute first. Always easier to handle than Skills. Less violent, somehow,’ I figured, popping open the System interface again. 

The dinner with Valeria was fast approaching. And if I wanted to be on my A-game—mentally, emotionally, tactically—then Edge was going to be damn important.

So, with a mental tap, I accepted the Edge 5 download.

As expected, it was a lot… gentler. 

No sudden rush of images, no jarring muscle memory injections. 

Just a slow, subtle shift that spread through me like warm static. I

f Skill downloads were like being slammed in the face with a thousand new lessons all at once, this was more like someone quietly dimming the lights and switching the vibe.

No real flashes of insight or techniques this time, just… presence. Awareness. 

A soft recalibration that started at the base of my spine and climbed all the way up to the crown of my head.

For the third time today, my posture shifted—barely noticeable, but there. 

Even slouched on the couch, I could feel my body fine-tuning itself, the download meshing with the [Contortion] and [CQC] muscle memory from earlier. Not in a clunky, piecemeal way, either—it was smoother than anything I’d felt so far. Attribute rank-ups just hit different. Like the System was adjusting the foundation itself, not just slapping new tools into my hands.

It was like getting a full-body firmware upgrade. No bugs, no crashes—just quiet improvements baked into the operating system that ran me.

Edge governed all sorts of sneaky, underhanded Skills—stealth, sleight-of-hand, murdery type stuff—but also a surprising amount of my mental resilience.

It didn’t shove brute-force answers in my face like Ego sometimes did. 

Edge was subtler. It nudged me. Pointed out options. 

Showed me ways out I might’ve missed if I’d been too loud, too brash, too panicked.

Feeling that framework expand across my mind and body… yeah. 

It was grounding. I hadn’t expected it to feel comforting, but it kind of was, in all honesty.

‘And, best of all, it doesn’t feel like someone took a crowbar to the inside of my skull, so… massive improvement,’ I thought with a wry grin, silently thanking whatever invisible System dev had the sense to make Attribute upgrades a little less painful than the rest.

“Haaa…” I let out a heavy sigh, slumping deeper into the couch as the weight of all those downloads finally started to catch up to me. The upgrades had drained way more energy than I’d expected, leaving me barely recharged for the family dinner I was supposed to survive later.

‘But they’ll be worth it. I’m sure.’ I tried to convince myself of that, even though the certainty didn’t quite reach all the way down. In my head, it sounded confident enough—thoroughly self-assured—but the tightness in my chest wasn’t buying it.

‘Maybe I should’ve waited until after dinner to push these through. Would’ve had more energy. Less brain melt. But then again…’

I absolutely loved seeing the numbers go brrr. Couldn’t help it. 

Part of the whole thrill was getting the new toys now, feeling the shift in real time. Stats ticking upward, Systems evolving. It scratched an itch in my brain nothing else really could.

“One more to go,” I muttered under my breath, dragging my focus back toward the final hurdle: [{Anima Razor}].

An Anima Skill.

Yeah, that meant weirdness, I had learned.

I knew full well what kind of chaos the last Anima download had dumped into my brain, and I had zero illusions that this one would be any gentler. If anything, it was probably gonna be even more unhinged than most of the other downloads today—maybe even all of them.

So, I braced. Took a deep breath. Focused.

‘Alright, System. Show me what [{Anima Razor}] is all about…’

And then I hit download.

The moment the download hit, it felt like a cold edge slid into my mind and carved open space inside to fill it.

[{Anima Razor}] didn’t hit like the others. 

It didn’t burn like [Martial Arts], and it didn’t layer over me like [Edge]. It sliced its way in—quietly, methodically—biting into my brain like it was honing itself against the whetstone of my very mind.

The first wave of knowledge was all about bladed steel. Weight, balance, edge control.

I suddenly knew the difference between a forward-swept karambit and a reverse-grip boot knife—how one flowed best for deflections and arcing cuts, while the other was built for compact, explosive drives into tight angles. 

I felt the ghost of movement in my wrist and elbow, subtle muscle memory unlocking the perfect snap transitions between slashing arcs and puncture thrusts.

Training modules I'd never seen but somehow remembered unfurled in my thoughts—drills focused on maintaining edge alignment during high-speed rotations, disarming moves against opponents wielding larger weapons that flowed smoothly into my previous [CQC] download as well, and redirection techniques that used your opponent’s own momentum against them, further reinforcing the [Martial Arts] download too. 

Six months of structured knife and blade work compressed into a few seconds of internal upheaval.

Then came the weirdness… The Anima.

Not all at once. 

It never did. 

Anima liked to creep. To worm its way in. To whisper. 

This time, it whispered of intention.

I could feel something settle into my bones—something that knew how to listen for ambient flows of energy in a fight, and respond. It was faint, but it was there. 

Tiny flickers of awareness toward threads I hadn’t noticed before, like the residual hum of tension between me and my blade, or the way a cut could feel wrong unless it followed the natural rhythm of motion.

There was this weird understanding now—just a sliver—of how bladed combat wasn’t just about physics, necessarily. It was about flow, precision, yes, but also about the emotive weight behind each strike. 

Not just where you struck, but why.

And then there was the Sigils.

I felt my fingers twitch as the memory of Mr. Shori’s movements resurfaced—but sharper now. 

Muscle memory flooded in, shaving whole seconds off the painful process of summoning the [Anima Razor] itself. The sigil-casting sequence I’d once stumbled through awkwardly now felt closer to instinct—still not anywhere near fast, not yet, but no longer agonizingly slow. 

The download even threaded in subtle corrections—micro-adjustments to my breathing, posture, and mental focus during conjuration. Ways to lessen the burn. 

To avoid the pain that usually came with it. 

To handle the invisible blade like it was more of an extension of my will, not some unstable wildcard ready to blow my nervous system apart at a moment’s notice.

When it finally settled, I was left with a strange calm. A blade-shaped calm.

It felt like something had shifted inside me—some quiet understanding of how to move with purpose, how to cut with meaning, and how to call something impossible into existence without breaking under the strain.

And, most of all: The [Anima Razor] itself felt no longer inherently self-destructive by default.

Somehow I could just tell that the new way of drawing the Sigils wouldn’t end up with me cramping my hands up instantaneously and half-ripping the muscles in them every time I tried.

‘Just one more level… Maybe two…’ I thought immediately, excitement bubbling up despite the exhaustion.

The [Anima Razor] was slowly turning from a neat gimmick into something that might actually be usable for me in a real fight. 

Not quite yet, but it was clearly getting there…

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[Fixer+ | Draft] Chapter 138 - Future

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------------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) -------------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Welcome to the draft release of Chapter 138 for y'all.

As always, a quick reminder that this chapter is still in the process of being workshopped by me and that this is simply the first-draft.

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Straight up torching some of y'alls mentals in this one.

😎

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I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the link to the chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1WXoRmD_O8SihvQ-fyflObVp1LxgPGIE8Bwcub6ZiHC8/edit?usp=sharing

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Chapter 138 - Future

It wasn’t long after wrapping up the last of the downloads and locking in my Perks that I heard the front door’s biometric lock beep, followed by the familiar hiss and click of it swinging open.

Still stretched out on the couch, I glanced toward the entryway and spotted Gabriel trudging in, looking like he’d just gone twelve rounds with a punch-clock. His expression was all kinds of drained—sleeves rolled up, collar loosened, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to his brow. 

Classic post-shift exhaustion.

“Welcome home, Gabe,” I called out, tossing him a relaxed smile from my cozy sprawl.

“Ah, hey, Sera. Thanks,” he replied with a tired nod. His eyes flicked toward me, then squinted a little. “Huh. Very un-you to just be lounging like that. Or, I guess… not un-you if we’re talking old you. You used to basically live on that couch anytime nobody else was around.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been a long-ass day,” I said with a shrug. “Figured I’d steal some quiet before the chaos hits. Family dinner’s looming over me like a damn corporate inquiery—I just needed a minute. Just me, the couch, and the sound of absolutely nothing. Old-me likely knew what she was doing.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckled, already veering off toward the bathroom. “Gonna rinse off real quick—don’t think Mum would appreciate me bringing the scent of public transport and busted AC units to the table. Catch you after?”

“Uh-huh,” I hummed, sinking deeper into the cushions as he disappeared behind the door.

For a few moments, the apartment was quiet again. But my thoughts weren’t.

‘I really should talk to him more…’ I frowned at the ceiling. ‘I mean, we live in the same apartment. Share a room. And I still barely know what the hell he does, outside of being a cashier at some kind of store, I guess. But beyond that? No clue. No idea what his dreams are, if he’s got any. No idea what he even wants from life. Hell, we’re supposed to be siblings. That’s supposed to mean something, right?’

I sighed, dragging a hand over my face.

‘Not that I’d know. But maybe it’s time I started figuring it out...’

—

By the time Gabriel wrapped up his shower, dumped his work clothes into the washer-compartment of the closet, tossed on something casual, and finally trudged back into the living room looking marginally less dead inside, close to forty minutes had passed.

He didn’t quite look ready to take on the world—but at least he didn’t look like he was about to collapse face-first into the carpet anymore. 

So… progress?

I tilted my head slightly at the sight of him. 

Seeing Gabe without his usual faux-punk hairstyle was a bit jarring—his hair now flopped lazily to one side, still damp and clearly unbothered with existing. 

Guess he hadn’t bothered to re-spike it after the shower. Not that I blamed him. 

At this point, even getting dressed deserved a small medal.

Shuffling to the far end of the couch, I kicked my legs up and made room for him. He sank down beside me with a groan that sounded like it came from the depths of his soul.

“Rough day?” I asked, trying to slide into what I imagined a ‘supportive and approachable sister’ was supposed to sound like. Honestly, I was mostly winging it. 

My only real reference points were sitcom siblings and anime characters, and most of those involved punchlines or melodramatic yelling. 

Neither seemed particularly helpful in this situation.

“Understatement,” Gabe muttered, leaning back into the cushions. “Got bumped up to customer-facing recently, right? I thought it’d be a promotion. And pay-wise, it technically is. But turns out, it’s more of a downgrade than anything. I’d kill to be back in the storage unit, alphabetizing crates or checking inventory. Literally anything that doesn’t involve talking to customers.”

That, I could sympathize with—hard.

In my past life, I’d practically been a retail veteran. Grocery stores, fast food joints, the occasional nightmare-tier holiday gig at some mall pop-up shop… 

Been there, hated that.

“I feel that,” I said with genuine empathy, then caught myself. “I mean—I think I feel that.”

Technically, Sera had never worked a day in her life, as far as I was aware. 

And really, at fourteen—well, closer to seventeen-and-a-half by Earth-year standards—that wasn’t exactly shocking. From what I’d pieced together, the old Sera hadn’t even really had time to think about jobs. Between her home-studies, family stuff, and whatever her rebellious teenage years had done to her, punching a clock hadn’t made it onto her radar.

Still. 

It made me feel a little weird, remembering that while I felt the sympathy, Sera technically didn’t have the resume to back it up.

We spent the next half hour or so catching up, bouncing the conversation between us like we were tossing a ball around. 

It felt… nice.

Strangely familiar, almost—even if a bit of guilt lingered underneath because I couldn’t exactly be truthful about everything going on.

Instead of the whole Operator gig and gang drama, I talked about my recent stints at Mr. Shori’s stall. I mentioned the new recipes he’d been showing me, how much I was starting to enjoy the rhythm of cooking, and even cracked a joke about how much the old customers loved having me around—earning a satisfying laugh from Gabe.

Then the conversation drifted to Miss K’s dojo, and I asked him how he was holding up with training.

Gabe grimaced, rubbing his neck like he could already feel the soreness setting in. "I'm alive. Barely. But between pulling extra shifts at work to cover for the downtime after getting injured and Miss K running us ragged every session… Man, I’m lucky if I’m still standing by the end of it."

I chuckled sympathetically, nodding along. "Yeah, she’s not exactly the type to let you slack off. But hey—if you ever want to practice together, or if there’s something specific you need to work on, just let me know. I’m actually doing pretty well over there, surprisingly enough."

Gabe shot me an appreciative smile, the tiredness lifting from his eyes just a bit. "Seriously? That… Would actually be great, to be entirely honest. I’d hate to end up as “that guy” in every session that gets singled out for messing up everything. Thanks, Sera. And hey, for what it’s worth, I’m really glad you’re doing so well at the dojo. Seeing you get excited about something safe for a change is honestly a huge relief."

I rolled my eyes dramatically at the mention of "safe," even though I definitely couldn’t blame him for thinking like that. 

After all, considering all the Operator and gang-related chaos I very deliberately hadn’t mentioned, Gabe wasn’t exactly wrong. 

But still—dojo training wasn’t exactly a walk in the park either.

"I mean, I don’t know if I'd call anything involving Miss K 'safe,'" I retorted, grinning as Gabe laughed. "But yeah, it's nice having something… steady, I guess."

He nodded warmly, sinking deeper into the couch like just sitting there was healing his bones. "Exactly. Steady is good. We could use more steady."

Couldn’t really blame him for leaning so hard into that word. 

With everything that had happened lately—Sera’s “death,” the whole amnesia mess, him getting stabbed and nearly bleeding out on the floor—it was kind of a miracle either of us were even functioning, let alone casually chatting on the couch like nothing ever happened.

Didn’t take a licensed shrink to spot the trauma radiating off him like heat from a busted vent.

‘Wish I knew what to say to actually help him here… Why isn’t there a [Psychologist] Skill or something? Come on, System. Help me out here.’

We let the silence stretch for a bit after that. 

One of those comfortable ones, though. No pressure. 

Just the two of us sharing space without needing to fill it with noise.

Eventually though, Gabe shifted, turning toward me again with that thoughtful look he always got when he was about to drop something heavier than expected.

“Say, what are your plans, Sera? Like… long-term? You gonna keep working for Mr. Shori? Make a career out of it?”

The question caught me a little off guard—wasn’t expecting the deep-life-direction conversation to pop off in the middle of lazy couch time—but I recovered quick enough.

“Honestly… I’m not really sure yet,” I admitted, scratching the back of my neck. “I like helping out at the stall, don’t get me wrong. Mr. Shori’s great, and the customers are super chill. But it’s not like I dream of becoming the next noodle overlord or anything, y’know?”

“Fair,” he muttered, nodding slowly. “Probably still better than a lotta places, though…”

“Yeah, probably. But I’ve actually been really enjoying the programming stuff lately, too,” I added. “Thanks again for the shard, by the way. That thing’s been a blast and a half.”

“Right!” His eyebrows went up slightly, like he’d almost forgotten about it. “Yeah, I mean, programming’s definitely a solid choice. Could make some serious Creds doing that, as long as you don’t wander into anything shady. Honestly wish I had the patience for that kinda work myself.”

And there it was again—another perfectly reasonable, steady and safe path for my life, said with warmth and encouragement, that I absolutely was going to take in the most roundabout and chaotic way possible. The kind of way that involved shady contracts, back-alley deals, and maybe a sprinkle of gang warfare on the weekends. 

Hell, just to underscore it all, my very next programming-related gig was selling [Venombite] to an absolutely unhinged lunatic who was definitely planning to zap himself halfway to cardiac arrest just to see what it felt like.

I cringed inwardly at the mounting list of truths I wasn’t telling him. 

If this was a game of two truths and a lie, I was working on three lies and a nervous smile.

‘Am I actually that much of a thrillseeker…? What the hell is wrong with me…?’ I thought, watching my brother unknowingly outline all the safe, normal, functional versions of my life that I was not choosing.

Not really wanting to stare too hard into that particular mirror, I tossed the question right back at him—anything to dodge a round of self-actualization.

“What about you, Gabe? Doesn’t sound like you’re all that thrilled with where you’re at right now… You thinking about trying something else?”

He let out a long, tired sigh. “Haaa… Y’know, I knew it was gonna go this way. That’s just how conversations work. I ask you something, you bounce it back at me. You ask me something, I bounce it back at you… But damn, I was kinda hoping maybe this time, just this once, it wouldn’t.”

God, I felt that in my bones.

The amount of times I’d been in the exact same spot in my past life? Too many to count. 

Just sitting there, getting called out by the natural rhythm of conversation.

“It’s fine, we really don’t have to talk about it,” I said quickly, knowing that gnawing feeling way too well—the dread of being asked about future plans when all you’ve got is a hot ball of nothing and a bunch of aspirations and dreams that will never come to pass.

But he shook his head. “Nah… I think I asked for a reason, y’know? Maybe I wanted someone to make me say it out loud. If my baby sister asks me what I’m doing with my life, I can’t exactly just shrug and go ‘No clue,’ right? Kinda forces the question.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing at his face with both hands like he could scrub the thoughts away.

“I just… I don’t know, Sera. I always wanted to carve out something for myself. Not ‘Valeria’s first born son,’ not ‘Oliver’s child,’ just… me. Something that was mine and nobody else’s. And now I’m working a horrible job I can’t stand—and this is with one of the good bosses, if you can believe that—barely holding on to what few perks I get from being Mum’s kid, like the dojo. And even that’s slipping away from me lately. I just feel like I’m… drifting. No direction. No grip. No grand plans or anything…”

I didn’t have anything to say to that.

Because… yeah. I’d been there. I’d lived there. 

That suffocating feeling of time slipping by, while you kept running on autopilot, waiting for something to click that never came. 

The endless, sleepless nights of insomnia, that made you toss and turn in bed, wondering where it had all gone wrong—where you had all gone wrong.

Wondering if, maybe, had things been different in this instance or that one, you would be living an entirely different life. One free of all the stress, the struggle, the uncertainty.

That, maybe, if you had actually applied yourself to the things you had wanted to pursue and dreamed about earlier in your life, before obligations, taxes and rent payments came a-knocking, you’d be living a life that you could actually be proud of.

And in those late-night moments, you’d make a deal with yourself. 

That tomorrow, maybe you’d change things. You’d actually try for once. You absolutely knew you had what it took, how to get where you wanted to be. 

You’d just have to try, for one, single time.

But tomorrow always came with an alarm clock and a schedule and a hundred little things that shoved all those big thoughts into a dusty mental drawer labeled “dead dreams and discarded ambitions.”

Until the next sleepless night came around to dust them off again.

And truth was, I never figured out how to fix any of that.

I had just... died.

And then woke up here—taking over Sera’s life, in Neon Dragons. 

Whole new world. Whole new problems. And none of the chains I used to drag around.

I got lucky. Crazy, cosmic-lottery-type lucky. One in a quintillion, if not more. 

Anyone else? They didn’t get that second shot, as far as I knew. 

Just me.

So… I didn’t have anything to say that would magically help. 

No perfect words to drop some life-changing epiphany on my brother.

Just the quiet echo of everything he’d said bouncing around in my chest. And the raw, honest truth that I still remembered exactly how it felt.

Gabriel’s voice pulled me back from the edge of that mental spiral as he spoke up again, his tone heavy, “I think… I might ask Mum or Dad for a referral. Try out the corpo-life. As much as I don’t think it’s for me at all…”

I blinked. That caught me completely off guard. 

I just stared at him, my mind blank—no words forming, nothing coherent rising to the surface.

He let out another one of those long, tired sighs—the kind that seemed to deflate his whole being. “I was already thinking about it like two months ago, honestly. My job’s a dead-end. I’m barely scraping together enough Creds to do anything beyond survive, let alone plan ahead. Corpo-life, though? For all the bad talk it gets, it’s stable. You put in the work, you get the rewards. You put in extra work? You climb. There’s structure. Predictability. No guesswork.”

I didn’t interrupt. 

I was still trying to process the idea of Gabriel—my hoodie-wearing, punk-rock, but kind-hearted, older brother—willingly throwing himself into the corporate grinder.

He glanced at me then, something raw behind his eyes. “And then everything that happened to you… I felt useless, Sera. Totally, utterly useless. What good is a store clerk, when his sister nearly dies, huh? What can a cashier even do in that situation? But Mum? Dad? They had real means; power. Mum’s insurance covered the hospital and all kinds of crazy doctors to take a look at you. Dad pulled every string he could to get you the best meds and equipment as well. And me? I just stood there. Couldn’t do anything but hope you’d get better…”

I swallowed hard, but the lump in my throat wasn’t going anywhere.

He wasn’t supposed to carry that weight. That kind of burden didn’t belong to him. 

He was my brother—not a parent, not a provider. 

But I could see how deep that helplessness had sunk its claws into him.

His hands were back on his face, fingers laced through his hair, elbows digging into his knees. Exhaustion clung to him like smoke—emotional, physical, all of it piling on.

“And then, when I got stabbed… I’m scared, Sera. Genuinely scared. It hurt so, so much… More than anything I’ve ever felt. That knife just… split me open from the inside, ripping everything out that made me, me. I still get flashes of it. Nightmares. Sometimes I wake up feeling like it’s still there.”

His hands dropped slightly, and he looked back at me. 

No mask, no walls. 

Just raw, aching honesty.

“If I’d been a corpo? With a jacket that screamed ‘don’t touch me’? With a badge on my chest? Those scavs wouldn’t’ve come near me. They’d never, ever risk it. Even the most psychotic of them would know not to get close.”

He held my gaze, something desperate and quiet in his voice. “Is it wrong to want that kind of safety, Sera? The kind of stability, that means I don’t have to worry whether walking to-or-from home is going to get me killed for no fucking reason…?”

That was when it hit me.

It was the first time I’d ever heard Gabriel swear. 

And somehow, that was the detail that stuck. 

Out of all the heavy stuff he just unloaded… it was that one cracked syllable that drove the point home.

I just sat there for a second, my mind scrambling, stuck somewhere between guilt and disbelief.

‘How the hell did I miss all this…?’

He had been bleeding, screaming on the inside, trying to hold himself together with tape and sheer will, and I hadn’t even noticed. 

Too wrapped up in my own maze of Operator meetings, Skill grinding, dojo sessions, code reviews, near-death experiences, and whatever else I’d decided to throw on the ever-growing pile of chaos that made up my life now.

Gabriel had been drowning right next to me, every single night, and I hadn’t even looked over to check if he could still breathe.

My stomach twisted hard.

Before I could even really think it through, my body just moved on instinct. 

I shuffled over, crawled across the couch, and wrapped my arms around him—tight. 

Like I was trying to hold all the broken pieces of him together by sheer force alone.

I didn’t say anything. There weren’t any words that would’ve made it better, not really.

No tears fell, either. It wasn’t that kind of hug. 

Just… solid.

The kind of hug that said I’m here, without making a whole speech out of it.

He didn’t react much at first—his shoulders tense under my arms—but after a moment, I felt him shift slightly, letting out a breath he probably hadn’t even realized he was holding.

We stayed like that for a while. Ten, twenty minutes, maybe.

Long enough for the apartment to feel less heavy.

Eventually, I finally found my voice. "I don't think it's wrong at all, Gabe." 

My words felt small, but genuine. "If that’s what you truly want—if that’s what makes you feel safe, stable…then the corpo life might honestly be your best shot."

He shifted slightly, his breath hitching, but stayed silent.

"There's a good reason why Oliver and Valeria went that route. Fuck, why so many people across this whole damn city choose corpo life, really. It's not a failure of you as a person; it's just another path. You might give up some freedoms going that route, yeah…but if it gives you security, gives you a life where you don't have to worry constantly about surviving another day—that's its own kind of freedom, y’know?"

I tightened my grip around him, squeezing him just a little harder as though I could somehow force my sincerity through sheer physical contact alone. “And it doesn’t mean you’re not your own person anymore. You're still you, Gabe, no matter where you work or what you do. Always.”

Gabriel shifted slightly under my arms, leaning back just enough to look at me, his face heavy with doubt. 

“It’s not that simple, Sera,” he said, his voice low. “Once you go corpo… that’s it. You don’t just walk away from it. It’s like stepping onto a road with no exits—you keep going until the road decides to swallow you whole. And I don’t know if I want that for myself. For us.”

I tilted my head at him for that, but stayed quiet, letting him talk.

“I’d be working all the time,” he continued, his jaw tightening. “Every single day, locked into whatever project they threw at me, grinding out hours until I’m too tired to do anything else. Barely time for dojo sessions, no time for… for even this,” he gestured between us. 

“I’d lose any chance of actually living, y’know? And…” He hesitated, his eyes flicking to me with a faint shadow of guilt. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to follow me. Or Mum. Or Dad. If I go corpo and everyone else already is, and you’re not… it’s gonna feel like you’re the black sheep of the family. I don’t want to put that on you.”

That last part hit me like a sucker punch. I hadn’t even considered it from that angle. 

Gabriel was talking about his future, his survival, and he was still worrying about how it might affect me? It was both thoroughly infuriating and… deeply touching.

I took a breath, leaning back slightly to meet his gaze, my tone firmer now. “Gabe… this isn’t about me. It’s your life. If going corpo is what you need to feel safe, to feel like you’ve got a shot at something solid, then you should take it. Don’t let me—or anyone else—be the reason you don’t.”

He looked ready to argue, but I didn’t let him. “Yeah, maybe it is a road with no exits. But not every road needs an exit. Some roads just get you where you need to go. And if that’s what you think will work for you, if that’s where you can build something that’s yours and something you’re proud of… Then screw the rest of it. You don’t need my permission, and you don’t need to worry about me following in your footsteps.”

I gave his shoulder a squeeze, softening my tone even more. “I’m not gonna suddenly be the black sheep just 'cause I’m not wearing a shiny corpo badge, Gabe. I’m still me. And you’re still you. You don’t need to carry my choices on your back like some kind of martyr. This is your decision. Just yours. And no matter what you decide, I’ve got your back. Always.”

I paused, then grinned. “If you wanna ask Mum for a referral and need me to grovel at her feet to sweeten the deal, I will. No shame. I’ll throw my pride straight into the trash for you, no hesitation.”

His eyes widened, caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief.

“I’m serious,” I continued, pressing a hand dramatically to my chest. “I’ll kiss the ground she walks on if it’ll help you get that referral. You’re not the only sibling who knows how to be dramatic, y’know? I can make it all about me too. Selfless sacrifice for the greater Gabriel good. I’ll do it all of tonight, even!”

That did it. 

He laughed—really laughed—and for a moment, it actually looked like the weight on his shoulders got a little lighter.

“That’s something I’d have to record,” he said through his grin. “A once-in-a-lifetime masterpiece. You, begging at Mum’s feet? I’d sell tickets.”

“Absolutely not,” I shot back, scandalized. “I’d rather die than let that be caught on film.”

We shared a brief, comfortable silence—one that didn’t need to be filled.

Then he nodded, a bit of steel returning to his eyes. “Thanks, Sera. I think… yeah, I think I’ll ask Mum tonight. Just get a read on what kind of offer the handlers would even throw at me. Dad might’ve been a better option, but with the OriginTech mess still eating up all his bandwidth, I doubt he’s got time to worry about what I’m doing. EtherLabs is a heavy hitter anyway. Should be plenty of ways to move up if I commit to it.”

He looked steadier now. 

Not all the way sure—but at least not crumbling under the weight of indecision.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, say the word,” I said with a nod. “Oh… And probably ask for your referral before I ask for my favour from Mum. I have a feeling mine’s going to be a bit less likely to go over well…”

Gabriel blinked, then smirked. “That’s probably the better order, yeah… Let’s go with that, then.”

His eyes flicked over to the TV, which had defaulted to its idle-mode clock. “Speaking of which… we should probably start getting ready. Mum and Dad’ll be back any minute, and you know Mum’s not gonna waste time before launching straight into dinner mode. So, uh… Let’s get spruced up while we still got some time to spare?”

I gave him a mock salute. “Aye aye, captain. And don’t forget—tonight only, limited-time offer: Full-service feet grovelling, for your benefits.”

He flashed me a wide, toothy grin—no words needed—as he pushed himself off the couch and headed for our room. I followed close behind, already mentally bracing myself.

‘Time to throw the dress back on, smile like I’ve got no ulterior motives, and pretend to be the picture-perfect corpo daughter Valeria wants me to be… All while planning to ask for the exact thing she really doesn’t want to give me: A link to old-Sera’s past life...’

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[Wolf Lord+ | Draft] Volume 2 - Chapter 40 - Fashion

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------------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) -------------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Welcome to the draft release of Volume 2 - Chapter 40 - Fashion for y'all.

As always, a quick reminder that this chapter is still in the process of being workshopped by me and that this is simply the first-draft.

And also: Please do not read the chapters here on Patreon, but go for the googledoc, .pdf or .epub instead. Patreon butchers all forms of formatting and you're missing out on easier and more enjoyable reading experiences.

------

Time Skip completed!

Let me know how this one felt, as I'm not really used to time skipping around a lot!

------

I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the link to the chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-9PlaqQnM5poN3Vu8853B_kC-EPe6LAyUlmceCZrJkQ/edit?usp=sharing

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Volume 2 - Chapter 40 - Fashion

“Alpha and Beta Squads do not exist to elevate the few. 

They exist to elevate the many. 

Competition is not a threat to unity—it is its foundation.”

— Fleet Admiral Kaelin Tovarch, Founder of the Recruit Challenge Protocols

The Challenge System: Rivalry as Progress

The UHF Challenge System was never designed to reward ego, but to refine excellence. 

On every Recruit vessel across the Galactic Bubble, the names Alpha and Beta Squad carry weight—and with it, responsibility. These Squads are not just mere designations; they are aspirational symbols, pillars meant to spur the entire Recruit body forward, with their very existence.

Alpha Squad, in particular, is held in the highest of regards. 

Its members receive near-unrestricted access to the ship’s AI, enhanced training environments, exclusive simulations, and personal quarters that far outclass the standard Marine dormitories. Beta, while slightly less privileged, still enjoys elevated access, better resources, and a level of autonomy unmatched by the general Recruit population.

The driving force behind this structure is not favoritism, but friction. 

Friction that forges a need for improvement. 

The Challenge System encourages—and demands—open competition.

At its heart, the system embodies the belief that competition—when structured, fair, and purpose-driven—creates this very excellence we strive for as a Faction.

At the heart of every Challenge, however, lies a simple truth: You don’t challenge a person. You challenge a role.

Roles are functional positions within the Squad framework, each with clearly defined criteria. The system avoids personality-based confrontations by requiring Recruits to challenge what the role requires, not what the current holder happens to be good at.

It’s not about beating someone in a straight-up fight—though combat prowess often plays a part—it’s about proving you can fulfill the functions the Squad needs.

The Challenge Committee—typically composed of shipboard Command, AI analysts, and independent adjudicators—reviews each request and oversees every match. 

The more complete your demonstration of a role’s core responsibilities, the more likely you are to win.

Take, for example, the Offensive Heavy role—a cornerstone of any frontline-focused squad.

The mandatory sub-roles for an Offensive Heavy are clear:

• Durability: The capacity to take sustained punishment without immediate collapse.

• Focus Target: The ability to draw enemy aggression away from more vulnerable squadmates.

• Heavy Damage Potential: The damage output necessary to punish any lapse in the previously mentioned enemy focus.

A challenger must convincingly demonstrate their ability to fulfill all mandatory sub-roles in controlled simulations, squad evaluations, and assessment scenarios. 

However, there are also optional sub-roles, which, while not strictly required for the squad to remain “functionally complete,” are factored in as point bonuses during evaluation:

• Suppression Capabilities – Ability to deny movement or lock down key areas.

• Breakthrough Power – Tools or tactics designed to crack entrenched enemy positions.

• Melee Prowess – Specialized skill in close-quarters dominance.

• Self-Recovery – On-the-fly healing or damage mitigation without Squad Medic support.

The Challenge Committee scores each challenge based on consistency, role coverage, tactical synergy with the rest of the Squad, and psychological fitness. 

Rarely are challenges about pure strength. They are about overall function.

The ultimate aim is not humiliation or chaos—but forward motion. 

Even unsuccessful challenges often end in recalibrated respect, increased personal growth, and clearer Squad cohesion. Every battle, every evaluation, every rising star shapes not only their path—but the paths of all those around them as well.

As the doctrine states:

“To challenge a name is petty. To challenge a role is purpose.”

“Alpha is not a reward. It’s a burden. You climb into the crucible, and if you burn brighter than all the others, you stay. If not—you melt. Simple as that.”
– Anonymous Alpha Squad veteran, Post-Challenge debrief, PFC 722

[Excerpt from “Excellence Through Design: The Philosophy of the Challenge System”, UHF Recruit Training Codex, PFC 724]

=======

=======

Waking up in her room aboard the Sovereign had become second nature to Thea by now. 

The sterile lighting, the subtle hum of machinery in the walls, the familiar weight of the ship pressing gently through the floor—it had all settled into her routine. 

But this morning was different. Today wasn’t just another recovery day.

The break following the Assessment was officially over.

Lectures and classes were starting up again, kicking off with the much-anticipated UHF 101 session—mandatory for all new Recruits. 

After that, the real highlight of the day would begin: The initial opening of the Digital Missions. Finally, she’d be able to jump back into combat sims, rack up some score, and maybe even test out some of the ideas she had been toying with over the past few days.

Despite the anticipation for that, however, the ending of the break was still something that made Thea a bit mournful that day.

‘Why do breaks always feel like they pass in a heartbeat…?’ was the first thought to float through her mind as she groggily rolled out of bed and headed for the shower.

Life inside the Sovereign’s DDS had been pretty damn good this past week. 

With most of her time spent recovering from the grueling Assessment, she’d had the rare luxury of doing—well, basically nothing. 

For probably the first time in more than two years.

Nothing except hanging out with Alpha Squad—especially Karania—and spending her way through what felt like a small fortune in Credits. The shopping spree, the weapons, the schematics... it had all scratched an itch she hadn’t been able to ever truly scratch back on Lumiosia.

Winning tournaments in the Golden Age Arcade had been great, sure, but they didn’t exactly pay in cutting-edge tech, or enough Credits to acquire them. And even if they had, Lumiosia never had much of that to begin with for her to buy, even if she did somehow end up with the Credits. The few pieces of new-tech she’d ever gotten her hands on had mostly come from James, passed along through a quiet connection here or there.

But two days ago, all of that had changed.

That shopping trip—where she’d unexpectedly run into a kindred tech-spirit in the form of Peria, and walked out with a haul of weapons and research materials worthy of a small militia—had launched her into a state of tech-fueled bliss.

‘So many technical documents to read through…!’ That thought alone had been excitedly looping in the back of her head ever since.

Stepping out of the shower, still drying her hair, she made her way to the wardrobe—then paused. A familiar hesitation curled in her chest as she reached toward the handle.

Ever since the shopping trip with Karania, the wardrobe had become a bit... intimidating.

It wasn’t the storage itself, of course, but what was inside it now. 

The moment she was going to open it, she’d be greeted by an explosion of new outfits. It was a whole mess of unfamiliar fabrics, colors, and cuts—most of which she had no idea how to properly wear, much less put on in the first place. 

Layers, straps, weird seams in weird places… nothing made any sense at all.

Karania had been absolutely thorough in her selections. 

While Thea had successfully dodged the dress trap—thanks to borrowing a page from Corvus’ and the UHF’s playbook and spinning a slight half-truth about how dresses reminded her of the pleasure districts in the Undercity, where delicate fabrics would just get shredded while moving through broken-down ruins and rusted stairwells—that hadn’t saved her from the rest of Kara’s full-blown fashion campaign.

She’d said it with just enough weight to draw sympathy, and Karania had backed off after that.

She'd won the dress battle, but not the wardrobe war.

But the real reason?

Well, that was a little more complicated.

Thea had always kind of… wanted to try a dress.

Back during the Luminarus Festival that James had taken her to, she remembered seeing girls in flowing silks, laughing as lights shimmered off their clothes. The glowing fabrics, the way the lights played off them—it had left an undeniable impression. She and James had watched from a distance one year—just long enough for the envy to sink in and settle deep. 

But that particular truth felt way too dangerous to hand over to Karania. 

Not yet. Not without thorough preparation.

‘If I ever admit to that,’ she thought, slowly cracking open the wardrobe like it might bite her, ‘I’m doing research first. I need to know how dresses even work.’

The concept still baffled her to her core. 

‘How do you jump through a broken window or climb a pipe with a whole sheet of fabric flapping around your legs? Isn’t it just begging to get caught on something?’

The whole thing just seemed really impractical. She needed to be able to move, not just twirl.

Maybe one day she'd figure it out.

But for the foreseeable future… pants would do just fine…

—

Mid breakfast-pancake bite, Thea felt an ominous shiver run through her spine when Karania’s footsteps stopped earlier than usual, still several steps away from the dining table.

‘Oh no,’ was all Thea could think before Karania’s words drifted over.

“Excuse me, Miss McKay?” came her best friend's voice from behind, a dangerous edge of forced politeness slipping into her tone. 

Thea pretended not to hear it. If she stayed still enough, maybe Kara would think she was part of the furniture.

Across the table, Corvus raised an eyebrow. Desmond didn’t bother hiding his smirk. This wasn’t the first time they’d witnessed this particular showdown.

“Hellooo? Kara to Thea? You in there?” Karania continued sweetly, her voice closer now, dripping with the kind of sugary menace reserved exclusively for fashion emergencies.

Thea slowly turned her head with a big, forced smile. “Ahh! Kara! What a surprise. Good morning! You’re looking great today, by the way.”

Karania smiled right back—sharklike. “And I’d love to say the same, but please tell me: What, and I mean this with all the love and kindness in my heart, in the fuck are you wearing? Sure, the UHF 101 lecture primer said you could wear anything you want, but that?” 

Her open-handed gesture somehow encompassed Thea’s entire existence.

The snort from Desmond turned into full-blown chuckling. 

Thea did her best to ignore it. 

This was a high-stakes conversation. Distractions meant certain death.

“Well... I thought it’s the first day back at lectures, so I should be comfortable, right?” Thea tried to reason meekly. “So… I grabbed the pullover.”

She knew immediately that was the wrong answer. 

Karania’s eyes narrowed, a look of utter disappointment spreading across her face. 

It wasn't that Thea didn't understand Kara’s desire for her to develop an actual fashion sense—it was just that she genuinely had no idea how or where to start. Karania had been tutoring her on things, slowly but surely, she was nowhere near proficient enough yet to try it out in the real world.

Rather than risk embarrassment by trying something new and messing it up horribly, she'd retreated to the safety of the familiar old pullover.

Karania let out a heavy, dramatic sigh, shaking her head slowly. “You spent more than eight hundred Credits—eight hundred—on clothes, and yet, somehow, you turn around and wear the same thing every single day. Where, exactly, did I go wrong with you…?”

From across the table came the sound of sudden choking and sputtering as Desmond, mid-drink, started coughing violently. Corvus leaned forward quickly, pounding gently but firmly on Desmond’s back to help clear his airways.

“What—?!” Desmond gasped between coughs, eyes wide with disbelief, “Eight… hundred Credits?! On clothes?!”

“Actually, I’d really like to hear more about this too,” Corvus added with a wry grin, his eyebrows practically climbing into his hairline.

With a sigh, Thea slowly turned back to face Karania. She’d spun around earlier to make sure Desmond wasn’t dying, only to now find her best friend staring at her with a look that somehow blended smug amusement, relentless patience, and quiet, wounded indignation—all rolled into one annoyingly expressive face.

Clearly, she was still waiting for Thea’s explanation.

“Well, like I said… I just wanted to be comfortable for the first day back around the rest of the Recruits,” Thea said, doing her best to sound confident. “And the pullover’s the most comfortable thing I own. Everything else is… just different.”

She stood her ground, shoulders squared. 

She had lost this exact battle yesterday—spectacularly so. 

That loss had resulted in a two-hour long crash course on "Intro to Looking Presentable," featuring far too many outfit changes and Kara lecturing her about silhouettes, layering, and how ‘vibes’ were apparently a thing that mattered.

Most of those outfits had been sorted into categories she barely understood—stuff for shopping trips, just hanging out, or ‘relaxed high-fashion,’ whatever that meant. 

And none of them, she was certain, were suited for today.

Today was serious. 

Today was lectures and Digital Missions and getting her score back on the board. 

She needed to be sharp, focused, and comfortable.

So, no. Not again.

She was absolutely not budging on this one…

—

Sitting down in the lecture hall for the start of UHF 101, Thea tugged absently at the hem of her beige blouse. She and Kara had been assigned to the same session—something Thea was half-convinced wasn’t entirely pure chance, though she had zero proof and no idea how she’d even begin to check up on it.

Still, she appreciated it.

“Stop fiddling with it, Thea. No wonder you’re never comfortable if you keep drawing attention to it,” Karania said, shooting her a look from the seat beside her.

Thea grumbled under her breath and forced her hands to stay still, but it wasn’t easy. 

Her arms felt weirdly exposed, the sleeves stopping far too early for her liking, and the lower neckline wasn’t helping either—the slight chill on her collarbones was just noticeable enough to keep reminding her that, yes, she was not wearing her trusty pullover today.

That said… it wasn’t all terrible.

‘Okay, the fabric is really soft,’ she admitted, glancing down for a second. ‘And the new pants are probably the best-fitting thing I’ve ever worn. Kara actually nailed that part. I’ll give her that much. Still not sold on the blouse, though…’

Watching the other Recruits trickle into the lecture hall, Thea found herself focused on the clothes they were wearing. It wasn’t like she cared, really—fashion still felt like a side quest she’d never picked up—but Kara had told her it helped to build a mental library. 

Something about "outfit synergy" or "understanding silhouettes," whatever that meant.

Still, if she had to suffer through this whole wardrobe thing as a result of Karania’s weird obsession with it, she was going to at least try to do it right.

Most of the guys wore simple t-shirts, jackets, or lightweight utility gear—practical stuff that leaned toward “casual” or “training casual,” depending on how recently they’d been on a run. 

A few of them had clearly tried a little harder, though, with layered outfits and some neat patterns Thea vaguely recognized as “trendy” from last night’s GalNet article reading on the topic.

The girls were a more varied bunch. 

She spotted a handful who clearly fit into Kara’s idea of “relaxed high-fashion”—flowy cuts, expensive-looking fabrics, and accessories that looked like they came with instructions. 

Most, though, landed somewhere in the “shopping casual” tier, with soft sweaters, smart boots, and jackets tied around the waist in that way that said, “yes, this outfit was intentional.”

Thea narrowed her eyes, trying to categorize everyone into the little mental boxes she’d thrown together after yesterday’s two-hour fashion ambush with Karania. 

‘Okay… casual, shopping casual, relaxed high-fash—what even is that guy wearing? Is that some kind of… silk? Absolutely no shot that’s combat-rated…’

Then, suddenly, a thought slammed into her—sneaking in through the side door of her brain—triggered by a half-buried memory from her time back in the Golden Arcade.

She’d been sitting there for days-on-end, many times, sifting through a ridiculous number of armor pieces she’d unlocked through blood, sweat, and overly difficult boss fights. 

Tweaking stats, rotating gear, trying on different cosmetic shaders and applying hard-earned dyes until she landed on the perfect combo: Something that looked insanely cool but still somehow hit all her defensive requirements to let her tank a hit or two when needed.

Her fingers froze mid-fidget on the edge of her blouse.

‘Wait…! This… this is basically just Fashion-Hunting! Just like back then…! You pick pieces that fit together and look cool, but still fit with the overall theme of what you’re going for and provide the amount of flexibility you require…!’

Her eyes slowly widened as the horrifying truth clicked into place.

‘Fashion… is just real life transmogging?!’

She turned in her seat to stare at Karania with the kind of betrayed expression usually reserved for plot-twist betrayals in high-stakes dramas.

‘People were just… Out here transmog flexing with their clothes this whole time… and I’ve been getting absolutely owned without even realizing it?!’

“You should’ve told me sooner, Kara! Fuck!” she blurted, voice way too loud for the mostly quiet lecture hall, drawing eyes from a lot of the Recruit body inside the room.

Karania jumped. “Wha—what?! Told you what? What happened?!”

Her eyes darted around, like she expected someone to have died behind her.

Thea just stared at her, utterly betrayed. “You knew. You knew this was a thing…!”

“I... I don’t… What are you talking about, Thea? What happened?” Karania asked, confusion and concern flashing across her face like she genuinely expected some sort of catastrophe had just taken place.

“You’re coming to my room later tonight,” Thea declared, voice low but intense, “and you’re giving me a full rundown of every single piece of clothing I own. No skipping, no brushing past stuff. I need the full, detailed breakdown. I can’t believe you let me walk around like I did without informing me I was getting absolutely mogged out here the entire time!”

Karania’s brows furrowed, eyes narrowing in sheer confusion before widening again in some kind of helpless cycle. “Ehh… Sure. Yeah, we can do that…?” she offered, slowly nodding along like she wasn’t entirely sure whether Thea was joking or not.

But Thea wasn’t joking.

She gave a firm nod back, like they had just signed a blood contract, and turned her attention back to the incoming Recruits. A bunch of them were glancing her way now, probably confused about the outburst—but she didn’t care. 

That wasn’t important anymore.

Her mind was too busy scanning clothes, silhouettes, and color coordination combos like her life depended on it.

‘Just you wait, fellow hunters… I’ll show you what a true fashion hunter looks like in the flesh...’

—

One of the last people to enter the room caught Thea’s attention immediately—someone she actually recognized.

‘Tiberius Soren… That heavy sniper guy from the Awards,’ she remembered, glancing him over from top to bottom. His outfit was purely practical and entirely black—exactly the kind of thing she’d have worn herself just yesterday.

A smug little smile tugged at her lips, ‘He doesn’t even realize he’s getting absolutely owned right now, does he…?’

Feeling a newfound sense of confidence, she straightened herself up in her seat, letting the blouse fall more naturally around her shoulders. 

She was surprised to find that simply adjusting her posture like that, abruptly made the lightweight fabric feel softer and more comfortable, flowing gently along the curves of her body instead of clinging to them awkwardly like they had before.

Thea still didn’t fully understand how that worked, but it was undeniable. 

As much as she hated to admit it, she was also beginning to grasp why Kara had insisted on pairing this blouse with these particular pants.

They weren’t just random picks—they were both part of a full set. 

The cut allowed for decent maneuverability, the materials complemented each other, and the colors balanced out in a way that felt… intentional. 

Understated, sure, but purposeful. 

Clean lines, soft contrast, and nothing that screamed for attention.

‘It’s a smart set,’ she admitted, almost reluctantly. ‘Quiet style points. Solid maneuverability. Nothing too flashy—but just enough contrast to count as actual fashion hunting. Definitely counts as a solid-ass set for showing up for casual runs.’

Finally, though, the waiting came to an end a few minutes later as the side door next to the podium hissed open—and in walked the professor for today’s lecture.

Thea didn’t recognize him, but the moment he stepped into the room, her brain hit pause.

The man was tall, somewhere in his mid-thirties maybe, with sharp features softened slightly by the light stubble along his jawline. 

His hair was deep brown, short at the sides and styled back with just enough messy volume on top to look artfully undone—intentionally unkempt, in that maddening way that probably took a good twenty minutes of effort every time you tried to leave your home.

But it was his outfit that hit hardest by far, Thea now began to understand.

Her high levels of Perception were only intensifying the level of scrutiny she could manage to muster at the professor’s outfit, and the details… They were impeccable.

He wore a deep navy long coat, left open to reveal a tailored black turtleneck underneath, paired with subtly textured charcoal slacks. 

The coat had a muted trim along the inside edges—barely noticeable unless you were looking. The sleeves were rolled back just enough to show off a high-end, just somehow antique-looking watch and a few sleek bands on one wrist, without it seeming flashy. 

Everything about him was thoroughly polished, yet utterly relaxed. 

Nothing looked forced, nothing looked loud. 

It was confident and effortless at the same time. 

Annoyingly perfect in a way that Thea couldn’t even properly place.

Thea stared for several seconds too long.

‘He knew exactly what he was doing when he told us to come in casual clothes,’ she thought, narrowing her eyes slightly in suspicion. ‘What even is that—relaxed high-fashion academic? Battle-professor chic? How the hell do you even categorize that…?’

She wasn’t sure whether she respected him or wanted to fight him, but either way, he had her full attention now.

The professor reached the center of the podium with a few unhurried steps, let his gaze drift calmly across the room, and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Morning, Recruits,” he said, voice smooth and calm, like he had all the time in the galaxy and no intention of wasting any of it. “My name’s Professor Cael Harrow. I’ll be running your UHF 101 lecture today and the follow-ups for the rest of the year—assuming none of you run screaming to Major Quinn or Captain Cross by the end of the first ten minutes.”

There was the faintest curve of a smirk on his lips as a few chuckles scattered through the hall.

He gave the room a small nod, then continued. “Now, normally, this lecture would’ve happened before the Assessment. You know—when you were still confused, utterly terrified, and blissfully unaware of how deep in the void you were all about to get tossed.” 

His eyes scanned the room again, this time with a little more sharpness behind the casual tone. “Unfortunately, the Sovereign’s timetable for this cycle was… Let’s just say compressed. And apparently no one listens to me about scheduling. Figures, right?”

He shrugged one shoulder in a deliberately lazy way, the kind of movement that made it clear he wasn’t apologizing. “Point is, I think pushing this lecture until after the Assessment was a mistake. But, well—'nother battle for another day, yeah?”

He stepped forward, resting one hand on the edge of the podium.

“Let’s get a few things outta the way first: This class isn’t about the history of the UHF. I’m not here to give you a sermon about its founding principles, and I’m definitely not going to bore you with any tenets unless they’re directly relevant to the Allbright System. UHF 101 is not philosophy. It’s practical. It’s about how the UHF interfaces with the Allbright System. How policy meets practice. How Marines like you get built, managed, evaluated—and sometimes thrown under a bus made of data, if it becomes necessary for the Faction to survive.”

A few Recruits shifted in their seats. 

Thea just tilted her head, intrigued by the brutally blunt openness.

“You’re going to hear some things that might not be in the official documentation,” Harrow continued. “Because I don’t do lectures the same way as most folks around here. Mine are free-form. Guided chaos, if you will. I’ll cover what I need to cover, but the shape this takes?” 

He tapped a finger lightly against the podium, tap-tap, “It depends on what you ask. So speak up. If you’re confused, curious, or just little nosy fuckers—ask. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned about the UHF, it’s this, and that’ll be your first thing to note down on those cute data-pads you all brought: The stuff they don’t go out of their way to tell you is usually the part that matters most.”

He paused, looking around again.

“Oh, and one more thing.” His brow lifted slightly, voice dipping into that more relaxed cadence from the start again. “I tend to repeat the word ‘right’ a lot when I’m warming up a point. Just… something to get used to. Doesn’t mean I’m asking for agreement—just means my brain’s shifting gears. You’ll live.”

With that, he cracked his neck once, then leaned back against the edge of the podium, arms crossed.

“So… Let’s get started, right? First order of call: The Challenge System. What’s it all about, how does it work, why was it such a big deal at the Awards Ceremony…”

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[Fixer+ | Draft] Chapter 137 - Downloads, Downloads, Downloads

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------------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) -------------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Welcome to the draft release of Chapter 137 for y'all.

As always, a quick reminder that this chapter is still in the process of being workshopped by me and that this is simply the first-draft.

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Some people will hate this chapter, but that's why I made it double as long, to fit all the downloads into ONE chapter instead of two.

If you hate the downloads and Sera's thinking on things, skip this one, you will miss nothing.

For everyone else that enjoys this part: Enjoy the double-length feature!

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I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the link to the chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1pModLVTu9cbarLa-kt_Bxtgw_jLZeggrziRxKCwuqHg/edit?usp=sharing

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Chapter 137 - Downloads, Downloads, Downloads

Returning to the apartment felt weirdly nostalgic.

‘I literally left like… three hours ago. How is this already giving “homecoming” vibes?’ I thought, cracking a small smile as I keyed the door shut behind me.

To be fair, a lot had changed in those few hours.

I was now officially part of the OPN. An actual Operator. 

I had contacts—Cryo, Pina, and Mouse—though I still owed the latter a Blip of [Venombite] at some point. 

More importantly, however, I had access. Freedom. To jobs, to Fixers, to opportunities beyond the walls of Delta. To choice as a whole.

Sure, I technically could’ve left before—but back then, there hadn’t really been a reason to. 

No leads. No momentum. No Creds. 

Just raw risk. 

But now? I could hit up the Task board, chase down work through a Fixer, or even walk into the Valedictorian and see who needed a job done. No more waiting for life to simply happen to me as I tried my best to work my stats up.

That rush of potential freedom hit. And it hit hard.

“Also helps that the air doesn’t taste like spicy smog and burnt synth-oil in here,” I muttered, already halfway out of my clothes on the way to the shower. Sweat, dried blood, and enough nervous adrenaline to bottle—none of that was going to go over well with the family. 

Especially not Valeria.

“Haaa…” I let out a long breath as the hot water poured over me.

It figured. 

That would’ve been way too simple.

What should’ve been the biggest hurdle—a once-in-a-lifetime favor from Vega, a shot at impressing an Operator like Cryo, and fast-tracking into the OPN—ended up being the easy part.

I was going to have to face Valeria. And ask her for a favor. And that favor would involve going directly against her express wishes: Asking for Rina’s contact ID, so I could try to dig into the parts of Sera’s past life she wanted buried.

“Easy peasy. Not gonna be a big deal at all. Just ask nicely and she’ll comply, right? No reason this should go bad at all,” I muttered to myself, fully aware I was spewing premium-grade bullshit.

My one sliver of hope was Oliver. That he’d help up his end of the bargain and done something to prep Valeria for this ask—whatever “preparing her” looked like in his world—and that he’d actually back me up when the time came. 

Ideally with words. Possibly with some piece of flak-armor.

But that was a later problem. Right now? I had something else to focus on—my Skills.

‘Alright. Priority one: Get [CQC] and [Contortion] leveled up so I can spend those Perk Points. [Martial Arts] is a Level 4 download, so maybe hold off on that for now… [{Anima Razor}]’s only Level 2, but it’s still Anima-related, and who knows what kind of mental haymaker that’s gonna swing at me when it hits.’

I was finally trying to be a bit smarter about my Skill downloads. 

No more cramming five upgrades in a row and wondering why I was almost vomiting in corners from the pain and tripping over my own feet for hours afterward.

Instead, I’d space them out. Let my brain breathe between installs. Maybe, maybe, I’d get through the day without having to lie on the floor twitching like a broken Synth.

I pulled up the System Interface, navigated to the Skills menu, and sat down on the shower floor—just in case. 

Then, with a deep breath, I accepted the [Contortion] Level 3 download.

The moment I confirmed the download, a rush of pressure surged through my skull—like a balloon inflating behind my eyes—then popped into clarity.

It was like someone had injected a year’s worth of practice directly into my nervous system—hours upon hours of stretching, controlled breathing, pain management, anatomical mapping, and practical drills, all compressed into a few overwhelming seconds of raw data shot right into my brain and muscles.

My joints pulsed with this strange… awareness, like they’d just been oiled and re-socketed. 

I could feel the difference between overextension and safe range instinctively—no thinking required. My shoulder blades suddenly knew how to flatten properly, my ribcage how to compress just enough to slide between narrow gaps. 

I suddenly understood how to dive through a one-foot-wide pipe with arms pressed flat against my sides, chin tucked perfectly to avoid scraping.

The names of poses and transitions flashed across my mind like subtitles to a documentary I hadn’t watched but now remembered intimately. 

I knew I could now pull off something called a standing drop into a contortion bridge—basically a backbend with a mid-air twist and no visible prep, as I had just learned—and recover from it into a low crawl without losing all of my momentum. 

I now also knew how to execute a dynamic elbow thread—twisting both arms behind my back, snaking one through the crook of the other, then popping out of it like a human pretzel mid-roll—which, frankly, I didn’t know how useful that was really going to be, like ever.

But it was something I learned.

My breathing patterns had adapted too, however. 

Which at first was a bit odd, but became second nature almost immediately.

I now knew when to exhale to loosen abdominal tension, when to inhale to brace certain spinal segments during risky transitions, and how to minimize pressure across sensitive joints during long holds.

Even my posture had changed—my spine sat more fluidly upright, hips relaxed but ready to spring into action at every moment. Every joint felt… unlocked for a lack of a better word.

Like my muscles had been locked at sixty percent their whole life—tight, stubborn, just barely doing what I asked of them—and someone had finally cut the safety wires. 

Everything moved smoother now. Deeper range, less resistance. 

Like my joints were finally doing what they’d been built to do, not just what I’d forced them to manage against their will.

“Whoa…” I let the breath slip out, stunned at the difference.

‘Definitely one of the more instantly noticeable downloads,’ I thought, flexing my spine in place with a grin. ‘Is this why people always swore by yoga in my old life…? Was this what they meant? Should’ve listened, maybe. This is absolutely nuts.’

I twisted gently on the wet floor of the shower, testing my limbs. 

Even the smallest motions felt… ridiculously fluid and controlled. 

Like I could fold myself into a suitcase and still walk it off after. 

With just a slight bit of effort, I pushed up into a handstand, palms pressing into the tile, body straight and steady even in the thoroughly cramped space. 

Balance didn’t even feel like a concern—just instinct. [Elemental Balance] wasn’t even helping me out here, as I wasn’t in a combat stance. 

This was just pure [Contortion] goodness coupled with my [Body] stat of 5, as it definitely carried its weight here too, providing the raw strength to hold these poses. 

But the flexibility and control? That was all [Contortion 3], and it was both exhilarating and a little terrifying alike.

‘Didn’t even know people were supposed to be able to move like this…’

I slowly dropped myself back down onto the floor, still breathing a lot more calmly and deeply than expected, and flicked open the Perk selection screen. 

[Coil Spring] [Requirement: Level 3 [Contortion]]
Cobrastriiiiiike! You gain the ability to contort and compress your body in unique ways, significantly enhancing the height and distance of your jumps from a crouched, coiled position.

[Narrow Twist] [Requirement: Level 3 [Contortion]]
Dear god, they’re like a fucking slime! You gain the ability to twist and contort your body to slip through the smallest of openings, navigating spaces others would consider utterly impassable.

[Slippery Body] [Requirement: Level 3 [Contortion]]
Nobody can keep you locked down! You gain the ability to wriggle free from nearly any physical restraint or hold actively placed upon you by somebody else.

[Escape Artist] [Requirement: Level 3 [Contortion]]
Houdini would be proud! You gain the ability to escape from most bonds or restraints with ease—only high-tier equipment resists your escape attempts.

I’d done a bit more thinking on the walk back to Delta—and then again on the elevator ride up to the apartment—about which Perks I actually wanted to grab for [Contortion] and [CQC]. I wasn’t flying totally blind anymore, at least not like earlier when the lists had first hit me like a brick to the face. 

Which, to be fair, was entirely my own fault, in a way. Nothing was really stopping me from checking out all the Perk Trees once I reached Level 1 in a Skill, after all. 

But considering how much mental overhead I was already juggling… It wasn’t exactly something I wanted to deal with, until it became important enough to worry about.

‘[Slippery Body] is probably the first to go, but mostly because it’s the one I thought about the most. It sounds cool in theory—evasion, grappling resistance, all that jazz—but in practice? I’ll just die slightly more quickly. If a ‘Borg gets their hands on me in my current state, I’ll still only be one solid squeeze away from becoming a protein smoothie. Grapple-resistance doesn’t exactly mean much when your bones snap like twigs and your skin bursts like a waterballoon at the slightest application of cybernetic force… Once I become a bit more durable, it’ll be a lot more solid of a pick—probably even the best one in the whole selection. But for now? Definite pass.’

[Coil Spring] got the axe next. The mobility bonus could’ve been clutch—more verticality, more escape options—but I already had [Wall Runner], and with how well it had worked in Delta so far, adding [Coil Spring] felt like buying two upgrades for the same slot. 

Not the most efficient use of my severely limited Perk budget.

[Escape Artist] gave me some pause. It wasn’t useless. Just situational.

‘It’s nice, but honestly, when am I really ever going to get tied up? My main problems are psychos with blades and murder-cyborgs. Against someone like Valir? Yeah, no... Doesn’t matter how good I am at slipping restraints if she just puts a foot through my chest like she did last time. And she hadn’t even been trying to kill me back then. If we go again, she’ll make sure that foot goes straight through my heart and make a blood-splatch out of it.’

I paused, cupping my chin and mentally circling back on Scavs.

‘Still… against low-level Scavs or some back-alley crew? Could come in extremely handy. But I don’t want to spend a whole damn Perk slot prepping for niche scenarios like that...’

Ultimately, though, my eyes had landed on a better option.

‘[Narrow Twist] makes more sense,’ I decided, glancing over its details again in the interface. ‘If I can avoid getting caught at all, there’s no need to bust out of anything. And being able to slip through tight spaces—vents, security gaps, crawlspaces—means more options on any infiltration gig. More chances to disappear. More chances to stay alive.’

After feeling how much the Level 3 download had just altered my range of movement, I could only imagine what this Perk would add on top. 

If it scaled with my newfound flexibility? 

Yeah, I was about to be sliding through tight spots like a damn shadow. Or a slime, apparently—that’s what the Perk flavor-text had called it, anyway. 

With a quick nod—more to back myself up than anything else—I selected [Narrow Twist] as my [Contortion] Perk.

As always, I half-expected something to shift in my body, or a little System jolt, maybe even a weird stretching sensation in my spine or something. But nope. 

As usual, the System just slotted the Perk in silently. 

No fanfare. No flashing lights. No downloads of any kind.

The only sign it had worked at all was the little “Available Perk Point” icon vanishing from the Interface like it had never existed.

‘Alright… One down, one to go,’ I mused, already flicking over to the next Skill tab.

[CQC], Level 3 download, staring back at me. Combat training condensed into a neat little punch to the brain. I took a breath, then muttered to myself:

“Here goes nothing.”

And I hit Accept.

The download hit like a pressure wave behind my eyes—tight, focused, and just on the edge of pain. Not unbearable, but definitely noticeable. It was a good thing that I had decided to stop after this one for the initial downloads, as I could feel the System-induced migraine knocking at the door immediately.

Then the muscle memory came.

My spine straightened and adjusted from my relaxed [Contortion] stance without me thinking about it. My shoulders pulled back, loose but ready to spring into action, like my hips before. 

Every joint seemed to realign from the previous fluid relaxation to optimizing for speed and control. I suddenly felt like I knew how to brace for firearm recoil in tight quarters—how to absorb it through my frame and use it to roll straight into the next strike. 

My fingers twitched momentarily like they were holding a combat knife in a reverse grip, slipping through tight corridors and stacked bodies.

A flood of motion cues played out through my muscles like a pre-recorded fight reel. 

I instantly understood the subtleties of weapon positioning—how to precisely angle my blade during a knife disarm, striking an opponent's wrist with a sharp downward flick and twisting simultaneously to wrench the weapon from their grip, while using their own momentum to drive them to the ground.

Toward the tail-end of the download, an even more refined set of sequences slid into place—stuff you only learned after months of daily drills. 

Then came the more advanced stuff, things you’d learn deeper into a full year’s worth of Operator-grade training. 

Drop-step into a clinch. Pivot the off-hand to intercept a gun barrel before it comes fully up. Slam it into the wall, force it out of the grip, ram the knife into center mass, twist and tear. 

No flair. No wasted movement. Just brutal, practiced economy.

Another scenario drilled itself in alongside it: Knife-to-wrist redirection, meant for tight quarters—redirecting an overhead stab with your forearm, trapping the elbow, and driving the attacker into the nearest surface with enough force to daze them, knife forgotten mid-fall.

These weren’t flashy moves. 

They weren’t made for style—they were made for ending a fight before it even properly started. Everything about it screamed purpose. Subdue, disarm, disengage. Or finish. Fast.

Like what I imagined special ops members would learn in their years of training.

I exhaled slowly, blinking as the flood slowed to a trickle.

‘Holy shit… That was a lot.’

And I hadn’t even picked the Perk yet.

Pulling up the Perk selection right away, the dull headache inside my head warning me of any further downloads for the time being, I read them over once more.

[No-Space Fighter] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
Snake-people can do snakey things… You gain the ability to remove all typical penalties from cramped positioning of all close-combat actions in tight spaces such as, crawlways, ducts, lift shafts or when otherwise similarly impeded.

[Snap Sheathe] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
Draw, Sheathe, Repeat. Draw, Sheathe, Repeat… You gain the ability to rapidly sheathe/stow and subsequently redraw your weapons in one fluid motion, as long as your upper-body movement isn’t impeded.

[Lethal Flow] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
One down… Two… Three… Ten… You gain the ability to immediately follow up a melee kill with a dash, reposition, roll, or vault action without impacting your stance, stamina or situational awareness.

[Kinetic Battery] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
First you get hit a lot, then you hit ‘em with a KABOOM! You gain the ability to store a portion of kinetic energy upon successfully parrying heavy attacks that can be spent to power your next melee attack with explosive force.

[Gun-Kata] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
Every angle is accounted for. Every bullet has a purpose… You gain the ability to seamlessly transition between strikes and point-blank fire. While within melee range, you can chain firearm discharges directly into melee attacks without delay, even firing from non-standard positions (underarm, off-hand, behind-back, etc.) mid-motion. Enemies struck by a melee hit are momentarily tracked, enabling follow-up shots to auto-correct for movement if fired within one half-second.

The choice for the [CQC] Perk had been a pain in the ass, honestly. 

I remembered from my past life how all of them had been fan favorites at one point or another—every build guide, every sweaty min-maxer had at least one of these Perks sitting front and center like it was the holy grail. 

Trying to pick just one felt like I was being asked to choose a favorite limb.

That said, some had been easier to cut than others.

First to go had been [Gun-Kata]. Not because it sucked or anything—far from it—but mostly because I knew for a fact it showed up in other Trees too. [Pistols] and [Firearms] were a given. It was a genre staple, flashy as hell, and there was no way the System didn’t recycle it at least once or twice. I figured I’d rather pick it up later, where it had the potential to synergize better.

The next one to go had been [Kinetic Battery].

‘Extremely good. And the idea of being able to punch harder than Jin and make him question his life choices, is honestly extremely tempting… But I don’t have the know-how of parrying really powerful people yet. Even Jin’s attacks are almost too much for me to handle, and he’s definitely still holding back. A real ‘Borg? I’d be turned to liquid if I tried to actually parry anything they throw at me. No, definitely not an option yet. Amazing later on, once Miss K teaches me a bit more about parrying attacks like that and I get some more toughness into my body as a whole—maybe a few durasteel bone replacements for myself or something...’

[Snap Sheathe] had a similar problem. 

Looked flashy, sounded cool—quick-switching between knives and gear like some kind of cyber-ninja—but my loadout was practically nonexistent. No arsenal, no tricked-out sheathes, barely even a proper selection of knives. 

It just wasn’t the time for it.

‘Maybe for later as well, once I dump a whole bunch of Creds at Misha’s for some serious upgrades…?’

Which left me with two real contenders: [No-Space Fighter] and [Lethal Flow].

And that decision? That one sucked.

‘Both are truly amazing… Not being limited by tight spaces is such an amazing Perk to have. Especially considering I just picked up the slime-body Perk with [Narrow Twist], potentially landing me in even more tight situations than ever before… But [Lethal Flow]... It has that certain extra bit of potential…’

That had ultimately been the thought process I had gone down.

[No-Space Fighter] was the safe, boring and useful option. It was guaranteed to come in handy one way or another, at some point.

[Lethal Flow] on the other hand, was a bit more risky, but still provided a guaranteed level of safety and versatility to my current kit.

‘A bonus action for movement is really, really strong… Should give me a brief moment to consider where to go and potentially even drag a body with me, if I’m strong enough, as it specifically doesn’t mention that I can’t do that in the Perk. Amazing for stealth-kills, which is likely what I’ll be focusing on for now, considering my relative lack of brawling prowess…’

That particular consideration had been what had ultimately clinched the victory for [Lethal Flow] over [No-Space Fighter] in my head.

The sheer fact that there was some more synergy in there, that could help me in dangerous situations.

Where [No-Space Fighter] stopped being useful the second I stepped out of a narrow space, [Lethal Flow] would be guaranteed to go off, any time I killed somebody with my knife.

That could allow me to get out of dodge in an emergency, by getting a kill and immediately dashing away from all other incoming dangers. Something that [No-Space Fighter] couldn’t really offer in the same way.

‘Or at least that’s my rationale, I guess…’ I thought with a bit of a lop-sided smirk, before locking it in.

With both Perks locked in and my freshly upgraded Skills still humming under the surface, the System-induced migraine was already coiling at the base of my skull—like a very patient, very pissed-off wasp, just waiting for the right moment to sting. 

I figured it was probably smart to not poke that hornet’s nest again.

So I stepped out of the shower, towel-dried my hair, and pulled on some loose, comfy clothes. Then I flopped face-first onto the couch in the living room like a dying fish.

“I deserve to just… relax for a bit,” I muttered into the cushions, a tired grin tugging at my lips.

I really had been sprinting toward this moment like a lunatic—burning through days, skipping sleep, finishing [Venombite] on fumes just to make it in time for today. And now that I was actually here, Operator status locked in, Skills leveled, Perks chosen?

Yeah. It hit me just how not relaxed I’d been. 

Not since before Valir cracked half my ribs like stale breadsticks. 

Not since the Vega favor. 

Not since… basically the start of this whole “Sera becoming a real-ass Operator” arc.

I hadn't let myself breathe, let alone sit still without thinking about the next objective or the next download or the next survival-critical Task. 

It was long past time I gave myself at least some grace.

‘I can pick the grind back up after dinner,’ I told myself. ‘Better to have a clear head when facing Valeria than trying to brute-force progress with a scrambled brain and a half-functioning body.’

With that decision made, I just let my eyes fall closed and sank into the silence of the empty apartment. I didn’t sleep—too alert for that—but I rested. 

Let my thoughts drift. 

Sometimes thinking about the future. Sometimes just… vibing into the void.

Eventually, after what felt like both five minutes and a small eternity, in reality being a few hours, I sat back up, gave the System a nod, and queued up the last of the day’s downloads: [Martial Arts] Level 4, [{Anima Razor}] Level 2, and Edge 5. 

I started off with the theoretically most taxing of the three: [Martial Arts].

The moment I confirmed the download, that familiar pulse of heat spread down my spine and into my limbs. My muscles tensed instinctively, bracing for what I already knew was coming.

Level 4 was… deeper, in a way.

Where Level 3 had felt like a year of intensive foundation work—stances, basic counters, power generation, breathing, timing—this one picked up right where that left off. 

It was still the same language, just with more nuance. Like going from fluency to early poetry.

My shoulders shifted without me consciously thinking about it, rolling into the start of a transition from an open Muay Thai stance to something lower and tighter—half Krav Maga, half Bajiquan. 

The download didn’t just give me basic forms anymore—it gave me adaptability. 

The ability to blend techniques, flow between styles, and recognize, on the fly, what kind of strike someone was about to throw from their foot placement alone, as long as I could recognize the form in the first place.

Deeper parts of concepts like kinetic redirection and destructive entry slotted into my brain like they’d always been there, further reinforcing the fundamentals that the last download had planted. 

I suddenly understood how to more effectively exploit micro-movements in an opponent’s stance—not just blocking and redirecting, but downright stealing their balance, taking their centerline and turning their momentum against them while further reinforcing my own.

The memory of previous training sessions I never actually lived played in flashes—dozens of variations on takedowns, checks, joint locks, and position control drills. 

One sequence showed me how to slip into an arm-drag straight into a knee shield pass and hammerfist drop, all from a clinch that wouldn’t have lasted more than two seconds.

And then… there was [Elemental Balance].

That Perk added a strange, deeper clarity to everything that I hadn’t really expected.

The Tai Chi influence it had already implanted—those calm, spiraling movements and rooted footwork—now met with the practical brutality of these new techniques. Aikido’s redirection principles didn’t just make sense now; they synced with my balance control, helping me flow instead of resist. Even the Zen Meditation framework the Perk had provided kicked in subtly, letting me more easily separate thought from reaction.

Yoga principles reemerged too—hip alignment, spinal integrity, control over breath and flexibility—blending seamlessly with what I had just picked up from the [Contortion] download as well. 

It all somehow just… fit together. 

The System wasn’t just handing me disconnected pieces anymore—it was building something. A toolkit of sorts. A way of moving and fighting that felt almost… alien, yet undoubtedly instinctive as it was burned into my body and mind.

I caught myself breathing harder now, each inhale dragging a little more effort than it should. The download had definitely taken its toll—on my body, on my nerves, on whatever part of my brain was responsible for keeping me upright.

‘[Martial Arts] really is one of the most brutal Skills to download, huh…?’ I thought, wincing as another pulse of memory sent a phantom jolt down my spine. ‘God damn. Just a single Level 4 and I feel like my skull’s about to crack open. And this isn’t even counting, like, stacking it with other stuff. There’s gotta be a way to make this suck less in the future… right?’

I sat back and focused on my breathing, cycling through the techniques I’d just picked up. 

Deep diaphragmatic pulls from [Contortion] for physical regulation, mixed with the calm, centering exhales from [Martial Arts]—somewhere between meditative breathing and prep for a strike. 

It helped. A bit.

Tension eased off in stages, my heartbeat slowing from a borderline sprint to something closer to a brisk jog. 

The rattling aftershocks of the download were still there—locks, transitions, armbars, intricate positions that I hadn’t even known existed just a few minutes ago—but now they played like background noise, less overwhelming and more… informative.

Eventually, the fog in my head lifted just enough to think straight again.

‘Edge and [{Anima Razor}] still to go... Yeah, Attribute first. Always easier to handle than Skills. Less violent, somehow,’ I figured, popping open the System interface again. 

The dinner with Valeria was fast approaching. And if I wanted to be on my A-game—mentally, emotionally, tactically—then Edge was going to be damn important.

So, with a mental tap, I accepted the Edge 5 download.

As expected, it was a lot… gentler. 

No sudden rush of images, no jarring muscle memory injections. 

Just a slow, subtle shift that spread through me like warm static. I

f Skill downloads were like being slammed in the face with a thousand new lessons all at once, this was more like someone quietly dimming the lights and switching the vibe.

No real flashes of insight or techniques this time, just… presence. Awareness. 

A soft recalibration that started at the base of my spine and climbed all the way up to the crown of my head.

For the third time today, my posture shifted—barely noticeable, but there. 

Even slouched on the couch, I could feel my body fine-tuning itself, the download meshing with the [Contortion] and [CQC] muscle memory from earlier. Not in a clunky, piecemeal way, either—it was smoother than anything I’d felt so far. Attribute rank-ups just hit different. Like the System was adjusting the foundation itself, not just slapping new tools into my hands.

It was like getting a full-body firmware upgrade. No bugs, no crashes—just quiet improvements baked into the operating system that ran me.

Edge governed all sorts of sneaky, underhanded Skills—stealth, sleight-of-hand, murdery type stuff—but also a surprising amount of my mental resilience.

It didn’t shove brute-force answers in my face like Ego sometimes did. 

Edge was subtler. It nudged me. Pointed out options. 

Showed me ways out I might’ve missed if I’d been too loud, too brash, too panicked.

Feeling that framework expand across my mind and body… yeah. 

It was grounding. I hadn’t expected it to feel comforting, but it kind of was, in all honesty.

‘And, best of all, it doesn’t feel like someone took a crowbar to the inside of my skull, so… massive improvement,’ I thought with a wry grin, silently thanking whatever invisible System dev had the sense to make Attribute upgrades a little less painful than the rest.

“Haaa…” I let out a heavy sigh, slumping deeper into the couch as the weight of all those downloads finally started to catch up to me. The upgrades had drained way more energy than I’d expected, leaving me barely recharged for the family dinner I was supposed to survive later.

‘But they’ll be worth it. I’m sure.’ I tried to convince myself of that, even though the certainty didn’t quite reach all the way down. In my head, it sounded confident enough—thoroughly self-assured—but the tightness in my chest wasn’t buying it.

‘Maybe I should’ve waited until after dinner to push these through. Would’ve had more energy. Less brain melt. But then again…’

I absolutely loved seeing the numbers go brrr. Couldn’t help it. 

Part of the whole thrill was getting the new toys now, feeling the shift in real time. Stats ticking upward, Systems evolving. It scratched an itch in my brain nothing else really could.

“One more to go,” I muttered under my breath, dragging my focus back toward the final hurdle: [{Anima Razor}].

An Anima Skill.

Yeah, that meant weirdness, I had learned.

I knew full well what kind of chaos the last Anima download had dumped into my brain, and I had zero illusions that this one would be any gentler. If anything, it was probably gonna be even more unhinged than most of the other downloads today—maybe even all of them.

So, I braced. Took a deep breath. Focused.

‘Alright, System. Show me what [{Anima Razor}] is all about…’

And then I hit download.

The moment the download hit, it felt like a cold edge slid into my mind and carved open space inside to fill it.

[{Anima Razor}] didn’t hit like the others. 

It didn’t burn like [Martial Arts], and it didn’t layer over me like [Edge]. It sliced its way in—quietly, methodically—biting into my brain like it was honing itself against the whetstone of my very mind.

The first wave of knowledge was all about bladed steel. Weight, balance, edge control.

I suddenly knew the difference between a forward-swept karambit and a reverse-grip boot knife—how one flowed best for deflections and arcing cuts, while the other was built for compact, explosive drives into tight angles. 

I felt the ghost of movement in my wrist and elbow, subtle muscle memory unlocking the perfect snap transitions between slashing arcs and puncture thrusts.

Training modules I'd never seen but somehow remembered unfurled in my thoughts—drills focused on maintaining edge alignment during high-speed rotations, disarming moves against opponents wielding larger weapons that flowed smoothly into my previous [CQC] download as well, and redirection techniques that used your opponent’s own momentum against them, further reinforcing the [Martial Arts] download too. 

Six months of structured knife and blade work compressed into a few seconds of internal upheaval.

Then came the weirdness… The Anima.

Not all at once. 

It never did. 

Anima liked to creep. To worm its way in. To whisper. 

This time, it whispered of intention.

I could feel something settle into my bones—something that knew how to listen for ambient flows of energy in a fight, and respond. It was faint, but it was there. 

Tiny flickers of awareness toward threads I hadn’t noticed before, like the residual hum of tension between me and my blade, or the way a cut could feel wrong unless it followed the natural rhythm of motion.

There was this weird understanding now—just a sliver—of how bladed combat wasn’t just about physics, necessarily. It was about flow, precision, yes, but also about the emotive weight behind each strike. 

Not just where you struck, but why.

And then there was the Sigils.

I felt my fingers twitch as the memory of Mr. Shori’s movements resurfaced—but sharper now. 

Muscle memory flooded in, shaving whole seconds off the painful process of summoning the [Anima Razor] itself. The sigil-casting sequence I’d once stumbled through awkwardly now felt closer to instinct—still not anywhere near fast, not yet, but no longer agonizingly slow. 

The download even threaded in subtle corrections—micro-adjustments to my breathing, posture, and mental focus during conjuration. Ways to lessen the burn. 

To avoid the pain that usually came with it. 

To handle the invisible blade like it was more of an extension of my will, not some unstable wildcard ready to blow my nervous system apart at a moment’s notice.

When it finally settled, I was left with a strange calm. A blade-shaped calm.

It felt like something had shifted inside me—some quiet understanding of how to move with purpose, how to cut with meaning, and how to call something impossible into existence without breaking under the strain.

And, most of all: The [Anima Razor] itself felt no longer inherently self-destructive by default.

Somehow I could just tell that the new way of drawing the Sigils wouldn’t end up with me cramping my hands up instantaneously and half-ripping the muscles in them every time I tried.

‘Just one more level… Maybe two…’ I thought immediately, excitement bubbling up despite the exhaustion.

The [Anima Razor] was slowly turning from a neat gimmick into something that might actually be usable for me in a real fight. 

Not quite yet, but it was clearly getting there…

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[TAS] Volume 2 - Chapter 39 - Shopping Finale

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------------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) -------------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Volume 2 - Chapter 34 - Weapons has just released on RR with no changes.

For the Wolf Lords, this chapter is unchanged.

And also: Please do not read the chapters here on Patreon, but go for the googledoc, .pdf or .epub instead. Patreon butchers all forms of formatting and you're missing out on easier and more enjoyable reading experiences.

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EDIT (14/07/25):

Headsup:

The *Admin Week for this month will start TODAY.*

Sorry for the late notice on this, but I just realised that both ND and TAS are at fairly precarious points in the story, which would make future Admin Weeks difficult to sort out without resulting in truly horrendous cliffhangers.

ND in particular has some exciting chapters coming up for the Patreons, and I really don't want to end up cutting a whole week of no-releases right into the middle of that, as that would be a bit too cruel, even for my standards.

As such, I'll be placing the Admin Week starting today until next week Monday, with the first chapters continuing to release on Monday, 21st of July (ND) and Tuesday, 22nd of July (TAS).

My sincerest apologies for the short runup on this, but I somehow forgot about Admin Week being a thing until I just got hit with a bunch of tasks (RL/Work) and wondered where I'd slot them in and how I usually handle that kind of stuff.

Thanks for your continued support!

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Next chapter, we'll do a bit of a time skip, most likely!

We gotta get going with those, so we can finish up the year! ;)

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I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the link to the chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1dAsOK3fkNBv05Y2xvTwO-PXLUg_Yqp8b_1_biLxTPpU/edit?usp=sharing

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Volume 2 - Chapter 39 - Shopping Finale

“On the Emergence and Classification of Novel System Abilities: Combatant and Non-Combatant Perspectives”

Author: Dr. Ilara Merven, UHF Institute for Galactic Systemic Research

Abstract:

This paper examines the ongoing phenomenon of novel Ability emergence within the Allbright System, exploring the hypothesis that significant individual accomplishments or Faction-level milestones correlate with the generation of previously undocumented System Abilities. 

While extensive historical records substantiate the appearance of new Abilities within the Galactic Bubble, the underlying mechanisms remain uncertain, and comparable data beyond established galactic boundaries are not yet available.

Introduction:

Historically, System Abilities have been classified based on their inherent functions, the vast majority of which were among the combat-oriented types. 

However, recent evidence indicates a consistent increase in the complexity and diversity of newly observed Abilities, suggesting that the Allbright System dynamically responds to user activity and Accomplishments as a whole. 

The purpose of this paper is to explore the patterns behind Ability emergence, with a particular emphasis on distinctions between combatant and non-combatant roles.

Emergence of Novel Abilities:

The most frequently discussed hypothesis is that new Abilities arise in direct response to significant actions undertaken by notable Faction members. 

Case studies, such as the recent emergence of [Aegis of Protection] following Commander Riven’s actions in the Arden Campaign (PFC 931), suggest a correlation between impactful Accomplishments and the subsequent generation of previously undocumented Abilities. 

However, controlled experimentation remains impossible due to the System’s complexity, rendering definitive conclusions difficult.

Alternative theories posit that the System periodically introduces novel Ability permutations entirely independent of user input, effectively maintaining systemic balance and adaptability. 

One additional theory raises the question of whether truly new Abilities are being generated at all, or if what we are witnessing is simply a product of observational bias. 

This perspective suggests that the Abilities in question have always existed within the System’s framework but are only now being documented due to the combined effects of increased research efforts and the escalation of the Galactic War. As more Participants achieve notable Accomplishments or demonstrate extraordinary feats, it is possible that previously inaccessible or dormant Abilities are being unlocked rather than newly created.

At present, the available data remain inconclusive in determining which of these hypotheses—true emergence versus delayed discovery—is more likely to reflect the underlying reality.

Non-Combatant Ability Classifications:

A recent focus in System-related research involves documenting Abilities developed specifically for non-combat roles, such as Mechanics, Pilots, Engineers, and Researchers. 

Observations from the past fifty Terran-standard-years confirm a noticeable increase in the variety and specialization of non-combat Abilities. 

Examples include [Adaptive Engine Tuning] among Mechanics, [Precision Maneuvering] observed frequently among elite Pilots and Drivers, and [Rapid Data Synthesis] consistently recorded among high-level Researchers.

These findings strongly suggest that the Allbright System does not solely prioritize combatant roles, instead dynamically facilitating skill expression across numerous fields.

Further studies on this topic have long since started and are likely to present findings in the coming years.

Discussion and Conclusion:

While it remains unclear whether the Allbright System actively responds to individual or collective achievements, or if it periodically refreshes its Ability inventory independently, current data support the theory of ongoing, adaptive Ability generation—or unlocking, in the case of the delayed discovery theorem—within the Galactic Bubble. 

The absence of comparable data beyond established galactic boundaries necessitates further investigation once the Galactic Bubble disappears. 

Understanding these patterns has significant implications for both strategic planning and systemic development across diverse occupational roles within UHF-aligned factions.

Future research should prioritize systematic observation of Ability emergence conditions, detailed statistical analysis of Ability distribution across roles, and expansion of data collection initiatives beyond the Galactic Bubble…

[Journal of System Dynamics Research, Vol. 42, Issue 3, PFC 935]

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Scrolling through the limited selection of Gold-rarity Abilities gave Thea a strange feeling.

‘I didn’t even bother looking at these when I first got here before the Assessment…’ she thought, eyes flicking across the golden text. ‘The costs were way too high back then. I never thought I’d be able to seriously consider picking one up—especially not this soon...’

Even now, they were still expensive—prohibitively so, for most people. But for her, with the Merit she had stacked up and the [Without Equal] Voucher tucked safely away, they weren’t completely off the table. 

If something truly exceptional showed up… She could go for it.

The problem was, she was starting to wonder if anything in this list was truly exceptional.

There were only eight Gold-rarity Abilities available that didn’t require a Voucher—just eight. 

That was barely anything, considering the sheer number of Abilities out there and when compared to the other rarities available in the store. And worse, they felt oddly scattered. Like someone had cherry-picked the weirdest options from a much larger pool and just dropped them in at random.

A few were oddly specific—like [Marathon Runner], which offered impressive Stamina and Vitality buffs... but only really made sense for someone planning to sprint across an entire continent. 

Another was a Perception-based Ability that boosted your stat by a sizable amount, but only under absurdly specific conditions Thea couldn't imagine encountering outside a simulation specifically set up for it. 

Then there was [Forceful Retaliation]—clearly meant for a heavy bruiser-style build. Just the name alone screamed “hit me so I can hit back harder.”

‘Yeah… I’m not really planning on getting hit anytime soon,’ she thought with a lop-sided smirk. ‘Especially not just to activate an Ability. Isabella might consider it—but even then, she’s not invincible either. Maybe Lucas? He’s more of the “take the hit and keep going” type…’

Overall, the Gold options were underwhelming. Not surprising, honestly.

“Guess this is where the Accomplishment-only tier really starts,” she muttered under her breath. “Most of the good ones are probably locked behind Vouchers or dropped as RNG rewards from high-tier challenges.”

Still, one Ability had caught her eye.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t a Passive—it was an Active-type, which meant she’d have to sacrifice something serious from her current lineup just to make room for it. 

No small trade.

Cupping her chin, she reread the description again, eyes narrowing. 

If she was going to make a move on this one, it had to be worth the cost. 

And she needed to be sure—really sure—that what it offered outweighed what she’d lose.

[Active (Gold) – Adrenaline Burst – Level 0]
Description: Allows the Participant to expend a certain amount of Stamina to momentarily increase their Strength and Finesse by a large margin up to a maximum for a short duration.
Cost: 50 Stamina - Factor: 250% - Maximum Attribute: 6 - Duration: 3 seconds
Growth/Level: Factor+7.5% - Max+0.1 - Duration+0.1s

“It’s basically a more conditional version of [Sensory Overdrive], but for both Strength and Finesse,” Thea mumbled, eyes skimming the Ability’s description for the third time. “Would give me a ton more flexibility for a short burst… and putting both of those together would be—yeah, that’d be something.”

She tilted her head, still debating.

“But I don’t exactly have a ton of Stamina, and it wouldn’t really help in most of the situations where I actually use SO at the moment…”

Just a few days ago, she probably would’ve grabbed this Ability without thinking. 

It fit her old mindset—maximize combat efficiency, stack raw power, chase perfect execution.

But now, after reflecting more on her role in the squad, where her build was headed, and what she wanted to actually do, [Adrenaline Burst] didn’t quite slot in as cleanly.

“There’s only so much individual power I need at this point…” she muttered. “I’m already handling most situations far, far better than expected. This’d just boost twitch-reactions—and how often do I really need that anymore? If an Obscuritas shows up, sure. But is that really worth burning a whole Ability slot on?”

That was the core issue. Not even the slot itself, really—just what it represented.

Technically, she could make room for it. 

[Improved Sprint] was one option, though she’d already mentally bookmarked that one for replacement once Vi passed her [Shadow Step]. Then there was [Penetrative Shot]... but that had grown on her more than she liked to admit.

That whole Wall incident had cemented its usefulness. 

And paired with [Detect Weak Spots] and her Caliburn, it gave her a solid, reliable answer to extremely heavily armored threats. Plus, once she got her Gram customized and properly synced, the usefulness of it would only get better. 

Dropping that Ability now felt like surrendering a game just before the comeback victory.

And then—of course—there was the price tag.

‘Nearly 2,000 Merit…’

That wasn’t pocket change, even to her. 

That was nearly a third of everything she had. All her gains from the Cube Trial, every single Accomplishment, and the full payout from the Assessment combined had only come out to a little over 6,800 Merit.

‘I can’t just impulse-buy this one,’ Thea thought, tapping the edge of her pad absently. ‘This isn’t like the other versions of the Gram—those I could experiment with. I have enough Credits where it doesn’t even make a major dent. This, however? If I change my mind later, I’m stuck with it. No refunds.’

What she really needed was a better sense of how much it would actually impact her build. 

‘Will this actually elevate my overall style or just get in the way…? A valuable addition or just a random add-on…? I wish I had a way to test—’

And then the idea hit her.

“Sovereign,” she said quietly, keeping her voice low. “Is there an Ability that functions pretty much exactly like [Adrenaline Burst] in Archion?”

She figured the ship’s AI would pick up the request—anytime its name was spoken aloud, it usually did.

“Affirmative,” came the smooth, immediate reply next to her ear. “The Archion Ability known as [Burst of Power] is functionally synonymous.”

Thea grinned.

‘Perfect. I can run some tests with my current setup in the sim first,’ she thought, already visualizing how it might feel in a live scenario. ‘See if it actually fits before throwing a third of my Merit at it.’

She quickly earmarked [Adrenaline Burst] in her personal profile for later, tagging it for future review, and pulled back to double-check her shopping list—making sure everything she’d already selected was still locked in.

[Passive (Silver) – Focus Retention – Level 0] - Cost: 552 System Merit
[Passive (Iron) – Focus Capacitor – Level 0] - Cost: 225 System Merit

[Notice: 1x (Silver-rarity Ability Voucher) and 1x (Iron-rarity Ability Voucher) applied to nullify System Merit costs.]

She paused for another moment, running through the decisions one last time, then gave a firm nod to herself and confirming the purchase.

“I should leave the last slot open. At least until I get another Voucher…” she muttered, backing out of the Ability menu. “Using Merit this early on without a real plan isn’t gonna be worth it. I need to be smart about my resources.”

With the last slot shelved for now, she exited the Ability section and flipped back over to the Skill tab. A small icon in the corner let her know she had an unread message—her eyes flicked to it automatically.

It was from the Runepriest.

Thea perked up a bit, feeling that usual mix of curiosity and mild apprehension that always came with interacting with the enigmatic man. She opened it quickly, eager to see what sort of breakdown he’d sent about her request on Skill priorities.

[“Physics, Chemistry and Mathematics. Biology ain’t that important. Should do just fine like that… Almost certainly. Maybe… Probably.” —Anrake]

She stared at it. Blinked once. Then again.

“That… That’s it?” she asked out loud, tone somewhere between baffled, offended and incredulous.

Apparently loud enough, because Karania strolled over with a curious look. “What’s up, Thea?”

Without a word, Thea held out the pad for her to read.

Karania glanced at the screen, then gave a small, amused hum. “Huh. Well, hey—looks like I was on the right track with my advice, at least. I’ll take that as a win.”

Thea groaned and let out a heavy sigh, thumbing back into the Skill interface and removing [Basic Biology] from her planned curriculum for now, effectively placing it at the bottom. “It’s still way too many Research-type Skills though…”

Karania just smiled sweetly from the side as Thea grumbled.

“Haaa… Guess we’re really not getting around asking Major Quinn for a permission slip, huh?”

“Yuuuup!” Karania chirped, way too happy about the idea of waltzing up to the proprietor of the entire Star Sector they called their home, and also the leading person of this entire Recruitment Drive, and asking her for a favour.

With another quiet sigh, Thea finalized her Skill Class selection and saved it to her profile for now. Classes weren’t scheduled to start for another week anyway—at least that gave them some time to figure things out properly.

“Anyway,” she said, glancing over, “you find anything good while you were digging through the store earlier? You looked pretty into it.”

To her surprise, Karania shook her head. “Not really. I’ve flagged a few Abilities, but nothing jumped out as a must-have yet. I still need more data before I commit to anything.”

She leaned on the edge of the console as she spoke. “I’m hoping the Digital Missions we’re starting next week will give me a lot more varied encounters than the Assessment did. I can only get so far with the classic ‘medic, I got shot’ routine. Doesn’t tell me what I really need to build a full Squad Medic portfolio. I want to see more scenarios, more edge cases—stuff that actually challenges my preconceived notions on how to handle medical emergencies. Until then, I’m holding onto my Vouchers and Merit. No point in rushing.”

Then she raised an eyebrow and tilted her head at Thea. “What about you? Judging by how much you were pacing through the menus earlier, I’m guessing you found something?”

Caught off guard—and mildly horrified—Thea blinked. “Wait… you heard that?”

Karania’s grin was far too satisfied.

“Yeah…” Thea muttered, defeated. “I picked up a new Silver and a new Iron Passive. Both aimed at shoring up my Focus issues. Less chance to Overdraw, and I can actually use my Abilities more frequently now. Also found a Gold that seemed interesting, but I’m gonna test it out in Archion first, see if it fits.”

“That’s… actually really smart,” Karania said, blinking in surprise. “Did not expect you to test something before buying.”

“Hey!” Thea immediately pointed at her, eyes narrowing. “That… That is rude!”

“What?” Karania feigned innocence. “It’s not like you didn’t just tell me, like, twenty minutes ago that you bought—what, five? Five Full License guns? For weapons you have no plans to use? Purely for research?”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Excuuuuse me for thinking my little impulse-buy gremlin might have a teensy-tiny problem with hoarding shiny things. I didn’t know that impulse control only applies to some resource types, not all of them.”

Thea crossed her arms and gave Karania a sharp scowl. “What’s wrong with spending resources when you’ve got them…? I’ve got plenty of Credits, not much Merit. So it makes sense to spend Credits where I can and save the Merit for stuff I actually need. It’s just logic, Kara!”

“Nope,” Karania replied cheerfully. “Impulse-buy gremlin it is. Long may she reign.”

Thea let out a long, dramatic sigh, the fight draining out of her. 

She’d learned better than to argue when Kara latched onto one of these things—especially when she was clearly having way too much fun with it.

“Aaaanyway,” Thea said, waving a hand dismissively, “I’m done with the System Store for now, so I guess we’re free the rest of the day?”

Karania didn’t miss a beat. “Ehhh, no? No, you’re not. And I’m not either.”

Thea’s brow scrunched up, visibly confused.

‘Wait… Did I forget something?’ She mentally ran through her checklist. ‘Armour—done. Focus Boosters, weapons, research materials—check. Skills planned, Abilities selected... I’m pretty sure that’s everything I needed…?’

She was mid-internal audit when Karania’s pout made its dramatic appearance.

“You promised we’d go shopping for clothes together after we were done!” she said, downright offended. “Don’t tell me you forgot already! We need to get you something—anything—other than that pullover.”

To really hammer the point home, she grabbed a fistful of said pullover and tugged at it with mock disgust.

“Hey!” Thea swatted her hand away. “I like this one! What’s wrong with it?”

It was her best outfit. She’d specifically worn this one for the trip for that very reason.

She had triple-checked that on the GalNet articles before they had left that morning. Multiple articles had clearly said that for casual off-duty trips, especially shopping excursions with friends, you were supposed to wear something “comfortable, casual, and clean.” 

This pullover hit all three.

Karania flailed a little, struggling to find the right words—probably for the very first time, ever—hands gesturing wildly in the air like they might summon the perfect argument from thin space.

“It’s… it’s just—ugh! You need more clothes, Thea! Options! And you promised. So, no takebacks. We’re going!”

Thea groaned quietly but didn’t protest much more than that. 

Deep down, she knew there was no winning this one.

Not when Kara was already dragging her out of the System Store and toward the civilian district like she had been mortally wounded and needed to be brought to the med tent ASAP.

—

A little over fifteen minutes later, Thea found herself standing in front of what could only be described as a small mountain of clothing—each piece hand-picked by Karania extremely quickly, as if she had been thinking about this excursion and mapping out the perfect route to get all the pieces as quickly as possible, and stacked with alarming precision on a nearby bench. 

Shirts, jackets, frilly tops, fitted pants, and even—much to her horror—actual dresses were buried somewhere in the pile.

She blinked slowly, arms crossed. “Do you really think I need to try all of these on? I have perfectly functional uniforms. And my pullover still works just fine—”

“Yes! Yes, I do think so!” Karania cut her off, full of righteous energy. Before Thea could retreat another step, she gave her a light shove toward the fitting room. “Now stop arguing and get in there already!”

Thea let out a long, theatrical sigh as she shuffled toward the changing booth. “Why doesn’t the Sovereign just... I don’t know, magically put the clothes on for us or something? Would make all of this way less annoying.”

Karania leaned against the nearby wall, smug smile firmly in place. 

“Because, dearest Thea,” she began, her tone far too pleased with herself as if she had already expected this exact line of questioning, “the Sovereign is a warship. A troop transport designed to train future Marines—not host fashion shows. Her functions are reserved for training simulations, strategic deployment, and managing assessment data. Not casual shopping.”

She gestured toward the rows of hangers and shelves around them.

“It’s probably the same reason there’s physical clothes here in the first place. If this were one of those high-end boutiques on any of the Inner-Worlds? You’d just throw on a base-layer and it’d morph into whatever outfit you wanted. Try-on process handled by fabric projectors, full-range mirrors, AI stylists. Minimal effort. Maximum glam.”

She snapped her fingers dramatically. “But all that eats up power and bandwidth. And the Sovereign’s got better things to do—like making sure we don’t die. So, instead... we get this.” 

She waved a hand at the clothing pile. “Good old-fashioned fashion chaos. Honestly? It’s way more fun this way. I guarantee it.”

Thea stared at her for a second longer, unsure of whether she wanted to respond to all that or not. 

Then, she grabbed a pile of clothes and disappeared behind the curtain with nothing more than a resigned groan and an eyeroll that would make even Isabella proud…

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[ND] Chapter 136 - Mixer

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---------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ----------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Chapter 131 - Not People has just released on RR with no major changes.

For the Fixers, this chapter has seen no changes.

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EDIT (14/07/25):

Headsup:

The Admin Week for this month will start TODAY.

Sorry for the late notice on this, but I just realised that both ND and TAS are at fairly precarious points in the story, which would make future Admin Weeks difficult to sort out without resulting in truly horrendous cliffhangers.

ND in particular has some exciting chapters coming up for the Patreons, and I really don't want to end up cutting a whole week of no-releases right into the middle of that, as that would be a bit too cruel, even for my standards.

As such, I'll be placing the Admin Week starting today until next week Monday, with the first chapters continuing to release on Monday, 21st of July (ND) and Tuesday, 22nd of July (TAS).

My sincerest apologies for the short runup on this, but I somehow forgot about Admin Week being a thing until I just got hit with a bunch of tasks (RL/Work) and wondered where I'd slot them in and how I usually handle that kind of stuff.

Thanks for your continued support!

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NOTE: A new DECISION POINT is upon us with this chapter!

Please head on over to the DISCORD and check the #Novel-Decisions channel up at the "Serious Topics" to join the discussion and cast your votes.

The POLL for the voting IS STILL LIVE! IT RUNS OUT ON SUNDAY!!

Discussion will be available right away.

(Discord Link: https://discord.gg/rtZGz5RHtq)

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Mixer.

Get it?

Like when you meet up with lads and lasses and go drinking together? But also the name of like mixing stuff together, like a drink?

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I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the googledoc to the actual Chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mGoX21VH3utavA8MZh_k3dAE2X46Kj-Ke9XMY5Fap34/edit?usp=sharing

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Chapter 136 - Mixer

“Ya want a drink? I’m buyin’,” Cryo offered casually over his shoulder as we reached the bar.

I’d never been much for alcohol, and even now, in a new world, that hadn’t changed. But hell—I'd been through enough shit this past month. Maybe a flashy drink to celebrate wouldn’t hurt.

“As long as it’s alcohol-free, surprise me,” I replied, feeling oddly confident as the words slipped out. Making it into the OPN backrooms, becoming a licensed Operator after clawing my way up from rock bottom—yeah, I’d earned a bit of indulgence.

“Heh, sure,” Cryo acknowledged, then leaned over the bar and ordered something quietly for himself and, presumably, whatever drink he’d picked for me.

Barely a minute later—what a crazy service!—Cryo handed me my drink, a smirk twitching at his lips. He held a wide tumbler filled with a deep-blue liquid that sparkled faintly, like bottled starlight pulsing gently beneath his fingertips.

Mine, though? Mine was something else entirely. 

A tall glass, filled with layers of softly glowing liquid that shifted smoothly through the entire neon spectrum as it ascended—greens, blues, reds, and purples—capped off by a snowy-white foam that glowed intensely, like someone had installed a thoroughly luminescent LED just underneath the surface of my drink.

“Whoa…” I breathed out, eyes wide in awe. 

Lifting it carefully and inspecting it, I noticed the liquid inside had alternating bands of warmth and coldness, pulsing gently against my fingertips like some liquid neon heartbeat.

‘How the hell do they even make stuff like this? This is crazy…!’

A chuckle snapped me from my trance. 

Cryo was watching me with his usual lopsided smirk, clearly amused. 

I quickly schooled my expression back into neutrality.

“Glad ya like it,” he said, clearly pleased with himself. “C’mon.”

He led me back through the crowd toward a booth at the far corner of the room. 

Mouse and Pina were already there, predictably mid-argument, both clutching equally flashy drinks—Mouse’s was a fizzing, electric-yellow cocktail crackling with faint static, while Pina’s series of seven short, squat glasses shimmered like molten chrome under the backroom’s lighting.

Cryo slid casually into the booth, nodding at Mouse and Pina. 

I quickly took the spot beside him—across from Mouse just like the first time we met—carefully setting my glowing drink onto the table. The moment we sat, Mouse and Pina’s argument faded, curiosity overtaking their earlier irritation.

Pina cocked an eyebrow at Cryo, a questioning look clear in her eyes. Without missing a beat, Cryo nodded smoothly toward me, his lips tugging into a small, genuine smile.

“Officially part o’ the OPN,” he announced simply, raising his glass. “Welcome to the Operator Private Network, Ela.”

Mouse’s eyebrows jumped, a grin spreading over his face, while Pina looked genuinely pleased. They both quickly mirrored Cryo, lifting their respective glasses and cups toward mine, Pina dual-wielding shot glasses like her life depended on it.

My chest swelled with a warmth that I hadn’t really known it could produce, pride bubbling up as I lifted my own dazzling drink. “Thanks.”

Our glasses met with a soft, melodious clink, and I brought the cocktail to my lips for my first official taste of OPN backroom hospitality.

The smell hit me first—sweet yet crisp, like citrus and fresh mint mingling in the air, underlined by a subtle electric tingle that seemed to tickle the very back of my nose, halfway down my throat. 

Curiosity more than thoroughly piqued, I took a good chug.

My eyes widened at the explosion of flavors and sensations.

That first layer—the blindingly white one—hit me like a blizzard. 

It was ice-cold, almost painfully so, sending a sharp jolt down my throat like the world’s cleanest, most aggressive mint. But beneath that blinding chill, there was a crisp tang—something citrusy, like frozen lime zest mixed with the electric sting of carbonation and just a hint of something floral, maybe elderflower, or whatever version thereof existed here in this world. 

It was intense and refreshing, thoroughly shocking my tastebuds—and brain—awake like a bolt of lightning straight to the tongue and prefrontal cortex.

As I tilted the glass further and the white layer passed, my eyes flicked down to try and match what I was tasting with what I was seeing. 

Just beneath the white was a thin band of vivid cyan—glowing faintly like some kind of irradiated glacier. 

The flavor was mellow—blueberries, maybe? No, something more artificial but still pleasant, like a high-end synth-fruit made to be more “blue” than any real fruit ever could be. 

Sweet, slightly floral, and weirdly… silky. 

There was also a subtle fizziness to it underneath it all, and a strange gelatinous texture that spread beyond the initial silkyness, almost like drinking a uniform layer of fruit pearls suspended in liquid.

Then, before I even had time to process even a fraction of the taste and texture explosion in my mouth, came the orange-gold layer—thicker, richer, and distinctly warmer. 

The shift in temperature was immediate and it helped balance out some of the lightning bolt-like shock I had received from the first initial halo-layer, as I had dubbed it internally. 

It slid down smoother, creamier, the taste mellowing out into something almost like vanilla with a hint of… Some kind of clove or star anise?

I blinked as the heat bloomed in my chest, not burning but comforting.

‘I think I’m starting to understand why Cryo chose this one for me…’ I thought at the feeling spreading through my chest, but it was quickly interrupted by the next layer hitting my tongue.

This layer—a deep, glowing violet—hit me with a strange, almost smoky tang. 

Not unpleasant, but definitely unexpected and it wiped my thoughts clean. 

It reminded me of burnt caramel and something woody, like a faint touch of smoked plum or maybe even how I’d imagine liquid incense to taste, if it wasn’t beyond toxic. 

That one was room temperature, a kind of grounding point between the chill of the upper layers and the heat below.

By the time I hit the last reddish layer near the bottom, my tongue was already doing somersaults trying to keep up. 

This final layer was thick, syrupy, and hot—not quite soup-temperature, but close enough to burn ever-so-slightly just with its raw temperature. 

It had a spicy kick to it, like cinnamon and pepper mixed with dark cherry. 

It lingered on my tongue and throat, the heat curling slowly behind the rest of the drink like a smoldering ember left at the bottom of a firework.

I pulled the glass away, breath shallow, eyes wide, trying to process what the actual hell I had just consumed.

That hadn’t just been a drink. That had been an entire culinary experience. 

As my eyes finally refocused on the people around me, I realized—unfortunately with full, awkward clarity—that everyone at the table had been watching me.

Cryo sat there with a smug little grin that screamed “knew you'd like it”. Pina looked like she was on the verge of outright cackling, and even Mouse, half-submerged in his own drink, had his eyes locked on me over the rim like he was watching the best part of a show.

“That… that was awesome,” I admitted, trying not to sound too breathless from the sensory overload. No point in pretending I hadn’t just had my mind blown by a damn drink. Turning to Cryo, I nodded toward my glowing cocktail. “What’s it called?”

That was apparently the cue, because Pina let out a loud cheer and Mouse clinked his glass against hers, both of them toasting with unfiltered glee before taking healthy swigs. Even Cryo raised his own glass lazily and took a long chug before finally answering, his voice casual and easy.

“That’s the ‘Rainbow Welcome.’ Kinda tradition ‘round here,” he said, the relaxed smile on his face a surprising contrast to his usual gruffness. “You’ll find it all over the city—not just in OPN bars. Comes with or without the booze, but in here? It’s what we hand out to folks who just got their card. Welcome-to-the-club sorta thing.”

I gave a small nod to show I was listening, but my eyes were already drawn back to the drink in front of me—still faintly glowing, still layered like some kind of liquid puzzle.

‘That’s not the whole story though, is it, Cryo?’ I thought, narrowing my eyes slightly as I turned the glass in my hand. ‘You picked this one because I said “no alcohol,” specifically. Every part of it… it’s doing the opposite of what booze does. I feel more awake, more grounded. The heat in my throat and chest isn’t burning—it’s sharp, in a good way. Like it’s clearing a fog I didn’t know I had. This thing’s the anti-alcohol. Perfect for someone who doesn’t drink at all.’

“The version with booze is different, isn’t it?” I asked, looking over at Cryo.

He didn’t answer right away—just smiled. 

That same slow, knowing grin he wore whenever he was three steps ahead of the rest of us.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “Same look, same feel. But completely different effect. Still same coloured layers, still same temperatures, but the whole vibe’s flipped. Milfena Xernia really outdid herself with this one—easily one of the most finely crafted drinks in the whole city.”

That name drop nearly made me choke on my own spit, and I quickly had to take a sip of my drink to mask my reaction. 

‘Milfena Xernia?!’ 

That wasn’t some throwaway NPC in the game—she was the name in mixology. 

According to the lore I remembered, she owned over a quarter of all the bars in Neo Avalis and had created more than four hundred unique drinks—each with their own effects, buffs, or weird little quirks. 

She wasn’t just some background figure either.

In the world of mixology, and the overall lore of the world, she was a straight-up Legend—maybe even a Transcendent, just a step below Kill Joy himself, depending on which wiki article you referenced.

Word was, she’d been the first person to actually crack the code on applying buff effects through crafted drinks. Like, literal Game System-recognized effects, not just mood boosters. Like straight up Attribute, Skill increases or unique Effects entirely. 

What made it even crazier was that her recipes could be followed by even low-level bartenders and still work—just less potent, obviously.

She’d basically codified the creation of cocktails as buff items. Willed them into being a mechanic by sheer genius and stubbornness alone.

‘And I just drank one of her signature cocktails,’ I thought, staring at the layered concoction in my hands with a new kind of reverence. 

Immediately, my mind jumped gears. ‘There’s definitely Anima involved. There’s no way drinks like these could have real buffs or effects without it. Did she write her own Anima-language—like Cyber, but for bartenders? Maybe it’s about ritual-like movements or exact ratios, each step a part of some complicated Anima-infusion…? Miss K called the stuff I learned from Mr. Shori “sigils”, so it’d totally make sense for precise patterns in mixing drinks to be able to trigger something similar, no…?’

At the same time, another corner of my brain went full power-gamer mode, already plotting how I might get my hands on a [Mixology] Skill—because there was zero chance it didn’t exist here, even if it hadn’t been part of the original game. 

[Cooking] hadn’t been in the game either, yet here it was. 

With Anima, [Cooking], and Mi.Xer’s—she always insisted on that handle in lore—legendary drink effects all being very real in this world? The System would’ve never let something as fitting as [Mixology] slip by.

The ice-bucket of logic dumped itself over my head, snuffing out the excitement before it could build into anything dangerous. As cool as [Mixology] sounded, I had to be real with myself—it wasn’t in the cards anytime soon.

‘No Skill slots left, and I sure as hell don’t have the spare Creds to be throwing around on a vanity pick like this… I already dropped [Tailoring] for being too impractical for the exact same reason, and my [Cooking] progress has been basically dead ever since I stopped visiting Mr. Shori regularly…’ The thought made me frown for half a second, before I shook it off and glanced back at the table.

“So, when are we getting paid, Cryo?” I asked, deciding that being upfront about it would go over fine with this crew. 

My [Negotiation] perk even gave me a tiny mental nudge of approval.

“Yeah, Boss! Where’s our damn Creds at?!” Pina jumped in without missing a beat, delivering the line with the righteous fury of a rebellion leader demanding justice. 

I snorted, caught off guard by the sheer intensity in her voice.

Cryo just lifted his hands like a man falsely accused. “Don’t be askin’ me. Wasn’t my gig. Mouse’s the one with the slip.”

Pina blinked, the realization hitting her like a truck. I had also forgotten that minor detail.

“Mouse, you piece of human dreck, where’s my money?! I swear to fuck I’ll rip out your stupid wires if you’re holding out on me!” she barked, lunging half across the booth.

Mouse squawked and flailed, using his gangly limbs to keep her at bay without budging too much from his seat. “Creds are coming, creds are coming! Chill, you ‘Borg-ass blank! Leave my damn wires alone!” he yelped, eyes flashing yellow a second later.

[“Mouse” has transferred {c}350 to your account with the note: “Don’t forget about my Blip!”]

I couldn’t help but grin—partly at the chaos unfolding around me, partly at the fat chunk of Creds that had just landed in my account.

Sure, {c}350 might not’ve been the biggest payout I’d ever seen, but for something as low-effort as that gig had been? Hell, it barely clocked in at an hour’s worth of work, drive to-and-from included. 

Compared to my only other source of semi-consistent income, which was my work at Mr. Shori’s, this felt like I’d just been handed money for breathing. And don’t get me wrong—I was still grateful as hell for everything I’d learned at the old man’s place—but this was definitely different.

This was real Operator work. 

Actual income I had properly earned, not just been given because somebody felt bad for me.

‘If I’d soloed that thing, I’d be sitting on over {c}1,400 right now…’ I thought, the math hitting like a sweet uppercut to the dopamine center. 

Having an OPN license, plus access to regular, decently paid work—even with the risk factor—opened doors. 

A lot of doors. 

And I was gonna have to start thinking seriously about which ones I wanted to walk through.

‘I never really thought about what came after I got the license, huh…?’ I leaned back in my seat, the weight of that realization settling in, as I took another sip of the Rainbow Welcome.

There was Miss K’s dojo—still a priority, both for the training and the obligations I had with her, considering all the Anima-related things we both kind of got entangled with. 

Vega and the whole Valir bullshit still needed dealing with, once and for all. 

There was of course the whole Jade situation… Still had to figure that one out.

Mr. Shori’s stall remained my best low-risk XP farm, and I wasn’t in any rush to say goodbye to the old man anyway. 

And then there was Misha, of course. The Gryplik had more than earned my loyalty, and undying friendship, at this stage.

So yeah, Delta was still home base, even if the rest of the city was finally opening up to me. 

But the bigger question now was simple:

‘What the hell do I save for first? Cybernetics? Bionics? Maybe Genetics…? Kenzie might have a lead or two on that front… Or maybe just some proper gear upgrades first? That probably makes the most sense—after all, I am still walking around in Pseudo-Tier 1, not even actual proper Tier 1 gear. If I want to take more risky gigs like this, I’ll need the extra protection…’

I was just about to go full spreadsheet-mode, flexing my [Accounting] a bit to detail where I could invest my hard-earned Credits in, when the table exploded into noise again. 

Pina, apparently not done with her chaos quota for the night, was now trying to force a shot of molten chrome-looking liquor down Mouse’s throat. No clue what he’d done—or hadn’t done—to earn that honor, but the man was locked in a half-serious battle for control of his own esophagus.

“Quit squirming and take the damn shot like a real Operator!” Pina barked, practically climbing across the table. Mouse twisted sideways, one hand catching her wrist mid-air, the other holding his drink aloft like it was sacred.

Cryo, meanwhile, was just calmly sipping his drink, watching the chaos unfold like it was premium entertainment.

By now, I’d come to a pretty solid conclusion: This crew was completely, utterly unhinged.

And honestly? I was all for it.

‘What’s more cyberpunk than downing a rainbow-colored, chemically ridiculous cocktail while watching two wildly different—but equally cybernetically augmented—maniacs wrestle over a shot of glowing chrome sludge?’

I couldn’t come up with a single thing.

—

We spent the next hour or so chatting about Operator life—mostly me and Cryo going back and forth, while Pina and Mouse occasionally threw in a comment or two when they weren’t busy arguing or distracting each other with whatever nonsense caught their attention.

I ended up learning a hell of a lot. 

Stuff I hadn’t picked up from the game playthroughs—either because it hadn’t been part of the original game at all, or the players I’d watched just never bothered digging deep enough. 

Whatever the reason, I was glad for the new intel.

Eventually, Cryo offered to drive me back to Delta. 

Pina and Mouse got booted out along the way, one after the other, with Cryo not-so-subtly shoving them toward their respective stops. 

Apparently, they lived somewhere along the same stretch of OPN office <> Delta.

The walk back through the Haze toward the Megabuilding felt a lot more bearable this time—mostly because I’d remembered to actually wear Misha’s scarf properly. 

The thick fabric hugged my face, filtering out the entirety of the grit and burn. 

It had been part of the outfit I’d initially bought—and again in the replacement Misha had given me—but in all the nervousness of that first Operator meeting with Cryo, and the whole whirlwind of abruptly leaving the only place I’d ever really known in this world, I’d completely forgotten to actually use it once we had stepped out of Delta.

‘Not having my throat scraped raw by airborne toxins really does make the city feel a bit more livable, huh…?’

By the time we hit the lobby, Cryo stopped abruptly and turned to face me.

“That’s where we’ll part ways, for now,” he said with a nod, voice steady as always. “Was a pleasure, Ela. If ya ever need a Face, ya know how to reach me.”

Pina, Mouse and Cryo had all shared their contact IDs with me, before we had left the OPN backroom on the way to our respective homes.

I nodded back, matching the tone. “And if you ever need what I’ve got—stealth, netrunning, stabbing—you do the same.”

All things considered, meeting Cryo had gone smoother than I ever could’ve expected. 

A few bumps along the way, sure, but it ended up being surprisingly low-stress overall… even kind of fun. If a good gig came around, I definitely wouldn’t mind teaming up with the crew again.

“Will do. Stay sharp. Don’t get yerself killed,” he added, already turning on his heel to head back toward the car.

“Likewise!” I called after him, watching his silhouette fade into the Haze beyond the glass doors, leaving me standing there—alone again in Delta’s lobby.

‘Operator license acquired. Creds earned. Now all that’s left is figuring out what the hell to do with the rest of my life.’ I thought.

‘Simple as that. Just figure out the rest of my life…’

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[Wolf Lord+ | Draft] Volume 2 - Chapter 39 - Shopping Finale

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------------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) -------------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Welcome to the draft release of Volume 2 - Chapter 39 - Shopping Finale for y'all.

As always, a quick reminder that this chapter is still in the process of being workshopped by me and that this is simply the first-draft.

And also: Please do not read the chapters here on Patreon, but go for the googledoc, .pdf or .epub instead. Patreon butchers all forms of formatting and you're missing out on easier and more enjoyable reading experiences.

------

Next chapter, we'll do a bit of a time skip, most likely!

We gotta get going with those, so we can finish up the year! ;)

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I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the link to the chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1dAsOK3fkNBv05Y2xvTwO-PXLUg_Yqp8b_1_biLxTPpU/edit?usp=sharing

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Volume 2 - Chapter 39 - Shopping Finale

“On the Emergence and Classification of Novel System Abilities: Combatant and Non-Combatant Perspectives”

Author: Dr. Ilara Merven, UHF Institute for Galactic Systemic Research

Abstract:

This paper examines the ongoing phenomenon of novel Ability emergence within the Allbright System, exploring the hypothesis that significant individual accomplishments or Faction-level milestones correlate with the generation of previously undocumented System Abilities. 

While extensive historical records substantiate the appearance of new Abilities within the Galactic Bubble, the underlying mechanisms remain uncertain, and comparable data beyond established galactic boundaries are not yet available.

Introduction:

Historically, System Abilities have been classified based on their inherent functions, the vast majority of which were among the combat-oriented types. 

However, recent evidence indicates a consistent increase in the complexity and diversity of newly observed Abilities, suggesting that the Allbright System dynamically responds to user activity and Accomplishments as a whole. 

The purpose of this paper is to explore the patterns behind Ability emergence, with a particular emphasis on distinctions between combatant and non-combatant roles.

Emergence of Novel Abilities:

The most frequently discussed hypothesis is that new Abilities arise in direct response to significant actions undertaken by notable Faction members. 

Case studies, such as the recent emergence of [Aegis of Protection] following Commander Riven’s actions in the Arden Campaign (PFC 931), suggest a correlation between impactful Accomplishments and the subsequent generation of previously undocumented Abilities. 

However, controlled experimentation remains impossible due to the System’s complexity, rendering definitive conclusions difficult.

Alternative theories posit that the System periodically introduces novel Ability permutations entirely independent of user input, effectively maintaining systemic balance and adaptability. 

One additional theory raises the question of whether truly new Abilities are being generated at all, or if what we are witnessing is simply a product of observational bias. 

This perspective suggests that the Abilities in question have always existed within the System’s framework but are only now being documented due to the combined effects of increased research efforts and the escalation of the Galactic War. As more Participants achieve notable Accomplishments or demonstrate extraordinary feats, it is possible that previously inaccessible or dormant Abilities are being unlocked rather than newly created.

At present, the available data remain inconclusive in determining which of these hypotheses—true emergence versus delayed discovery—is more likely to reflect the underlying reality.

Non-Combatant Ability Classifications:

A recent focus in System-related research involves documenting Abilities developed specifically for non-combat roles, such as Mechanics, Pilots, Engineers, and Researchers. 

Observations from the past fifty Terran-standard-years confirm a noticeable increase in the variety and specialization of non-combat Abilities. 

Examples include [Adaptive Engine Tuning] among Mechanics, [Precision Maneuvering] observed frequently among elite Pilots and Drivers, and [Rapid Data Synthesis] consistently recorded among high-level Researchers.

These findings strongly suggest that the Allbright System does not solely prioritize combatant roles, instead dynamically facilitating skill expression across numerous fields.

Further studies on this topic have long since started and are likely to present findings in the coming years.

Discussion and Conclusion:

While it remains unclear whether the Allbright System actively responds to individual or collective achievements, or if it periodically refreshes its Ability inventory independently, current data support the theory of ongoing, adaptive Ability generation—or unlocking, in the case of the delayed discovery theorem—within the Galactic Bubble. 

The absence of comparable data beyond established galactic boundaries necessitates further investigation once the Galactic Bubble disappears. 

Understanding these patterns has significant implications for both strategic planning and systemic development across diverse occupational roles within UHF-aligned factions.

Future research should prioritize systematic observation of Ability emergence conditions, detailed statistical analysis of Ability distribution across roles, and expansion of data collection initiatives beyond the Galactic Bubble…

[Journal of System Dynamics Research, Vol. 42, Issue 3, PFC 935]

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=======

Scrolling through the limited selection of Gold-rarity Abilities gave Thea a strange feeling.

‘I didn’t even bother looking at these when I first got here before the Assessment…’ she thought, eyes flicking across the golden text. ‘The costs were way too high back then. I never thought I’d be able to seriously consider picking one up—especially not this soon...’

Even now, they were still expensive—prohibitively so, for most people. But for her, with the Merit she had stacked up and the [Without Equal] Voucher tucked safely away, they weren’t completely off the table. 

If something truly exceptional showed up… She could go for it.

The problem was, she was starting to wonder if anything in this list was truly exceptional.

There were only eight Gold-rarity Abilities available that didn’t require a Voucher—just eight. 

That was barely anything, considering the sheer number of Abilities out there and when compared to the other rarities available in the store. And worse, they felt oddly scattered. Like someone had cherry-picked the weirdest options from a much larger pool and just dropped them in at random.

A few were oddly specific—like [Marathon Runner], which offered impressive Stamina and Vitality buffs... but only really made sense for someone planning to sprint across an entire continent. 

Another was a Perception-based Ability that boosted your stat by a sizable amount, but only under absurdly specific conditions Thea couldn't imagine encountering outside a simulation specifically set up for it. 

Then there was [Forceful Retaliation]—clearly meant for a heavy bruiser-style build. Just the name alone screamed “hit me so I can hit back harder.”

‘Yeah… I’m not really planning on getting hit anytime soon,’ she thought with a lop-sided smirk. ‘Especially not just to activate an Ability. Isabella might consider it—but even then, she’s not invincible either. Maybe Lucas? He’s more of the “take the hit and keep going” type…’

Overall, the Gold options were underwhelming. Not surprising, honestly.

“Guess this is where the Accomplishment-only tier really starts,” she muttered under her breath. “Most of the good ones are probably locked behind Vouchers or dropped as RNG rewards from high-tier challenges.”

Still, one Ability had caught her eye.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t a Passive—it was an Active-type, which meant she’d have to sacrifice something serious from her current lineup just to make room for it. 

No small trade.

Cupping her chin, she reread the description again, eyes narrowing. 

If she was going to make a move on this one, it had to be worth the cost. 

And she needed to be sure—really sure—that what it offered outweighed what she’d lose.

[Active (Gold) – Adrenaline Burst – Level 0]
Description: Allows the Participant to expend a certain amount of Stamina to momentarily increase their Strength and Finesse by a large margin up to a maximum for a short duration.
Cost: 50 Stamina - Factor: 250% - Maximum Attribute: 6 Duration: 3 seconds
Growth/Level: Factor+7.5% - Max+0.1 - Duration+0.1s

“It’s basically a more conditional version of [Sensory Overdrive], but for both Strength and Finesse,” Thea mumbled, eyes skimming the Ability’s description for the third time. “Would give me a ton more flexibility for a short burst… and putting both of those together would be—yeah, that’d be something.”

She tilted her head, still debating.

“But I don’t exactly have a ton of Stamina, and it wouldn’t really help in most of the situations where I actually use SO at the moment…”

Just a few days ago, she probably would’ve grabbed this Ability without thinking. 

It fit her old mindset—maximize combat efficiency, stack raw power, chase perfect execution.

But now, after reflecting more on her role in the squad, where her build was headed, and what she wanted to actually do, [Adrenaline Burst] didn’t quite slot in as cleanly.

“There’s only so much individual power I need at this point…” she muttered. “I’m already handling most situations far, far better than expected. This’d just boost twitch-reactions—and how often do I really need that anymore? If an Obscuritas shows up, sure. But is that really worth burning a whole Ability slot on?”

That was the core issue. Not even the slot itself, really—just what it represented.

Technically, she could make room for it. 

[Improved Sprint] was one option, though she’d already mentally bookmarked that one for replacement once Vi passed her [Shadow Step]. Then there was [Penetrative Shot]... but that had grown on her more than she liked to admit.

That whole Wall incident had cemented its usefulness. 

And paired with [Detect Weak Spots] and her Caliburn, it gave her a solid, reliable answer to extremely heavily armored threats. Plus, once she got her Gram customized and properly synced, the usefulness of it would only get better. 

Dropping that Ability now felt like surrendering a game just before the comeback victory.

And then—of course—there was the price tag.

‘Nearly 2,000 Merit…’

That wasn’t pocket change, even to her. 

That was nearly a third of everything she had. All her gains from the Cube Trial, every single Accomplishment, and the full payout from the Assessment combined had only come out to a little over 6,800 Merit.

‘I can’t just impulse-buy this one,’ Thea thought, tapping the edge of her pad absently. ‘This isn’t like the other versions of the Gram—those I could experiment with. I have enough Credits where it doesn’t even make a major dent. This, however? If I change my mind later, I’m stuck with it. No refunds.’

What she really needed was a better sense of how much it would actually impact her build. 

‘Will this actually elevate my overall style or just get in the way…? A valuable addition or just a random add-on…? I wish I had a way to test—’

And then the idea hit her.

“Sovereign,” she said quietly, keeping her voice low. “Is there an Ability that functions pretty much exactly like [Adrenaline Burst] in Archion?”

She figured the ship’s AI would pick up the request—anytime its name was spoken aloud, it usually did.

“Affirmative,” came the smooth, immediate reply next to her ear. “The Archion Ability known as [Burst of Power] is functionally synonymous.”

Thea grinned.

‘Perfect. I can run some tests with my current setup in the sim first,’ she thought, already visualizing how it might feel in a live scenario. ‘See if it actually fits before throwing a third of my Merit at it.’

She quickly earmarked [Adrenaline Burst] in her personal profile for later, tagging it for future review, and pulled back to double-check her shopping list—making sure everything she’d already selected was still locked in.

[Passive (Silver) – Focus Retention – Level 0] - Cost: 552 System Merit
[Passive (Iron) – Focus Capacitor – Level 0] - Cost: 225 System Merit

[Notice: 1x (Silver-rarity Ability Voucher) and 1x (Iron-rarity Ability Voucher) applied to nullify System Merit costs.]

She paused for another moment, running through the decisions one last time, then gave a firm nod to herself and confirming the purchase.

“I should leave the last slot open. At least until I get another Voucher…” she muttered, backing out of the Ability menu. “Using Merit this early on without a real plan isn’t gonna be worth it. I need to be smart about my resources.”

With the last slot shelved for now, she exited the Ability section and flipped back over to the Skill tab. A small icon in the corner let her know she had an unread message—her eyes flicked to it automatically.

It was from the Runepriest.

Thea perked up a bit, feeling that usual mix of curiosity and mild apprehension that always came with interacting with the enigmatic man. She opened it quickly, eager to see what sort of breakdown he’d sent about her request on Skill priorities.

[“Physics, Chemistry and Mathematics. Biology ain’t that important. Should do just fine like that… Almost certainly. Maybe… Probably.” —Anrake]

She stared at it. Blinked once. Then again.

“That… That’s it?” she asked out loud, tone somewhere between baffled, offended and incredulous.

Apparently loud enough, because Karania strolled over with a curious look. “What’s up, Thea?”

Without a word, Thea held out the pad for her to read.

Karania glanced at the screen, then gave a small, amused hum. “Huh. Well, hey—looks like I was on the right track with my advice, at least. I’ll take that as a win.”

Thea groaned and let out a heavy sigh, thumbing back into the Skill interface and removing [Basic Biology] from her planned curriculum for now, effectively placing it at the bottom. “It’s still way too many Research-type Skills though…”

Karania just smiled sweetly from the side as Thea grumbled.

“Haaa… Guess we’re really not getting around asking Major Quinn for a permission slip, huh?”

“Yuuuup!” Karania chirped, way too happy about the idea of waltzing up to the proprietor of the entire Star Sector they called their home, and also the leading person of this entire Recruitment Drive, and asking her for a favour.

With another quiet sigh, Thea finalized her Skill Class selection and saved it to her profile for now. Classes weren’t scheduled to start for another week anyway—at least that gave them some time to figure things out properly.

“Anyway,” she said, glancing over, “you find anything good while you were digging through the store earlier? You looked pretty into it.”

To her surprise, Karania shook her head. “Not really. I’ve flagged a few Abilities, but nothing jumped out as a must-have yet. I still need more data before I commit to anything.”

She leaned on the edge of the console as she spoke. “I’m hoping the Digital Missions we’re starting next week will give me a lot more varied encounters than the Assessment did. I can only get so far with the classic ‘medic, I got shot’ routine. Doesn’t tell me what I really need to build a full Squad Medic portfolio. I want to see more scenarios, more edge cases—stuff that actually challenges my preconceived notions on how to handle medical emergencies. Until then, I’m holding onto my Vouchers and Merit. No point in rushing.”

Then she raised an eyebrow and tilted her head at Thea. “What about you? Judging by how much you were pacing through the menus earlier, I’m guessing you found something?”

Caught off guard—and mildly horrified—Thea blinked. “Wait… you heard that?”

Karania’s grin was far too satisfied.

“Yeah…” Thea muttered, defeated. “I picked up a new Silver and a new Iron Passive. Both aimed at shoring up my Focus issues. Less chance to Overdraw, and I can actually use my Abilities more frequently now. Also found a Gold that seemed interesting, but I’m gonna test it out in Archion first, see if it fits.”

“That’s… actually really smart,” Karania said, blinking in surprise. “Did not expect you to test something before buying.”

“Hey!” Thea immediately pointed at her, eyes narrowing. “That… That is rude!”

“What?” Karania feigned innocence. “It’s not like you didn’t just tell me, like, twenty minutes ago that you bought—what, five? Five Full License guns? For weapons you have no plans to use? Purely for research?”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Excuuuuse me for thinking my little impulse-buy gremlin might have a teensy-tiny problem with hoarding shiny things. I didn’t know that impulse control only applies to some resource types, not all of them.”

Thea crossed her arms and gave Karania a sharp scowl. “What’s wrong with spending resources when you’ve got them…? I’ve got plenty of Credits, not much Merit. So it makes sense to spend Credits where I can and save the Merit for stuff I actually need. It’s just logic, Kara!”

“Nope,” Karania replied cheerfully. “Impulse-buy gremlin it is. Long may she reign.”

Thea let out a long, dramatic sigh, the fight draining out of her. 

She’d learned better than to argue when Kara latched onto one of these things—especially when she was clearly having way too much fun with it.

“Aaaanyway,” Thea said, waving a hand dismissively, “I’m done with the System Store for now, so I guess we’re free the rest of the day?”

Karania didn’t miss a beat. “Ehhh, no? No, you’re not. And I’m not either.”

Thea’s brow scrunched up, visibly confused.

‘Wait… Did I forget something?’ She mentally ran through her checklist. ‘Armour—done. Focus Boosters, weapons, research materials—check. Skills planned, Abilities selected... I’m pretty sure that’s everything I needed…?’

She was mid-internal audit when Karania’s pout made its dramatic appearance.

“You promised we’d go shopping for clothes together after we were done!” she said, downright offended. “Don’t tell me you forgot already! We need to get you something—anything—other than that pullover.”

To really hammer the point home, she grabbed a fistful of said pullover and tugged at it with mock disgust.

“Hey!” Thea swatted her hand away. “I like this one! What’s wrong with it?”

It was her best outfit. She’d specifically worn this one for the trip for that very reason.

She had triple-checked that on the GalNet articles before they had left that morning. Multiple articles had clearly said that for casual off-duty trips, especially shopping excursions with friends, you were supposed to wear something “comfortable, casual, and clean.” 

This pullover hit all three.

Karania flailed a little, struggling to find the right words—probably for the very first time, ever—hands gesturing wildly in the air like they might summon the perfect argument from thin space.

“It’s… it’s just—ugh! You need more clothes, Thea! Options! And you promised. So, no takebacks. We’re going!”

Thea groaned quietly but didn’t protest much more than that. 

Deep down, she knew there was no winning this one.

Not when Kara was already dragging her out of the System Store and toward the civilian district like she had been mortally wounded and needed to be brought to the med tent ASAP.

—

A little over fifteen minutes later, Thea found herself standing in front of what could only be described as a small mountain of clothing—each piece hand-picked by Karania extremely quickly, as if she had been thinking about this excursion and mapping out the perfect route to get all the pisces as quickly as possible, and stacked with alarming precision on a nearby bench. 

Shirts, jackets, frilly tops, fitted pants, and even—much to her horror—actual dresses were buried somewhere in the pile.

She blinked slowly, arms crossed. “Do you really think I need to try all of these on? I have perfectly functional uniforms. And my pullover still works just fine—”

“Yes! Yes, I do think so!” Karania cut her off, full of righteous energy. Before Thea could retreat another step, she gave her a light shove toward the fitting room. “Now stop arguing and get in there already!”

Thea let out a long, theatrical sigh as she shuffled toward the changing booth. “Why doesn’t the Sovereign just... I don’t know, magically put the clothes on for us or something? Would make all of this way less annoying.”

Karania leaned against the nearby wall, smug smile firmly in place. 

“Because, dearest Thea,” she began, her tone far too pleased with herself as if she had already expected this exact line of questioning, “the Sovereign is a warship. A troop transport designed to train future Marines—not host fashion shows. Her functions are reserved for training simulations, strategic deployment, and managing assessment data. Not casual shopping.”

She gestured toward the rows of hangers and shelves around them.

“It’s probably the same reason there’s physical clothes here in the first place. If this were one of those high-end boutiques on any of the Inner-Worlds? You’d just throw on a base-layer and it’d morph into whatever outfit you wanted. Try-on process handled by fabric projectors, full-range mirrors, AI stylists. Minimal effort. Maximum glam.”

She snapped her fingers dramatically. “But all that eats up power and bandwidth. And the Sovereign’s got better things to do—like making sure we don’t die. So, instead... we get this.” 

She waved a hand at the clothing pile. “Good old-fashioned fashion chaos. Honestly? It’s way more fun this way. I guarantee it.”

Thea stared at her for a second longer, unsure of whether she wanted to respond to all that or not. 

Then, she grabbed a pile of clothes and disappeared behind the curtain with nothing more than a resigned groan and an eyeroll that would make even Isabella proud…

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[TAS] Volume 2 - Chapter 38 - Focus Problem

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------------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) -------------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Volume 2 - Chapter 33 - Augmentation has just released on RR with no changes.

For the Wolf Lords, this chapter is new.

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As per usual, reading the .pdf, .epub or Googledoc is recommended for today's chapter, as colours, formatting etc. always breaks on Patreon.

Some Ability and System Deep-Dive, but only for this chapter.

We'll go back to your regularly scheduled Theania shopping content in the next chapter!

---------------

I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the link to the chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1x1mEdEyMLLRekjfuLVLE89omLYWg2WwlP0bJp0IBmo0/edit?usp=sharing

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Volume 2 - Chapter 38 - Focus Problem

“A good build isn’t just about stats. It’s a story. A philosophy. A lifestyle.
Every slot speaks to how you want to win—and how you expect to be hunted until you do.”
— Wero “WeTen” Tenmari, two-time Archion Galactic Champion, PFC 941

[GalaxyNet Gaming Feed - Competitive Spotlight]

“When you think competitive Archion or Krillson’s Path, you invariably think builds. 

Builds aren't just loadouts—they’re stories told through numbers, a complex blend of strategy, synergy, and innovation. 

Veteran competitors remember the legendary trio of build creators: XalRexx, known for aggressive early-game strategies, StaticFyre, famous for flexible team compositions and support-focused builds, and of course, MissyMoonlightMayham, more commonly known as simply MMM, whose intricate late-game powerhouses defined the meta for nearly a full decade.

It’s been two years since MMM vanished without a trace. 

The loss still echoes through the gaming communities of every game they touched, felt deeply by the competitive scene as a whole. Their sudden disappearance didn’t just silence a leading voice—it fractured the scene’s ability to swiftly counter new strategies. 

Veteran players openly lament the creative vacuum left behind; teams like the VoidDrifters and ArkNova publicly credit past victories to MMM’s unmatched build insights.

Their builds had never been flashy for the sake of being flashy. 

They were layered—carefully woven combinations of Ability synergy, optimal Attribute routing, and frame-specific microeconomics. It wasn’t just about what was strong—it was about when, where, and why to take it. 

Whether it is the infamous “Three-Slot Fade Shatter” build that dominates Archion’s mid-cycle playoffs for four straight tournaments so far, or the hyper-adaptive Krillson's “Ghost Shell” Techblade loadout that has shattered early-tier scaling rules, their builds still influence current play, proving how truly long-lasting MMM’s impact has been on the scene as a whole.

In their absence, theorycrafters and build makers have scrambled to fill the void. 

Names like KalishPrime and ReboundSeven have stepped up, but even their most rabid fans begrudgingly admit they’re missing that razor-sharp edge MMM always brought—their knack for predicting not just next week’s meta, but the one six patches ahead.

"It's not that no one's trying," said veteran pro Jassid “Brakemind” Vellar in a recent comm-cast. “But losing MMM was like losing the cornerstone of a house. You can keep the walls standing for a bit, sure—but eventually, stuff starts to lean.”

But one thing is indisputable: The competitive scene has slowed. 

Responses to emergent metas lag behind. Counter-strategies take longer to surface, and the once rapid-fire evolution of high-level play has shifted into a more cautious, almost hesitant rhythm. 

It’s not the first time the community’s lost a major voice, and it won’t be the last. But losing one of the Big Three without warning? That’s rare—and undoubtedly rough.

Even so, tournaments are still happening. Teams are still climbing. 

And the scene, while bruised, is far from broken.

With tournaments across the GalacticNet now more accessible than ever thanks to Terra’s recent Galactic Entertainment Initiative (EGI), the Terran Gaming Tribune issues a call to all aspiring buildmakers: Step up. Start theorycrafting. Break the meta.

There’s a vacancy at the top—and history shows us that someone always rises to fill it…”

[“Buildmakers Rise: Filling the Void”, Karlen Nevas, Senior Gaming Analyst, PFC 943]

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Navigating the System Store’s Ability interface, Thea quickly tapped her way into the Passive-type Ability section, eyes scanning across rows of neatly organized entries.

‘I’ve got three slots open—four if I swap out [Quick Draw] or [Agile Stealth]. Five if I replace both...’

She’d spent hours this past week trying to map out her build, scribbling ideas onto her pad, deleting half of them minutes later. The uncertainties swirling around her were just too many, making each choice feel heavier than it probably needed to be.

‘I still don’t really know how this whole Psychic thing is gonna pan out,’ she reminded herself with an inward sigh. ‘Not to mention, who knows what Classes I’ll even have access to down the line? What if they don’t even mesh with what I have in mind…?’

She wished she had some kind of practice space or simulation—like the training grounds back in the arcade—to experiment without committing right away. And while the Terra-sponsored games were great for some of that, the level of restrictions that applied to the actual Allbright System itself were far too numerous to adequately try and portray in them.

Ultimately, changing Abilities later was possible, of course, and probably unavoidable once higher Tiers and Rarities opened up, but it wasn’t exactly ideal in her eyes.

‘With this whole Ability Alteration thing,’ she thought, tapping absently on the pad, ‘it’s smarter to stick with one Ability long-term. Max it out, customize it along the way. Jumping between different Abilities just slows everything down and straight up wastes experience.’

With that in mind, however, there was one area she definitely knew she needed help in. 

She punched in two simple search tags—“Focus” and “Recovery”—into the Ability Store’s search field, then scrolled down the long list of available results.

Over forty different Abilities immediately popped up, all neatly listed, waiting for someone with the right Merit—or in her case, a handy Voucher—and Attributes to claim them.

She hummed thoughtfully as she read each entry, quietly mumbling pros and cons under her breath as she went along. She kept her voice low enough to not disturb Kara, but loud enough to still feel the reassuring echo of her own words.

Ever since childhood, she’d found that talking quietly to herself helped her sort through complex problems. It was almost like she was hearing a friend share their thoughts. Somehow that always seemed to kick her brain into a clearer, more analytical mode—perfect for complicated build theory.

“[Focused Recovery] definitely looks like the textbook pick here, but it doesn’t really fit my build, does it...?” she murmured, frowning slightly. “Scaling off Focus and Recovery, boosting each other, sounds pretty good—but only if you’re already investing heavily in those Attributes. Way better for Desmond than for me, honestly.”

She paused, thinking it over a second time, as she always did. 

It was a Silver-rarity Ability—one of those classic “win-more” passives she’d run into so often in games. Abilities like that were powerful because they made your character better at things they were already good at, amplifying strengths instead of patching weaknesses.

They never fixed problems, though. 

They just leaned harder into whatever was already working, hence her internal nickname for them: "Win-more." 

Good, solid, common—very powerful, even—but not at all what she needed right now.

She tapped back, earmarking the Ability for Desmond—and maybe Corvus too—before swiping to the next entry.

Thea had decided ahead of time to be efficient with today’s shopping trip, both for Karania’s sake and her own. 

Instead of trawling through every last Ability in the catalog, she’d narrowed her search to the higher rarity Passives first. Of course, she wanted to see everything—pure research was half the fun—but she’d shelved that for later. 

Going full deep-dive while shopping with someone else just wasn’t ideal—or so she had read on the cached GalNet article that she had looked up ahead of the shopping trip.

And while higher rarity didn’t always mean stronger in a straight-up way, they tended to come with more complex restrictions or Attribute interplays—exactly the kind of stuff she was hunting for. Silver-rarity Abilities in particular often required juggling two Attributes or accepting trade-offs, but in return, you usually got more bang for your buck.

Restrictions, after all, came with an increased power budget.

And if she could find something that tied into her strongest Attributes and helped her Focus economy? Jackpot. She had two Attributes that were far, far above average—if just one of them could indirectly support her Focus management, it could be exactly the sort of stabilizer she needed for her build.

She scanned entry after entry, muttering quietly under her breath, a habit by now. Some Ability names alone were enough to tell her they weren’t worth the read.

Others, she gave a glance just to be sure.

“[Persistent Focus]... lowers cost based on how much Focus you already have. Not bad. Probably viable with my 4 Focus, but not exactly game-changing.”

A swipe.

“[Silent Reset]... basically [Meditation Focus], just without the full-on meditation clause and way less effective as a result. Pass.”

And then her finger froze on the next one.

There it was—that little flicker in her chest. The familiar spark she always felt when something aligned with the vague shape of what she’d been searching for.

[Passive (Silver) – Focus Retention – Level 0]
Description: Grants the Participant the option to designate a number of Abilities and retain a percentage of the Focus Cost thereof with each use.
Number of designatable Abilities: 1 - Focus Retention: 15%
Growth/level: Abilities+0.1 - Focus Retention+1%/2 levels

Thea’s eyebrows lifted.

“That could work really nicely,” she murmured. “And it scales... so it’s not locked to just one Ability forever.”

Her brain immediately started slotting it into her current loadout.

“First pick would have to be [Sensory Overdrive]. It’s the priciest and the one I use the most—makes perfect sense. Later on, maybe [Psychic Reversal] if I end up keeping it long-term...? And once I get [Shadow Step] from Vi, I can use the final designation for it as well… This is downright perfect!”

She leaned back slightly, considering the downsides. 

There was one, and it wasn’t exactly insignificant.

“The only catch is... it doesn’t reduce the cost up front. It gives Focus back after the Ability activates. That’s not the same as saving—it’s reimbursement.”

She frowned thoughtfully, running the numbers in her head.

“If I’m not careful, it could lead me into thinking I have more Focus than I really do. Trick me into using something expensive when I’m already low, hoping Retention bounces me back above zero... But as long as I remember that and don’t gamble on it? Should be safe…”

She gave a small, satisfied nod.

Not perfect, maybe—but definitely extremely close to what she’d been looking for. Probably the closest she would be able to find in the System Store.

‘We were warned that the store doesn’t even have close to every Ability out there,’ Thea reminded herself, eyes flicking back to the interface. ‘So… this is probably about as close as I’ll get with what’s available here.’

With that in mind, she moved [Focus Retention] into her shopping list with a quiet nod.

Just that one pick—something that could help stabilize her Focus usage—was enough to loosen her shoulders. Her posture relaxed, tension easing out of her spine like she’d taken off a weighted vest. She hadn’t even realized how much pressure she’d put herself under to find something to fix that part of her build.

‘Not done yet though,’ she reminded herself, cracking her knuckles before diving back in. ‘Still have at least two more slots to go.’

Another ten minutes slipped by as she scrolled, tapped, and argued quietly with herself over the merits of each Ability. Some looked promising at first glance, but none really solved the problems she was trying to tackle. 

Eventually, she stepped back a little with a quiet, frustrated sigh.

‘Still not happy with the Focus half of my build,’ she mused, tossing a glance toward Karania. 

Her friend was still deep in her own search, flipping through data on her own pad without even glancing up. That was answer enough.

‘Surely, she won’t mind if I poke around in the lower rarities a bit more…’

With barely a pause in thought, she scrolled down and applied the same search tags—“Focus” and “Recovery”—this time filtering for Iron-rarity Abilities.

“Alright… let’s see if anything snuck under the radar in here.”

She tapped on one entry and read it aloud under her breath. “[Recovery Focus] is... definitely not what I need. Just boosting the Recovery stat doesn’t help me unless the benefits are disproportionate. Which… They’re definitely not.”

Swipe.

“Huh…? [Silent Recovery]...?” She paused. “It’s basically just [Silent Reset], but for Recovery instead of Focus. Why is this one Iron, but the other Silver…?”

The System usually kept similarly worded Abilities grouped around the same rarity, especially when their effects mirrored each other. But here, both descriptions were nearly identical—just swapping which Attribute they applied to—and yet, the rarity difference was noticeable.

She frowned, thinking it over.

“The only explanation that makes sense is that the System values Focus more than Recovery,” she murmured. “Which… would mean it also values Stamina less, since Recovery affects both.”

It wasn’t a dramatic realization, but it still shifted something in her understanding.

‘That actually kind of tracks,’ she thought, staring absently at the pad. ‘In most games, casters have to deal with higher costs than melee classes anyway. Mana, Aether, Psy... whatever you wanna call it—it’s always more expensive to sling magic around than it is to swing a sword.’

Then a second thought crept in, one with a slightly bitter edge.

‘Though now that I think about it… maybe that’s not just the natural way the world works. Maybe that’s just Terra, fiddling with the design behind the scenes. Making the Allbright System dictate the gameplay loops again...’

She exhaled slowly, pushing the whole thought aside.

There wasn’t much point in obsessing over whether “Focus being more costly than Stamina” was some kind of universal truth or just a rule the System had made up—and that Terra had then copied into all their games.

For her, it felt intuitive. Downright obvious, even. 

But she also now knew that this very instinct came from the fact that Terra had designed everything she had interacted with over the course of her life in that way to begin with.

It wasn’t some deep truth of the universe—it was just what she’d taught to grow used to.

Not a dealbreaker, by any means. But still... worth keeping in mind either way.

‘So, ultimately, that means I’m less likely to find powerful Focus options below Silver, huh?’ Thea clicked her tongue, the sound sharp with annoyance, earning her a brief look from Karania to her right, that she did her best to ignore.

It was frustrating, but she didn’t exactly have much of a choice.

She’d already combed through the Silver-rarity options and managed to find something—just not enough. That left Iron as her only real fallback, unless the stars aligned and she magically stumbled across another choice-voucher for a Gold-rarity Ability.

Which… okay, technically, she did have. 

Tucked away in her inventory like some priceless treasure—because it quite literally was.

‘Don’t wanna waste the [Without Equal] Accomplishment Voucher though,’ she thought, thumbing the corner of her pad. ‘Best to hold onto that one until I actually know more about the Psychic side of things. There’s bound to be some solid Psychic-related Abilities at Tier 1, especially once I understand how the whole system really works.’

For now, she shoved those thoughts aside and kept digging through the Iron-tier list.

There were way more options here—easily twice the number of matches compared to Silver—but it didn’t take long to spot the pattern. 

Most of them weren’t actually focused on Focus at all. They were Recovery-focused. 

As in, the Attribute, not recovering Focus itself.

‘Honestly, that’s probably on me for using those search tags…’ she admitted with yet another sigh. ‘But also—seriously, who the fuck at the System-naming committee thought naming an Attribute simply “Recovery” was a good idea? Makes search filters a total nightmare…’

Grumbling under her breath, she redefined the “Recovery” filter to specifically only include Focus recovery and narrowed the rest of the search to Focus-relevant-only results.

The list shrank instantly. From over a hundred down to... less than ten.

‘Wow…’ she thought, leaning back a bit as her brows lifted. ‘The System really does value its Focus, huh?’

Diving into the narrowed-down list, Thea quickly tossed aside most of the remaining Abilities. 

A few were generic stat boosts, others were just too niche or aimed at builds she’d never touch. But then her eyes landed on one entry that made her pause.

“[Focus Capacitor]...?” she muttered, brows lifting. “The description reads almost exactly like [Arcane Battery] from Archion...!”

Excitement bubbled up again, a flicker of the same thrill she’d felt earlier when she found [Focus Retention]. She remembered [Arcane Battery] well—it had been one of those deceptively simple but incredibly build enabling Abilities. 

Low cost, easy to fit into a build, and perfect for massive openers. 

It didn’t help much in longer fights, sure, but in the first few seconds of a clash? It let you dump firepower fast on Burst-type builds. Thea had used it more than once herself, usually as a crutch to let her heavier Ability setups breathe in the early game.

“It’d let me overcap my Focus by a decent chunk... but just like [Arcane Battery], it wouldn’t let me use outside sources to get there,” she mused, voice quiet and thoughtful but a grin slowly spreading on her face as things fell into place. “Only regeneration...”

Just to be sure she wasn’t imagining things, she reread the full Ability description, double-checking every line.

[Passive (Iron) – Focus Capacitor – Level 0]
Description: Grants the Participant the capability to overcharge their Focus reserves above their limit by a certain amount. Only Focus from regeneration can overcap in this manner; Consumables, external Abilities or other sources of Focus Resource are still limited by the usual Focus maximum.
Focus Overcap: 50
Growth/level: Focus Overcap+2.5

“It’s a flat bonus too. So it’s actually better for me right now, since I don’t have a huge Focus pool. Percentage-based bonuses would barely move the needle, but this? This is an actual fat chunk of bonus Focus for me to use.”

The restriction was annoying, sure, but she’d already thought of a workaround.

“[Meditation Focus] should pair ridiculously perfectly with this. The description says it “increases recovery speed of HP, Stamina, and Focus while meditating.” That should absolutely qualify under the regeneration clause...!”

Doing some quick mental math, she nodded to herself. 

That extra 50 Focus at Level 0 came out to around a 22.2% boost to her current pool—and if it scaled all the way up to nearly 44.4% at max level? That was seriously impressive. 

In terms of raw stats, it was basically like sinking almost two full level-ups' worth of Attribute Points straight into Focus by the time it hit Level 20—and that wasn’t even accounting for any future Ability Alterations.

That was a massive boost, especially for such a low-cost-of-opportunity Ability.

“Yeah, having to sit and meditate before a mission might suck,” she muttered, still thinking aloud, “but this is definitely a Prep-type Ability I can work with. Charge it once, bank the bonus, and re-up it during downtime. Easy. I need to use my [Meditation Focus] more anyway to get it levelled up and Altered.”

She tapped the selection button before she could second-guess it and moved the Ability into the shopping list. 

This one was a definite keeper—at least until she reached a higher Tier or got access to Gold-rarity Abilities and beyond. Odds were good those would have more specialized Focus options that fit her build even better, but for now, [Focus Capacitor] would do the job just fine.

‘That just leaves one more Ability slot to fill,’ she thought, clearing the filters and watching the massive Ability list reappear. ‘Focus is pretty much covered now, so this one’s a bit more open for interpretation, huh...?’

She’d been chewing on this exact question for a while—mostly during the long, quiet hours in the medical wing. Should she use some Merit to fill that last Passive slot and fully round out her current profile? Or should she leave it empty and hold onto the points for later?

It wasn’t an easy call.

From where she stood now, there wasn’t anything she desperately needed anymore. 

Fixing the Focus issue had been the big priority—and now that it was handled, nothing else stood out as critical.

The problem was, she only had one Silver and one Iron Voucher left from her earlier Accomplishments. Anything else would have to be bought with actual Merit, and those points didn’t grow on trees. 

Between potential uses of the Faction Trait and future investment opportunities, burning Merit on a “maybe helpful, but definitely not mandatory” Ability felt… risky.

She’d thought it through a few different ways, but always landed in the same spot.

‘If I find something fun, I’ll grab it. If not... I’ll wait. Maybe a Digital Mission or two will drop more Accomplishments my way. Could get more Vouchers. More options.’

That seemed like the smartest play. No reason to rush it.

So, after a quick flick of her eyes toward Karania—who still looked fully absorbed in her own search, brow furrowed and fingers tapping rhythmically across her pad—Thea turned her attention back to the Ability list.

She scrolled up to the few Gold-rarity options available without needing a Voucher, just to see if anything jumped out at her…

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[ND] Chapter 135 - Induction

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---------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ----------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Chapter 130 - Neo Avalis has just released on RR with no major changes.

For the Fixers, this chapter has seen no changes.

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NOTE: A new DECISION POINT is upon us with this chapter!

Please head on over to the DISCORD and check the #Novel-Decisions channel up at the "Serious Topics" to join the discussion and cast your votes.

The POLL for the voting IS LIVE!

Discussion will be available right away.

(Discord Link: https://discord.gg/rtZGz5RHtq)

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Time for that license!

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I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the googledoc to the actual Chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Am6_sK_IZOa4BVQyZ2tIQZSf4eyab_UnR1vIYg2Y0KM/edit?usp=sharing

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Chapter 135 - Induction

Shaking off the moment of awe, I followed Cryo and crew through the double doors that opened before us without as much as a sound.

The air inside hit different—cool and sterile, but with the faintest undertone of filtered ozone and something floral, like a subtle diffuser had been going non-stop in the vents. The lighting was soft, a bit too perfect, like it had been calibrated to relax the nerves without you even realizing it. 

I stepped into the space fully and had to admit—this didn’t feel like a mercenary hub or some kind of cutthroat contract office. 

No, this felt more like a high-end bank. Or maybe a private finance firm that just so happened to traffic in bloodshed instead of money.

The floor stretched wide, a dark stone-like material that absorbed the light without making it dim. 

On either side of the open room were sleek, floor-to-ceiling privacy booths—around a dozen of them total, each with a recessed holo-sign above reading either ENGAGED or AVAILABLE in sharp, color-coded text. A few were already taken, with clients presumably laying out contract details with whatever OPN clerks were handling them.

Despite there being maybe twenty, thirty people drifting around—all of them clients, from what I could tell at a glance—it was eerily quiet. 

No one spoke loudly. No phones rang. No arguments broke out. 

Just low murmurs, soft footfalls, the occasional beep of an interface, and the whisper-hum of the environmental systems keeping everything precisely comfortable. 

The kind of silence that felt managed. Downright engineered, even.

Cryo didn’t slow down, just kept walking toward the left-hand corridor like he knew the place in his sleep. 

Which, honestly, he probably did.

“This here’s the front-facin’ office of the OPN,” he said without turning, his voice low and steady as always. “What the clients see. They come in, talk contracts, maybe catch a glimpse of a few of us walkin’ around lookin’ scary. Makes ‘em feel like they’re dealin’ with professionals. Like they got access to somethin’ real exclusive or whatever.”

He gave a faint, dry snort. “There’s a side-entrance at the back, of course. But the higher-ups like to tell us to use the front. Makes it look like we, the Operators, are approachable or somethin’ like that. Client-first image, or whatever slogan they’re pushin’ this week.”

The way he said it made it very clear he didn’t buy into any of it. 

He followed the rules, sure. Played along. 

But there was no illusion in his tone that any of this polished bullshit meant anything in the long run to him.

Still, he didn’t argue it either. He just walked the walk. Efficient apathy, in a way.

‘No point in picking a fight with a big ol' room, I guess.’

I kept close behind Cryo, eyes drifting across the space, trying to soak in every detail. 

Layout, faces, body language—anything that might clue me into the kind of place this really was beneath the polish. Because this wasn’t just some swanky lobby—it was deliberate. 

Everything felt calculated. The lighting was warm but not cozy. 

The silence wasn’t peaceful—it was curated. 

Even the receptionist’s smile looked like it had gone through corporate training modules.

‘If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear we just stepped into a Corpo HQ…’ I thought, unease prickling at the back of my neck. ‘Way too sterile. Way too perfect. The OPN in the game never felt like this. Not even close...’

In the game, the few times you did step into the front-facing OPN offices, it was usually just a pit stop: Walk in, pick up a quest, walk out. No creepy silence. No atmosphere that made your skin feel like it was being politely judged. And it definitely hadn’t looked this… sanitized. 

The kind of place that made you instinctively check if your boots were too dirty.

‘Maybe the devs just glossed over this part. Or maybe… the OPN changed their image after at some point before the game’s start date…? Some sort of PR overhaul? New execs?’ I didn’t have any solid theories, and chasing after what-ifs without real intel wasn’t gonna get me anywhere right now. 

Just something to keep in mind for later, I figured.

Cryo didn’t break stride, weaving past the sleek counters like he’d done this a thousand times. When we hit the next checkpoint, a soft pulse of blue light swept over him, scanning him for god knows what. Whatever it checked, however, it liked what it saw, because the inner doors clicked open a second later.

Two more steps, and we were through a set of heavy, reinforced double-doors—no neon, no fake polish, no smiles.

This was the real OPN: The back rooms.

Immediately, a wall of noise hit us head-on, shattering the eerie silence from moments earlier. Some heavy synthcore track pulsed through the air, its rhythmic bass vibrating in my chest, mixing freely with bursts of laughter, overlapping conversations, and the occasional cheer erupting from random directions. 

Compared to the clinical sterility of the lobby, this was like stepping into a different world entirely.

The smell alone almost overwhelmed me—booze hung thick in the air, alongside flavored synth-vapes leaving faint clouds of fruity or minty residue. Beneath it all was the unmistakable scent of sweat, left-over adrenaline from recent gigs, and just people being people.

The room itself was shaped around a large, circular bar occupying center-stage, bathed in soft, multi-colored lights. 

Bartenders danced fluidly around each other, mixing drinks with practiced ease for the countless Operators crowding the stools and leaning against the polished counters. 

Around the bar, scattered throughout the room, were dozens of booths of varying sizes and designs. Some were open, filled with groups animatedly sharing stories or planning their next gig, while others were concealed behind hazy privacy fields, shadowy silhouettes shifting behind them.

My eyes darted all over the place, trying to keep up. 

Everyone here had a look—cybernetics out on display, some subtle, some not even trying to be. Vibrant hair colors lit up the room like a half-melted neon sign. Shaved patterns, metallic inlays, glowing tattoos. One guy had cables coiled like dreadlocks, another had full-on chromed arms that clicked and rattled like a snake whenever he moved. 

The equipment alone could've stocked a mid-tier militia.

There was also a random stage in the far corner.

Karaoke.

Two Operators were up there, absolutely destroying—in the worst way possible—a song I’d never heard before. One was belting out lyrics like his vocal cords were made of gravel and trauma, while the other just screamed occasionally and played air guitar with a shock-baton. 

The audience didn’t care. They cheered louder anyway.

The whole experience was loud, messy and thoroughly chaotic.

And somehow, despite everything telling me I didn’t belong in a place like this yet… it felt unmistakably homey. 

‘Hard not to, considering how many hours of content I watched of players literally sitting in an OPN back room just like this one, huh…?’

Cryo gestured casually for Pina and Mouse to move ahead without him, then nodded to me, motioning silently to follow. I stuck close as he led me deeper into the bar, moving carefully around Operators who barely glanced our way, too caught up in their drinks and conversations to care. 

He guided me around a partition wall towards the main counter area, tucked discreetly out of sight from the entrance—almost like it was deliberately placed to make sure casual visitors didn’t stumble onto it… Not like there was any way for a “casual” visitor to do so, but still.

"Alright, Ela, pay attention," Cryo began, his voice just loud enough to carry clearly over the noise of the bar. "Ya got yer Task-board right here. Looks old-school, but that's kinda the point."

He pointed at a surprisingly low-tech board—just a wide surface covered with magnetic slips, each one representing a Task, arranged by their Star ratings. 

It instantly brought a smile to my face. 

It was exactly like the kind of quest boards I’d seen in countless anime and games, the exact kind of whimsical, nostalgic touch the developers had probably been going for.

Cryo noticed my expression and raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk forming. "Yeah, it’s exactly as cheesy as it looks. Honestly, don’t know why they don’t just digitize this already, but ya get used to it. Some o’ the old-timers seem to like it."

Without further delay, Cryo motioned me towards the task desk itself, a row of sleek counters manned by receptionists talking quietly to Operators holding task slips. As we approached, several booths flickered opaque, privacy modes activating with a subtle hum, instantly cutting off their conversations from anyone outside.

Cryo approached one of the receptionists who wasn’t busy—a young guy with neon-blue streaked hair and an easygoing smile—and leaned comfortably on the counter.

"Heya, Cryo," the receptionist greeted casually, eyes immediately glancing over at me with obvious curiosity. "What’s it today?"

"I’m vouchin’ for a newbie," Cryo said plainly, tilting his head in my direction. "Lookin’ to get her licensed."

The receptionist's eyebrows shot up in clear surprise, his smile broadening dramatically. "Well, damn. Cryo, of all people, introducing fresh blood? Never thought I’d see the day."

Cryo rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh. 

"Can we skip the theatrics, Almen? Just do yer job."

Almen chuckled, completely unfazed, like he’d heard that line from Cryo a dozen times already—and probably had. 

The way they spoke to each other made me pause for a second, taking it in. 

Cryo wasn’t just tolerating the guy—there was an ease to the exchange, like they’d known each other for a while. Whatever passed for “friendly” in Cryo’s world, this was probably it.

It was weirdly grounding to see. 

Reminded me that Cryo wasn’t just Cryo, the Operator, the Face of the crew, the one who’d practically stared me down earlier without flinching. 

He was also just a guy. With history. People. A network.

Maybe even—gods forbid—actual friends.

Almen ducked away behind the counter for a second and came back with a slim datapad in hand. He flicked it on, then looked up at Cryo again.

"Since this is your first time, I’m officially required to give the rundown,” Almen began, tone playful. “Feel free to tune me out or whatever. I know you know this stuff, but hey—regulations.”

Cryo nodded, already tapping the counter with his knuckle like a metronome, eyes not leaving the screen in front of him.

“Alright then.” Almen grinned and launched into the speech, clearly not bored of it yet. “Vouching for a new Operator means you’re putting part of your reputation on the line for them. You’re saying this person’s ready for the life—that they can handle gigs the way an Operator’s expected to. Professionalism, skill, all that jazz. If they screw up, especially in ways that break OPN protocol, you catch some of the heat too. In worst-case scenarios, that means blacklisting. So… don’t vouch for someone you don’t trust.”

Cryo gave a noncommittal grunt, still drumming.

“And—final bit—your vouch also decides their starting rank and what kinds of Tasks they’re eligible to take on. It becomes part of their public Operator profile, too, so clients and crews will know who stuck their neck out for them. Which is why we ask that you be honest about their skills. No padding the resume.”

Almen held the datapad out, all the legal stuff already pulled up. “If you understand and agree to those terms, sign here.”

Cryo didn’t even blink—just swiped his hand across the screen. It chimed once and then he gestured lazily in my direction.

“This’s Ela. She’s the one I’m vouchin’ for today.”

Almen gave a polite nod, but his eyes lingered on me a bit longer than was comfortable. Not in a creepy way—more like he was trying to figure me out. Like he was asking himself why someone like Cryo, of all people, was going out of his way for someone like me. 

What made me worth the risk, for seemingly the first time?

And honestly? I wasn’t entirely sure yet either.

Considering that I’d had a knife to the guy’s throat just a few minutes ago—over something that, in hindsight, had kind of been my own fuck-up—it was honestly impressive that Cryo was still vouching for me. 

Most people would've at least held a grudge, or thrown some passive-aggressive jabs. 

But him? Nothing. Just all business.

“If you’d please state your desired Operator handle and area of expertise?” Almen asked, tone polite but clipped, like he had a checklist in his head he was running through.

I hesitated for a beat, not totally sure what kind of answer he was expecting—some rehearsed resume pitch, or just the raw facts. 

I decided to just go with what I’d told Cryo back when we first met.

“Ela. E-L-A. That’s it,” I said, keeping my tone level. “As for what I do—I’m stealth-focused. Recon, infiltration, info gathering. Got a drone. Can do Netrunning. Do a bit of programming, too—got my own Quick-Hack already, planning to build more. I’m good with knives, up close or thrown. And I’ve had some time on pistols as well… That kind of stuff what you’re after?”

Almen tapped away on his datapad while I talked, giving a small nod as I wrapped up. “Yep, that’ll do just fine.”

Then he turned toward Cryo with a raised brow. “So, which of those things the lady just rattled off are you actually vouching for, big guy?”

He shot a quick glance my way and added, “No offense, but new Operators like to oversell their skillsets. Try to game the board for higher-paying Tasks right out the gate. It’s why we have this whole vouching process.”

“None taken,” I said, flashing a small smile. And I meant it.

It made total sense. 

If you were desperate for work, padding your profile was the obvious move. OPN contracts could pay out big, especially compared to the trash jobs floating around for unlicensed freelancers. 

And from the OPN’s side, trying to protect their reputation and clients? Yeah, no brainer.

There were other networks out there, of course. 

Ones way looser with their standards. Hell, some barely even checked your ID, much less your skill set. 

And if you weren’t tied to a network, there were always Fixers—shady, off-the-record types who’d hand out jobs to whoever seemed competent enough to not die on the spot. 

No license, no vouching, no safety net. Just vibes.

And more often than not? Those vibes got people killed. 

Which was the whole reason why I had wanted to sign up with the OPN in the first place.

Cryo looked at me for a long second—just long enough to feel like he was scanning through every single moment we'd spent together so far. It wasn’t hostile, just… assessing. 

Like he was double-checking his own read on me.

Then, he gave the smallest nod and turned back to Almen.

“I vouch for all of it,” he said flatly, like it wasn’t the biggest mic drop of the day.

I nearly flinched. 

It took everything I had not to react. My jaw wanted to drop, my eyebrows were already halfway to my hairline, and I had to physically clamp down on my facial muscles to keep from looking like a total idiot. 

‘All of it? Seriously?!’ 

He had barely even seen me do any of that stuff. 

Sure, he’d seen me throw a few knives and fight a couple of surprised scavs. But Netrunning? Recon? Programming? He had no way of knowing how legit I was in any of those areas. 

And yet here he was, vouching for all of it anyway.

Even Almen looked caught off-guard, his eyebrows shooting up. 

“All of it?” he echoed, clearly fishing for clarification.

Cryo didn’t miss a beat. “She’s one of the most talented newbloods I seen. Still green, o’ course—used to runnin’ solo, thinkin’ in ones instead of squads—but the potential’s there, no doubt. And she learns fast.”

I blinked. ‘What the fuck is happening right now…?’

He kept going, as if this kind of praise was just regular shop talk. “We just came from a gig, matter o’ fact. Dropped three scavs on her own without even flinchin’. One of ‘em had some salvaged subdermal, too. Didn’t slow her down. Handled it clean. No wasted movement, no panic.”

And then, to really hammer it home, he added with the faintest hint of amusement, “Also dropped Mouse with her Quick-Hack. Like, really dropped. Triggered his fail-safe and everythin’. Was out for like a whole minute or two, longest I seen. Guy’s still fixin’ himself even now.”

Almen’s eyes flicked to me again—third time today—and I could practically see the gears turning in his head. He started typing something into the datapad, nodding slowly as if the whole thing now made sense.

“Well damn,” he said after a beat, “I guess I can see why she’s the one, then. Sounds promising indeed.”

He gave the datapad one final tap before glancing back at Cryo. “Alright. I’ll give her Rank 1, based on your word. Let her skip the 0-star slog. I trust you know what you’re doing, vouching for her like that.”

Cryo just gave a small nod. “‘Preciate it, Almen.”

A soft chime sounded a second later, and Almen turned to dig around under the counter. He came back up holding something small and rectangular, then gestured for me to step up.

“Here’s your OPN ID Card, Ela,” he said, handing it over. “Not mandatory to carry it around, since you’ll be added to the system in a minute and most things just work digitally. But it’s handy to have for clients who still like the whole physical-proof thing. Or, y’know, in case you’re ever stuck out in some dead-zone with no signal. Up to you.”

The card felt lighter than I expected, matte black with the OPN’s sigil embossed in silver on one side, my callsign and ID number printed cleanly on the other.

Almen turned back to Cryo, raising an eyebrow. “You wanna give her the starter spiel or...?”

“Nah,” Cryo cut him off with a lazy wave of the hand. “Best if ya do it. Ain’t no way I’d remember everythin’ worth mentionin’ anyhow.”

Almen snorted. “Didn’t think so,” he muttered, before turning his full attention back to me with a welcoming grin.

“Well then. First off—welcome to the OPN, the Operator Private Network. Simple version? We don’t babysit. No one's gonna hold your hand or force you to take work. We just run the platform, keep the lights on, and make sure things stay clean and professional between Operators and clients. That’s it.”

He tapped a finger against the license I was still holding. “You’re starting off at Rank 1 thanks to Cryo’s vouch, so you’re skipping the whole Rank 0 probation phase. That means, officially, your ceiling is 1-Star Tasks—unless you're brought into higher-rated gigs by more experienced crews and the client explicitly signs off on it.”

He gestured off to the side, where I could now see the task board I had seen curious about earlier. “That there is the Task-board. Every job currently available will be listed there. If something catches your eye, just grab the slip and bring it to a nearby desk with a service member—like me—and we’ll hand over all the intel, comms access, and any follow-up you’ll need for the gig.”

He gave a polite little bow with a wink. I tried not to grin.

‘Alright. Charisma stat maxed out, confirmed. No wonder Cryo tolerates this guy,’ I thought, amused.

“As for crews—there’s no formal process. You can work with whoever, whenever. But if you wanna go the official route, make a crew and register it with the OPN, we can do that too. Once you’re registered, clients can assign Tasks directly to your team. Makes repeat business and building a rep a lot easier. But that’s usually something you only do once you’re confident the people you’re running with actually fit.”

He pulled up a list on the datapad and turned it so I could see.

“These are the OPN rules. Read ’em. Memorize ’em. Breaking any of these? It’s not just your ass on the line—it’s Cryo’s too. So don’t make him regret putting his name on you.”

His tone hadn’t changed—still friendly, still calm—but the shift in weight behind his words made it clear: This part wasn’t optional.

I nodded earnestly, before taking a look at the rules.

‘Yeah, looks like those are the same, too,’ I thought, skimming the list and confirming parts of my earlier hunch. ‘A lot of the OPN’s still exactly how I remember it… just not the front-office part. That part’s new… Or I guess old?’

The rules themselves were surprisingly straightforward, which made sense, considering the kind of people they were written for. No fluff, no corporate double-speak—just short, punchy lines that didn’t leave much room for debate.

• No breaking agreements with your crew—whether it’s official or not.

• No killing OPN Operators from your crew during a gig.

• No killing OPN Operators on OPN property or within 100 meters of it.

• No killing OPN Operators without a registered Bounty-Task.

Simple. Brutal. Effective.

The most interesting bit, of course, wasn’t what was banned—but what wasn’t. 

Nowhere in the rules did it say you couldn’t kill another Operator in general. It just listed the specific scenarios where it wasn’t allowed, which meant, by omission, every other time was fair game.

‘Operator life’s just as cutthroat as ever, huh…?’

There’d been plenty of quests in the game where you had to track down other Operators. 

Some of them had gone rogue, some had pissed off the wrong client, and a few had just gotten too popular—too big a name, too loud of a signal. 

And for the right price? You could always find someone willing to fix that problem.

They called those contracts Bounty-Tasks. A nice, sanitized way of saying “Here’s your next murder target.”

Personally, I wanted to steer clear of that whole scene. 

Sure, the payout was good, and the infamy came fast—but so did retaliation. Operators who made a name for themselves hunting their own kind didn’t last long. 

They even had a name for them: Hunters. Or Operator Hunters, in long-form.

Either someone put them down for vengeance, or they got added to a Bounty list themselves. And the ones who enjoyed that kind of thing? Yeah… not exactly people I wanted to share a room with.

Snapping back to the present, I tapped the confirmation box on the datapad, locking in my agreement to the rules. 

Almen, cheerful as ever, took the lead again.

“Well… that about wraps up the basic introduction,” he said brightly. “There’s obviously a whole lot more to the Operator lifestyle, but I won’t drown you in info on day one. If anything’s unclear or you got questions later, just walk up to the desk and I—or one of the other fine service members—will get you sorted.”

He grinned, practically glowing. “But for now? You’re officially in. Welcome to the OPN, Ela!”

His smile was blinding. Seriously, it felt like the kind of smile that could power a small generator.

‘Way too much sunshine for my tastes,’ I thought, but kept it to myself.

“Thank you, Almen. I appreciate it. I’ll make sure to ask if anything comes up.”

Not that I expected it to. 

Between Cryo, the crew, and the game knowledge still stuck in my head, I figured I’d be fine.

Cryo gave the counter a solid knock with his knuckles, nodded at Almen like he was checking something off a list, and turned to go.

“Follow me if ya wanna get paid, Ela,” he called over his shoulder. “We’re celebratin’—induction and a successful Task.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just headed straight for the bar.

I gave Almen one last polite nod, tucked the ID into my jacket, and quickly fell in step behind Cryo towards where I assumed Pina and Mouse were going to be waiting for us…

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[TAS] Volume 2 - Chapter 37 - Skill Classes

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------------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) -------------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Volume 2 - Chapter 32 - Priority has just released on RR with no changes.

For the Wolf Lords, this chapter is unchanged.

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No longer experimenting on the chapters.

You are now, once again, allowed to dislike the chapter.

I will merely cry and feel horrible now, rather than kill you outright.

---------------

I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the link to the chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1c68iNLKoQO19uaRg-VHIL68sTq1wDiyFqrPUe8rDe40/edit?usp=sharing

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Volume 2 - Chapter 37 - Skill Classes

“Segment: Mindfulness in Void-Bound Development

“Time doesn’t pass in the Void. That’s not poetic—it’s clinical. The Void has no temporal flow. It’s a space without rhythm, without heartbeat, without change. It does not move forward. You do.”

“That’s the problem.”

In today’s mental hygiene briefing, Dr. Kellis issued renewed warnings regarding the misuse of Time-Dilated Skill Classes—particularly among new Recruits still adapting to the Allbright System’s neural load. The dangers, he explained, are not just theoretical or rare. 

They're well-documented, and steadily increasing with the pressure building from the Galactic War’s progression.

“Time Dilation training offers a massive boost in Skill acquisition efficiency—sure. But compressing months of mental development into what is, externally, barely a day? It’s a form of accelerated isolation, and your brain isn’t built for it. Not fresh out of Integration, at least. We’re social creatures. Our minds aren’t meant to live in that kind of pocketed silence.”

This is why, he reminded, Recruits are limited to one Skill Class per Category per Terra-Standard-Time Month, with mandatory cool-downs between uses. Veterans—those who have already suffered their share of artificial solitude over years and decades—can often weather these training jumps. 

Some even crave the stillness, and flourish in it. But for those new to the grind?

“It fractures the mind,” Kellis stated bluntly. “You come out speaking the same language, but the people around you didn’t live the time you just did. And when nobody understands what you went through, what you learned, how you mentally grew up in that time frame, that gap can be lethal.
Not just socially: Psychologically. Existentially.”

Kellis further clarified that these Skill Class sessions are only made possible by very specific and very expensive ship bound conditions. Among them:

• Entry into the Void during stable drift.
  
  

• Sustained power output well above baseline, provided by excess Void-fusion or harvested Void-anomaly-spike storage.
  
  

• Synchronized DDS-buffer realignment for data integrity post-session.
  
  

• And more, which, in his own words, “aren’t really fit to talk about over breakfast.”
  
  

That’s why classes cost so many System Credits. They’re not just paying for knowledge—they’re paying for stability, safety and reality itself, in some ways.

And his final message?

“Always remember: You are UHF. You were not bred, trained, and launched into the black to sprint until you break. Our careers are not sprints—they’re campaigns. They’re lifetimes. Oftentimes several. 

The System will let you overtrain. It’ll even encourage it, if you let it. 

But the smart Marines pace themselves. They take time to integrate what they’ve learned. The best of us don’t rush the climb. They make sure their next step holds.”

“Remember—this war isn’t going anywhere. You’ve got centuries to win it.”

[UHF Internal Broadcast – Psycho-Sanitation Brief: Dr. Alren Kellis, Lead Combat Psychologist, PFC 847]”

=======

=======

“Peria!” Thea practically yelled as she skidded to a stop next to Karania inside the System Store.

Karania just gave her a raised eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Ehh… Peria. That’s her name. I got it,” Thea explained, lowering her voice a bit as she realized half the store had turned to look at her like she’d just screamed bloody murder. The silent judgment in their eyes said it all—who’s this loud gremlin and why is she yelling like this?

“Great work,” Karania said dryly, reaching out to pat Thea on the head like she was a toddler who’d managed to tie her shoes for the first time.

Thea almost pulled away on instinct—but it was Karania. Her best friend. And honestly? This win had been hard. 

Maybe not for someone like Corvus or Kara, but for her? It had taken some serious effort.

‘Maybe I do deserve some head pats for this,’ she thought, a bit of pride blooming in her chest as she allowed the gesture, just this once. 

She wasn’t usually into the whole “head pat” thing, but today? Today it felt earned.

“So,” Thea said, still riding the high of her small but mighty victory, “you find anything interesting while I was off doing my whole… name-finding quest?”

Karania nodded, shifting slightly to make space for her and held out the datapad she’d been browsing. “Been looking at some Skill classes I might want to take. Problem is, most of the ones I like fall under the same category, so I’m locked out after taking just one. Thinking about asking Major Quinn for an exception slip—maybe get around the one-class-per-month rule.”

Thea stepped closer, glancing down at the datapad. 

Her eyes started to widen the farther she scrolled—there were so many classes!

“Fuck me…” she muttered under her breath, then spoke louder, “No kidding you’ll need that slip, Kara. But like… do you really need [Advanced Biochemical System Warfare] right away? Or [Advanced Pathogenic and Prion-based Weaponry]? Those sound… kind of horrifying. And not really important for Tier 1, no?”

Karania didn’t even need to say anything. 

The look she gave Thea said it all—obviously I require all of these. 

But, because she was Karania, she still launched into an explanation anyway. 

She flipped the datapad back towards herself and tapped one of the course names with far too much enthusiasm, before presenting it to Thea again.

“Okay, so,” she began, tone already shifting into that rapid-fire cadence she used when excited, “the [Advanced Biochemical System Warfare] class isn’t just about weaponizing things—it’s about understanding how synthetic compounds interact with augmented physiology under stress. Literally all of us got at least some level of bio-enhancement from the System, which means any exposure to mutagenic or volatile compounds won’t follow standard degradation models that I know of. I need to understand how different delivery vectors—like aerosolized neurotoxins or adaptive nanite swarms—behave in a closed battlefield environment, now that we’re all Integrated and beyond human.”

Thea blinked slowly. 

That was already almost too many words, but she managed to still follow the logic.

“And the Prion class?” Kara continued, completely unfazed, “You have no idea how terrifying protein-folding disorders are until you realize just how easily they bypass normal immune detection. And I seriously doubt the System has changed much of that—but I need to be sure. Prions don’t trigger inflammatory responses, Thea—they just slip right past all the built-in alarms and start rewiring tissue. They’re like silent rewiring bombs. And if someone deploys an engineered prion in a zero-support zone? Maybe even with some sort of System Material-enhanced nightmare booster attached? I’m the one that has to stop the meltdown before someone’s spinal fluid turns to jelly.”

Thea opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “…Spinal fluid what now?”

Karania barely paused. “Jelly. Literal jelly. It’s called spongiform encephalopathy, and it’s a nightmare to diagnose without real-time biospectral imaging, which—surprise—we don’t have in the field. Our portable models can only get us so far—and we don’t really carry many anti-prion injectors in our normal kits. I picked some up, just to be sure, of course, but it won’t be enough if there’s some large-scale attack. So unless you want to see someone’s motor functions collapse mid-fight because a designer protein thought it was cute to mimic a structural neuron? I need this class. And fast.”

She said it all with a straight face, like this was just basic prep work. 

Like she wasn’t describing some terrifying, high-tech version of medical horror.

Thea stared at her for a second, trying to catch up, then sighed. “Right. So, uh… I’m guessing ‘field bandages and painkillers’ wouldn’t cut it for that one.”

“Only if you want to die artistically,” Kara replied, scrolling to the next module with a little hum.

Thea took a second to rewire her thoughts before nudging the conversation forward. “Anything aside from the classes, then? You looked at any Abilities, by chance…?”

She was trying to ease Karania into bringing up [Bone Shards]—the Ability she’d specifically recommended after that long, grueling hospital stay. Thea had made a point of sending everyone a quick summary of suggestions just before getting discharged, in case any of them decided to hit the System Store before she caught up.

“I did,” Karania said with a small nod. “Looked at a few, but haven’t really made any decisions yet. I still feel like I’m missing too much foundational System knowledge to really commit to something specific.”

Thea felt a bit of her enthusiasm fizzle out at that. 

She knew Karania wasn’t the impulsive type, but still—she’d hoped for a little more progress.

“Oh… I did also check out the Ability you recommended—[Bone Shards],” Karania added, almost as an afterthought. But the moment Thea’s expression lit up, she smiled knowingly. 

“It’s definitely interesting. I’m not entirely sure I want to spend a full Active-Slot on something that feels a little niche, since I’m not exactly going for an offensive loadout, but the potential utility is… intriguing. I’m seriously considering picking it up—try it out and see if I can adapt it into something useful. Thanks for sending it my way.”

“No problem! I’m really glad you think it might work for you!” Thea responded, a little louder than intended. She couldn’t help the rush of excitement—Karania taking her suggestion seriously felt like a small but meaningful win.

“Honestly,” Thea continued, still riding the high, “I think we need to sit down properly sometime and go over your whole build, just… figure out your goals, maybe nail down what kind of Abilities you want long-term. I’ve been trying to brainstorm stuff for you, but it’s hard. Like really, really hard. I’ve never had to build around a realistic Squad Medic style before. All the games I played had the super-gamified stuff—healing bursts, revive drones, support fields—nothing like what you’re actually doing out there.”

Karania let out a quiet laugh, not mocking, just amused. 

It threw Thea off for a second.

“Thea…” she said, still smiling, “you know you don’t have to make everyone’s builds for them, right? I mean, I really do appreciate the effort and the thought, but I’m more than capable of figuring things out on my own. I’ve got my own plans, my own sense of what I need. Input’s always welcome, but you don’t have to turn yourself into some one-woman Build Department just to try and help out with things you don’t really understand well to begin with. Remember that I have more than a decade of experience in the medical field. You’re not going to be able to catch up to this, no matter how hard you try, while also continuing to do your own thing.”

Thea blinked, frozen for a moment as her brain caught up to the obvious.

She hadn’t even considered that.

Somewhere along the line, she’d just started assuming it was her job to cover everyone’s builds, like they’d fall apart without her input. 

She’d been pouring so much energy into trying to figure out Karania’s and Corvus’ setups—despite constantly hitting a wall—that she forgot they were both perfectly capable of handling their own loadouts. 

She’d been trying to force a solution instead of supporting where it actually made sense.

“I… I guess you’re right…” she admitted, her voice softer now. “I honestly didn’t even think about that. I guess I got wrapped up in trying to be helpful. Thought maybe all those years spent theorycrafting in the arcade weren’t just a waste, y’know? But yeah, I’ll focus on the ones I can help with—like Lucas or Isabella. Maybe Desmond. Stuff I understand. No point scrambling to keep pace with people who already know what they’re doing, like you and Corvus.”

Then she gave a small smile. “Still down to bounce ideas though. If you ever get stuck or want a second opinion.”

“Deal,” Karania grinned. “And honestly, I might ask for those lengthy discussions anyway. Just… aim them at build theory instead of my personal choices, yeah? I still don’t think I’m grasping everything I need to avoid making big mistakes in the long run. That’s the part I’d really want your help with—no question about it. Corvus too, I promise you.”

Thea nodded so fast she probably looked like a bobblehead. “Any time!”

Then Karania tilted her head and asked, “So—what would be your number one, go-to piece of advice for us right now? Like, if you could only give one thing that we should keep in mind when picking stuff for our builds, to make them really good?”

It caught Thea off-guard, the sudden shift back into theory talk, but she rallied fast. 

No way was she going to drop the ball on this one.

“Hmm…” She frowned in thought, then nodded slowly as her brain clicked into gear. “Honestly, after going through a bunch of Abilities recently and comparing them to the builds I know from experience… I’d say this: Don’t fall into the trap of trying to force a SAD build.”

She paused just long enough to clarify. “Single-Attribute Dependency. It’s super tempting—especially if you’ve got a standout Attribute like Isabella’s Strength. It makes all your level-up points feel more impactful, and it’s easier to focus your upgrades. Most games reward you for going all-in like that.”

Her words started flowing more easily now, the topic energizing her.

“And yeah, SAD builds are strong. In pretty much every meta I remember, they always had some of the highest potential for raw power. But here? In the Allbright System? Most of the Abilities that make those builds work are stuck behind higher rarities or Tier locks. We’re still Tier 1. Even if you plan ahead, you won’t be able to execute those builds properly for a while. And the more SAD you go, the less flexible your kit becomes. You end up spending half your Ability slots just trying to make everything scale off the same Attribute.”

She caught Karania’s smile out of the corner of her eye and kept going, encouraged.

“MAD builds—Multi-Attribute Dependency—are usually weaker on paper, sure. But they’re way more versatile. You’ve got way more room to adjust your toolkit for whatever comes up. You don’t end up choking your build just trying to force synergy. Conversion Abilities are great, but if your whole strategy is just ‘make everything run off Strength’ or something? You’re gonna have a bad time when something doesn’t go according to plan.”

She tapped her chin, words slowing down a bit as she pulled it all together.

“If I had to design builds for everyone, I’d shoot for a balance between the two. Get one or two good conversion Abilities, yeah—but then build around being the best you can be right now, not some hypothetical later version of yourself. You can always replace Abilities when you get better options. You will have to, anyway, once you start unlocking rarer stuff.”

She let out a breath, realizing she’d kind of gone off on a tangent.

“So, yeah. I guess, in short: Focus on versatility first. Then plug in SAD-style conversion Abilities as you get them. Build toward them gradually. Don’t force it too early, or you’ll lose more than you gain. It’s not worth giving up flexibility just to chase a few extra points of power—especially not when your life’s literally on the line like it is for us.”

Thea nodded to herself as she wrapped it up, feeling pretty satisfied with her delivery.

‘Would've liked to go deeper into a few parts, but that felt pretty clean overall.’

“Hope that helps all of you. Now, if you’d please back off so we can continue our shopping in peace?” Karania said loudly, voice raised enough to carry, her eyes going beyond Thea.

Thea blinked, startled. “Wait, what?”

She looked around and noticed a small group of Marines sheepishly backing off, mumbling quiet apologies as they shuffled away.

“I think they overheard us earlier,” Karania said casually. “Probably hoping to pick up some build advice. You do realize we’re in the spotlight now, right? They know our faces. Especially yours and mine, after the Awards Ceremony. Don’t expect to blend into the background like before. You’re gonna get recognized, Thea. People will try to glean information from you wherever you are, on how to get to your level.”

Thea blinked again, eyes still tracking the Marines as they dispersed—some throwing quick glances back over their shoulders like they were trying to memorize every word she'd said.

It felt... weird.

She wasn’t used to this kind of attention. Never had been. 

Sure, in games, she’d dealt with it—getting swarmed in a lobby or in chat after pulling off a ranked clutch, being followed around in lobbies, even getting a few creeps now and then. 

But there’d always been a log-out button. A way to vanish, to reset the space around her.

Real life didn’t come with that option.

The thought hit a little harder than she expected, settling like a weight behind her ribs. 

She briefly considered asking the Sovereign to, somehow, do something about it—maybe nudge people away, keep the crowd at bay—but scrapped the idea almost immediately. 

Running away was probably easier. Less dramatic. 

And besides… the Sovereign wasn’t exactly someone she wanted to lean on more than she had to—which, arguably, she had been relying on far too much recently as-is.

Being next to Kara again reminded her of that—of her friend’s quiet warnings and offhand remarks about not trusting the ship completely. About not mistaking convenience for safety.

She exhaled slowly and rubbed the back of her neck, still a little thrown. 

Her gaze flicked down the aisle and around the store, scanning faces, checking corners. 

Too late, obviously, but still. 

Her Perception score was high enough that this shouldn’t have happened. 

She should’ve noticed the crowd creeping closer. The extra eyes. The awkward hush of people trying not to be caught listening.

But she hadn’t.

She’d been too locked into the conversation with Kara—too focused on the thrill of being helpful, of actually giving advice that might matter. Despite having zero real-world medical knowledge, she’d still wanted to contribute to her friend’s build and success. 

To prove she could.

And in doing so, she’d stopped paying attention to anything else.

Thea let out a quiet breath, the corner of her mouth twitching into a frustrated half-smile.

‘Some Scout you are…’ 

Ambushed during downtime, surrounded without even realizing. Not exactly the look the #1 should be rocking.

Mentally, she filed it under ‘unacceptable performance.’

‘Gotta fix that,’ she thought, resolve settling into place. ‘Next time, I pay attention—even if I’m just talking builds while out shopping. No excuses.’

“For what it’s worth,” Karania’s voice cut through her thoughts, calm and warm, “I think your advice was prudent, actionable, and very insightful. I, for one, definitely got a lot out of it. Thanks, Thea.”

Thea gave her a small, half-hearted smile. 

She could tell Kara was trying to lift her spirits—and honestly, it was working—but the weird weight in her chest didn’t vanish completely. The attention, the crowd, the whole ‘being known’ thing still sat awkwardly on her shoulders.

Still, she didn’t want to drag down their shopping trip with mopey energy. 

With a conscious breath, she pushed herself back into a lighter mood.

“No worries! Glad it helped you… and, apparently, half the drive too,” she said with a dry chuckle.

She stepped over to the nearby terminal and picked up one of the data-pads resting in its recharging slot—the one right beside the empty space where Karania had taken hers. Thea started flipping through the Skill class listings, eyes scanning the interface as she mentally sorted priorities.

“I’ve got a whole laundry list of must-take classes from the Runepriest,” she muttered, tapping through selections and compiling her tentative schedule. “There’s a bunch I want to take for my own interests too… It’s gonna be tight. Might need to ask for an exception slip myself…”

“If you do, we can ask Major Quinn together,” Karania offered, tone light. “I’m sure if two Alpha Squad members ambush her at once, even the ever-stoic Major will have to hear us out, right?” 

She winked.

Thea laughed, picturing it—Karania with that persuasive glint in her eye, Thea awkwardly trying to make a formal request without shrinking under Quinn’s no-nonsense stare. 

It was both hilarious… and definitely more than just mildly terrifying.

“Sounds like a plan.”

The next several minutes passed in focused silence as Thea finalized her list, occasionally stopping to weigh the pros and cons of certain classes, then moving on. 

When she finally finished, a long, tired sigh escaped her lips.

“Lots of classes?” Karania asked, glancing up with interest written all over her face.

Wordlessly, Thea held up her data-pad, letting Kara scroll through it.

“Hmm…” Karania mumbled as she read. “Way more variety than mine. Still heavy on the Research category, though. Yeah, we’re definitely gonna need those slips.”

She nodded slowly, more to herself than anyone else. “So you’re focusing on the Runepriest’s recommendations first?”

Thea nodded. “Yeah. I figure he knows what he’s doing, and if he’s planning on teaching me more stuff down the line, I’d rather not fall behind. Makes sense to prep ahead.”

Karania didn’t respond right away. 

She stared at the data-pad a little longer, eyebrows furrowed in thought—and that alone was enough to make Thea second-guess herself before she even said anything.

“I think you should message him and double-check that, honestly,” Karania finally said. “Like, yeah, [Basic Physics] and [Basic Chemistry] make total sense—especially with your Inheritance. Maybe even [Basic Mathematics] a bit later. But the rest…?”

She glanced up. “Stuff like [Basic Biology] isn’t going to matter unless you’re heading down a very specific Path, I’d imagine, and based on what you told me about your little shopping spree earlier, you’re going to need [Basic Engineering], [Basic Weaponsmithing], and [Basic Material-Science] way earlier than you’ll ever touch [Basic Biology].”

Thea opened her mouth to argue—but stopped. 

Kara wasn’t wrong. 

As always.

“Unless,” Karania added, smirking, “you plan to let those fancy weapons you bought gather dust for six or seven months while you slowly work through research you don’t even need. And something tells me Peria won’t exactly be thrilled about that either.”

Thea sighed again—this time with a bit more resignation. 

Yeah, that definitely sounded like something she’d need to fix.

She’d been avoiding messaging the Runepriest for days now, ever since that first intense psychic lesson had left her completely drained. 

The whole “Voidborn” revelation hadn’t helped either. 

That one had lingered like a bad aftertaste, dulling her mood and weighing down her thoughts for longer than she wanted to admit. 

She hadn’t been ignoring him, exactly… just trying to mentally decompress.

But Kara, as usual, was right.

‘I really do need to ask him which classes are actually critical,’ Thea thought, rubbing at her temple. ‘Which ones are just useful to have as a Veritas… and which ones only matter if I end up going down some specific Path, like Kara mentioned.’

No point in putting it off anymore.

With a resigned sigh, she pulled out her personal data-pad and transferred over her compiled class list. She flagged the ones the Runepriest had recommended during their last talk, then started typing out a short, polite message detailing her request. 

She kept it casual, like he’d told her to, but still respectful. Direct, but not too blunt.

Once finished, she read through it twice, eyes skimming for anything that sounded weird or too stiff. She paused, thumb hovering over the send icon, then glanced sideways.

“Kara, can you check this over real quick? Just tell me I’m not being an idiot?”

She held out the pad without looking, already second-guessing herself. 

She wasn’t exactly bad at talking to superiors—she’d had more than enough practice her entire life—but the Runepriest was a weird exception. 

Not just unfathomably high-ranking, but… strange. Companionable, informal and cryptic, all at once. 

She’d gone for a laid-back tone, like he’d asked her to, but part of her worried she’d crossed a line into ‘too casual.’

Karania read the message in silence, eyes flicking down the text.

After a second, she nodded. “Yeah, it’s fine. You kept it clear, respectful, and casual—just like he wanted. If anything, I think he’ll appreciate you reaching out at all. You did say he wanted more of a relaxed teacher-student dynamic, right?”

Thea nodded, relieved, and finally hit send.

“Alright, sent it off. Now I just gotta wait for him to answer… Until then, I guess I start working on Abilities,” Thea mused aloud, Karania nodding alongside her.

“Sounds like a good idea. I’m about to finish up my Skill classes as well here, but take your time. I might check through some Abilities as well afterwards, I could use some to fill out my Passives—so if you stumble upon some that might fit, send ‘em my way?” 

“Will do,” Thea replied, before opening up the Ability section of the System Store, and dived back into her own build for once…

=======

=======

- Skill Class Selection: Thea McKay -

Action:

• [Basic Scouting]

• [Basic Sniping]

• [Basic Stealth]

• [Basic Overwatch Tactics]

• [Basic First-Aid]

• [Basic Tracking]

• [Basic Outdoor Survival]

Research:

• [Basic Physics]

• [Basic Chemistry]

• [Basic Mathematics]

• [Basic Biology]

• [Basic Engineering]

• [Basic Electronics]

• [Basic Material Science]

• [Basic System Material Science]

• [Basic Ballistic Physics]

• [Basic Photonics]

• [Basic Weaponsmithing]

• [Basic Equipment Design]

• [Basic Laser-Weaponry Design]

• [Basic Ballistic-Weaponry Design]

• [Basic Gauss-Weaponry Design]

• [Basic Armoursmithing]

• [Basic Light-Type Armour Design]

Knowledge:

• [Basic Allbright System History]

• [Basic Human History]

• [Basic History of Technology]

• [Basic Old-Tech History]

• [Basic New-Tech History]

• [Basic Next-Tech Philosophies]

• [Basic Linguistics]

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[ND] Chapter 134 - Drops

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---------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ----------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Chapter 129 - Observation has just released on RR with no major changes.

For the Fixers, this chapter has seen no changes.

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NOTE: A new DECISION POINT is upon us with this chapter!

Please head on over to the DISCORD and check the #Novel-Decisions channel up at the "Serious Topics" to join the discussion and cast your votes.

The voting will be going live around 48~ hours after the release of this chapter.

Discussion will be available right away.

(Discord Link: https://discord.gg/rtZGz5RHtq)

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EXPERIENCE POOOOOIIIINNNNTTTSSSS

(The dice roll for the loot is available as a video in the ND-Patreon-Chat of the discord, in case y'all don't believe me when I say that I literally roll them.)

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I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the googledoc to the actual Chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1G7aa3agp8J5qa7RpdCb7tWDjQzvGT17OSyQ-lEyCFeY/edit?usp=sharing

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Chapter 134 - Drops

I dropped my backpack onto my lap and unzipped it, casually pretending to dig around inside like I was just organizing stuff, even though my real focus was on the System screen hovering quietly in my vision.

‘The System’s never just spawned a reward into the real world before… but better safe than sorry,’ I thought, navigating toward the claim button with one eye on the others in the car. 

Last thing I needed was to pop some weird-ass loot bubble mid-transit and have to try and explain that away.

Yeah, normally the System kept things pretty contained, but this was a different kind of reward. One I’d never seen before, and I didn’t want to risk blowing my cover when I had the perfect excuse to check it now. 

Sure, I could wait until I was home, where it’d be completely safe—but with nothing else to do during the ride, it felt like a waste of time not to just go for it.

Based on what Miss K and Shori had told me about Anima in general, I was fairly sure no one here could see what I was doing. Even if they did have access to Anima Sight, they wouldn’t keep it active at all times for no reason. 

Hell, I wasn’t even sure any of them knew what Anima even was, let alone how to use it. 

Still, I played it smart—quick glance around, made sure no one was watching, then hit the imaginary button.

[System]: You have claimed 1x [Random Reward (Uncommon Table)]!
[System]: Rolling reward from: Uncommon Table… Rolling… 

A shiny D100 materialized right in the center of my vision, spinning in place with way too much flair.

‘Okay, that’s a bit very extra,’ I thought, blinking at it. ‘Why even code it like this…? Whole thing feels like a loot box animation made by someone with too much budget and not enough restraint.’

The System usually kept things pretty utilitarian, but apparently loot rolls, of all things, were where the devs had gotten a little playful. The die started to slow, clacking along like it wanted to build suspense—and then finally stopped.

Seventeen.

‘Cool. Seventeen… And that means what exactly—’

[System]: Outcome: 17. Reward distribution in progress…
[System]: You have gained 1x [1,000 XP (Body-bound Skill)]!

I blinked. Then blinked again, reading it twice just to make sure I wasn’t misinterpreting it.

‘No shit… That’s actually kinda legit? A thousand XP, and I get to pick where it goes… And when too? As long as it’s Body-bound, anyway.’

Not bad. Not bad at all.

Just as I’d hoped, nothing manifested in the real world. 

No glowing orb, no weird item drop, no visible signs at all. 

I zipped up the bag and set it beside me again, ready to use as a makeshift shield if anything suddenly came flying at my face—just in case.

Seeing XP drops as part of loot rolls? That was new—and useful. Could help close the gap on a few of the stubborn Skills I hadn’t been able to push past a certain level.

Only problem? When I really thought about it, I didn’t actually have that many Body-bound Skills to work with. And none of them were particularly hard to train, generally speaking. 

Thirty total Skills, and only six were tied to Body at all. 

Most of those had awkward XP totals, weird breakpoints, or level-caps that made a clean 1,000 XP kinda tricky to slot in perfectly.

‘Still gotta check the XP logs anyway… maybe something in there’ll help sort it out,’ I told myself, flipping over to the backlog of System notifications I’d muted earlier that morning before leaving the apartment.

To call it a flood would’ve been putting it mildly.

[System]: 1,900xp gained for [Negotiation] Skill.
[System]: 400xp gained for Ego.
[System]: 400xp gained for Intuition.

[System]: 300xp gained for [Stealth] Skill.
[System]: 200xp gained for [Athletics] Skill.

[System]: 800xp gained for [Quick-Hacks] Skill.
[System]: Operator (Netrunner) defeated.
[System]: 350xp (+200xp) gained for defeating Operator (Netrunner). [First-Kill Bonus Experience]

[System]: 300xp gained for Edge.
[System]: 300xp gained for Intellect.

[System]: 500xp gained for [Tracking] Skill.

[System]: 300xp gained for [Deception] Skill.
[System]: 300xp gained for [Acrobatics] Skill.

[System]: 100xp gained for [CQC] Skill.
[System]: [CQC] Skill has reached Level 3. Knowledge and Muscle-Memory download available. [CQC] Perk Point obtained.

[System]: 300xp gained for [Martial Arts] Skill.
[System]: [Martial Arts] Skill has reached Level 4. Knowledge and Muscle-Memory download available.

[System]: 300xp gained for [Contortion] Skill.
[System]: [Contortion] Skill has reached Level 3. Knowledge and Muscle-Memory download available. [Contortion] Perk Point obtained.

[System]: 300xp gained for [{Anima Razor}] Skill.
[System]: [{Anima Razor}] Skill has reached Level 2. Knowledge and Muscle-Memory download available.

[System]: 100xp gained for Anima.
[System]: 400xp gained for Body.
[System]: 400xp gained for Reflex.

[System]: 600xp gained for [Murder] Skill.

[System]: 300xp gained for Ego.

[System]: 200xp gained for Edge.
[System]: Edge Attribute has reached 4. Upgrade delayed until User confirmation.

[System]: Scavenger (Low-Tier) defeated. [x3]
[System]: 250xp (+100xp) gained for defeating Scavenger (Low-Tier) [x3]. [First-Kill Bonus Experience (x1)]

[System]: 400xp gained for [Intimidation] Skill.
[System]: 1,000xp gained for [Appraise] Skill.

[System]: 300xp gained for Tech.

I was practically reeling from the flood of notifications lighting up my interface—level-ups, downloads, new Perk Point unlocks. 

It was a whole damn avalanche.

Sure, I’d expected a solid payout from the job, especially after how cleanly we’d wrapped it up, but this? The sheer amount of experience being handed out… it didn’t feel real. 

We’d blitzed through the scavs, no one on our side had taken any apparent hits, and it had ended so fast it barely even felt like a full op. 

Yet here I was, looking at a mountain of rewards like I’d just soloed a boss fight.

Still, as I combed through the notifications one by one, something did rub me the wrong way.

‘Really, System? You’re seriously gonna leave me hanging at 995 out of 1,000 XP on the General Level?’ I stared at the number, half-expecting it to magically bump up on its own. ‘Couldn’t scrounge up five more XP from somewhere? Stingy bastard…’

I glanced past the overlay, quick check out the window—still on the highway, still cruising, no sudden turns or stops. 

‘Good,’ I nodded.

Gave me enough time to start pre-scouting Perks, even if I knew I wouldn’t be locking anything in just yet. 

Better to think it over when my brain wasn’t still half-sloshed in leftover adrenaline.

First up: [Contortion]. 

I’d looked at the list before, back when it had first hit Level 1—weeks ago now—but figured it wouldn’t hurt to refresh my memory before digging into the more complex stuff that [CQC] was likely to bring.

[Coil Spring] [Requirement: Level 3 [Contortion]]
Cobrastriiiiiike! You gain the ability to contort and compress your body in unique ways, significantly enhancing the height and distance of your jumps from a crouched, coiled position.

[Narrow Twist] [Requirement: Level 3 [Contortion]]
Dear god, they’re like a fucking slime! You gain the ability to twist and contort your body to slip through the smallest of openings, navigating spaces others would consider utterly impassable.

[Slippery Body] [Requirement: Level 3 [Contortion]]
Nobody can keep you locked down! You gain the ability to wriggle free from nearly any physical restraint or hold actively placed upon you by somebody else.

[Escape Artist] [Requirement: Level 3 [Contortion]]
Houdini would be proud! You gain the ability to escape from most bonds or restraints with ease—only high-tier equipment resists your escape attempts.

My general thoughts on the [Contortion] Perks hadn’t shifted much since I first skimmed them all those weeks back, I realized.

‘[Coil Spring] still feels like the least immediately useful,’ I mused, mentally flicking through the list. ‘I’ve already got [Wall Runner] for vertical movement, and that one’s a hell of a lot more consistent. Unless I’m trying to pull off some circus-level nonsense, I don’t really see [Coil Spring] getting much mileage.’

[Narrow Twist], on the other hand, still looked like it could be crazy useful—if the situation called for it. The problem was just that: if. I had no clue how often I’d be squeezing through vent shafts or collapsing between tight wall gaps while running from something murderous.

‘[Slippery Body] and [Escape Artist] though… those two are real contenders,’ I thought, biting my lip. ‘Both of them are about getting out of fucked situations. Just depends if it’s ropes, chains, or someone trying to bear-hug me into submission.’

It was a tough call, no doubt. But looking over the list again, there weren’t any true duds here—aside from maybe [Coil Spring], and even that wasn’t totally useless if I stretched my imagination a bit. Maybe I’d think of a niche use case for it once I had more field time under my belt.

‘Still… if I had to choose right now, it’d be between [Slippery Body] and [Escape Artist]. They just seem the most universally useful.’ I let the thought settle before nodding to myself. ‘But yeah, not deciding right this second. This is something I wanna think through properly—no regrets, no second-guessing later.’

With that bit settled, I closed the Contortion list and swapped over to [CQC]—first time pulling this one up. I had no expectations, no biases, just pure curiosity and the faint buzz of anticipation building in my gut.

[No-Space Fighter] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
Snake-people can do snakey things… You gain the ability to remove all typical penalties from cramped positioning of all close-combat actions in tight spaces such as, crawlways, ducts, lift shafts or when otherwise similarly impeded.

[Snap Sheathe] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
Sheathe, Draw, Repeat. Sheathe, Draw, Repeat… You gain the ability to rapidly sheathe/stow and subsequently redraw your weapons in one fluid motion, as long as your upper-body movement isn’t impeded.

[Lethal Flow] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
One down… Two… Three… Ten… You gain the ability to immediately follow up a melee kill with a dash, reposition, roll, or vault action without impacting your stance, stamina or situational awareness.

[Kinetic Battery] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
First you get hit a lot, then you hit ‘em with a KABOOM! You gain the ability to store a portion of kinetic energy upon successfully parrying heavy attacks that can be spent to power your next melee attack with explosive force.

[Gun-Kata] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
Every angle is accounted for. Every bullet has a purpose… You gain the ability to seamlessly transition between strikes and point-blank fire. While within melee range, you can chain firearm discharges directly into melee attacks without delay, even firing from non-standard positions (underarm, off-hand, behind-back, etc.) mid-motion. Enemies struck by a melee hit are momentarily tracked, enabling follow-up shots to auto-correct for movement if fired within one half-second.

I let out a quiet sigh, eyes locked onto the list hovering in front of me.

‘Another one of those impossible choices, huh…? Just what I needed today.’ I couldn’t help but roll my eyes a bit at the situation. 

Anyone else probably would've killed for just one of these perks—any of them—and here I was, stuck groaning about the “burden” of getting to choose between all of them. 

Real Sera problems.

Didn’t change the fact, though: This was gonna be a tough pick.

[No-Space Fighter] looked solid—practical, dependable, probably the most straightforward out of the bunch. Nothing fancy, just the ability to not get caught slipping in tight spots. 

But in a lineup like this, that kind of utility felt… well, underwhelming. 

Like bringing a wrench to a gunfight. Still, definitely had value in specific situations.

[Snap Sheathe] though? Now that one had me actually thinking. 

Instant weapon swaps? That was the kind of versatility that opened doors. 

‘Hell, maybe I could run a proper loadout. Keep a knife out most of the time, then quick-switch to a sword if I need to bring down the hammer on someone.’ 

The only catch? I needed something already in my hand to make it work. 

No free draws—just quick exchanges. 

Still, in the right hands, that was huge.

Then there was [Lethal Flow]—the dream of every highlight reel junkie. 

That one read like it was made for people who didn’t like stopping for anything. Dodge, roll, stab, shoot—one target to the next, clean, smooth, efficient. ‘Might be kinda cracked, if I really lean into this scav-clearing lifestyle… and judging by today, I just might.’ 

Between what I’d learned and what I’d felt—how natural it had all come to me—it was hard to argue against it.

[Kinetic Battery], though? That one was straight-up terrifying. 

Pure momentum turned into power, stored and redirected.

‘I swear, Jin would probably short-circuit if I punched harder than him one day,’ I thought with a crooked grin. More than just style, it was practical—something that could help if I ever ran into a tanky ‘Borg that didn’t go down easy. 

That kind of backup plan… It was very hard to ignore.

And then, of course, there was the one I’d been expecting to see from the very start: [Gun-Kata].

The classic. The staple. The icon.

Every single cyberpunk story had its version of this. 

Whether it showed up as a passive, a special move, a skill tree—it always existed. 

Stylish, deadly, cinematic as hell. And honestly? There was something magnetic about that. 

‘It’s damn near perfect—great scaling, tons of potential, no real weaknesses… other than me not having a gun yet.’

But that wasn’t exactly a permanent issue. Or even a long-standing one, if I put my mind to it. Guns were easy to come by if you knew where to look—or knew who to ask. 

I could fix that in a moderately quick timeframe.

The real issue? That it was too tempting. The fantasy of being that girl—the main character with the slick moves, the gun flips, the fluid motion—that was a dream I’d had since I first started digging into all this. 

It was the story I’d always wanted to be part of.

But this wasn’t a story. Not really. Not a game, where I could simply hit F9 for a reset. 

There were no resets. No rollbacks. No “whoops, I picked the wrong perk” do-overs.

This was my real life. 

And that meant no snap decisions. No chasing aesthetics at the cost of function. 

Not unless I was damn sure it was the right call.

‘If I end up with [Gun-Kata] after weighing all my options? Great. But I’m not locking myself in just because it looks cool. Not this time…’

Closing out of the interfaces, delaying the choices until a later date, when I’ve had some more time to really sit down and puzzle all of it through, I returned my attention to the road outside the window, just letting it pass by me as Cryo continued to take us back, somewhere towards Delta…

—

About ten minutes later, we finally veered off the highway again—but this time, we weren’t diving back into the undercity maze of rusted tunnels and half-lit alleys. Instead, Cryo drove us through one of the wider surface roads, hovering just above the grit-caked ground layer of the city proper. 

A little less oppressive than the usual deep dives, but still packed as hell.

“Where are we even going?” I finally asked, giving up the act of playing mysterious and aloof. I had absolutely zero clue where we were anymore—everything out the window looked vaguely familiar but just off enough to feel disorienting.

“Ya said ya wanted a license,” Cryo said, not missing a beat. His eyes never left the road. “So we doin’ that. Gonna get ya licensed.”

“Oh. Like, now?” I blinked.

“OPN offices we frequent,” Pina chimed in, lounging in her seat that made me think she never had any sort of safety instructions on being a passenger in a vehicle before. “Place we pick up gigs, blow off steam, grab drinks, snag intel or maybe a blank or two if we’re short before a job. That kinda place.”

My eyebrows shot up. That… was not at all what I’d expected.

I thought Cryo would drop me back at Delta, maybe tell me he’d shoot me a message when it was time for the next meetup to get me licensed. 

But nah. Apparently, Cryo didn’t do “later.” 

Everything with this crew moved fast. No dragging feet, no drawn-out onboarding. 

Just straight into the deep end and hope you swim.

And I guessed… I had swum. Barely. But I was still above water.

Cryo ran a very tight ship, that much was obvious by now. 

Tighter than I’d assumed at first, honestly. 

From the outside, the crew had seemed loose—like freelancers half-assing it between real gigs. But looking back on the run we just pulled off, they were efficient. Fast. Deadly. 

Cryo had slotted me into the formation like a new part in a machine and just expected it to work.

And it had.

‘They’re way more experienced than I gave them credit for,’ I realized. 

Vega hadn’t been joking when he said Cryo had been around for a while. 

A long while, at least in Operator years. Which wasn’t saying much in regular years. 

Most Operators didn’t last long enough to even consider this a “career.” 

Five gigs. That was the average before getting zeroed. 

And Cryo? He was probably pushing mid-triple digits by now, if I had to guess.

Faces like him usually lasted longer, sure. They picked their crews. Controlled the risk. 

But they also took the heat when things went sideways. 

Clients remembered the person who made the deal, not the trigger-pullers. 

And enemies? They definitely remembered the one talking to them before everything went haywire, more so than the ones doing the shooting.

‘I got lucky landing with this crew…’ I caught myself smiling at the thought—just in time for it to die a quick death as Mouse groaned beside me again.

“Fucking fried too…? Fuuuuck…” he muttered, dragging some sparking component covered in some kind of stinking glibber out from his own body with all the casual misery of a guy trying to fix his coffee machine before work. 

He’d been muttering like that the entire drive, still trying to patch himself up after eating my [Venombite] earlier. Poor guy looked like a hacked-together vending machine at this stage.

‘Well, I did warn him…’ 

Finally, after a few more minutes of Mouse’s nonstop groaning and static-crackling self-repair, Cryo pulled the car into a stop and gave a simple gesture—out we go.

I barely had time to glance around and clock that we were in some underground parking garage—dim lights, oil stains, the occasional flicker of exposed wiring—before the others were already moving. 

Cryo led the way toward the nearest elevator, Pina right behind him, and Mouse trailing with a half-dead servo whine in his gait. 

I had to quick-step to catch up, not wanting to get left behind.

The elevator ride was dead quiet. Not tense or awkward—just... quiet. 

Everyone had their own thoughts to chew through. 

Nobody broke the silence, unless you counted Mouse muttering every few seconds about circuits, burnouts, and how I owed him a drink or three for frying his internals.

I wasn’t about to argue.

Then, the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. 

One by one, they filed out, with me bringing up the rear.

Stepping into the hallway felt like being slapped with a different reality. 

Gone was the grime and decay of the garage—we were suddenly standing in a pristine, almost sterile corridor. 

Bright-white lights. 

Floors that had actually seen a mop sometime this decade. And dead ahead, glowing like a beacon, was a big, bold, neon-yellow sign above a set of thick, armored double-doors.

“O P N”

Clean, sharp, official. No frills. Just three letters that carried weight.

I stopped for half a second, just to take it in. 

I was actually here. Not dreaming. Not imagining it. 

After everything, after all the fighting and self-doubt and blood and chaos—I was here, about to walk into the damn OPN’s Office and get my license.

Not just talking about it. Not planning for it. Doing it.

That sign wasn’t just a label—it was a literal line in the sand. 

Past this point, I stopped being a hopeful maybe and became someone who could actually move through the world with agency for once.

I was finally here…

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[Fixer+ | Draft] Chapter 135 - Induction

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------------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) -------------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Welcome to the draft release of Chapter 135 for y'all.

As always, a quick reminder that this chapter is still in the process of being workshopped by me and that this is simply the first-draft.

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We're finally here! Ela's made it \o/

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I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the link to the chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Am6_sK_IZOa4BVQyZ2tIQZSf4eyab_UnR1vIYg2Y0KM/edit?usp=sharing

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Chapter 135 - Induction

Shaking off the moment of awe, I followed Cryo and crew through the double doors that opened before us without as much as a sound.

The air inside hit different—cool and sterile, but with the faintest undertone of filtered ozone and something floral, like a subtle diffuser had been going non-stop in the vents. The lighting was soft, a bit too perfect, like it had been calibrated to relax the nerves without you even realizing it. 

I stepped into the space fully and had to admit—this didn’t feel like a mercenary hub or some kind of cutthroat contract office. 

No, this felt more like a high-end bank. Or maybe a private finance firm that just so happened to traffic in bloodshed instead of money.

The floor stretched wide, a dark stone-like material that absorbed the light without making it dim. 

On either side of the open room were sleek, floor-to-ceiling privacy booths—around a dozen of them total, each with a recessed holo-sign above reading either ENGAGED or AVAILABLE in sharp, color-coded text. A few were already taken, with clients presumably laying out contract details with whatever OPN clerks were handling them.

Despite there being maybe twenty, thirty people drifting around—all of them clients, from what I could tell at a glance—it was eerily quiet. 

No one spoke loudly. No phones rang. No arguments broke out. 

Just low murmurs, soft footfalls, the occasional beep of an interface, and the whisper-hum of the environmental systems keeping everything precisely comfortable. 

The kind of silence that felt managed. Downright engineered, even.

Cryo didn’t slow down, just kept walking toward the left-hand corridor like he knew the place in his sleep. 

Which, honestly, he probably did.

“This here’s the front-facin’ office of the OPN,” he said without turning, his voice low and steady as always. “What the clients see. They come in, talk contracts, maybe catch a glimpse of a few of us walkin’ around lookin’ scary. Makes ‘em feel like they’re dealin’ with professionals. Like they got access to somethin’ real exclusive or whatever.”

He gave a faint, dry snort. “There’s a side-entrance at the back, of course. But the higher-ups like to tell us to use the front. Makes it look like we, the Operators, are approachable or somethin’ like that. Client-first image, or whatever slogan they’re pushin’ this week.”

The way he said it made it very clear he didn’t buy into any of it. 

He followed the rules, sure. Played along. 

But there was no illusion in his tone that any of this polished bullshit meant anything in the long run to him.

Still, he didn’t argue it either. He just walked the walk. Efficient apathy, in a way.

‘No point in picking a fight with a big ol' room, I guess.’

I kept close behind Cryo, eyes drifting across the space, trying to soak in every detail. 

Layout, faces, body language—anything that might clue me into the kind of place this really was beneath the polish. Because this wasn’t just some swanky lobby—it was deliberate. 

Everything felt calculated. The lighting was warm but not cozy. 

The silence wasn’t peaceful—it was curated. 

Even the receptionist’s smile looked like it had gone through corporate training modules.

‘If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear we just stepped into a Corpo HQ…’ I thought, unease prickling at the back of my neck. ‘Way too sterile. Way too perfect. The OPN in the game never felt like this. Not even close...’

In the game, the few times you did step into the front-facing OPN offices, it was usually just a pit stop: Walk in, pick up a quest, walk out. No creepy silence. No atmosphere that made your skin feel like it was being politely judged. And it definitely hadn’t looked this… sanitized. 

The kind of place that made you instinctively check if your boots were too dirty.

‘Maybe the devs just glossed over this part. Or maybe… the OPN changed their image after at some point before the game’s start date…? Some sort of PR overhaul? New execs?’ I didn’t have any solid theories, and chasing after what-ifs without real intel wasn’t gonna get me anywhere right now. 

Just something to keep in mind for later, I figured.

Cryo didn’t break stride, weaving past the sleek counters like he’d done this a thousand times. When we hit the next checkpoint, a soft pulse of blue light swept over him, scanning him for god knows what. Whatever it checked, however, it liked what it saw, because the inner doors clicked open a second later.

Two more steps, and we were through a set of heavy, reinforced double-doors—no neon, no fake polish, no smiles.

This was the real OPN: The back rooms.

Immediately, a wall of noise hit us head-on, shattering the eerie silence from moments earlier. Some heavy synthcore track pulsed through the air, its rhythmic bass vibrating in my chest, mixing freely with bursts of laughter, overlapping conversations, and the occasional cheer erupting from random directions. 

Compared to the clinical sterility of the lobby, this was like stepping into a different world entirely.

The smell alone almost overwhelmed me—booze hung thick in the air, alongside flavored synth-vapes leaving faint clouds of fruity or minty residue. Beneath it all was the unmistakable scent of sweat, left-over adrenaline from recent gigs, and just people being people.

The room itself was shaped around a large, circular bar occupying center-stage, bathed in soft, multi-colored lights. 

Bartenders danced fluidly around each other, mixing drinks with practiced ease for the countless Operators crowding the stools and leaning against the polished counters. 

Around the bar, scattered throughout the room, were dozens of booths of varying sizes and designs. Some were open, filled with groups animatedly sharing stories or planning their next gig, while others were concealed behind hazy privacy fields, shadowy silhouettes shifting behind them.

My eyes darted all over the place, trying to keep up. 

Everyone here had a look—cybernetics out on display, some subtle, some not even trying to be. Vibrant hair colors lit up the room like a half-melted neon sign. Shaved patterns, metallic inlays, glowing tattoos. One guy had cables coiled like dreadlocks, another had full-on chromed arms that clicked and rattled like a snake whenever he moved. 

The equipment alone could've stocked a mid-tier militia.

There was also a random stage in the far corner.

Karaoke.

Two Operators were up there, absolutely destroying—in the worst way possible—a song I’d never heard before. One was belting out lyrics like his vocal cords were made of gravel and trauma, while the other just screamed occasionally and played air guitar with a shock-baton. 

The audience didn’t care. They cheered louder anyway.

The whole experience was loud, messy and thoroughly chaotic.

And somehow, despite everything telling me I didn’t belong in a place like this yet… it felt unmistakably homey. 

‘Hard not to, considering how many hours of content I watched of players literally sitting in an OPN back room just like this one, huh…?’

Cryo gestured casually for Pina and Mouse to move ahead without him, then nodded to me, motioning silently to follow. I stuck close as he led me deeper into the bar, moving carefully around Operators who barely glanced our way, too caught up in their drinks and conversations to care. 

He guided me around a partition wall towards the main counter area, tucked discreetly out of sight from the entrance—almost like it was deliberately placed to make sure casual visitors didn’t stumble onto it… Not like there was any way for a “casual” visitor to do so, but still.

"Alright, Ela, pay attention," Cryo began, his voice just loud enough to carry clearly over the noise of the bar. "Ya got yer Task-board right here. Looks old-school, but that's kinda the point."

He pointed at a surprisingly low-tech board—just a wide surface covered with magnetic slips, each one representing a Task, arranged by their Star ratings. 

It instantly brought a smile to my face. 

It was exactly like the kind of quest boards I’d seen in countless anime and games, the exact kind of whimsical, nostalgic touch the developers had probably been going for.

Cryo noticed my expression and raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk forming. "Yeah, it’s exactly as cheesy as it looks. Honestly, don’t know why they don’t just digitize this already, but ya get used to it. Some o’ the old-timers seem to like it."

Without further delay, Cryo motioned me towards the task desk itself, a row of sleek counters manned by receptionists talking quietly to Operators holding task slips. As we approached, several booths flickered opaque, privacy modes activating with a subtle hum, instantly cutting off their conversations from anyone outside.

Cryo approached one of the receptionists who wasn’t busy—a young guy with neon-blue streaked hair and an easygoing smile—and leaned comfortably on the counter.

"Heya, Cryo," the receptionist greeted casually, eyes immediately glancing over at me with obvious curiosity. "What’s it today?"

"I’m vouchin’ for a newbie," Cryo said plainly, tilting his head in my direction. "Lookin’ to get her licensed."

The receptionist's eyebrows shot up in clear surprise, his smile broadening dramatically. "Well, damn. Cryo, of all people, introducing fresh blood? Never thought I’d see the day."

Cryo rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh. 

"Can we skip the theatrics, Almen? Just do yer job."

Almen chuckled, completely unfazed, like he’d heard that line from Cryo a dozen times already—and probably had. 

The way they spoke to each other made me pause for a second, taking it in. 

Cryo wasn’t just tolerating the guy—there was an ease to the exchange, like they’d known each other for a while. Whatever passed for “friendly” in Cryo’s world, this was probably it.

It was weirdly grounding to see. 

Reminded me that Cryo wasn’t just Cryo, the Operator, the Face of the crew, the one who’d practically stared me down earlier without flinching. 

He was also just a guy. With history. People. A network.

Maybe even—gods forbid—actual friends.

Almen ducked away behind the counter for a second and came back with a slim datapad in hand. He flicked it on, then looked up at Cryo again.

"Since this is your first time, I’m officially required to give the rundown,” Almen began, tone playful. “Feel free to tune me out or whatever. I know you know this stuff, but hey—regulations.”

Cryo nodded, already tapping the counter with his knuckle like a metronome, eyes not leaving the screen in front of him.

“Alright then.” Almen grinned and launched into the speech, clearly not bored of it yet. “Vouching for a new Operator means you’re putting part of your reputation on the line for them. You’re saying this person’s ready for the life—that they can handle gigs the way an Operator’s expected to. Professionalism, skill, all that jazz. If they screw up, especially in ways that break OPN protocol, you catch some of the heat too. In worst-case scenarios, that means blacklisting. So… don’t vouch for someone you don’t trust.”

Cryo gave a noncommittal grunt, still drumming.

“And—final bit—your vouch also decides their starting rank and what kinds of Tasks they’re eligible to take on. It becomes part of their public Operator profile, too, so clients and crews will know who stuck their neck out for them. Which is why we ask that you be honest about their skills. No padding the resume.”

Almen held the datapad out, all the legal stuff already pulled up. “If you understand and agree to those terms, sign here.”

Cryo didn’t even blink—just swiped his hand across the screen. It chimed once and then he gestured lazily in my direction.

“This’s Ela. She’s the one I’m vouchin’ for today.”

Almen gave a polite nod, but his eyes lingered on me a bit longer than was comfortable. Not in a creepy way—more like he was trying to figure me out. Like he was asking himself why someone like Cryo, of all people, was going out of his way for someone like me. 

What made me worth the risk, for seemingly the first time?

And honestly? I wasn’t entirely sure yet either.

Considering that I’d had a knife to the guy’s throat just a few minutes ago—over something that, in hindsight, had kind of been my own fuck-up—it was honestly impressive that Cryo was still vouching for me. 

Most people would've at least held a grudge, or thrown some passive-aggressive jabs. 

But him? Nothing. Just all business.

“If you’d please state your desired Operator handle and area of expertise?” Almen asked, tone polite but clipped, like he had a checklist in his head he was running through.

I hesitated for a beat, not totally sure what kind of answer he was expecting—some rehearsed resume pitch, or just the raw facts. 

I decided to just go with what I’d told Cryo back when we first met.

“Ela. E-L-A. That’s it,” I said, keeping my tone level. “As for what I do—I’m stealth-focused. Recon, infiltration, info gathering. Got a drone. Can do Netrunning. Do a bit of programming, too—got my own Quick-Hack already, planning to build more. I’m good with knives, up close or thrown. And I’ve had some time on pistols as well… That kind of stuff what you’re after?”

Almen tapped away on his datapad while I talked, giving a small nod as I wrapped up. “Yep, that’ll do just fine.”

Then he turned toward Cryo with a raised brow. “So, which of those things the lady just rattled off are you actually vouching for, big guy?”

He shot a quick glance my way and added, “No offense, but new Operators like to oversell their skillsets. Try to game the board for higher-paying Tasks right out the gate. It’s why we have this whole vouching process.”

“None taken,” I said, flashing a small smile. And I meant it.

It made total sense. 

If you were desperate for work, padding your profile was the obvious move. OPN contracts could pay out big, especially compared to the trash jobs floating around for unlicensed freelancers. 

And from the OPN’s side, trying to protect their reputation and clients? Yeah, no brainer.

There were other networks out there, of course. 

Ones way looser with their standards. Hell, some barely even checked your ID, much less your skill set. 

And if you weren’t tied to a network, there were always Fixers—shady, off-the-record types who’d hand out jobs to whoever seemed competent enough to not die on the spot. 

No license, no vouching, no safety net. Just vibes.

And more often than not? Those vibes got people killed. 

Which was the whole reason why I had wanted to sign up with the OPN in the first place.

Cryo looked at me for a long second—just long enough to feel like he was scanning through every single moment we'd spent together so far. It wasn’t hostile, just… assessing. 

Like he was double-checking his own read on me.

Then, he gave the smallest nod and turned back to Almen.

“I vouch for all of it,” he said flatly, like it wasn’t the biggest mic drop of the day.

I nearly flinched. 

It took everything I had not to react. My jaw wanted to drop, my eyebrows were already halfway to my hairline, and I had to physically clamp down on my facial muscles to keep from looking like a total idiot. 

‘All of it? Seriously?!’ 

He had barely even seen me do any of that stuff. 

Sure, he’d seen me throw a few knives and fight a couple of surprised scavs. But Netrunning? Recon? Programming? He had no way of knowing how legit I was in any of those areas. 

And yet here he was, vouching for all of it anyway.

Even Almen looked caught off-guard, his eyebrows shooting up. 

“All of it?” he echoed, clearly fishing for clarification.

Cryo didn’t miss a beat. “She’s one of the most talented newbloods I seen. Still green, o’ course—used to runnin’ solo, thinkin’ in ones instead of squads—but the potential’s there, no doubt. And she learns fast.”

I blinked. ‘What the fuck is happening right now…?’

He kept going, as if this kind of praise was just regular shop talk. “We just came from a gig, matter o’ fact. Dropped three scavs on her own without even flinchin’. One of ‘em had some salvaged subdermal, too. Didn’t slow her down. Handled it clean. No wasted movement, no panic.”

And then, to really hammer it home, he added with the faintest hint of amusement, “Also dropped Mouse with her Quick-Hack. Like, really dropped. Triggered his fail-safe and everythin’. Was out for like a whole minute or two, longest I seen. Guy’s still fixin’ himself even now.”

Almen’s eyes flicked to me again—third time today—and I could practically see the gears turning in his head. He started typing something into the datapad, nodding slowly as if the whole thing now made sense.

“Well damn,” he said after a beat, “I guess I can see why she’s the one, then. Sounds promising indeed.”

He gave the datapad one final tap before glancing back at Cryo. “Alright. I’ll give her Rank 1, based on your word. Let her skip the 0-star slog. I trust you know what you’re doing, vouching for her like that.”

Cryo just gave a small nod. “‘Preciate it, Almen.”

A soft chime sounded a second later, and Almen turned to dig around under the counter. He came back up holding something small and rectangular, then gestured for me to step up.

“Here’s your OPN ID Card, Ela,” he said, handing it over. “Not mandatory to carry it around, since you’ll be added to the system in a minute and most things just work digitally. But it’s handy to have for clients who still like the whole physical-proof thing. Or, y’know, in case you’re ever stuck out in some dead-zone with no signal. Up to you.”

The card felt lighter than I expected, matte black with the OPN’s sigil embossed in silver on one side, my callsign and ID number printed cleanly on the other.

Almen turned back to Cryo, raising an eyebrow. “You wanna give her the starter spiel or...?”

“Nah,” Cryo cut him off with a lazy wave of the hand. “Best if ya do it. Ain’t no way I’d remember everythin’ worth mentionin’ anyhow.”

Almen snorted. “Didn’t think so,” he muttered, before turning his full attention back to me with a welcoming grin.

“Well then. First off—welcome to the OPN, the Operator Private Network. Simple version? We don’t babysit. No one's gonna hold your hand or force you to take work. We just run the platform, keep the lights on, and make sure things stay clean and professional between Operators and clients. That’s it.”

He tapped a finger against the license I was still holding. “You’re starting off at Rank 1 thanks to Cryo’s vouch, so you’re skipping the whole Rank 0 probation phase. That means, officially, your ceiling is 1-Star Tasks—unless you're brought into higher-rated gigs by more experienced crews and the client explicitly signs off on it.”

He gestured off to the side, where I could now see the task board I had seen curious about earlier. “That there is the Task-board. Every job currently available will be listed there. If something catches your eye, just grab the slip and bring it to a nearby desk with a service member—like me—and we’ll hand over all the intel, comms access, and any follow-up you’ll need for the gig.”

He gave a polite little bow with a wink. I tried not to grin.

‘Alright. Charisma stat maxed out, confirmed. No wonder Cryo tolerates this guy,’ I thought, amused.

“As for crews—there’s no formal process. You can work with whoever, whenever. But if you wanna go the official route, make a crew and register it with the OPN, we can do that too. Once you’re registered, clients can assign Tasks directly to your team. Makes repeat business and building a rep a lot easier. But that’s usually something you only do once you’re confident the people you’re running with actually fit.”

He pulled up a list on the datapad and turned it so I could see.

“These are the OPN rules. Read ’em. Memorize ’em. Breaking any of these? It’s not just your ass on the line—it’s Cryo’s too. So don’t make him regret putting his name on you.”

His tone hadn’t changed—still friendly, still calm—but the shift in weight behind his words made it clear: This part wasn’t optional.

I nodded earnestly, before taking a look at the rules.

‘Yeah, looks like those are the same, too,’ I thought, skimming the list and confirming parts of my earlier hunch. ‘A lot of the OPN’s still exactly how I remember it… just not the front-office part. That part’s new… Or I guess old?’

The rules themselves were surprisingly straightforward, which made sense, considering the kind of people they were written for. No fluff, no corporate double-speak—just short, punchy lines that didn’t leave much room for debate.

• No breaking agreements with your crew—whether it’s official or not.

• No killing OPN Operators from your crew during a gig.

• No killing OPN Operators on OPN property or within 100 meters of it.

• No killing OPN Operators without a registered Bounty-Task.

Simple. Brutal. Effective.

The most interesting bit, of course, wasn’t what was banned—but what wasn’t. 

Nowhere in the rules did it say you couldn’t kill another Operator in general. It just listed the specific scenarios where it wasn’t allowed, which meant, by omission, every other time was fair game.

‘Operator life’s just as cutthroat as ever, huh…?’

There’d been plenty of quests in the game where you had to track down other Operators. 

Some of them had gone rogue, some had pissed off the wrong client, and a few had just gotten too popular—too big a name, too loud of a signal. 

And for the right price? You could always find someone willing to fix that problem.

They called those contracts Bounty-Tasks. A nice, sanitized way of saying “Here’s your next murder target.”

Personally, I wanted to steer clear of that whole scene. 

Sure, the payout was good, and the infamy came fast—but so did retaliation. Operators who made a name for themselves hunting their own kind didn’t last long. 

They even had a name for them: Hunters. Or Operator Hunters, in long-form.

Either someone put them down for vengeance, or they got added to a Bounty list themselves. And the ones who enjoyed that kind of thing? Yeah… not exactly people I wanted to share a room with.

Snapping back to the present, I tapped the confirmation box on the datapad, locking in my agreement to the rules. 

Almen, cheerful as ever, took the lead again.

“Well… that about wraps up the basic introduction,” he said brightly. “There’s obviously a whole lot more to the Operator lifestyle, but I won’t drown you in info on day one. If anything’s unclear or you got questions later, just walk up to the desk and I—or one of the other fine service members—will get you sorted.”

He grinned, practically glowing. “But for now? You’re officially in. Welcome to the OPN, Ela!”

His smile was blinding. Seriously, it felt like the kind of smile that could power a small generator.

‘Way too much sunshine for my tastes,’ I thought, but kept it to myself.

“Thank you, Almen. I appreciate it. I’ll make sure to ask if anything comes up.”

Not that I expected it to. 

Between Cryo, the crew, and the game knowledge still stuck in my head, I figured I’d be fine.

Cryo gave the counter a solid knock with his knuckles, nodded at Almen like he was checking something off a list, and turned to go.

“Follow me if ya wanna get paid, Ela,” he called over his shoulder. “We’re celebratin’—induction and a successful Task.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just headed straight for the bar.

I gave Almen one last polite nod, tucked the ID into my jacket, and quickly fell in step behind Cryo towards where I assumed Pina and Mouse were going to be waiting for us…

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[TAS] Volume 2 - Chapter 36 - Names

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------------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) -------------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Volume 2 - Chapter 31 - Social Expert has just released on RR with no changes.

For the Wolf Lords, this chapter is unchanged.

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[Experimental Chapter Notice! Trying stuff out in this one.]

Also: I will personally kill anyone that dislikes this chapter.

Also: Absolutely monster-chongus of a chapter.

---------------

I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the link to the chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1XdmGFtSIn8CSKGnq-wG9y9yOfrFnWyvBbbSbTju8_Jc/edit?usp=sharing

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Volume 2 - Chapter 36 - Names

“"It’s not the Marines on the front line that win us wars. It’s the faceless clerk punching in license codes on a three-shift rotation. It’s the hauler pilot who hasn’t left their rig in two months. It’s the refinery tech who doesn't even know what a Mag-Rail casing is, but still ships out ten billion of them every week. That’s where wars are fought. In bulk orders and unpaid overtime.”
— Marshal Renk Tavros, Strategic Oversight Division, PFC 933”

The UHF economy runs on three things: Credits, Contracts, and Compliance.

While the Integrated Marines bear the weight of UHF glory, the very spine of the war machine remains firmly in the hands of the Unintegrated members of our society. 

They are the clerks, the loaders, the miners and machinists—contractors who signed their names onto dotted lines with the same weight as blood.

The best example of this? The very weapons sold to our Marines are rarely UHF-made. 

They’re produced by mega-corps operating from fringe-worlds, manufactured in facilities run by civilians who’ll never know their name was printed onto a crate that changed the outcome of the galactic war. 

Every railgun, every smart-mine, every chassis stamped with a part number—born from a line of laborers barely protected by law, but absolutely bound by contract.

The ammunition we fire? A small percentage is printed, yes, but the vast majority is created by factory crews who’ve never seen a battlefield.

Supply routes? Kept running by freight-jockeys who’ll never know if the crates they hauled fed soldiers, fueled dropships, or just kept a data-server online for another week.

The store clerks offering loadout advice, selling prototype licenses, and cataloguing power cell shipments in the dead of night? They're the unspoken engine. 

Most are Unintegrated, bound to their employers through exploitative contracts written by corp-lawyers fluent in loopholes and ironclad clauses. 

They cannot leave. They cannot negotiate. 

They cannot even ask for help, because the contracts they sign with the Allbright System prevent them from speaking about their work to anyone not similarly initiated.

Many don’t even finish their terms—“premature termination” is a tidy euphemism we use to describe abandonment on a random station, disappearances, or worse.

These Unintegrated workers exist in a legal grayzone. 

Once hired, they often can't leave their stations. And yet they still aren’t guaranteed work.

Corporations terminate early. Contractors vanish mid-shift. And no one checks. 

Not because we don’t care, but because we can’t care. 

The UHF simply lacks the capacity to monitor every logistics hub across our space. We’d collapse under the weight of oversight before a single gun left port.

And yet, we need them. 

Without the exploitation—without the mandatory evil—the war stops. 

No shipments. No replacements. No munitions. No victory.

Would we prefer better treatment for our Unintegrated contractors? Absolutely. 

But hope doesn't ship plasma cores. Good ethics don’t keep the front supplied...

"Freedom is a luxury bought by the shackled. Never forget who paid your fare."
— Stenciled graffiti outside UHF Supply Hub 4B, Toran IV

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“…And right here is where they honestly messed up with the design, if you were to ask me,” the clerk said, her voice animated as she pointed to a seemingly harmless weld seam along the rifle’s internal chassis. To Thea’s eye, it looked perfectly fine—clean even—but the clerk shook her head. “Welds are fine, don't get me wrong. But this section? It should've been accounted for in the initial frame mold! Instead, they slapped it on as a patch-job. That creates stress concentration points. Over time, with repeated thermal cycling and recoil pressure? Microfractures. Guaranteed.”

She grabbed her data-pad again—her fingers already moving in muscle memory after how many times she’d done it by now—and pulled up another set of schematics, incident logs, and defect stats. 

With a practiced motion, she handed the pad over to Thea.

“Check this out. Seventeen percent of all reported defects on this model originate in this exact zone. Not the weld itself, mind you—but the surrounding alloy. Heat-affected zone wasn’t properly normalized post-weld. Poor metallurgical follow-through. That’s seventeen percent of breakdowns that literally wouldn’t exist if the design was just finalized as a unified chassis to begin with. Classic case of modular laziness.”

Thea couldn’t stop grinning. She hadn't stopped for the past hour.

It wasn’t just the info dump—it was how passionately the woman delivered it. 

There was a spark in her tone, that nerdy mix of frustration and excitement only someone who really cared could conjure. 

And she got it. Not in some half-baked, surface-level way. 

She understood. Deeply.

This was what Thea had been missing all this time back on Lumiosia. 

No one to talk shop with. No one who’d get excited over thermal load distribution, capacitive recoil dampeners, or the dumb design decisions of mid-tier weapons manufacturers.

They’d been at this for over an hour now—jumping between different rifles, breaking down hybrid weapons, disassembling internal assemblies with the clerk's practiced ease. Every part, every discussion, every shared glance over a particularly idiotic design choice had just made Thea more absorbed.

And the clerk… she wasn’t just knowledgeable. 

She was brilliant. 

Like Karania, but instead of blood and bone, it was carbon-alloys and capacitor stacks. A walking archive of field reports, design revisions, and obscure prototype specs.

‘She’s like the Kara of weaponry…’ Thea thought again, not for the first time. ‘No wonder they called her in when I asked for specifics. There’s no way this is normal—she’s gotta be the best they’ve got. I wonder if other stores have someone like this… or if this is just an Abundant Ammunitions thing?’

They were already in the wrap-up phase of their deep-dive by now—Thea had squeezed about as much intel out of this as she realistically could in the time she had. 

Between the spec breakdowns, hands-on demos, and the clerk’s almost encyclopedic knowledge, she’d managed to build a solid foundation to start figuring out her next steps.

With the clerk’s help, she’d narrowed things down to three hybrid weapons that hit the right mix of functionality and design. All three had elements she wanted to study more in-depth—features that might influence what her future weapon loadout would look like, depending on how she chose to adapt her style.

They went over the last weapon in front of them for another ten minutes, trading thoughts on chamber tolerances and trigger latencies, before the clerk clicked it back together with that same easy flow she’d been showing all day—like she’d taken this exact rifle apart in her sleep thousands of times.

With the session wrapped up, Thea let herself be guided back to the front of the store. 

And of course, right on cue, the regular crew of robot clerks had returned, standing in perfect symmetrical rows behind the counters like nothing had happened. She felt a small, mixed twinge about it—part elation at how lucky she’d been to get a proper one-on-one, part annoyance that the timing had worked out in this way and she had been forced to interact with people at all, when all she had wanted was to read some spec sheets.

‘Figures… Maintenance cycle ends the second I’m done shopping. But I can’t really complain. If the bots had been running earlier, I’d have missed out on the lesson entirely…’ she thought, sneaking a glance at the small woman walking beside her.

As they approached the front desk, Thea recognized the same guy manning it from earlier—though she hadn’t exactly bothered to remember his name. 

He gave a polite nod as the clerk beside her spoke up.

“So, would you like to secure some of the licenses for the models we looked at, Thea?” she asked, peering up at her.

“Yeah, I think so,” Thea replied, voice steady. “I really think the laser-refraction assemblies on the VH-02 ‘Viron’, the ballistic chambering and firing flow on the PH-55 ‘Phora’, and the magnet synchronization network of the MH-1 ‘Maltek’ are the best starting points for me. I want to dive into those more before making any major changes to my own setup.”

She’d mulled it over while they talked, cross-referencing the clerk’s insights with her own experiences—by now, she was solid on the decision. That confidence, however, wobbled a little as she saw the clerk’s expression twist into one of deep, thoughtful concentration.

“Hmm…” she hummed, pulling out her data-pad again and flicking through files at rapid speed.

Out of the corner of her eye, Thea caught the guy behind the counter shoot the clerk a look that practically screamed, “What the fuck are you doing?!” before smoothing his expression back into customer-service neutrality so fast it was downright impressive.

“Honestly, I don’t think those would be your best options, Thea,” the clerk finally said, after a thoughtful pause. She handed the data-pad back to Thea, who immediately leaned in to see what the clerk had prepared instead.

“While you’re definitely correct that those three would offer some great insights into their specialized functions, I think the selection I just gave you might actually be a better fit overall,” the clerk continued, already swiping through the data-pad screens to bring up two entirely different weapons. “First is the IH-333 Ingam, made by Dominion Armoury. It’s a Laser-Ballistic hybrid sniper rifle. The second is the NH-XE Nilfar from Vanguard Armaments, a Gauss-Ballistic hybrid DMR.”

The clerk paused briefly to point out key features on each weapon’s spec sheet. “You’ll find basically all the important features you wanted to look at from the other three right here—and for significantly fewer Credits. You might not get quite as deep of a dive into every single little detail, but at your current skill level, focusing your attention on fewer areas in depth might be a better way to approach things. Once you really have a solid grasp on these, you’ll know exactly what questions to ask the Sovereign’s database if you still need more details.”

Thea nodded slowly, the clerk’s reasoning quickly clicking into place in her mind. 

Checking the data-pad again, she saw that the weapons suggested really did have everything she wanted to learn about.

“You know what? You’re right,” Thea finally agreed, quickly adding the two recommended weapons to her shopping list alongside the Gram variants and attachments already waiting there. “Thanks for pointing that out. Definitely would’ve missed that on my own. Really appreciate you taking the time to help me out.”

The clerk gave a polite bow, making Thea wince a little on the inside. 

That whole overly-formal ‘you are the honored one’ act still felt damn awkward, no matter how common it was in customer-facing roles and she replied warmly, “It was my pleasure. If there’s anything else you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Thea briefly considered if there was anything else, but quickly realized she’d accomplished everything she came here to do. “Nah, I think I’m good. Thanks again for all the help.”

She glanced at her shopping list again and immediately balked at the total price, though she swiftly rationalized it away.

‘It’s an investment, Thea. Unspent Credits are worthless. "Credits not invested into something might as well not exist," like the Old Man used to say.’

Still, she decided to be smart about it, applying two of the 60%-off Vouchers from the Assessment Awards to the hybrid weapons, and her 50%-off Voucher to one of the Gram variants. 

After all, while unspent Credits were worthless, wasting them unnecessarily wasn’t exactly smart either.

‘Unspent Credits are future investment Credits too,’ she reminded herself.

[Full Licence: IH-333 ‘Ingam’ - 6,545 2,618 System Credits.] - 60%-Off Voucher Applied.
[Full Licence: NH-XE ‘Nilfar’ - 5,825 2,330 System Credits.] - 60%-Off Voucher Applied.
[Full Licence: X-27R-G ‘Gram’ - 4,615 2,308 System Credits.] - 50%-Off Voucher Applied.
[Full Licence: X-27R-R ‘Gram’ - 4,485 System Credits.]
[Collapsed List: Attachments for X-27R line weaponry - 2,985 System Credits.]
[Collapsed List: Attachments for X-27R line weaponry: 9 Entries.] [Expand?]

[Total Price: 14,726 System Credits.]

[Accepting this transaction will automatically deduct the System Credits from your profile and grant the listed items to it.]

Thea double-checked the list one last time, expanding the list of attachments for the Gram variants as well, just to make sure she wasn’t missing anything important, before mentally confirming the purchases.

[System]: 14,726 System Credits have been debited from your profile for your purchase at "Abundant Ammunitions".

‘Surprisingly cheap, all things considered,’ she thought with a smirk, watching the final tally process. ‘Those vouchers really came in clutch. Glad I snagged a bunch from the Awards… absolute lifesavers.’

She handed the data-pad back toward the ever-helpful clerk and gave her a nod. “Thanks again for the help. Really appreciate it. I ended up learning way more than I expected to, just walking in here.”

“It was my pleasure, Thea,” the woman replied with another polite bow—store policy, as Thea suspected by now.

With the transaction done and her haul secured, Thea turned to head for the exit… only to hesitate mid-step as her eyes caught the reflection of movement through the glass near the front.

A small crowd had gathered just outside the store.

‘Oh, come on. What is it with stores and crowds today…?’

Before she could even decide how to navigate around it, the clerk smoothly stepped into her path, arms spread slightly as if to physically block the way forward. 

“Ah! If you’d be so kind as to follow me one last time, Thea,” she said, tone calm and practiced. “I’ll show you to the side-exit—so you don’t have to deal with all that, if you’d prefer.”

Thea blinked, then let out a short laugh. “Yeah. That would be great, actually.”

She followed as the clerk led her back through the same rear corridor they’d used earlier, this time turning down a narrow branching hallway tucked behind a nondescript maintenance hatch. 

They emerged through a security-marked door into a tight service alley wedged between Abundant Ammunitions and whatever store sat next to it—she didn’t bother checking.

“Appreciate the detour,” Thea said, giving the clerk a small nod before stepping fully into the alley.

She pulled her hood up over her head, tugging it low enough to cast her eyes into shadow. Universal law: people didn’t question hooded figures. 

Unless they were cops. 

Or gangers. 

Or just the sort of people who had a bad habit of getting into other people’s business.

Still, it helped.

‘Alright, time to get to the System Store and meet up with Kara… Hope she’s not too angry I’m late,’ Thea thought with a slight worry in her chest, before darting out of the alley…

—

“I Augmented my armour—that’s an option, by the way—added a new Module Slot and the Auto-Injector for the Focus Boosters we talked about. Also grabbed a few weapon licenses to mess around with. Nothing too fancy, though; I’ll need some experience before I really settle on what I want,” Thea recounted eagerly to Karania, who was busy scrolling through a data screen at the System Store.

Karania smiled warmly, clearly attentive despite her multitasking. “Glad you managed to find what you were after, Thea. Did some shopping of my own too. Got Full-Licenses for all my gear, a bunch of medical supplies—including a ton that a certain someone required a whole lot of during the Assessment—Oh, and I grabbed those Focus Boosters you asked for.”

She handed one of her bags over to Thea, giving her a pointed look. “Remember, no more than two at a time. We talked about this, yeah?”

“Promise!” Thea nodded enthusiastically. “Honestly doubt I’ll even use them at all. But with the new Ability I picked up, it’s better to have them ready if things go south than get stuck without any options.”

“Fair point,” Karania chuckled, satisfied. “So, what’s first on your list here?”

“Abilities. Want to fill my slots properly first. Got a few Passives left open and I definitely wanna replace one of my Actives. I’ve got ideas, but we’ll have to see what’s actually available here… And Skills, obviously—oh shit! Kara! I met someone super cool!” Thea suddenly blurted out, remembering her time spent with the clerk at Abundant Ammunitions as a result of her talk about Skills. A good chunk of the Skills she wanted to work on were directly related to what she had learned over the past hour-and-a-half, after all.

Karania turned fully toward Thea now, her eyebrows raised with obvious interest. “Oh?”

“This clerk at Abundant Ammunitions! Kara, she was awesome! I went in to find hybrid weapons with specific specs, right? But there were no Robot Clerks anywhere—maintenance time for all of them, apparently. Lucky me, huh? So I had to talk to the human front-desk guy, who called in an expert for me. And she was seriously so fucking smart! Like, imagine a version of you, but for weapon tech instead of medical stuff!” Thea eagerly recounted the experience, enthusiastically describing how they’d spent more than an hour tearing apart weapons, discussing design details and tech specifics.

“That does sound pretty amazing,” Karania agreed when Thea finally slowed down enough to breathe. She tilted her head slightly, a curious expression forming. “Though you keep calling her ‘woman’ or ‘clerk’… Does she not have a name…?”

Thea froze at the question, her excitement instantly replaced by confusion and embarrassment. “Ehh… She didn’t mention one…?”

Karania’s gaze sharpened into a pointed stare, making Thea shift uncomfortably. After a few seconds of silence, she finally spoke again. “And… you didn’t bother to ask…?”

“I…” Thea stammered, scrambling for an excuse. “It didn’t seem important at the time!”

Karania let out a long, exhausted sigh and palmed her face. “You do realize you could’ve just asked for her again next time you visited, if you knew her name, right? Saying ‘that woman who helped me’ isn’t gonna cut it in a store that sees tens of thousands of Marines pass through. They’re not gonna remember who ‘that woman’ is, Thea.”

Thea’s eyes widened as the obvious realization hit her like a truck. “Fuck…”

She hadn’t even thought about that.

“And let’s not forget,” Karania added with a raised eyebrow, twisting the knife, “you could’ve just asked for her contact ID as well. You know, so you could actually reach out during your own research? Ask questions, bounce stuff off her. Unless she didn’t want to, sure—but from how you described her? Sounded like she’d be thrilled to talk shop with another full-blown tech gremlin like yourself.”

A knot twisted in Thea’s stomach. That was a massive opportunity she’d just let slip.

“I… I can do that? Just ask for that kinda stuff…?” she muttered, looking at Karania like she’d just revealed some ancient secret.

Another long sigh. “Yes, Thea. Yes, you can. You can literally just ask people their names and contact IDs. It’s not illegal, it’s not weird, it’s just basic social interaction. Worst-case scenario? They say no. That’s it. You don’t spontaneously combust or get court-martialed or anything. It’s really not that hard or big of a deal to people.”

Thea had never done anything like that before—her default was to quietly absorb and vanish or answer when asked herself—but thinking about it now, it did sound kind of… obvious. 

Other people did literally ask her about this kind of stuff, after all, so why wouldn’t she be able to do the same? It made complete sense.

And it wasn’t like Karania had ever lied to her about this kind of stuff before.

“You think I can still run back and ask…?” she ventured.

“Sure, why not?” Karania shrugged. “As long as you don’t wait, like, two days or something. But considering how many Credits you just dumped there, I’d bet they remember you. It's only been what, half an hour?”

“!!!” Thea practically bounced on her toes at that. “Kara, don’t move! I’ll be back in five minutes! Don’t. Move.” She shouted the last bit over her shoulder as she bolted out of the store, almost plowing through a squad of Marines heading in, but twisting out of the way just in time—leaving a trail of startled curses behind her.

She could’ve sworn she heard Karania mutter something like, “Why is she such an idiot sometimes…” but she was already gone. 

She had a mission.

—

“Hi, yes—it’s me again,” Thea announced as she marched up to the front desk of Abundant Ammunitions, giving the store clerk her best sheepish smile. “I was wondering… would it be possible to speak with the clerk that helped me earlier?”

The man blinked once, then nodded with professional efficiency. “Of course. I’ll notify her right away. Please wait just a moment.”

Thea nodded eagerly, already feeling the weight lifting off her chest.

'Might not have completely fucked this up after all. Saved...!'

—

—

PoV: Peria Akin

Having waved goodbye to Thea at the side-exit and just stepped back into the store, Peria finally let everything out.

“Yeeeeeeeeeeeessss!” she shouted, the sound echoing off the metal shelves and workbenches in the backroom workshop.

The nerves, the anxiety, the sheer rush of having not only handled a high-tier VIP but actually nailed it? All of it hit her at once. She’d been as jittery as a faultily screwed on actuator at first, sure—but the second she got Thea talking about the weapons, really digging into the systems and specs, everything had clicked. Like flipping a switch.

Tech-talk was her happy place.

‘I can’t believe someone like that actually exists… A top-level Marine, probably worth more than every single clerk on the ship combined, geeking out over laser refraction and magnet synchronization with me? That’s fucking crazy!’

It still didn’t feel real.

Even more unbelievable was the casual way Thea had thrown down nearly fifteen thousand System Credits—on testing material. Not for a mission. Not even for testing purposes. 

Just research, based on the way Thea had talked about them.

“That’s almost a year and a half of my salary… just gone, like it’s pocket change…” Peria muttered, still stunned. “And she wasn’t even sweating it.”

But that was the divide. 

The UHF Marines—and a mega VIP like Thea McKay herself—operated on a whole different level than someone like her. They had access to the levels of resources and perks most Unintegrated couldn’t even dream of in their wildest imagination.

And even after serving aboard UHF vessels for over three years now, Peria still couldn’t.

Still, the part Peria appreciated most—the real cherry on top—was the fact that the store had had to call her in for the consultation. She hadn’t been just a lucky tag-along; she was the official point of contact. That meant one thing: Commission payout.

An unbelievably fat one.

‘She even used three UHF vouchers…?! This is fucking huge!’

Peria practically buzzed as she paced the backroom, hugging her data-pad to her chest.

Early in her career, she had learned how commissions were calculated. 

On a UHF ship like this one, a decent portion—usually around 30%—of any sale made to a Marine was automatically rerouted back into the UHF coffers. The rest got split between the manufacturer and the store, and then the store’s slice got split again between corporate and the selling clerk. End result? Not exactly much left over for the clerk in question.

But when a Marine used UHF Vouchers? Whole different ballgame.

Vouchers meant the UHF paid the listed percentage directly to the store. So instead of the usual 30% getting pulled out of the transaction, that entire chunk funneled right into the store’s pool. And that meant her commission cut just ballooned.

Two 60-percent-off vouchers and a 50? On full licenses and prototype-grade hybrid weapons?

‘It’s like triple commission day. That’s practically a whole extra salary drop, maybe even two. Holy shit!’

She was so overwhelmed with excitement she didn’t even know where to put it. She was already planning how she’d budget the payout when her data-pad chimed.

A low, ominous ping.

Peria glanced down, and her stomach plummeted straight through the floor.

A black-enveloped notification.

Her entire body froze. 

She know there was only one singular instance a black envelope would show up: Corporate Review.

‘No no no… please no… Not like this…!’

Her heart spiked, blood roaring in her ears as panic started to creep in from every edge of her mind.

‘I didn’t do anything wrong! The VIP was happy—she smiled! She bought so much stuff! She looked relaxed when she left! There’s nothing they can blame me for… right?!’

Her fingers moved on autopilot, tapping open the message. She barely registered the text as her eyes scanned it.

Immediate presence requested. Backroom office. Corporate Review. Attendees: Store Manager. Local Franchise Owner. Regional CEOs.

‘CEOs?! Of the Kuigon Sector?! This is bad. This is so fucking bad…! Why the fuck are the regional heads involved?! I didn’t—there’s no way I—’

She moved like a ghost toward the backroom office, barely feeling her legs under her. She scanned her ID without thinking, the door clicking open with a heavy finality.

One single chair. A wall of glowing datascreens blinking to life one after another, faces appearing on each one.

She sat, barely managing to keep her hands from trembling.

She couldn’t even look up.

‘Am I going to get terminated…?’

—

“…seventeen verbal interruptions during direct VIP communication,” one of the middle screens droned, the voice cold and clipped. “Twenty-six physical contact instances initiated without explicit authorization. One hundred and seventy-four uses of informal language or colloquialisms while engaging the VIP. This includes terminology such as ‘yeah,’ ‘kinda,’ ‘fucking,’ and direct analogies unsanctioned by corporate comms protocol—‘tech gremlin’ being particularly egregious.”

Another face took over, the camera angle slightly tilted upwards so the woman on the screen looked down at Peria with thinly veiled contempt.

“Failure to maintain standard physical distance protocols. Clerk remained within the one-meter radius bubble for over ninety percent of the consultation without explicit consent, violating Paragraph IV-C of the VIP Behavioral Guidebook,” she continued, each bullet point hitting like a dull hammer to the chest.

“Nonstandard emotional conduct noted,” said another, almost bored-sounding voice. “Several moments of uncontrolled enthusiasm, including several vocalized outbursts in the presence of the VIP, which triggered three separate internal sensor alerts for excessive decibel levels in the staff-only area.”

A third screen lit up with a new speaker, male, rotund, lips pursed as if he were sucking on a lemon. “Let us not forget, colleagues, the egregious breach in post-request conduct. The employee in question failed to immediately excuse herself from the interaction once the initial request had been dealt with. Instead, she proceeded to engage in unsolicited educational dialogue, weapon disassembly demonstrations, and prolonged conversation beyond the standard engagement time frame.”

Peria stared at the floor. Eyes wide. Hands numb.

Not once had anyone looked at her.
Not once had anyone asked a single question.
Nobody had even asked for her name or even mentioned it once.

She was certain they didn’t even know it, at this point. Nor that they even cared for it.

She was just there. Witness to her own autopsy.

The next one was clearly reading from a tablet.

“Improper referral protocol in pre-sale redirection—‘Let me grab you a spec-sheet’ is not within the approved phrasing library. Official phrasing should’ve been, ‘Please allow me to retrieve the technical information package for your convenience.’”

Then came the voice that always made her flinch—the Chief Regional Executive of Customer Integration Standards, Mr. Valencrux, whose data screen always displayed in harsh monochrome for reasons no one understood. 

She had met him a few times before, during initial training and scheduled corporate reviews—he was not an enjoyable person to have around.

“Who,” he said slowly, the word stretched like a rubber band about to snap, “was responsible… for assigning a Mid-Worlder… to a Tier-One VIP of this magnitude?”

The way he said “Mid-Worlder” always sounded more like a slur than anything else to Peria.

Silence answered for a few heartbeats before the store owner, a balding, beady-eyed man named Cerson, cleared his throat nervously, dabbing away beads of sweat on his forehead.

“That would’ve been the head-clerk of the day shift, sir. Jordan Holman. He made the call to redirect the VIP to our specialist consultant based on—”

“He goes on the list,” Valencrux snapped.

The command was immediate. No room for discussion.

Another executive—this one sporting sleek black implants along his jawline—nodded solemnly and began tapping something on his personal interface.

Peria sat frozen in her chair. It felt like her Soul had already left her body, watching this all unfold from somewhere high up near the ceiling.

This was it.

They weren’t even reviewing her performance. They were cataloging it.

Preparing the file that would be used to justify her termination. Every second that passed felt like another nail in the coffin, another damning number on a spreadsheet somewhere.

And still, no one had spoken to her. No one had asked for her version. No chance to explain. 

No mention of the VIP’s clear satisfaction. No acknowledgment that the sale had been a resounding success by every metric except the ones that apparently mattered to the people on these screens.

She wasn’t even angry. She just felt… hollow.

The rotund man spoke again, tone dripping with smug certainty, “I don’t believe that—”

He didn’t finish.

Peria’s datapad lit up in a harsh crimson glare, a sharp siren bursting from it like an alarm klaxon in a munitions depot. The sound was loud—intentionally so—and instantly drew every pair of eyes in the room toward her. 

Her own head jerked to the side, staring at the device in disbelief.

Her throat felt dry, but she still managed to croak out, “M… May I?”

“You may not. You must,” Mr. Valencrux snapped from his screen, voice like a slap across the face.

Her fingers, shaking and numb from the cold pit in her stomach, fumbled the datapad into her hands. The display burned red against her vision as she registered the short, simple message.

[VIP Consultation Request: Thea McKay. Reason: Unknown.]

Peria blinked at it.

‘No way. No way, no way, no way—’

“What are you waiting for, Miss Akin?” Valencrux growled. “A crimson request isn’t that difficult to understand, is it? Move it.”

That jolted her back to life. 

She shot out of the chair so fast it scraped against the floor, bowing repeatedly toward the wall of screens as she stumbled back toward the exit. Her knees were weak, her head spinning—but she didn’t stop.

The second the door shut behind her, the suffocating corporate air lessened, but not by much. She felt like she was walking underwater as she tried to process what just happened.

‘She requested me? Again? Why now…?’

Her legs carried her forward automatically, feet moving on pure memory toward the customer-facing area. 

Her thoughts, meanwhile, spiraled in every direction at once.

‘I can fix this. Maybe. Maybe she wants to return something? No, she wouldn’t need a VIP Consult for that... She wouldn’t use that for a complaint, would she?! What if she changed her mind and now hates everything…? What if she realized I screwed something up—’

She stopped just short of the last aisle.

Slapped both cheeks lightly. Focus.

“Alright, Peri. Come on. She asked for you. That means she doesn’t hate you. Probably. You made it this far, don’t fuck it now,” she whispered, bracing herself as she rounded the corner with a deep breath and the fakest confidence she could muster.

“Holman, you requested my assistance?” she said crisply as she approached the front desk, posture perfect, voice locked into corporate tone.

Holman turned to her with that practiced smile that never quite reached his eyes. “Ah, yes. Our recent client, Thea, wanted to speak with you. I’ll leave her in your capable care.”

He gestured grandly behind him—like she somehow hadn’t noticed the towering Marine already standing just two meters away, looking awkwardly out of place amidst the pristine shelves and sterile lighting.

“Thank you, Holman,” Peria said smoothly, before shifting her attention fully to Thea.

Something was immediately off, she realised.

The giant of a woman—who’d just minutes earlier radiated sharp focus and precise intent—was now visibly fidgeting. Her stance was off-balance, her fingers twitched near the hem of her sleeve, and she kept shifting her weight like a kid caught sneaking snacks before dinner.

‘What the fuck happened to her…?’

Still keeping to corporate etiquette, Peria dipped into a slight bow and gave her most professional tone—despite the gnawing curiosity building in her chest.

“How may I assist you, Thea?”

“I… I wanted to ask a really weird question, if that’s okay?” Thea started, awkwardly shifting her weight from one leg to another as she spoke. Her voice wasn’t quite steady, her words rushing out faster than she probably intended.

Peria nodded without hesitation, eyebrows slightly raised in surprise. “Of course.”

“I was wondering what your name is, actually,” Thea continued. “It… it never came up. I was talking to a friend, and she pointed out that it’d be way easier to ask for your help again if I knew your name—which makes a lot of sense. I didn’t think about it at the time, but now I feel kinda dumb for not asking. And, well… I think it’d be nice to call you by name, if that’s alright with you…?”

The nervous, stumbling explanation caught Peria completely off-guard. 

The VIP—The Thea McKay—was tripping over her own words, just asking for Peria’s name! 

But the meaning behind them hit her like a shock charge to the chest.

‘She wants me here. She’s asking for me, specifically. Future visits… That has to mean they can’t terminate me, right?! Not if the VIP depends on me!’

Peria fought to keep her composure, but she could feel the smile tugging at her face before she even opened her mouth.

“Ah! Of course—yes!” she answered, stumbling slightly over her own eagerness. “My name is Peria Akin. It’s… nice to meet you properly, Thea.”

“Likewise!” Thea grinned down at her, visibly relieved that her request hadn’t been shot down. She stood a little straighter now, her shoulders relaxing.

“I was also wondering…” Thea started again, rubbing the back of her neck. “And it’s totally fine if not—but would you maybe be okay with sharing your contact ID with me as well? I just thought it might be cool to message you sometimes if I’ve got questions. Y’know, about tech stuff. Or research. Or weapons in general. I mean, only if you’re cool with it—totally get it if not, you’re probably busy and—”

“Yes! I would love to!” Peria interrupted, before instantly regretting the impulse. 

Somewhere, deep in the corporate back room, she was sure a fresh little red mark had been logged under “Interrupting the VIP”. But she couldn’t help it.

“You can message me anytime,” she added quickly. “Seriously. It’d be awesome to keep talking. I loved our conversation earlier—I don’t really get to talk tech with anyone these days.”

Thea’s grin turned radiant, and Peria felt a weird kind of warmth in her chest. Not just the adrenaline of narrowly escaping corporate death, but something simpler. 

Something more… human. A friendly connection in this terrible series of events.

She quickly flicked open her data menu, sharing her contact ID. And to her complete and utter disbelief, Thea sent hers back.

Peria stared at the notification in stunned silence for a moment, eyes going wide before she hastily accepted the mutual exchange. 

It felt surreal—like she’d just been handed a direct-call line to the nearest star.

“Thanks, Peria! That’ll help a lot,” Thea said, her tone light, though the awkward way she scratched the back of her head made it clear she still felt a little out of place. “Ehh… That’s really all I wanted. I’m sorry for interrupting your work—I’m sure you had more than enough going on without me randomly asking your colleague to call you over. I didn’t mean to drag you away or anything—”

“It’s more than fine! Really!” Peria jumped in again, her voice a bit too quick. She nodded rapidly, hands half-lifted in reassurance. “You didn’t interrupt anything I couldn’t handle later, I swear!”

“That’s good to hear, then.” Thea gave a sheepish smile, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Well… thanks again for all the help, Peria. And, uh, I guess I’ll message you when I’ve got questions. Feel free to hit me up whenever too, if you ever wanna talk or something—though I might be in a mission or lecture or whatever, but I’ll reply as soon as I can, promise.”

She paused, glancing around the store like she was trying to orient herself. “Oh—and I’ll make sure to ask for you next time I need anything weapon-related. You… Ehh… You just work here, right? Like, this store specifically? I don’t really know how the whole worker situation works on these ships yet... We haven’t had the Economy & Logistics lectures yet. You’re only with Abundant Ammunitions?”

“Yeah, just here,” Peria nodded, doing her best to sound casual. “Deck 1, Tier 1. Abundant Ammunitions branch. My contract’s still running for another two years, so… I should definitely be around.”

She hated how much that last part sounded like a warning to the people watching her from the corporate side—like she was trying to leverage Thea’s goodwill as a shield. 

But she didn’t know how else to secure her position. If there was even a chance that mentioning it could buy her some breathing room, she had to take it.

‘I’ll make it up to you somehow, Thea. I swear I will!’

“Perfect!” Thea grinned. “Well… thanks again, and have a great day, Peria!”

With that, she turned and walked out the front door, practically sprinting the second she hit open air—moving so fast Peria barely had time to catch her silhouette through the front window before she vanished again.

Peria just stood there for a moment, frozen in place.

‘Did that really just happen…? She actually came all the way back just to ask for my name and contact ID? That’s it? That’s all?’

She blinked several times, barely registering the world around her. 

Then, with a sharp slap to both cheeks, she forced herself back into motion.

“Thank you for the notification, Holman,” she said, following protocol as she turned toward the clerk who’d fetched her.

Then, with leaden steps, she made her way back toward the rear of the store, heading for the same back-office she had been so desperate to escape just minutes ago. 

The Corporate Review hadn’t ended earlier. It had simply… paused.

The moment Peria sat back down, her spine ramrod straight despite how much she wanted to curl into herself, the room full of data-screens flickered to life again.

The moment her eyes met those of the regional CEOs again, that fragile bit of security she had managed to claw back, completely evaporated. There was something chilling about being judged by people who held absolute control over your life—people who didn’t even know your name until it showed up on a mistake report. 

People who might never bother to learn it at all.

But instead of the stern, judgmental silence from before that she had been expecting, there was… chatter.

Lively chatter.

“I mean, honestly,” the rotund man from earlier began, voice now laced with cheerful consideration rather than disdain, “we have to start acknowledging that real adaptability in the field sometimes demands… Well, a certain measure of rule-bending, at times. Especially with clients of this caliber. Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Valencrux?”

Valencrux, who had all but ordered her out of the room earlier, now nodded with faux-gravity. “Yes, indeed. It's true we must hold high standards—but not at the expense of customer satisfaction! Perisha here demonstrated excellent initiative. A certain… tactical finesse, if you will, that the Marines of the UHF would no doubt be able to appreciate.”

“It’s Peria,” she mumbled under her breath, but nobody heard her over the sudden flurry of agreeing voices.

Another screen blinked to prominence—an older woman with a sharp jawline and clipped tone who’d not spoken up before, but had definitely been nodding profusely at the earlier question of how a Mid-Worlder had even ended up near a VIP. “I have been saying for years that the guidelines could use a flexibility clause. Something to allow for exceptional judgment calls. After all, the clerks on the ground are the ones facing these high-pressure moments—not us.”

The man to her right—an executive with sunken cheeks and that constantly suspicious squint—jumped in almost too quickly. “Exactly. Look, this… this Pareena—she demonstrated excellent customer management instincts. Engaged the client, anticipated needs, created rapport—textbook excellence, if you ask me.”

“She even secured repeat business,” chimed in another voice, one Peria vaguely recognized as having listed out one hundred and seventy-four instances of casual language usage earlier. “Not just that, but cross-channel communication with the client! She’s already initiated a communication thread with the VIP! That’s the kind of initiative we should be rewarding!”

“I think we need to revisit the current script entirely,” the rotund man said, his tone becoming increasingly animated. “And maybe update the training modules to allow for some clerks—like Miss… ah, Pree-uh… to go off-script when dealing with Tier-1 VIPs. As long as their judgement is unquestionable, of course.”

“Exactly! Her instincts were clearly well-honed in training!” a younger-looking exec cut in, visibly eager to be part of the new consensus. “Let’s not forget—the client requested her, specifically!”

Valencrux made a grand show of nodding solemnly again. “It’s settled then. A proposal for protocol amendment will be drafted. We’ll call it the ‘Akin Clause’—to honor her contribution.”

Peria blinked.

‘The Akin Clause…?’

She sat there, utterly dumbfounded, as one board member after another repeated her name—each one mispronouncing it differently. Perrah, Puria, Peerah, Peyra—as if they were trying to make it sound more impressive, like slapping extra syllables onto it gave it more gravitas. 

None of them seemed to realize they were getting it wrong.

One of the CEOs even leaned forward into his camera, his face filling the screen. “Just imagine if we had penalized this kind of performance due to a simple misunderstanding…! We'd be turning away talent like Pireah Aken. That would’ve been a downright tragedy! I say we offer her a promotion for her exceptional work ethics.”

The rows of heads nodded profusely at that idea.

Peria didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak.

She wasn’t even sure if any of this was real anymore—or if she had actually died when she’d fallen backwards off the couch earlier that day, hitting her head on the floor, and this was some kind of cosmic joke-dimension where Souls got sent to be mocked after death.

Less than five minutes ago, these same people were practically sharpening the guillotine. 

Now they were falling over themselves to paint her as a model of innovation and customer-centric thinking.

All she could do was sit there, wide-eyed and hollowed out from the emotional whiplash, quietly praying she didn’t throw up before they finished deciding how inspired her noncompliance had apparently been.

‘What the actual fuck is happening right now…?’

She didn’t know whether to cry, laugh, puke or just faint on the spot. 

All she knew was that the word “termination” had vanished from the conversation entirely. 

And somehow, impossibly… they all knew her name now.

Kind of…

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[Wolf Lord+ | Draft] Volume 2 - Chapter 37 - Skill Classes

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------------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) -------------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Welcome to the draft release of Volume 2 - Chapter 37 - Skill Classes for y'all.

As always, a quick reminder that this chapter is still in the process of being workshopped by me and that this is simply the first-draft.

------

No longer experimenting on the chapters.

You are now, once again, allowed to dislike the chapter.

I will merely cry and feel horrible now, rather than kill you outright.

------

I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the link to the chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1c68iNLKoQO19uaRg-VHIL68sTq1wDiyFqrPUe8rDe40/edit?usp=sharing

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Volume 2 - Chapter 37 - Skill Classes

“Segment: Mindfulness in Void-Bound Development

“Time doesn’t pass in the Void. That’s not poetic—it’s clinical. The Void has no temporal flow. It’s a space without rhythm, without heartbeat, without change. It does not move forward. You do.”

“That’s the problem.”

In today’s mental hygiene briefing, Dr. Kellis issued renewed warnings regarding the misuse of Time-Dilated Skill Classes—particularly among new Recruits still adapting to the Allbright System’s neural load. The dangers, he explained, are not just theoretical or rare. 

They're well-documented, and steadily increasing with the pressure building from the Galactic War’s progression.

“Time Dilation training offers a massive boost in Skill acquisition efficiency—sure. But compressing months of mental development into what is, externally, barely a day? It’s a form of accelerated isolation, and your brain isn’t built for it. Not fresh out of Integration, at least. We’re social creatures. Our minds aren’t meant to live in that kind of pocketed silence.”

This is why, he reminded, Recruits are limited to one Skill Class per Category per Terra-Standard-Time Month, with mandatory cool-downs between uses. Veterans—those who have already suffered their share of artificial solitude over years and decades—can often weather these training jumps. 

Some even crave the stillness, and flourish in it. But for those new to the grind?

“It fractures the mind,” Kellis stated bluntly. “You come out speaking the same language, but the people around you didn’t live the time you just did. And when nobody understands what you went through, what you learned, how you mentally grew up in that time frame, that gap can be lethal.
Not just socially: Psychologically. Existentially.”

Kellis further clarified that these Skill Class sessions are only made possible by very specific and very expensive ship bound conditions. Among them:

• Entry into the Void during stable drift.
  
  

• Sustained power output well above baseline, provided by excess Void-fusion or harvested Void-anomaly-spike storage.
  
  

• Synchronized DDS-buffer realignment for data integrity post-session.
  
  

• And more, which, in his own words, “aren’t really fit to talk about over breakfast.”
  
  

That’s why classes cost so many System Credits. They’re not just paying for knowledge—they’re paying for stability, safety and reality itself, in some ways.

And his final message?

“Always remember: You are UHF. You were not bred, trained, and launched into the black to sprint until you break. Our careers are not sprints—they’re campaigns. They’re lifetimes. Oftentimes several. 

The System will let you overtrain. It’ll even encourage it, if you let it. 

But the smart Marines pace themselves. They take time to integrate what they’ve learned. The best of us don’t rush the climb. They make sure their next step holds.”

“Remember—this war isn’t going anywhere. You’ve got centuries to win it.”

[UHF Internal Broadcast – Psycho-Sanitation Brief: Dr. Alren Kellis, Lead Combat Psychologist, PFC 847]”

=======

=======

“Peria!” Thea practically yelled as she skidded to a stop next to Karania inside the System Store.

Karania just gave her a raised eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Ehh… Peria. That’s her name. I got it,” Thea explained, lowering her voice a bit as she realized half the store had turned to look at her like she’d just screamed bloody murder. The silent judgment in their eyes said it all—who’s this loud gremlin and why is she yelling like this?

“Great work,” Karania said dryly, reaching out to pat Thea on the head like she was a toddler who’d managed to tie her shoes for the first time.

Thea almost pulled away on instinct—but it was Karania. Her best friend. And honestly? This win had been hard. 

Maybe not for someone like Corvus or Kara, but for her? It had taken some serious effort.

‘Maybe I do deserve some head pats for this,’ she thought, a bit of pride blooming in her chest as she allowed the gesture, just this once. 

She wasn’t usually into the whole “head pat” thing, but today? Today it felt earned.

“So,” Thea said, still riding the high of her small but mighty victory, “you find anything interesting while I was off doing my whole… name-finding quest?”

Karania nodded, shifting slightly to make space for her and held out the datapad she’d been browsing. “Been looking at some Skill classes I might want to take. Problem is, most of the ones I like fall under the same category, so I’m locked out after taking just one. Thinking about asking Major Quinn for an exception slip—maybe get around the one-class-per-month rule.”

Thea stepped closer, glancing down at the datapad. 

Her eyes started to widen the farther she scrolled—there were so many classes!

“Fuck me…” she muttered under her breath, then spoke louder, “No kidding you’ll need that slip, Kara. But like… do you really need [Advanced Biochemical System Warfare] right away? Or [Advanced Pathogenic and Prion-based Weaponry]? Those sound… kind of horrifying. And not really important for Tier 1, no?”

Karania didn’t even need to say anything. 

The look she gave Thea said it all—obviously I require all of these. 

But, because she was Karania, she still launched into an explanation anyway. 

She flipped the datapad back towards herself and tapped one of the course names with far too much enthusiasm, before presenting it to Thea again.

“Okay, so,” she began, tone already shifting into that rapid-fire cadence she used when excited, “the [Advanced Biochemical System Warfare] class isn’t just about weaponizing things—it’s about understanding how synthetic compounds interact with augmented physiology under stress. Literally all of us got at least some level of bio-enhancement from the System, which means any exposure to mutagenic or volatile compounds won’t follow standard degradation models that I know of. I need to understand how different delivery vectors—like aerosolized neurotoxins or adaptive nanite swarms—behave in a closed battlefield environment, now that we’re all Integrated and beyond human.”

Thea blinked slowly. 

That was already almost too many words, but she managed to still follow the logic.

“And the Prion class?” Kara continued, completely unfazed, “You have no idea how terrifying protein-folding disorders are until you realize just how easily they bypass normal immune detection. And I seriously doubt the System has changed much of that—but I need to be sure. Prions don’t trigger inflammatory responses, Thea—they just slip right past all the built-in alarms and start rewiring tissue. They’re like silent rewiring bombs. And if someone deploys an engineered prion in a zero-support zone? Maybe even with some sort of System Material-enhanced nightmare booster attached? I’m the one that has to stop the meltdown before someone’s spinal fluid turns to jelly.”

Thea opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “…Spinal fluid what now?”

Karania barely paused. “Jelly. Literal jelly. It’s called spongiform encephalopathy, and it’s a nightmare to diagnose without real-time biospectral imaging, which—surprise—we don’t have in the field. Our portable models can only get us so far—and we don’t really carry many anti-prion injectors in our normal kits. I picked some up, just to be sure, of course, but it won’t be enough if there’s some large-scale attack. So unless you want to see someone’s motor functions collapse mid-fight because a designer protein thought it was cute to mimic a structural neuron? I need this class. And fast.”

She said it all with a straight face, like this was just basic prep work. 

Like she wasn’t describing some terrifying, high-tech version of medical horror.

Thea stared at her for a second, trying to catch up, then sighed. “Right. So, uh… I’m guessing ‘field bandages and painkillers’ wouldn’t cut it for that one.”

“Only if you want to die artistically,” Kara replied, scrolling to the next module with a little hum.

Thea took a second to rewire her thoughts before nudging the conversation forward. “Anything aside from the classes, then? You looked at any Abilities, by chance…?”

She was trying to ease Karania into bringing up [Bone Shards]—the Ability she’d specifically recommended after that long, grueling hospital stay. Thea had made a point of sending everyone a quick summary of suggestions just before getting discharged, in case any of them decided to hit the System Store before she caught up.

“I did,” Karania said with a small nod. “Looked at a few, but haven’t really made any decisions yet. I still feel like I’m missing too much foundational System knowledge to really commit to something specific.”

Thea felt a bit of her enthusiasm fizzle out at that. 

She knew Karania wasn’t the impulsive type, but still—she’d hoped for a little more progress.

“Oh… I did also check out the Ability you recommended—[Bone Shards],” Karania added, almost as an afterthought. But the moment Thea’s expression lit up, she smiled knowingly. 

“It’s definitely interesting. I’m not entirely sure I want to spend a full Active-Slot on something that feels a little niche, since I’m not exactly going for an offensive loadout, but the potential utility is… intriguing. I’m seriously considering picking it up—try it out and see if I can adapt it into something useful. Thanks for sending it my way.”

“No problem! I’m really glad you think it might work for you!” Thea responded, a little louder than intended. She couldn’t help the rush of excitement—Karania taking her suggestion seriously felt like a small but meaningful win.

“Honestly,” Thea continued, still riding the high, “I think we need to sit down properly sometime and go over your whole build, just… figure out your goals, maybe nail down what kind of Abilities you want long-term. I’ve been trying to brainstorm stuff for you, but it’s hard. Like really, really hard. I’ve never had to build around a realistic Squad Medic style before. All the games I played had the super-gamified stuff—healing bursts, revive drones, support fields—nothing like what you’re actually doing out there.”

Karania let out a quiet laugh, not mocking, just amused. 

It threw Thea off for a second.

“Thea…” she said, still smiling, “you know you don’t have to make everyone’s builds for them, right? I mean, I really do appreciate the effort and the thought, but I’m more than capable of figuring things out on my own. I’ve got my own plans, my own sense of what I need. Input’s always welcome, but you don’t have to turn yourself into some one-woman Build Department just to try and help out with things you don’t really understand well to begin with. Remember that I have more than a decade of experience in the medical field. You’re not going to be able to catch up to this, no matter how hard you try, while also continuing to do your own thing.”

Thea blinked, frozen for a moment as her brain caught up to the obvious.

She hadn’t even considered that.

Somewhere along the line, she’d just started assuming it was her job to cover everyone’s builds, like they’d fall apart without her input. 

She’d been pouring so much energy into trying to figure out Karania’s and Corvus’ setups—despite constantly hitting a wall—that she forgot they were both perfectly capable of handling their own loadouts. 

She’d been trying to force a solution instead of supporting where it actually made sense.

“I… I guess you’re right…” she admitted, her voice softer now. “I honestly didn’t even think about that. I guess I got wrapped up in trying to be helpful. Thought maybe all those years spent theorycrafting in the arcade weren’t just a waste, y’know? But yeah, I’ll focus on the ones I can help with—like Lucas or Isabella. Maybe Desmond. Stuff I understand. No point scrambling to keep pace with people who already know what they’re doing, like you and Corvus.”

Then she gave a small smile. “Still down to bounce ideas though. If you ever get stuck or want a second opinion.”

“Deal,” Karania grinned. “And honestly, I might ask for those lengthy discussions anyway. Just… aim them at build theory instead of my personal choices, yeah? I still don’t think I’m grasping everything I need to avoid making big mistakes in the long run. That’s the part I’d really want your help with—no question about it. Corvus too, I promise you.”

Thea nodded so fast she probably looked like a bobblehead. “Any time!”

Then Karania tilted her head and asked, “So—what would be your number one, go-to piece of advice for us right now? Like, if you could only give one thing that we should keep in mind when picking stuff for our builds, to make them really good?”

It caught Thea off-guard, the sudden shift back into theory talk, but she rallied fast. 

No way was she going to drop the ball on this one.

“Hmm…” She frowned in thought, then nodded slowly as her brain clicked into gear. “Honestly, after going through a bunch of Abilities recently and comparing them to the builds I know from experience… I’d say this: Don’t fall into the trap of trying to force a SAD build.”

She paused just long enough to clarify. “Single-Attribute Dependency. It’s super tempting—especially if you’ve got a standout Attribute like Isabella’s Strength. It makes all your level-up points feel more impactful, and it’s easier to focus your upgrades. Most games reward you for going all-in like that.”

Her words started flowing more easily now, the topic energizing her.

“And yeah, SAD builds are strong. In pretty much every meta I remember, they always had some of the highest potential for raw power. But here? In the Allbright System? Most of the Abilities that make those builds work are stuck behind higher rarities or Tier locks. We’re still Tier 1. Even if you plan ahead, you won’t be able to execute those builds properly for a while. And the more SAD you go, the less flexible your kit becomes. You end up spending half your Ability slots just trying to make everything scale off the same Attribute.”

She caught Karania’s smile out of the corner of her eye and kept going, encouraged.

“MAD builds—Multi-Attribute Dependency—are usually weaker on paper, sure. But they’re way more versatile. You’ve got way more room to adjust your toolkit for whatever comes up. You don’t end up choking your build just trying to force synergy. Conversion Abilities are great, but if your whole strategy is just ‘make everything run off Strength’ or something? You’re gonna have a bad time when something doesn’t go according to plan.”

She tapped her chin, words slowing down a bit as she pulled it all together.

“If I had to design builds for everyone, I’d shoot for a balance between the two. Get one or two good conversion Abilities, yeah—but then build around being the best you can be right now, not some hypothetical later version of yourself. You can always replace Abilities when you get better options. You will have to, anyway, once you start unlocking rarer stuff.”

She let out a breath, realizing she’d kind of gone off on a tangent.

“So, yeah. I guess, in short: Focus on versatility first. Then plug in SAD-style conversion Abilities as you get them. Build toward them gradually. Don’t force it too early, or you’ll lose more than you gain. It’s not worth giving up flexibility just to chase a few extra points of power—especially not when your life’s literally on the line like it is for us.”

Thea nodded to herself as she wrapped it up, feeling pretty satisfied with her delivery.

‘Would've liked to go deeper into a few parts, but that felt pretty clean overall.’

“Hope that helps all of you. Now, if you’d please back off so we can continue our shopping in peace?” Karania said loudly, voice raised enough to carry, her eyes going beyond Thea.

Thea blinked, startled. “Wait, what?”

She looked around and noticed a small group of Marines sheepishly backing off, mumbling quiet apologies as they shuffled away.

“I think they overheard us earlier,” Karania said casually. “Probably hoping to pick up some build advice. You do realize we’re in the spotlight now, right? They know our faces. Especially yours and mine, after the Awards Ceremony. Don’t expect to blend into the background like before. You’re gonna get recognized, Thea. People will try to glean information from you wherever you are, on how to get to your level.”

Thea blinked again, eyes still tracking the Marines as they dispersed—some throwing quick glances back over their shoulders like they were trying to memorize every word she'd said.

It felt... weird.

She wasn’t used to this kind of attention. Never had been. 

Sure, in games, she’d dealt with it—getting swarmed in a lobby or in chat after pulling off a ranked clutch, being followed around in lobbies, even getting a few creeps now and then. 

But there’d always been a log-out button. A way to vanish, to reset the space around her.

Real life didn’t come with that option.

The thought hit a little harder than she expected, settling like a weight behind her ribs. 

She briefly considered asking the Sovereign to, somehow, do something about it—maybe nudge people away, keep the crowd at bay—but scrapped the idea almost immediately. 

Running away was probably easier. Less dramatic. 

And besides… the Sovereign wasn’t exactly someone she wanted to lean on more than she had to—which, arguably, she had been relying on far too much recently as-is.

Being next to Kara again reminded her of that—of her friend’s quiet warnings and offhand remarks about not trusting the ship completely. About not mistaking convenience for safety.

She exhaled slowly and rubbed the back of her neck, still a little thrown. 

Her gaze flicked down the aisle and around the store, scanning faces, checking corners. 

Too late, obviously, but still. 

Her Perception score was high enough that this shouldn’t have happened. 

She should’ve noticed the crowd creeping closer. The extra eyes. The awkward hush of people trying not to be caught listening.

But she hadn’t.

She’d been too locked into the conversation with Kara—too focused on the thrill of being helpful, of actually giving advice that might matter. Despite having zero real-world medical knowledge, she’d still wanted to contribute to her friend’s build and success. 

To prove she could.

And in doing so, she’d stopped paying attention to anything else.

Thea let out a quiet breath, the corner of her mouth twitching into a frustrated half-smile.

‘Some Scout you are…’ 

Ambushed during downtime, surrounded without even realizing. Not exactly the look the #1 should be rocking.

Mentally, she filed it under ‘unacceptable performance.’

‘Gotta fix that,’ she thought, resolve settling into place. ‘Next time, I pay attention—even if I’m just talking builds while out shopping. No excuses.’

“For what it’s worth,” Karania’s voice cut through her thoughts, calm and warm, “I think your advice was prudent, actionable, and very insightful. I, for one, definitely got a lot out of it. Thanks, Thea.”

Thea gave her a small, half-hearted smile. 

She could tell Kara was trying to lift her spirits—and honestly, it was working—but the weird weight in her chest didn’t vanish completely. The attention, the crowd, the whole ‘being known’ thing still sat awkwardly on her shoulders.

Still, she didn’t want to drag down their shopping trip with mopey energy. 

With a conscious breath, she pushed herself back into a lighter mood.

“No worries! Glad it helped you… and, apparently, half the drive too,” she said with a dry chuckle.

She stepped over to the nearby terminal and picked up one of the data-pads resting in its recharging slot—the one right beside the empty space where Karania had taken hers. Thea started flipping through the Skill class listings, eyes scanning the interface as she mentally sorted priorities.

“I’ve got a whole laundry list of must-take classes from the Runepriest,” she muttered, tapping through selections and compiling her tentative schedule. “There’s a bunch I want to take for my own interests too… It’s gonna be tight. Might need to ask for an exception slip myself…”

“If you do, we can ask Major Quinn together,” Karania offered, tone light. “I’m sure if two Alpha Squad members ambush her at once, even the ever-stoic Major will have to hear us out, right?” 

She winked.

Thea laughed, picturing it—Karania with that persuasive glint in her eye, Thea awkwardly trying to make a formal request without shrinking under Quinn’s no-nonsense stare. 

It was both hilarious… and definitely more than just mildly terrifying.

“Sounds like a plan.”

The next several minutes passed in focused silence as Thea finalized her list, occasionally stopping to weigh the pros and cons of certain classes, then moving on. 

When she finally finished, a long, tired sigh escaped her lips.

“Lots of classes?” Karania asked, glancing up with interest written all over her face.

Wordlessly, Thea held up her data-pad, letting Kara scroll through it.

“Hmm…” Karania mumbled as she read. “Way more variety than mine. Still heavy on the Research category, though. Yeah, we’re definitely gonna need those slips.”

She nodded slowly, more to herself than anyone else. “So you’re focusing on the Runepriest’s recommendations first?”

Thea nodded. “Yeah. I figure he knows what he’s doing, and if he’s planning on teaching me more stuff down the line, I’d rather not fall behind. Makes sense to prep ahead.”

Karania didn’t respond right away. 

She stared at the data-pad a little longer, eyebrows furrowed in thought—and that alone was enough to make Thea second-guess herself before she even said anything.

“I think you should message him and double-check that, honestly,” Karania finally said. “Like, yeah, [Basic Physics] and [Basic Chemistry] make total sense—especially with your Inheritance. Maybe even [Basic Mathematics] a bit later. But the rest…?”

She glanced up. “Stuff like [Basic Biology] isn’t going to matter unless you’re heading down a very specific Path, I’d imagine, and based on what you told me about your little shopping spree earlier, you’re going to need [Basic Engineering], [Basic Weaponsmithing], and [Basic Material-Science] way earlier than you’ll ever touch [Basic Biology].”

Thea opened her mouth to argue—but stopped. 

Kara wasn’t wrong. 

As always.

“Unless,” Karania added, smirking, “you plan to let those fancy weapons you bought gather dust for six or seven months while you slowly work through research you don’t even need. And something tells me Peria won’t exactly be thrilled about that either.”

Thea sighed again—this time with a bit more resignation. 

Yeah, that definitely sounded like something she’d need to fix.

She’d been avoiding messaging the Runepriest for days now, ever since that first intense psychic lesson had left her completely drained. 

The whole “Voidborn” revelation hadn’t helped either. 

That one had lingered like a bad aftertaste, dulling her mood and weighing down her thoughts for longer than she wanted to admit. 

She hadn’t been ignoring him, exactly… just trying to mentally decompress.

But Kara, as usual, was right.

‘I really do need to ask him which classes are actually critical,’ Thea thought, rubbing at her temple. ‘Which ones are just useful to have as a Veritas… and which ones only matter if I end up going down some specific Path, like Kara mentioned.’

No point in putting it off anymore.

With a resigned sigh, she pulled out her personal data-pad and transferred over her compiled class list. She flagged the ones the Runepriest had recommended during their last talk, then started typing out a short, polite message detailing her request. 

She kept it casual, like he’d told her to, but still respectful. Direct, but not too blunt.

Once finished, she read through it twice, eyes skimming for anything that sounded weird or too stiff. She paused, thumb hovering over the send icon, then glanced sideways.

“Kara, can you check this over real quick? Just tell me I’m not being an idiot?”

She held out the pad without looking, already second-guessing herself. 

She wasn’t exactly bad at talking to superiors—she’d had more than enough practice her entire life—but the Runepriest was a weird exception. 

Not just unfathomably high-ranking, but… strange. Companionable, informal and cryptic, all at once. 

She’d gone for a laid-back tone, like he’d asked her to, but part of her worried she’d crossed a line into ‘too casual.’

Karania read the message in silence, eyes flicking down the text.

After a second, she nodded. “Yeah, it’s fine. You kept it clear, respectful, and casual—just like he wanted. If anything, I think he’ll appreciate you reaching out at all. You did say he wanted more of a relaxed teacher-student dynamic, right?”

Thea nodded, relieved, and finally hit send.

“Alright, sent it off. Now I just gotta wait for him to answer… Until then, I guess I start working on Abilities,” Thea mused aloud, Karania nodding alongside her.

“Sounds like a good idea. I’m about to finish up my Skill classes as well here, but take your time. I might check through some Abilities as well afterwards, I could use some to fill out my Passives—so if you stumble upon some that might fit, send ‘em my way?” 

“Will do,” Thea replied, before opening up the Ability section of the System Store, and dived back into her own build for once…

=======

=======

- Skill Class Selection: Thea McKay -

Action:

• [Basic Scouting]

• [Basic Sniping]

• [Basic Stealth]

• [Basic Overwatch Tactics]

• [Basic First-Aid]

• [Basic Tracking]

• [Basic Outdoor Survival]

Research:

• [Basic Physics]

• [Basic Chemistry]

• [Basic Mathematics]

• [Basic Biology]

• [Basic Engineering]

• [Basic Electronics]

• [Basic Material Science]

• [Basic System Material Science]

• [Basic Photonics]

• [Basic Weaponsmithing]

• [Basic Equipment Design]

• [Basic Laser-Weaponry Design]

• [Basic Ballistic-Weaponry Design]

• [Basic Gauss-Weaponry Design]

• [Basic Armoursmithing]

• [Basic Light-Type Armour Design]

Knowledge:

• [Basic Allbright System History]

• [Basic Human History]

• [Basic History of Technology]

• [Basic Old-Tech History]

• [Basic New-Tech History]

• [Basic Next-Tech Philosophies]

• [Basic Linguistics]

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[ND] Chapter 133 - Lessons

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---------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ----------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Chapter 128 - Observation has just released on RR with no major changes.

For the Fixers, this chapter has seen no changes.

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Sera making mistakes? Never!

----------

I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the googledoc to the actual Chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1WMV-_i1q6PIVf7b1zSdv4eAXSYfnePR1i0VoTs58fQ4/edit?usp=sharing

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Chapter 133 - Lessons

I was surprisingly calm, given the knife I currently had at Cryo’s throat.

Adrenaline was flooding my veins, but my mind had never felt clearer. Cryo had pointed his gun at me—mid-combat—when we were supposed to be on the same team. 

That wasn’t something I could just shrug off.

I kept my eyes locked firmly on Cryo’s, waiting for a reaction. 

But the guy looked as unbothered as always, like having a blade pressed against his jugular was just another minor inconvenience. Honestly, that calm stare pissed me off even more—he should’ve at least shown some kind of shame or guilt.

Pina, meanwhile, was completely unfazed. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her casually strolling off to the nearest dead scav, already searching for anything worth taking like this was just another Tuesday.

“Ya hesitated,” Cryo finally said, his voice matter-of-fact, as if that explained everything.

“I killed him,” I snapped back, venom heavy in my voice. 

He wasn’t completely wrong—I had paused for a split second—but I’d been fully aware of what I was doing, ready to react the instant the scav inevitably tried something stupid.

“Yeah, but ya hesitated,” Cryo repeated calmly. “Ya wasted time talkin’ to an enemy mid-combat, lettin’ yerself get manipulated. Even if it ended fine, ya took an unnecessary risk. Put the whole crew in danger.” His eyes bore into mine with brutal honesty. “I was aimin’ at the scav first, Ela. Woulda shot ‘im if ya didn’t. And then I woulda shot ya too if ya hadn’t fixed yer own blunder immediately.”

The way he said it—like it was a fact, not a threat—sent a chill through my spine.

‘I wouldn’t have been the first one either,’ I realized. The thought settled in my stomach like ice.

“But ya did fix it. And yer reaction at seein’ me pointin’ that gun at ya was spot-on,” Cryo continued, his voice softening just the tiniest bit. “Ya were ready to kill me right then and there, no hesitation. Good instincts. That’ll keep ya alive out here. Operators ain’t friends, Ela, especially ones ya don’t know yet. Betrayal ain’t common, but it sure ain’t rare either. Every week the OPN publishes a list of dead Operators—plenty of ‘em ain’t killed by scavs, or gangers, or corpo goons. Nah, they’re zeroed by their own crew. Didn’t watch their backs, ended up catchin’ a bullet.”

Cryo took a slow, deliberate breath. “Ya passed the test, Ela. I ain’t sorry for puttin’ ya through it. Needed to see if ya had what it takes. If ya hadn’t reacted right, wouldn’t matter how skilled ya are—I’d never give ya a rec for yer license. Woulda been just another rookie face disappearin’ after trustin’ the wrong Op. But the way ya moved, calculatin’ distance between us, throwin’ knives ready to fly the instant ya saw me gun... yeah, yer gonna make it out here. Ya did good.”

I hated how much sense Cryo was making right then.

I really had fucked up, hadn’t I? 

Letting myself get talked down like that, wasting precious seconds on a scav who had no intention of ever being anything but the bottom-feeding trash they always were. If I hadn't corrected my mistake at the last second, getting shot by Cryo would've probably been justified.

Slowly, carefully, I lowered my knife, never breaking eye contact with Cryo. 

My muscles stayed tense, still not completely trusting him after everything—especially since I’d just threatened him too. 

Threatening your teammate wasn't exactly something you walked away from easily. 

After all, once that line was crossed, what was stopping me from doing it again? Or him from retaliating?

Cryo was stronger than me. Probably faster, too. 

I was painfully aware of how vulnerable I was in this moment.

My Intuition was desperately trying to get a read on him, but the guy was a Face—an experienced one at that—and he wasn't giving me any openings. 

His expression stayed calm, unreadable, and it made me even more nervous.

‘Is he gonna shoot me as soon as I back off? The second I’m not close enough to put a knife in him, will he take me out for threatenin’ him like that…?’

My palms were getting clammy, my heart rate spiking again as anxiety clawed its way up my throat. 

Damned if I did, damned if I didn’t.

Cryo’s voice broke into my spiraling thoughts again, almost conversational, despite the intensity of the moment. “Ya wanna know why it’s such a problem, Ela? ‘Cause we were a crew goin’ in here. Everyone had their roles—yerself included. But the instant ya stopped to listen to that pile o’ dreck, wastin’ precious seconds on absolutely nothin’, ya put Pina’s life at risk. Mouse’s life. My life.”

He leaned forward just a fraction, deliberately putting his neck back against my knife. “The second ya hesitated, ya already put a knife to our throats, Ela. Try steppin’ outta yer own head for a second and consider the situation: We’re outnumbered, each of us takin’ our share to keep things manageable. Then ya freeze up. Suddenly yer not applyin’ pressure to anyone but that one scav ya shoulda iced the moment ya had the chance. What if the other two scavs hadn’t rushed ya? What if they’d jumped me or Pina instead? We were busy handlin’ our own targets, trustin’ that ya had our backs. But ya didn’t—ya were too busy listenin’ to some worthless sob story from a scav.”

His eyes hardened even further, drilling into mine with brutal clarity.

“Did ya think bein’ part of a crew meant ya only look out for yerself? That yer actions wouldn’t affect the rest of us? Have no consequences for anyone but yerself? This ain’t a solo gig, so why’d ya act like it was? Tell me, Ela—what would ya think about somebody who pulled the same stunt on ya? Someone neglectin’ their teammates, puttin’ everyone’s lives on the line for a scav’s sob story?”

My grip loosened. 

Slowly, I let the tip of the blade fall away from Cryo’s throat, stepping back a pace—measured, deliberate. Not enough to lower my guard, not enough to take me out of [Blademaster’s Strike] range. 

Just enough to say I wasn’t obviously picking a fight anymore.

And still… I couldn’t meet his eyes anymore.

The silence between us dragged, heavy as lead. 

My heart was pounding again, not with adrenaline this time, but with something colder. 

“I didn’t… I didn’t think about any of that,” I muttered. “Fuck. You’re right. I really, seriously fucked up.”

The words felt bitter in my throat.

I’d gone into this whole op thinking I could hold my own, prove I was ready. I had prepared so much for it all, worked my ass off for weeks. 

But I had fucked it.

Let some scumbag’s trembling voice distract me in the middle of a live combat zone. 

And worse—I had been the one to threaten my teammates first. Not Cryo. 

Me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, the words barely audible. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t worth much. A promise after a fuckup didn’t erase the damage. 

It didn’t change the fact that I'd put the whole crew at risk on my very first gig like that.

Ten, maybe fifteen seconds. That was all it had been. 

But in a fight like this? That was a lifetime. 

We’d truly gotten lucky. 

If those other two Scavs had changed course—if they’d flanked Pina or Cryo instead of charging me like idiots—I’d be living with a whole lot more than a bruised ego right now. 

Or maybe not living at all.

And all for what? So I could feel good about giving a maybe-sincere scav a second chance?

I wanted to scream. Or punch something.

But just as my mind started that familiar slide into self-loathing, Cryo let out a breath and spoke up again. His voice had changed drastically—far softer now.

“Ya couldn’t’ve known, Ela. Not really. This was yer first real gig,” he said, tone even. “And ya did damn well, considerin’. Even with the blunder.”

I blinked, caught completely off-guard by the shift in tone.

“To be honest, I figured I’d be cleanin’ up after ya the whole damn time,” he went on, shrugging slightly. “Thought I’d have to take yer load and mine. But ya handled yerself far better than I expected. Three Scavs, one after the other? And ya didn’t just survive it; barely eke out a win. Nah, ya absolutely tore through ‘em.”

He gave a small, almost approving nod.

“Yer beyond green, sure. But what else would ya be?” Cryo said. “Ain’t like ya done this kinda work before. But what I am sayin’, clear as I can, is this: Ya sure ain’t deadweight.”

“Agreed!” Pina’s voice suddenly rang out from somewhere across the warehouse. “That move where you side-jumped that psycho with the board and let him decapitate himself on your knife? Absolute cinema! Good shit, Ela!”

I blinked.

The sheer tonal whiplash from what had just happened to this sudden praise made my brain stutter a bit. My thoughts were still back in ‘he’s gonna kill me for real’ mode, and now I was getting compliments?

Still… I couldn’t deny it helped. Helped a lot. 

I had needed that more than I wanted to admit.

“Thanks,” I muttered, trying to force my spine straight again, like that’d help with the churn in my chest. “I’ll, uh… try not to fuck it next time.”

Cryo gave me another long look—assessing, but not cold—before nodding once. “I’ll call the client now,” he said, almost like he was checking if we were good first.

I gave him a small nod. We were good.

He turned away, and I felt a spike of anxiety crawl up my throat, part of me wanting—needing—to keep him in striking range. 

Just in case. 

Just to be sure.

I forced that part down.

‘He doesn’t see me as a threat. If he wanted me dead, he didn’t need to explain shit. Didn’t have to give me that speech. He could’ve just pulled the trigger.’

I turned away, even as my chest still tensed up, expecting that maybe—maybe—I was wrong about him—just like I had been wrong about giving the scav one last chance.

Crouching beside one of Cryo’s kills, I grabbed the scav’s blood-slick shirt and started wiping down my RaZ. 

It took about fifteen seconds to get clean. The same fifteen seconds I’d wasted in the fight.

I sheathed the blade, breathing in deep through my nose, the stench of blood and emptied bowels still heavy in the air inside the warehouse, then looked back toward Cryo—half-expecting a muzzle pointed at my head.

But he was just standing there, exactly where he’d said he’d be. 

Quietly talking, calling in the job’s completion.

I exhaled. Long, slow and controlled.

‘At least I got that one right. Read it properly… The one that mattered most.’

“You should grab your loot before the cleaners show up,” came Pina’s voice from near me, making me flinch and damn near jump out of my skin.

“Fuu—!” I twisted toward her, heartbeat spiking. She was crouched over a body just a few meters away, casually rummaging through pockets and checking for neck-slotted shards like she was shopping at a weekend market. “What… What do you mean?”

She glanced up at me like it was the dumbest question she’d heard all day.

“Everyone gets the loot from the ones they dropped. Crew rule for when you run with Cryo. So those three,” she jabbed a thumb toward the kitchen area, “they’re yours. If the cleaners show, they’ll strip whatever’s left. You wanna make some extra Creds off the run, you better get looting. It ain’t ever a lot, but it does stack up after a while.”

Right. Of course there was loot etiquette. Why wouldn’t there be? 

Operators weren't exactly out here for the warm fuzzies or some kind of superhero fantasy—they were here for the Creds.

“Right, thanks for the heads-up,” I replied, nodding briefly at Pina before quickly stepping over to my three scavs.

Part of me was still bracing for that gut-twisting queasiness I had expected at seeing the aftermath, but as I knelt next to them, I felt… nothing. 

No nausea, no guilt. Nothing. 

The blood pooled around them, the stench of their bowels emptying once their muscles had given out, the almost completely severed head lolling limply from its neck, still slowly seeping red liquid—it all might as well have been splashes of paint on some messed-up abstract painting. 

Just colours on canvas.

Without hesitation, I started rifling through their bodies. 

Not gently either—I shoved, flipped, and yanked them about, checking every pocket or hiding spot that might have Creds, shards, or something valuable. 

Their bodies weren’t people—never had been—just containers.

Containers holding the one thing I’d actually want from this gig as an Operator: A payday.

Because Creds meant freedom.

Freedom to choose.
Freedom to do my own thing.
Freedom to start figuring out where I fit into this whole world.
Freedom to tell Valeria to go fuck herself for being a terrible monster of a mother. 

If the corpses had been people, I might have been slightly more careful with their bodies—but they hadn’t been. 

I fully knew that now. 

I had known it, then and always. But I hadn’t known known it. 

Intellectually, yes. 

But being face-to-face with something that looks like a person, speaks like a person and breathes like a person? It was something else. 

I had needed this experience, as much as the obvious blunder made me want to scream and punch things. 

I had needed it to truly know. 

Now that it was done? Their bodies were nothing but loot bags. Stinking, bloodied loot bags.

I went through all three of them, one after the other—checking every pocket, seam, boot lining, anything that might hide something worth selling. 

[Appraise] made the job a hell of a lot easier. 

I didn’t have to second-guess every scrap—I could just ping it, get the readout, and toss whatever didn’t pass the sniff test. Spoiler: Everything was junk.

Still, better to be thorough.

I found a Cred-shard on each corpse—total haul came out to 74 Credits. Like Pina said, not much. But if every gig tossed this kind of pocket change my way? It’d stack fast enough.

Checked their neck-slots next, hoping for some Data-Shards. Maybe one of them had a few decent blackmarket contacts saved, maybe some intel about something worthwhile, enough to sell to a broker.

But only one of them had anything. And of course, it was the guy I’d practically decapitated. My RaZ had cut clean through the damn shard, too. Snapped it right in half, clear as day.

‘Just my fucking luck... The one guy who had something potentially worth a damn and I turned it into scrap by accident. Fuck me...’

I grouped back up with Pina a minute later, wiping the last bit of gore off my gloves on part of a shirt I had ripped from one of the scavs. She glanced over as I approached, eyes scanning me briefly before nodding toward the bodies behind me.

“Find anything good?” she asked, half-interested.

I shook my head. “Nah. Couple of Cred-shards, that’s it. One of 'em had a data-shard, but…  I kinda sliced clean through it by accident…”

“Ha! That does tend to happen at times, yeah.” She answered with a chuckle.

I gave her a raised eyebrow, silently throwing the question back her way. 

She just shrugged, already over it. “Ain’t got shit either. Neither did Cryo—I checked his kills for him.”

Without missing a beat, she plopped down onto the only half-intact piece of furniture in the entire building—a worn-down couch that looked like it had been dragged in off the street a decade ago and never cleaned since. 

It sat directly in front of the busted old flatscreen, still on from earlier. 

One of the scavs had clearly been mid-game when we kicked in the door, and sure enough, the controller was right there on the floor.

Pina picked it up, blew some grime off the buttons, and dropped right back into the game like none of this shit had just happened.

I hesitated for a moment, standing there awkwardly, not sure what to do with myself. My limbs still felt half-charged with leftover adrenaline, but there was nothing to aim it at now. 

With a quiet sigh, I sat down next to her, not exactly comfortable, but not willing to just stand around awkwardly either.

A minute later, Mouse wandered in through the front door, brushing off his jacket like he’d just taken a stroll.

“Went as expected,” he said, tone dry, almost bored.

Time slipped by after that. 

I sat there while Pina mashed buttons, playing what had to be the worst game I’d ever laid eyes on. Graphics were glitchy as hell, the UI looked like it had been patched together by a drunk intern, and the sound design was mostly just grunts and weird buzzing. 

True digital detritus.

But it gave my brain something to focus on while the storm in my chest started to settle. I’d made mistakes—big ones—but I was still here. 

And I would learn from them.

Eventually, Cryo’s voice cut through the quiet. “Client’s people are here.”

Pina dropped the controller with a little huff, Mouse stood up without a word, and I followed them toward the front entrance. But as we got closer to the door, I picked up on the shift.

Increasing tension.

Mouse checked the safety on his pistol. Pina popped out her revolver shotgun’s cylinder and double-checked the load. Cryo calmly checked the magazine in his pistol, making sure it was full. 

I caught his eye, confused.

He picked up on it instantly, as expected.

“Some clients don’t like payin’ up,” he said in that slow, deadpan voice of his. “Easiest way to save Creds? Claim the job failed. Say the crew vanished, never reported back. Cleanup crew they were already sending in? Not just for the scavs.”

He didn’t have to spell it out any further than that.

Sometimes, you didn’t walk away from a job just because the scavs were tougher than expected. And sometimes, it was the clients you should’ve been worried about all along.

Mirroring their readiness checks, I pulled out two of my throwing knives again, holding them in my off-hand—not that I really had one thanks to [Ambidexterity], but I still considered my left one the off one—ready to throw them at a moment’s notice.

‘Honestly been worried that my whole [Throwing] gimmick might be a waste of time, but… It worked out extremely well against that one scav earlier. Very happy to see that.’

Sure, I was nowhere near as effective as the others in the crew, considering they had straight up guns, but I could at least help out at a distance rather than just being deadweight—a win in my books, for sure.

Another minute passed until two SUVs pulled up and a crew of six jumped out of the vehicles, off-loading a variety of cleaning equipment, bags and crates with rollers before heading our way.

A lanky man led the troupe, his low-quality cybernetics clearly on display as he scratched his stubbly chin, and was the first one to make eye contact with the four of us.

“Eyyy… Operators, ye?” He hesitantly asked, stopping in the middle of the open, in front of the warehouse—if we hadn’t been the Operators he had been expecting, he would’ve been beyond easy pickings.

“That’s us,” Cryo simply replied, already having put away his pistol. The cleaners had clearly passed the vibe check right away.

“Cool, cool, cool. Ye, ye. I’ll… I’ll let the boss know then, ye? Y’all can, eh… skedaddle, as they say,” the cleaner leader offered and Cryo simply nodded, before stepping out of the warehouse, gesturing for us to follow.

We headed back to the car, still parked in the alley around the corner where we had left it, piled back inside in the same configuration as before—apparently calling ‘shotgun’ gave you the right for the entire trip, not just one-way, I learned—and Cryo started taking us back towards the highway.

Around a minute later, I got the System Notification that already spoiled me on what Cryo would be informing us about a minute later: Mission Success…

[System]: Task Completed: Cryo’s Scav Cleanup
[System]: You have gained 250 Character Experience.
[System]: You have gained 1x [Random Reward (Uncommon Table)]. Reward Claim Time Limit: 47:59:59.

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[Fixer+ | Draft] Chapter 134 - Drops

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------------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) -------------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Welcome to the draft release of Chapter 134 for y'all.

As always, a quick reminder that this chapter is still in the process of being workshopped by me and that this is simply the first-draft.

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EXPERIENCE POOOOOIIIINNNNTTTSSSS

-----

I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the link to the chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1G7aa3agp8J5qa7RpdCb7tWDjQzvGT17OSyQ-lEyCFeY/edit?usp=sharing

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Chapter 134 - Drops

I dropped my backpack onto my lap and unzipped it, casually pretending to dig around inside like I was just organizing stuff, even though my real focus was on the System screen hovering quietly in my vision.

‘The System’s never just spawned a reward into the real world before… but better safe than sorry,’ I thought, navigating toward the claim button with one eye on the others in the car. 

Last thing I needed was to pop some weird-ass loot bubble mid-transit and have to try and explain that away.

Yeah, normally the System kept things pretty contained, but this was a different kind of reward. One I’d never seen before, and I didn’t want to risk blowing my cover when I had the perfect excuse to check it now. 

Sure, I could wait until I was home, where it’d be completely safe—but with nothing else to do during the ride, it felt like a waste of time not to just go for it.

Based on what Miss K and Shori had told me about Anima in general, I was fairly sure no one here could see what I was doing. Even if they did have access to Anima Sight, they wouldn’t keep it active at all times for no reason. 

Hell, I wasn’t even sure any of them knew what Anima even was, let alone how to use it. 

Still, I played it smart—quick glance around, made sure no one was watching, then hit the imaginary button.

[System]: You have claimed 1x [Random Reward (Uncommon Table)]!
[System]: Rolling reward from: Uncommon Table… Rolling… 

A shiny D100 materialized right in the center of my vision, spinning in place with way too much flair.

‘Okay, that’s a bit very extra,’ I thought, blinking at it. ‘Why even code it like this…? Whole thing feels like a loot box animation made by someone with too much budget and not enough restraint.’

The System usually kept things pretty utilitarian, but apparently loot rolls, of all things, were where the devs had gotten a little playful. The die started to slow, clacking along like it wanted to build suspense—and then finally stopped.

Seventeen.

‘Cool. Seventeen… And that means what exactly—’

[System]: Outcome: 17. Reward distribution in progress…
[System]: You have gained 1x [1,000 XP (Body-bound Skill)]!

I blinked. Then blinked again, reading it twice just to make sure I wasn’t misinterpreting it.

‘No shit… That’s actually kinda legit? A thousand XP, and I get to pick where it goes… And when too? As long as it’s Body-bound, anyway.’

Not bad. Not bad at all.

Just as I’d hoped, nothing manifested in the real world. 

No glowing orb, no weird item drop, no visible signs at all. 

I zipped up the bag and set it beside me again, ready to use as a makeshift shield if anything suddenly came flying at my face—just in case.

Seeing XP drops as part of loot rolls? That was new—and useful. Could help close the gap on a few of the stubborn Skills I hadn’t been able to push past a certain level.

Only problem? When I really thought about it, I didn’t actually have that many Body-bound Skills to work with. And none of them were particularly hard to train, generally speaking. 

Thirty total Skills, and only six were tied to Body at all. 

Most of those had awkward XP totals, weird breakpoints, or level-caps that made a clean 1,000 XP kinda tricky to slot in perfectly.

‘Still gotta check the XP logs anyway… maybe something in there’ll help sort it out,’ I told myself, flipping over to the backlog of System notifications I’d muted earlier that morning before leaving the apartment.

To call it a flood would’ve been putting it mildly.

[System]: 1,900xp gained for [Negotiation] Skill.
[System]: 400xp gained for Ego.
[System]: 400xp gained for Intuition.

[System]: 300xp gained for [Stealth] Skill.
[System]: 200xp gained for [Athletics] Skill.

[System]: 800xp gained for [Quick-Hacks] Skill.
[System]: Operator (Netrunner) defeated.
[System]: 350xp (+200xp) gained for defeating Operator (Netrunner). [First-Kill Bonus Experience]

[System]: 300xp gained for Edge.
[System]: 300xp gained for Intellect.

[System]: 500xp gained for [Tracking] Skill.

[System]: 300xp gained for [Deception] Skill.
[System]: 300xp gained for [Acrobatics] Skill.

[System]: 100xp gained for [CQC] Skill.
[System]: [CQC] Skill has reached Level 3. Knowledge and Muscle-Memory download available. [CQC] Perk Point obtained.

[System]: 300xp gained for [Martial Arts] Skill.
[System]: [Martial Arts] Skill has reached Level 4. Knowledge and Muscle-Memory download available.

[System]: 300xp gained for [Contortion] Skill.
[System]: [Contortion] Skill has reached Level 3. Knowledge and Muscle-Memory download available. [Contortion] Perk Point obtained.

[System]: 300xp gained for [{Anima Razor}] Skill.
[System]: [{Anima Razor}] Skill has reached Level 2. Knowledge and Muscle-Memory download available.

[System]: 100xp gained for Anima.
[System]: 400xp gained for Body.
[System]: 400xp gained for Reflex.

[System]: 600xp gained for [Murder] Skill.

[System]: 300xp gained for Ego.

[System]: 200xp gained for Edge.
[System]: Edge Attribute has reached 4. Upgrade delayed until User confirmation.

[System]: Scavenger (Low-Tier) defeated. [x3]
[System]: 250xp (+100xp) gained for defeating Scavenger (Low-Tier) [x3]. [First-Kill Bonus Experience (x1)]

[System]: 400xp gained for [Intimidation] Skill.
[System]: 1,000xp gained for [Appraise] Skill.

[System]: 300xp gained for Tech.

I was practically reeling from the flood of notifications lighting up my interface—level-ups, downloads, new Perk Point unlocks. 

It was a whole damn avalanche.

Sure, I’d expected a solid payout from the job, especially after how cleanly we’d wrapped it up, but this? The sheer amount of experience being handed out… it didn’t feel real. 

We’d blitzed through the scavs, no one on our side had taken any apparent hits, and it had ended so fast it barely even felt like a full op. 

Yet here I was, looking at a mountain of rewards like I’d just soloed a boss fight.

Still, as I combed through the notifications one by one, something did rub me the wrong way.

‘Really, System? You’re seriously gonna leave me hanging at 995 out of 1,000 XP on the General Level?’ I stared at the number, half-expecting it to magically bump up on its own. ‘Couldn’t scrounge up five more XP from somewhere? Stingy bastard…’

I glanced past the overlay, quick check out the window—still on the highway, still cruising, no sudden turns or stops. 

‘Good,’ I nodded.

Gave me enough time to start pre-scouting Perks, even if I knew I wouldn’t be locking anything in just yet. 

Better to think it over when my brain wasn’t still half-sloshed in leftover adrenaline.

First up: [Contortion]. 

I’d looked at the list before, back when it had first hit Level 1—weeks ago now—but figured it wouldn’t hurt to refresh my memory before digging into the more complex stuff that [CQC] was likely to bring.

[Coil Spring] [Requirement: Level 3 [Contortion]]
Cobrastriiiiiike! You gain the ability to contort and compress your body in unique ways, significantly enhancing the height and distance of your jumps from a crouched, coiled position.

[Narrow Twist] [Requirement: Level 3 [Contortion]]
Dear god, they’re like a fucking slime! You gain the ability to twist and contort your body to slip through the smallest of openings, navigating spaces others would consider utterly impassable.

[Slippery Body] [Requirement: Level 3 [Contortion]]
Nobody can keep you locked down! You gain the ability to wriggle free from nearly any physical restraint or hold actively placed upon you by somebody else.

[Escape Artist] [Requirement: Level 3 [Contortion]]
Houdini would be proud! You gain the ability to escape from most bonds or restraints with ease—only high-tier equipment resists your escape attempts.

My general thoughts on the [Contortion] Perks hadn’t shifted much since I first skimmed them all those weeks back, I realized.

‘[Coil Spring] still feels like the least immediately useful,’ I mused, mentally flicking through the list. ‘I’ve already got [Wall Runner] for vertical movement, and that one’s a hell of a lot more consistent. Unless I’m trying to pull off some circus-level nonsense, I don’t really see [Coil Spring] getting much mileage.’

[Narrow Twist], on the other hand, still looked like it could be crazy useful—if the situation called for it. The problem was just that: if. I had no clue how often I’d be squeezing through vent shafts or collapsing between tight wall gaps while running from something murderous.

‘[Slippery Body] and [Escape Artist] though… those two are real contenders,’ I thought, biting my lip. ‘Both of them are about getting out of fucked situations. Just depends if it’s ropes, chains, or someone trying to bear-hug me into submission.’

It was a tough call, no doubt. But looking over the list again, there weren’t any true duds here—aside from maybe [Coil Spring], and even that wasn’t totally useless if I stretched my imagination a bit. Maybe I’d think of a niche use case for it once I had more field time under my belt.

‘Still… if I had to choose right now, it’d be between [Slippery Body] and [Escape Artist]. They just seem the most universally useful.’ I let the thought settle before nodding to myself. ‘But yeah, not deciding right this second. This is something I wanna think through properly—no regrets, no second-guessing later.’

With that bit settled, I closed the Contortion list and swapped over to [CQC]—first time pulling this one up. I had no expectations, no biases, just pure curiosity and the faint buzz of anticipation building in my gut.

[No-Space Fighter] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
Snake-people can do snakey things… You gain the ability to remove all typical penalties from cramped positioning of all close-combat actions in tight spaces such as, crawlways, ducts, lift shafts or when otherwise similarly impeded.

[Snap Sheathe] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
Draw, Sheathe, Repeat. Draw, Sheathe, Repeat… You gain the ability to rapidly sheathe/stow and subsequently redraw your weapons in one fluid motion, as long as your upper-body movement isn’t impeded.

[Lethal Flow] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
One down… Two… Three… Ten… You gain the ability to immediately follow up a melee kill with a dash, reposition, roll, or vault action without impacting your stance, stamina or situational awareness.

[Kinetic Battery] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
First you get hit a lot, then you hit ‘em with a KABOOM! You gain the ability to store a portion of kinetic energy upon successfully parrying heavy attacks that can be spent to power your next melee attack with explosive force.

[Gun-Kata] [Requirement: Level 3 [CQC]]
Every angle is accounted for. Every bullet has a purpose… You gain the ability to seamlessly transition between strikes and point-blank fire. While within melee range, you can chain firearm discharges directly into melee attacks without delay, even firing from non-standard positions (underarm, off-hand, behind-back, etc.) mid-motion. Enemies struck by a melee hit are momentarily tracked, enabling follow-up shots to auto-correct for movement if fired within one half-second.

I let out a quiet sigh, eyes locked onto the list hovering in front of me.

‘Another one of those impossible choices, huh…? Just what I needed today.’ I couldn’t help but roll my eyes a bit at the situation. 

Anyone else probably would've killed for just one of these perks—any of them—and here I was, stuck groaning about the “burden” of getting to choose between all of them. 

Real Sera problems.

Didn’t change the fact, though: This was gonna be a tough pick.

[No-Space Fighter] looked solid—practical, dependable, probably the most straightforward out of the bunch. Nothing fancy, just the ability to not get caught slipping in tight spots. 

But in a lineup like this, that kind of utility felt… well, underwhelming. 

Like bringing a wrench to a gunfight. Still, definitely had value in specific situations.

[Snap Sheathe] though? Now that one had me actually thinking. 

Instant weapon swaps? That was the kind of versatility that opened doors. 

‘Hell, maybe I could run a proper loadout. Keep a knife out most of the time, then quick-switch to a sword if I need to bring down the hammer on someone.’ 

The only catch? I needed something already in my hand to make it work. 

No free draws—just quick exchanges. 

Still, in the right hands, that was huge.

Then there was [Lethal Flow]—the dream of every highlight reel junkie. 

That one read like it was made for people who didn’t like stopping for anything. Dodge, roll, stab, shoot—one target to the next, clean, smooth, efficient. ‘Might be kinda cracked, if I really lean into this scav-clearing lifestyle… and judging by today, I just might.’ 

Between what I’d learned and what I’d felt—how natural it had all come to me—it was hard to argue against it.

[Kinetic Battery], though? That one was straight-up terrifying. 

Pure momentum turned into power, stored and redirected.

‘I swear, Jin would probably short-circuit if I punched harder than him one day,’ I thought with a crooked grin. More than just style, it was practical—something that could help if I ever ran into a tanky ‘Borg that didn’t go down easy. 

That kind of backup plan… It was very hard to ignore.

And then, of course, there was the one I’d been expecting to see from the very start: [Gun-Kata].

The classic. The staple. The icon.

Every single cyberpunk story had its version of this. 

Whether it showed up as a passive, a special move, a skill tree—it always existed. 

Stylish, deadly, cinematic as hell. And honestly? There was something magnetic about that. 

‘It’s damn near perfect—great scaling, tons of potential, no real weaknesses… other than me not having a gun yet.’

But that wasn’t exactly a permanent issue. Or even a long-standing one, if I put my mind to it. Guns were easy to come by if you knew where to look—or knew who to ask. 

I could fix that in a moderately quick timeframe.

The real issue? That it was too tempting. The fantasy of being that girl—the main character with the slick moves, the gun flips, the fluid motion—that was a dream I’d had since I first started digging into all this. 

It was the story I’d always wanted to be part of.

But this wasn’t a story. Not really. Not a game, where I could simply hit F9 for a reset. 

There were no resets. No rollbacks. No “whoops, I picked the wrong perk” do-overs.

This was my real life. 

And that meant no snap decisions. No chasing aesthetics at the cost of function. 

Not unless I was damn sure it was the right call.

‘If I end up with [Gun-Kata] after weighing all my options? Great. But I’m not locking myself in just because it looks cool. Not this time…’

Closing out of the interfaces, delaying the choices until a later date, when I’ve had some more time to really sit down and puzzle all of it through, I returned my attention to the road outside the window, just letting it pass by me as Cryo continued to take us back, somewhere towards Delta…

—

About ten minutes later, we finally veered off the highway again—but this time, we weren’t diving back into the undercity maze of rusted tunnels and half-lit alleys. Instead, Cryo drove us through one of the wider surface roads, hovering just above the grit-caked ground layer of the city proper. 

A little less oppressive than the usual deep dives, but still packed as hell.

“Where are we even going?” I finally asked, giving up the act of playing mysterious and aloof. I had absolutely zero clue where we were anymore—everything out the window looked vaguely familiar but just off enough to feel disorienting.

“Ya said ya wanted a license,” Cryo said, not missing a beat. His eyes never left the road. “So we doin’ that. Gonna get ya licensed.”

“Oh. Like, now?” I blinked.

“OPN offices we frequent,” Pina chimed in, lounging in her seat that made me think she never had any sort of safety instructions on being a passenger in a vehicle before. “Place we pick up gigs, blow off steam, grab drinks, snag intel or maybe a blank or two if we’re short before a job. That kinda place.”

My eyebrows shot up. That… was not at all what I’d expected.

I thought Cryo would drop me back at Delta, maybe tell me he’d shoot me a message when it was time for the next meetup to get me licensed. 

But nah. Apparently, Cryo didn’t do “later.” 

Everything with this crew moved fast. No dragging feet, no drawn-out onboarding. 

Just straight into the deep end and hope you swim.

And I guessed… I had swum. Barely. But I was still above water.

Cryo ran a very tight ship, that much was obvious by now. 

Tighter than I’d assumed at first, honestly. 

From the outside, the crew had seemed loose—like freelancers half-assing it between real gigs. But looking back on the run we just pulled off, they were efficient. Fast. Deadly. 

Cryo had slotted me into the formation like a new part in a machine and just expected it to work.

And it had.

‘They’re way more experienced than I gave them credit for,’ I realized. 

Vega hadn’t been joking when he said Cryo had been around for a while. 

A long while, at least in Operator years. Which wasn’t saying much in regular years. 

Most Operators didn’t last long enough to even consider this a “career.” 

Five gigs. That was the average before getting zeroed. 

And Cryo? He was probably pushing mid-triple digits by now, if I had to guess.

Faces like him usually lasted longer, sure. They picked their crews. Controlled the risk. 

But they also took the heat when things went sideways. 

Clients remembered the person who made the deal, not the trigger-pullers. 

And enemies? They definitely remembered the one talking to them before everything went haywire, more so than the ones doing the shooting.

‘I got lucky landing with this crew…’ I caught myself smiling at the thought—just in time for it to die a quick death as Mouse groaned beside me again.

“Fucking fried too…? Fuuuuck…” he muttered, dragging some sparking component covered in some kind of stinking glibber out from his own body with all the casual misery of a guy trying to fix his coffee machine before work. 

He’d been muttering like that the entire drive, still trying to patch himself up after eating my [Venombite] earlier. Poor guy looked like a hacked-together vending machine at this stage.

‘Well, I did warn him…’ 

Finally, after a few more minutes of Mouse’s nonstop groaning and static-crackling self-repair, Cryo pulled the car into a stop and gave a simple gesture—out we go.

I barely had time to glance around and clock that we were in some underground parking garage—dim lights, oil stains, the occasional flicker of exposed wiring—before the others were already moving. 

Cryo led the way toward the nearest elevator, Pina right behind him, and Mouse trailing with a half-dead servo whine in his gait. 

I had to quick-step to catch up, not wanting to get left behind.

The elevator ride was dead quiet. Not tense or awkward—just... quiet. 

Everyone had their own thoughts to chew through. 

Nobody broke the silence, unless you counted Mouse muttering every few seconds about circuits, burnouts, and how I owed him a drink or three for frying his internals.

I wasn’t about to argue.

Then, the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. 

One by one, they filed out, with me bringing up the rear.

Stepping into the hallway felt like being slapped with a different reality. 

Gone was the grime and decay of the garage—we were suddenly standing in a pristine, almost sterile corridor. 

Bright-white lights. 

Floors that had actually seen a mop sometime this decade. And dead ahead, glowing like a beacon, was a big, bold, neon-yellow sign above a set of thick, armored double-doors.

“O P N”

Clean, sharp, official. No frills. Just three letters that carried weight.

I stopped for half a second, just to take it in. 

I was actually here. Not dreaming. Not imagining it. 

After everything, after all the fighting and self-doubt and blood and chaos—I was here, about to walk into the damn OPN’s Office and get my license.

Not just talking about it. Not planning for it. Doing it.

That sign wasn’t just a label—it was a literal line in the sand. 

Past this point, I stopped being a hopeful maybe and became someone who could actually move through the world with agency for once.

I was finally here…

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[TAS] Volume 2 - Chapter 35 - VIP Consultation

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------------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) -------------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Volume 2 - Chapter 30 - Socializing has just released on RR with no changes.

For the Wolf Lords, this chapter is new.

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[Experimental Chapter Notice! Trying stuff out in this one.]

Also: I will personally kill anyone that dislikes this chapter.

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I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the link to the chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1UsdeuvriL3TI5eCR8Fh3p4KSalkk2GIC78JLixm-yaU/edit?usp=sharing

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Volume 2 - Chapter 35 - VIP Consultation

“Economics: The Quiet Engine of the Galactic War

“The victor of a war is not the one with the most firepower, but the one who can afford to keep firing.”

In a war where every single ship costs billions and a single batch of Marines can run the price of a mid-world’s capital-city’s annual GDP, the real battles aren’t fought with rifles, tanks or orbital bombardments—they're waged on ledgers, budget tables, and fiscal projections.

For every Marine on the frontlines, there are a hundred others back home ensuring they’re fed, armed, equipped, deployed, healed, rearmed, and shipped back out again. 

Logistics may move armies, but Credits are what allow logistics to exist in the first place.

Fuel is bought. Ammunition is manufactured. Ships are built from alloys mined by laborers paid in wages, secured by investors, insured by financial arms of Faction-run megabanks. 

Every pull of a trigger is an invoice sent down the supply chain.
Every Marine that Zero’s is a cascade of spreadsheets being updated.
Every volley of missiles is a transaction—ultimately approved or denied by an algorithmic calculation deep in UHF High Command's infrastructure.

No wonder then, that sectors rich in raw resources, energy production, or economic throughput are oftentimes more heavily defended than military outposts, is it not? 

Losing a manufacturing hub hurts more than losing a thousand Marines—because the Marines can be remade, but the Credits needed to do so cannot be conjured from sentiment.

Ammunition is cheap. War is not. If you want to win a war, forget the rifles.
Instead, make damn sure your accountants are better than theirs.

– Marshal Renk Tavros, Strategic Oversight Division, PFC 933”

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=======

PoV: Peria Akin

Lounging comfortably on the worn-out but cozy couch in her corporate-provided room aboard the Sovereign’s DDS, Peria lazily enjoyed her day off, scrolling through the rapidly expanding collection of clips, highlights, and detailed breakdowns of the latest UHF Assessment.

This had become one of her favourite pastimes whenever a big Assessment came to a close. 

The UHF propaganda machine was working overtime as always, flooding internal channels with the newest, most heroic, and action-packed moments from the recently concluded Assessment—making sure everyone within the UHF got their fill of excitement, inspiration, and good-old fashioned hero worship.

Being stationed directly aboard one of the Recruitment ships came with a significant perk here; Peria was among the first to get access to all the new videos, highlights, and updates. 

The rest of UHF-space would have to impatiently wait until the Sovereign made its next scheduled stop at a supply outpost to properly upload everything.

‘Shame we can’t just beam it all straight onto the GalNet,’ Peria thought wistfully. ‘Would be great to chat with Marsha and the others about some of the insane stuff from this Assessment…’

She shook her head, quickly pushing away those melancholic thoughts. 

Realistically speaking, she had little reason to complain about her current assignment aboard the Sovereign. 

Being one of Abundant Ammunitions’ senior inventory specialists came with plenty of advantages: Phenomenal pay, outstanding benefits, and complete access to all the luxuries the Sovereign’s DDS had to offer—without needing to participate in the brutal and dangerous missions that the Marines had to endure on a daily basis.

Plus, with just two more years left on her current contract, she was getting closer every day to that massive final payout and a guaranteed, cozy transfer to one of the company’s premium Inner-world branches.

‘All it costs is a little NDA and a couple years cut off from the outside galaxy,’ she mused idly. ‘Honestly, could be a lot worse… Marsha always says I’m the luckiest damn person in the whole galaxy for landing this gig, heh. And honestly? She’s kinda right...’

Growing up on some forgettable mid-world wasn’t exactly the best way to end up with a comfortable job aboard a UHF Recruitment ship, after all. But somehow, one lucky break after another—combined with her natural talent for tech, logistics, and inventory—had slowly carried her here. 

Even now, she still sometimes had trouble believing just how it had all happened.

‘Best part?’ she thought with a smirk, ‘The job’s not even hard! All I gotta do is remember some basic weapon specs and be able to explain them without sounding stupid. Anyone could probably manage it if they actually just gave a shit.’

Sure, maybe she could build most of the weapons from Abundant Ammunitions from scratch, given the right parts and equipment—probably a little more skilled than your average store clerk—but it really wasn’t anything special.

‘Easy stuff once you get used to it, really…’

Shaking her head to clear those wandering thoughts, Peria refocused on the giant datascreen on the wall of her room. 

Buying that massive screen had been her first real splurge after getting her first paycheck; the tiny, cramped datascreen the room originally came with had quickly proven inadequate for enjoying the Assessment highlights—something she’d realized during her very first quarterly Assessment aboard the Sovereign.

Her current fascination? All those fresh new Recruits, obviously.

New Recruit batches only showed up once every half-year or sometimes even three-quarters of a year, depending on where the Sovereign was at the time, so the first Assessment for any fresh batch of Marines was always amazing entertainment.

One thing had become crystal clear about this particular Assessment, though: It was an absolute data bloom of a drive. The sheer amount of incredible clips, highlights, and exciting footage from the recent Recruits was far beyond anything Peria had ever seen before—and she was positive that they hadn’t even come close to processing most of the Assessment footage yet.

Unlike previous Assessments she’d seen aboard the Sovereign, something was definitely seriously different this time around. Usually, the first few days after an Assessment were immediately filled with exciting highlights from the various Alpha Squads. 

The UHF propaganda machine always liked to gradually build excitement over the first few days and weeks—usually depending on how long it took to reach the next supply stop—to keep everyone aboard the ship entertained until new entertainment could be loaded.

But there were always some early teasers and clips from the various Alpha Squad from the sector’s Recruitment Ships, since there wasn’t really enough amazing footage of your run-of-the-mill Recruits to keep that gradual hype up.

This time, though? Not a single Alpha Squad had even appeared in the initial clips for days. 

Instead, the screens had been completely dominated by clips featuring non-Alpha Squad Recruits. Beta Squads, some of the funky-named Squads that rarely ever saw the light-of-day in the post-Assessment breakdowns, and many more like it.

It wasn’t until yesterday—five whole days after the Assessment had ended—that she had even gotten to see the current Sovereign’s Alpha Squad in action. She hadn’t even known their names or faces until just around 30 hours ago! 

‘Absolutely unreal… Usually it takes just a few hours before Alpha Squad footage hits the screens,’ she mused, eyes still glued to the datascreen. ‘Taking five entire days? That’s fucking unheard of…’

But honestly? It had been worth every second of the wait.

Just like the rest of the Recruits in this drive, the Alpha Squads had been part of the same insane data bloom. 

Especially the Sovereign’s own Alpha Squad. 

They’d stood out like a beacon in an already overstuffed highlight reel of madness.

Peria had never really cared much for the whole “ship pride” thing. 

Plenty of her coworkers loved to argue about whose Recruitment ship had the best Recruits—throwing stats and personal bias at each other like it was a sport—with their fellow co-workers on other ships during supply stops, but she’d always stayed out of it. 

Never felt the pull. 

Until now.

There was just something about this group. Something wild and raw and stupidly good. 

Watching their first proper appearance during that infiltration op on Nova Tertius had lit a fire in her that she hadn’t even realized could be there. The tension in the air during the clip had been insane—every second felt like it was dragging her lungs tighter and tighter. 

She’d honestly almost passed out from holding her breath too long without realizing.

And then came the escape.

A stolen vehicle. Multiple hostiles in pursuit. Chaos in every direction. 

The entire squad leaping from the car—and the Sniper, that absolute lunatic, turned around and deleted the chasing vehicles with a Caliburn that looked like it had been ripped out of a damn tank factory.

‘Not sure how the fuck she got her hands on a T2 weapon before the first Assessment even rolled around, but fuck me if that shit wasn’t hype…!’

It was full-blown cinematic perfection. Peak drama. Real stakes. Real skill. And that sniper? 

She’d already become a fan-favorite on most of the internal boards Peria frequented ever since that highlight video had gone live yesterday. 

The frame-perfect timing of that shot was still getting clipped, slowed down, and analyzed.

‘And two of them are Mid-worlders too…! How could I not root for them?!’ she grinned. Watching them felt weirdly personal now—like their wins were her wins, somehow.

Thinking about the highlight video made Peria want to re-watch it for the N-th time again, so she quickly navigated to her saved favourites and pulled it up without a second thought.

But just as the clip was about to start playing, her datapad—resting innocently on the coffee table—flared to life with a sudden burst of blinding crimson light. A blaring, warbling siren followed a half-second later, echoing through the room like an air-raid alert.

Peria yelped at the sudden noise and instinctively launched herself backward off the couch, flipping in pure panic and smacking the back of her head against the cold, hard floor with a heavy thunk.

“Ouch! Fuck!” she groaned, hands immediately flying up to cradle her skull as the siren continued its banshee wail without remorse. Still half-winded and sprawled on the floor, she blinked up at the crimson wash bleeding across her ceiling, heart pounding like it was trying to punch its way out of her chest.

Still rubbing the back of her head, Peria scrambled onto her knees and lunged over the back of the couch, desperately clawing at the datapad to silence its shrieking alarm.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up—!" she hissed, frantically swiping at the notification before it finally fell silent. "What the actual fuck is going on…?"

Her eyes quickly scanned the message glowing on the datapad, irritation swiftly replaced by confusion, then disbelief, and finally a deep-seated dread.

It was a corporate alert. From Abundant Ammunitions. Addressed directly to her.

"Immediate attendance required at customer-facing storefront, Tier 1 Shopping Deck. Priority: VIP Consultation."

She froze, mouth agape, heart hammering in her chest.

"VIP consultation…? You’ve gotta be fucking shitting me… Is this a joke…?" She breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her eyes frantically devoured the rest of the message, each line intensifying her growing anxiety.

"Due to the extremely sensitive nature of VIP consultations, you are required to read the attached briefing en-route. Any refusal, tardiness, or failure to comply with VIP-handling regulations will result in immediate contract termination."

Her skin went ice-cold. 

Contract termination wasn’t just some slap on the wrist—it was a full-on wipe of your professional life. 

She’d lose all access to the ship, get dragged to the internal “holding area” like a piece of faulty cargo, and be stuck there until the next scheduled supply stop. From there, she’d be off-loaded like trash, dumped at whatever half-forgotten outpost or station happened to be next on the route. 

No payout, no compensation for the years she’d already put in, no way to argue her case.

And worst of all—blacklisted. Permanently. 

No UHF-related corporate job listings, no transfers, no nothing. 

She’d be cut off from the entire corporate network like she never existed. 

Just some washed-out ex-clerk abandoned gods-know-how-many lightyears from anywhere she recognized, broke, jobless, and stuck with a datapad full of rejection messages—if she even got to keep the datapad, which was a big if.

The thought made her stomach turn.

And then there was the whole VIP Consultation thing. 

She’d never been called in for something like that. Not once. Not even close.

She hadn’t even fucking heard of anyone who actually had—just secondhand stories passed around in breakrooms from veteran coworkers who swore up and down that their roommate’s cousin’s ex-partner had gotten pulled in one time. 

According to those stories, a single VIP consultation could make your entire damn career. 

Permanent position offers, promotion tracks, off-world contracts with triple pay and ten times the security clearance.

She always thought it was a bunch of glorified mythmaking.

But now? It was her name on the damn alert! Her datapad flashing crimson!

"Why me? Why today?!" she muttered in disbelief, scrambling off the couch and practically sprinting into the bathroom. 

She splashed water onto her face in a desperate attempt to erase any trace of lazy-day-off vibes, hastily brushing her hair into a semi-professional ponytail with shaking hands.

"Shit, shit, shit, fuck, shit!" She repeated like a mantra, tugging on her company uniform as fast as her trembling limbs allowed. 

She stumbled out of the bathroom, still hopping awkwardly into her boots mid-run.

Snatching the datapad off the coffee table mid-sprint, Peria shot out of her room like a bullet, heart slamming in her chest, adrenaline kicking her system into overdrive. She didn’t even bother locking the door—just made a beeline down the corridor, already thumbing through the briefing attachment while her feet carried her toward the instant-access door at the far end of the hallway.

It was a private shortcut, linking the staff dorms directly to the back of Abundant Ammunitions’ storefront—effectively teleporting inside the Sovereign’s DDS by stepping through a door. 

Only a handful of positions in the store had them, and hers was one of the lucky few. 

Something to do with the store’s long-standing partnership with the UHF or whatever line of corporate speak they’d sold it as. 

Peria had never really cared—until now.

As she skimmed the briefing, her eyes caught the name field, and she damn near tripped over her own feet.

“Her?!” The sound tore out of her throat like a broken squeaker toy, way too loud and way too high-pitched to be anything close to dignified.

Her gaze darted back to the datapad to double-check, but the name didn’t change.

VIP: Recruit Thea McKay – 2-Star MVM (Assessment #1 – Recruitment Drive PFC 943 Kuigon Sector)

The name glared back at her like it was mocking her personally.

Her brain short-circuited for a full second before kicking into frantic motion. ‘Why in the Void’s eternal fucking emptiness would Thea fucking McKay need a VIP consult? From me?!’

It had to be a joke. Some elaborate setup. Her coworkers were assholes, sure, but this was next-level.

‘This is a prank. This has got to be a prank. Kenim's behind this, I just know it! That smug, troll-faced bastard probably roped Alten into it too—he’d do anything for a laugh if it meant making someone else squirm. They hijacked a notification script or something, sent it to my pad while I'm on my day off... Classic!’

She clutched the datapad tighter as she raced on, but the name still didn’t go away.

‘Please let it be a fucking prank,’ she thought again, even as her gut twisted with the certainty that it wasn’t. The briefing was just way too detailed—layered with spec sheets, timestamped logs, and internal routing signatures. 

No way Kenim or anyone else could’ve faked that. 

Not without getting fired. Or airlocked.

Her eyes kept scanning, and bit by bit, the pieces started falling into place. By the time she hit the last third of the briefing, she finally understood why she’d been tapped for this.

“...Also gonna want to review the weapon’s thermal dissipation methods and material composition—carbon polycomposites or lightweight alloys, preferably with vibration dampening if available. And whatever System Material components are inside them as well, if the spec sheets can tell me.”

Peria blinked, then grinned wide enough to hurt.

‘She knows what she’s talking about!’

It all made perfect sense now. 

Most of the front-facing staff were just there for their looks or their sales pitch—they could recite buzzwords and match a weapon to a general role, sure, but the moment a customer asked about something like heat sinks, pulse latency, or composite density curves, they’d short-circuit faster than a bargain-bin drone.

‘Of course they called me in. They damn-well had to. Nobody else here reads the damn spec sheets, let alone understands them. One customer shows up who actually knows what she’s looking for and suddenly the rest of the team’s looking around like someone just asked them to solve the universal equation on a napkin... Fucking typical.’

She skidded to a stop at the instant-access door, barely giving herself a second to breathe before it whooshed open and she stepped through, pulling her straight into the back corridors of the Tier 1 storefront.

The familiar scent of oil, composite polymers and the faint ozone tang of high-energy weapon housing hit her immediately. The backroom wasn’t just for storage but also for tune-up and repairs, giving it that uniquely exhilarating smell Peria loved so much.

She inhaled sharply, trying to steady her breath after the sprint, then exhaled slowly to calm the pounding in her chest. Her hands went up to fix her hair again—still damp from her rushed bathroom routine—smoothing down any flyaways she could catch without a mirror.

She was already flipping open the guidelines attachment for the third time before she even realized it, eyes darting through the bullets and highlighted fields. 

She remembered most of it from her orientation days—nearly three years ago now—but she wasn’t about to rely on half-formed memories when her entire future was on the line.

One slip, one dumb mistake—even just one missed greeting protocol—and this whole thing could go sideways faster than she could even realize what was happening.

“No breaking eye contact too early. No interrupting. No slang unless mirrored. Don’t upsell unless prompted. Don’t assume familiarity. Don’t offer handshakes unless initiated. Don’t…”

There were a lot of don’ts.

She swallowed hard.

“You can do this, Peria. Just an excited tech-nerd like you, looking for someone who actually gives a shit about power supplies and weapon heat profiles. Nothing to get nervous about. Not like the woman you’re about to talk to could probably crush your skull in one hand like a damp fruit without even flexing. Not like she owns a weapon that’s worth more than my entire life in Credits, one that can vaporize a P-37 Armoured Transport in a single shot. And she’s definitely not the single most valuable Recruit the UHF’s ever had, right? Just another techie, like you. Totally normal. Totally casual…”

Her voice trailed off halfway through the pep talk, realizing she wasn’t doing herself any favors. ‘Alright, yeah. Definitely time to stop talking; just get to it…’

She took one last deep breath, bracing herself, then stepped through the service entrance and into the customer-facing part of the store.

Immediately, she was hit with the change in atmosphere, like she had walked into a solid wall. 

No robot clerks in-sight. All gone. As per protocol, every last one had been quietly replaced with real human staff. 

Every single customer had long been quietly removed from the premises and the store temporarily closed as the VIP had been marked as preferring a “quiet shopping environment at all times”.

She clocked five coworkers posted across the showroom—some subtly pretending to organize displays, others just standing close enough to intervene if needed. 

Zandra. Felin. Two others she didn’t even recognize, likely from another shift. 

And Kenim, of course. The bastard himself, hauling around a crate of ammo like he had a single useful bone in his body, pretending to be busy, as per protocol.

Peria made a beeline for the front desk, where the VIP was supposed to be waiting, locking eyes with each coworker as she passed. 

None of them looked calm. 

In fact, every single one of them looked like they were on the verge of pissing themselves.

Zandra gave her a tiny nod and a mouthed, “Good luck, Peri,” which was appreciated—but also made her stomach twist even tighter.

Then there was Kenim. Oh, Kenim. She’d been hoping—begging, really—for the finger-guns. 

That smug little grin he always wore when one of his pranks landed just right and he was revealing how he had managed to get you once again. 

That slight tilt of his head that said, ‘gotcha!’

But there was nothing.

No grin. No finger-guns. Just a blank, haunted stare, like he’d just witnessed a good friend get mulched by a miscalibrated loader frame.

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ken. Really. Just… fucking fantastic.’

Turning the corner around the last row of displays that blocked the front desk from view, Peria nearly tripped over her own feet the moment she laid eyes on the VIP.

‘Holy fuck, she’s a fucking giant…!’ That was her first thought—followed immediately by the realization that it was total nonsense.

Sure, Thea McKay looked tall right then and there, maybe fifteen centimeters taller than Peria at most, but she wasn’t exactly towering compared to some of the other Integrated Marines. 

Even Kenim was taller. Zandra too, now that she thought about it. And they weren’t even Integrated, like herself.

But none of that really mattered.

‘It’s the presence… That’s what’s messing with me, isn’t it…?’

In the videos, standing next to the rest of Alpha Squad, Thea had always looked… small. 

Exceedingly so. 

Sharp and lethal, yeah, but small nevertheless. Next to Lucas or Isabella, she practically disappeared. But now, in person, it was completely different. 

She wasn’t just tall—she felt tall. 

Like she took up more space than she should’ve. Like the air bent around her in a weird way.

‘She’s absolutely massive for a mid-worlder! Fuck me sideways…’

Weirdly, the sheer absurdity of her reaction helped Peria get a grip. 

It grounded her somehow—reminded her that Thea was a person, not a System Interface notification or a myth.

Taking a careful breath, Peria made sure to let her boots make just enough sound on the polished floor to be clearly heard—training protocol for approaching customers, especially ones as potentially high-strung as the average Marine. 

No sudden appearances. No surprises. That was rule one.

She headed straight for the front desk and threw on her best customer-service smile.

“Apologies for the delay, Holman,” she said, keeping her tone polite and level. “I heard there was a customer requiring assistance?”

Corporate theater. That’s what this was. There was one customer in the entire damn store.
No one in their right mind could miss the reason she’d been summoned.

“Ah, Peria. Perfect. Thanks for heading over so quickly,” Holman replied, his own smile looking about as real as a wet paper prop. He gestured with just a hint of flair, like they were rehearsing a script for a play no one wanted to be in.

‘We’re seriously doing this whole song-and-dance? She’s right there, like three meters away! What are we even pretending for?!’

“Peria, this is Recruit Thea McKay, with the UHF Marine Corps,” Holman said, maintaining the charade. “She had a more specific request that I thought fell more into your area of expertise. If you’d be so kind as to handle the rest of the customer’s needs, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Peria replied, giving a small, respectful bow—just enough to fulfill protocol without going overboard. Then she finally turned to the woman herself.

“Welcome to Abundant Ammunitions, Miss McKay. How may I help you today?”

That was the exact moment Peria’s heart fell into her stomach.

Because she saw it—the wince. 

The unmistakable twitch of someone trying very hard not to react to something they utterly hated. Thea’s expression had just barely shifted, but the cringe was real.

‘Oh fuck. What did I do?!’

In her mind’s eye, she watched her career explode into flames and contract termination letters fall like confetti. Her hands were already clammy.

“Just Thea… please,” the woman said, a little stiff. More hesitant than Peria had expected. Maybe even unsure.

Thea McKay. Uncertain?

Peria blinked, the mental image wobbling in her mind. Maybe this wasn’t going to be what she thought it was.

“Ah, my sincerest apologies!” Peria immediately replied, adding another bow purely out of reflex—which instantly resulted in another barely-hidden cringe from Thea.

‘Fuck! What am I even doing? Does she already hate me?!’ she panicked inside, even though her face remained calm and professional.

“Ehh… It’s okay, really,” Thea replied, shifting awkwardly. “I was just looking for some specific weapons…? They told me you might be able to help?”

The hesitation practically poured from every word, causing Peria’s heart rate to spike even higher.

‘Okay, this is your chance, Peria! Don’t fuck this up more than you already have…’

Taking a quick breath, she tried to regain her composure, desperately hoping that talking about the tech might salvage the entire situation. “Yes! Right. I was briefed on my way here. I believe you were interested in hybrid-type weapons, specifically laser-based combinations, correct?”

Thea visibly perked up at that. “Yeah, exactly. Do you have something like that around?”

Peria’s heart soared a little at seeing the genuine spark of interest. ‘Maybe there’s still hope!’

“Based on your request to review thermal dissipation methods, vibration dampening tech, and System Material integrations, I’d definitely say we have a few suitable options. If you’d kindly follow me real quick, Thea,” Peria said, gesturing warmly and moving toward the back of the store.

She did her best to hurry without looking like she was outright running, as Thea’s longer stride easily kept pace with her brisk steps. They quickly reached a more secluded corner marked with subtle, sleek signage designating it as the experimental and prototype section.

With practiced ease, Peria grabbed a datapad and swiftly typed in the code for the first weapon she had in mind, then handed the datapad to Thea with a graceful two-handed gesture.

“I’ll bring out the weapon for you right away. In the meantime, I’ve pulled up the full technical breakdown, including detailed material composition, internal mechanisms, and manufacturing specifications you requested.”

Thea accepted the datapad, and within moments, her face brightened dramatically, as if someone had just turned on a spotlight inside her.

‘Jackpot!’ Peria cheered internally, feeling her confidence immediately return. ‘She’s a total tech nerd! I knew it!’

Now practically beaming inside, Peria quickly retrieved the weapon from the rack nearby and carefully handed it over to Thea.

“This is the ARK-004 by Frontier Armaments. It doesn’t have an official name yet since it’s early in prototyping, but it’s a Ballistic-Laser hybrid. Specifically…”

Feeling emboldened by Thea’s visible excitement, Peria dove deeper into the weapon’s details than she normally would have, recalling everything she’d read from the briefing about Thea’s interests. 

She enthusiastically described the ARK-004’s thermal exchange system, explained its specialized cooling channels, and pointed out exactly how the laser’s focusing array was integrated into the reinforced alloy barrel.

The more Peria talked, the brighter Thea’s expression became. 

Soon they were interacting directly, Thea eagerly leaning in as Peria demonstrated how to switch between firing modes, how the internal cycling mechanism smoothly transitioned from ballistic rounds to laser bursts, and even helping her partially disassemble the weapon to inspect the precision-crafted internal components.

As minutes passed and they spoke animatedly, Peria gradually forgot she was talking to and interacting with a VIP at all. Instead, she felt like she was chatting with someone who got it—just another tech enthusiast who genuinely loved geeking out about new equipment and exploring how it worked.

Despite the intimidating height difference, the fact Thea was an Integrated Marine and the literal MVM of the last Assessment, or even the enormous gap in their positions within the galaxy as a whole, they found themselves strangely connected. 

They were both mid-worlders who’d somehow landed aboard the Sovereign against all odds. Both genuinely cared more about how things worked, rather than simply if they worked, a seemingly rare trait aboard the ship.

In that moment, Peria felt less like an employee desperately trying not to ruin her life, and more like she’d unexpectedly found someone who actually spoke her language.

Soon enough, they were both crouched at the weapon bench in the back, partially disassembling the rifle piece by piece. Thea pointed out something interesting about the chamber geometry; Peria responded by showing her a different model that handled venting a bit better.

The back-and-forth continued for almost an hour as both of them got completely absorbed in the joy of taking apart something complicated—just to see how it worked…

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[Wolf Lord+ | Draft] Volume 2 - Chapter 36 - Names

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------------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) -------------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Welcome to the draft release of Volume 2 - Chapter 36 - Names for y'all.

As always, a quick reminder that this chapter is still in the process of being workshopped by me and that this is simply the first-draft.

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[Experimental Chapter Notice! Trying stuff out in this one.]

Also: I will personally kill anyone that dislikes this chapter.

Also: Absolutely monster-chongus of a chapter.

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I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the link to the chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1XdmGFtSIn8CSKGnq-wG9y9yOfrFnWyvBbbSbTju8_Jc/edit?usp=sharing

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Volume 2 - Chapter 36 - Names

“"It’s not the Marines on the front line that win us wars. It’s the faceless clerk punching in license codes on a three-shift rotation. It’s the hauler pilot who hasn’t left their rig in two months. It’s the refinery tech who doesn't even know what a Mag-Rail casing is, but still ships out ten billion of them every week. That’s where wars are fought. In bulk orders and unpaid overtime.”
— Marshal Renk Tavros, Strategic Oversight Division, PFC 933”

The UHF economy runs on three things: Credits, Contracts, and Compliance.

While the Integrated Marines bear the weight of UHF glory, the very spine of the war machine remains firmly in the hands of the Unintegrated members of our society. 

They are the clerks, the loaders, the miners and machinists—contractors who signed their names onto dotted lines with the same weight as blood.

The best example of this? The very weapons sold to our Marines are rarely UHF-made. 

They’re produced by mega-corps operating from fringe-worlds, manufactured in facilities run by civilians who’ll never know their name was printed onto a crate that changed the outcome of the galactic war. 

Every railgun, every smart-mine, every chassis stamped with a part number—born from a line of laborers barely protected by law, but absolutely bound by contract.

The ammunition we fire? A small percentage is printed, yes, but the vast majority is created by factory crews who’ve never seen a battlefield.

Supply routes? Kept running by freight-jockeys who’ll never know if the crates they hauled fed soldiers, fueled dropships, or just kept a data-server online for another week.

The store clerks offering loadout advice, selling prototype licenses, and cataloguing power cell shipments in the dead of night? They're the unspoken engine. 

Most are Unintegrated, bound to their employers through exploitative contracts written by corp-lawyers fluent in loopholes and ironclad clauses. 

They cannot leave. They cannot negotiate. 

They cannot even ask for help, because the contracts they sign with the Allbright System prevent them from speaking about their work to anyone not similarly initiated.

Many don’t even finish their terms—“premature termination” is a tidy euphemism we use to describe abandonment on a random station, disappearances, or worse.

These Unintegrated workers exist in a legal grayzone. 

Once hired, they often can't leave their stations. And yet they still aren’t guaranteed work.

Corporations terminate early. Contractors vanish mid-shift. And no one checks. 

Not because we don’t care, but because we can’t care. 

The UHF simply lacks the capacity to monitor every logistics hub across our space. We’d collapse under the weight of oversight before a single gun left port.

And yet, we need them. 

Without the exploitation—without the mandatory evil—the war stops. 

No shipments. No replacements. No munitions. No victory.

Would we prefer better treatment for our Unintegrated contractors? Absolutely. 

But hope doesn't ship plasma cores. Good ethics don’t keep the front supplied...

"Freedom is a luxury bought by the shackled. Never forget who paid your fare."
— Stenciled graffiti outside UHF Supply Hub 4B, Toran IV

=======

=======

“…And right here is where they honestly messed up with the design, if you were to ask me,” the clerk said, her voice animated as she pointed to a seemingly harmless weld seam along the rifle’s internal chassis. To Thea’s eye, it looked perfectly fine—clean even—but the clerk shook her head. “Welds are fine, don't get me wrong. But this section? It should've been accounted for in the initial frame mold! Instead, they slapped it on as a patch-job. That creates stress concentration points. Over time, with repeated thermal cycling and recoil pressure? Microfractures. Guaranteed.”

She grabbed her data-pad again—her fingers already moving in muscle memory after how many times she’d done it by now—and pulled up another set of schematics, incident logs, and defect stats. 

With a practiced motion, she handed the pad over to Thea.

“Check this out. Seventeen percent of all reported defects on this model originate in this exact zone. Not the weld itself, mind you—but the surrounding alloy. Heat-affected zone wasn’t properly normalized post-weld. Poor metallurgical follow-through. That’s seventeen percent of breakdowns that literally wouldn’t exist if the design was just finalized as a unified chassis to begin with. Classic case of modular laziness.”

Thea couldn’t stop grinning. She hadn't stopped for the past hour.

It wasn’t just the info dump—it was how passionately the woman delivered it. 

There was a spark in her tone, that nerdy mix of frustration and excitement only someone who really cared could conjure. 

And she got it. Not in some half-baked, surface-level way. 

She understood. Deeply.

This was what Thea had been missing all this time back on Lumiosia. 

No one to talk shop with. No one who’d get excited over thermal load distribution, capacitive recoil dampeners, or the dumb design decisions of mid-tier weapons manufacturers.

They’d been at this for over an hour now—jumping between different rifles, breaking down hybrid weapons, disassembling internal assemblies with the clerk's practiced ease. Every part, every discussion, every shared glance over a particularly idiotic design choice had just made Thea more absorbed.

And the clerk… she wasn’t just knowledgeable. 

She was brilliant. 

Like Karania, but instead of blood and bone, it was carbon-alloys and capacitor stacks. A walking archive of field reports, design revisions, and obscure prototype specs.

‘She’s like the Kara of weaponry…’ Thea thought again, not for the first time. ‘No wonder they called her in when I asked for specifics. There’s no way this is normal—she’s gotta be the best they’ve got. I wonder if other stores have someone like this… or if this is just an Abundant Ammunitions thing?’

They were already in the wrap-up phase of their deep-dive by now—Thea had squeezed about as much intel out of this as she realistically could in the time she had. 

Between the spec breakdowns, hands-on demos, and the clerk’s almost encyclopedic knowledge, she’d managed to build a solid foundation to start figuring out her next steps.

With the clerk’s help, she’d narrowed things down to three hybrid weapons that hit the right mix of functionality and design. All three had elements she wanted to study more in-depth—features that might influence what her future weapon loadout would look like, depending on how she chose to adapt her style.

They went over the last weapon in front of them for another ten minutes, trading thoughts on chamber tolerances and trigger latencies, before the clerk clicked it back together with that same easy flow she’d been showing all day—like she’d taken this exact rifle apart in her sleep thousands of times.

With the session wrapped up, Thea let herself be guided back to the front of the store. 

And of course, right on cue, the regular crew of robot clerks had returned, standing in perfect symmetrical rows behind the counters like nothing had happened. She felt a small, mixed twinge about it—part elation at how lucky she’d been to get a proper one-on-one, part annoyance that the timing had worked out in this way and she had been forced to interact with people at all, when all she had wanted was to read some spec sheets.

‘Figures… Maintenance cycle ends the second I’m done shopping. But I can’t really complain. If the bots had been running earlier, I’d have missed out on the lesson entirely…’ she thought, sneaking a glance at the small woman walking beside her.

As they approached the front desk, Thea recognized the same guy manning it from earlier—though she hadn’t exactly bothered to remember his name. 

He gave a polite nod as the clerk beside her spoke up.

“So, would you like to secure some of the licenses for the models we looked at, Thea?” she asked, peering up at her.

“Yeah, I think so,” Thea replied, voice steady. “I really think the laser-refraction assemblies on the VH-02 ‘Viron’, the ballistic chambering and firing flow on the PH-55 ‘Phora’, and the magnet synchronization network of the MH-1 ‘Maltek’ are the best starting points for me. I want to dive into those more before making any major changes to my own setup.”

She’d mulled it over while they talked, cross-referencing the clerk’s insights with her own experiences—by now, she was solid on the decision. That confidence, however, wobbled a little as she saw the clerk’s expression twist into one of deep, thoughtful concentration.

“Hmm…” she hummed, pulling out her data-pad again and flicking through files at rapid speed.

Out of the corner of her eye, Thea caught the guy behind the counter shoot the clerk a look that practically screamed, “What the fuck are you doing?!” before smoothing his expression back into customer-service neutrality so fast it was downright impressive.

“Honestly, I don’t think those would be your best options, Thea,” the clerk finally said, after a thoughtful pause. She handed the data-pad back to Thea, who immediately leaned in to see what the clerk had prepared instead.

“While you’re definitely correct that those three would offer some great insights into their specialized functions, I think the selection I just gave you might actually be a better fit overall,” the clerk continued, already swiping through the data-pad screens to bring up two entirely different weapons. “First is the IH-333 Ingam, made by Dominion Armoury. It’s a Laser-Ballistic hybrid sniper rifle. The second is the NH-XE Nilfar from Vanguard Armaments, a Gauss-Ballistic hybrid DMR.”

The clerk paused briefly to point out key features on each weapon’s spec sheet. “You’ll find basically all the important features you wanted to look at from the other three right here—and for significantly fewer Credits. You might not get quite as deep of a dive into every single little detail, but at your current skill level, focusing your attention on fewer areas in depth might be a better way to approach things. Once you really have a solid grasp on these, you’ll know exactly what questions to ask the Sovereign’s database if you still need more details.”

Thea nodded slowly, the clerk’s reasoning quickly clicking into place in her mind. 

Checking the data-pad again, she saw that the weapons suggested really did have everything she wanted to learn about.

“You know what? You’re right,” Thea finally agreed, quickly adding the two recommended weapons to her shopping list alongside the Gram variants and attachments already waiting there. “Thanks for pointing that out. Definitely would’ve missed that on my own. Really appreciate you taking the time to help me out.”

The clerk gave a polite bow, making Thea wince a little on the inside. 

That whole overly-formal ‘you are the honored one’ act still felt damn awkward, no matter how common it was in customer-facing roles and she replied warmly, “It was my pleasure. If there’s anything else you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Thea briefly considered if there was anything else, but quickly realized she’d accomplished everything she came here to do. “Nah, I think I’m good. Thanks again for all the help.”

She glanced at her shopping list again and immediately balked at the total price, though she swiftly rationalized it away.

‘It’s an investment, Thea. Unspent Credits are worthless. "Credits not invested into something might as well not exist," like the Old Man used to say.’

Still, she decided to be smart about it, applying two of the 60%-off Vouchers from the Assessment Awards to the hybrid weapons, and her 50%-off Voucher to one of the Gram variants. 

After all, while unspent Credits were worthless, wasting them unnecessarily wasn’t exactly smart either.

‘Unspent Credits are future investment Credits too,’ she reminded herself.

[Full Licence: IH-333 ‘Ingam’ - 6,545 2,618 System Credits.] - 60%-Off Voucher Applied.
[Full Licence: NH-XE ‘Nilfar’ - 5,825 2,330 System Credits.] - 60%-Off Voucher Applied.
[Full Licence: X-27R-G ‘Gram’ - 4,615 2,308 System Credits.] - 50%-Off Voucher Applied.
[Full Licence: X-27R-R ‘Gram’ - 4,485 System Credits.]
[Collapsed List: Attachments for X-27R line weaponry - 2,985 System Credits.]
[Collapsed List: Attachments for X-27R line weaponry: 9 Entries.] [Expand?]

[Total Price: 14,726 System Credits.]

[Accepting this transaction will automatically deduct the System Credits from your profile and grant the listed items to it.]

Thea double-checked the list one last time, expanding the list of attachments for the Gram variants as well, just to make sure she wasn’t missing anything important, before mentally confirming the purchases.

[System]: 14,726 System Credits have been debited from your profile for your purchase at "Abundant Ammunitions".

‘Surprisingly cheap, all things considered,’ she thought with a smirk, watching the final tally process. ‘Those vouchers really came in clutch. Glad I snagged a bunch from the Awards… absolute lifesavers.’

She handed the data-pad back toward the ever-helpful clerk and gave her a nod. “Thanks again for the help. Really appreciate it. I ended up learning way more than I expected to, just walking in here.”

“It was my pleasure, Thea,” the woman replied with another polite bow—store policy, as Thea suspected by now.

With the transaction done and her haul secured, Thea turned to head for the exit… only to hesitate mid-step as her eyes caught the reflection of movement through the glass near the front.

A small crowd had gathered just outside the store.

‘Oh, come on. What is it with stores and crowds today…?’

Before she could even decide how to navigate around it, the clerk smoothly stepped into her path, arms spread slightly as if to physically block the way forward. 

“Ah! If you’d be so kind as to follow me one last time, Thea,” she said, tone calm and practiced. “I’ll show you to the side-exit—so you don’t have to deal with all that, if you’d prefer.”

Thea blinked, then let out a short laugh. “Yeah. That would be great, actually.”

She followed as the clerk led her back through the same rear corridor they’d used earlier, this time turning down a narrow branching hallway tucked behind a nondescript maintenance hatch. 

They emerged through a security-marked door into a tight service alley wedged between Abundant Ammunitions and whatever store sat next to it—she didn’t bother checking.

“Appreciate the detour,” Thea said, giving the clerk a small nod before stepping fully into the alley.

She pulled her hood up over her head, tugging it low enough to cast her eyes into shadow. Universal law: people didn’t question hooded figures. 

Unless they were cops. 

Or gangers. 

Or just the sort of people who had a bad habit of getting into other people’s business.

Still, it helped.

‘Alright, time to get to the System Store and meet up with Kara… Hope she’s not too angry I’m late,’ Thea thought with a slight worry in her chest, before darting out of the alley…

—

“I Augmented my armour—that’s an option, by the way—added a new Module Slot and the Auto-Injector for the Focus Boosters we talked about. Also grabbed a few weapon licenses to mess around with. Nothing too fancy, though; I’ll need some experience before I really settle on what I want,” Thea recounted eagerly to Karania, who was busy scrolling through a data screen at the System Store.

Karania smiled warmly, clearly attentive despite her multitasking. “Glad you managed to find what you were after, Thea. Did some shopping of my own too. Got Full-Licenses for all my gear, a bunch of medical supplies—including a ton that a certain someone required a whole lot of during the Assessment—Oh, and I grabbed those Focus Boosters you asked for.”

She handed one of her bags over to Thea, giving her a pointed look. “Remember, no more than two at a time. We talked about this, yeah?”

“Promise!” Thea nodded enthusiastically. “Honestly doubt I’ll even use them at all. But with the new Ability I picked up, it’s better to have them ready if things go south than get stuck without any options.”

“Fair point,” Karania chuckled, satisfied. “So, what’s first on your list here?”

“Abilities. Want to fill my slots properly first. Got a few Passives left open and I definitely wanna replace one of my Actives. I’ve got ideas, but we’ll have to see what’s actually available here… And Skills, obviously—oh shit! Kara! I met someone super cool!” Thea suddenly blurted out, remembering her time spent with the clerk at Abundant Ammunitions as a result of her talk about Skills. A good chunk of the Skills she wanted to work on were directly related to what she had learned over the past hour-and-a-half, after all.

Karania turned fully toward Thea now, her eyebrows raised with obvious interest. “Oh?”

“This clerk at Abundant Ammunitions! Kara, she was awesome! I went in to find hybrid weapons with specific specs, right? But there were no Robot Clerks anywhere—maintenance time for all of them, apparently. Lucky me, huh? So I had to talk to the human front-desk guy, who called in an expert for me. And she was seriously so fucking smart! Like, imagine a version of you, but for weapon tech instead of medical stuff!” Thea eagerly recounted the experience, enthusiastically describing how they’d spent more than an hour tearing apart weapons, discussing design details and tech specifics.

“That does sound pretty amazing,” Karania agreed when Thea finally slowed down enough to breathe. She tilted her head slightly, a curious expression forming. “Though you keep calling her ‘woman’ or ‘clerk’… Does she not have a name…?”

Thea froze at the question, her excitement instantly replaced by confusion and embarrassment. “Ehh… She didn’t mention one…?”

Karania’s gaze sharpened into a pointed stare, making Thea shift uncomfortably. After a few seconds of silence, she finally spoke again. “And… you didn’t bother to ask…?”

“I…” Thea stammered, scrambling for an excuse. “It didn’t seem important at the time!”

Karania let out a long, exhausted sigh and palmed her face. “You do realize you could’ve just asked for her again next time you visited, if you knew her name, right? Saying ‘that woman who helped me’ isn’t gonna cut it in a store that sees tens of thousands of Marines pass through. They’re not gonna remember who ‘that woman’ is, Thea.”

Thea’s eyes widened as the obvious realization hit her like a truck. “Fuck…”

She hadn’t even thought about that.

“And let’s not forget,” Karania added with a raised eyebrow, twisting the knife, “you could’ve just asked for her contact ID as well. You know, so you could actually reach out during your own research? Ask questions, bounce stuff off her. Unless she didn’t want to, sure—but from how you described her? Sounded like she’d be thrilled to talk shop with another full-blown tech gremlin like yourself.”

A knot twisted in Thea’s stomach. That was a massive opportunity she’d just let slip.

“I… I can do that? Just ask for that kinda stuff…?” she muttered, looking at Karania like she’d just revealed some ancient secret.

Another long sigh. “Yes, Thea. Yes, you can. You can literally just ask people their names and contact IDs. It’s not illegal, it’s not weird, it’s just basic social interaction. Worst-case scenario? They say no. That’s it. You don’t spontaneously combust or get court-martialed or anything. It’s really not that hard or big of a deal to people.”

Thea had never done anything like that before—her default was to quietly absorb and vanish or answer when asked herself—but thinking about it now, it did sound kind of… obvious. 

Other people did literally ask her about this kind of stuff, after all, so why wouldn’t she be able to do the same? It made complete sense.

And it wasn’t like Karania had ever lied to her about this kind of stuff before.

“You think I can still run back and ask…?” she ventured.

“Sure, why not?” Karania shrugged. “As long as you don’t wait, like, two days or something. But considering how many Credits you just dumped there, I’d bet they remember you. It's only been what, half an hour?”

“!!!” Thea practically bounced on her toes at that. “Kara, don’t move! I’ll be back in five minutes! Don’t. Move.” She shouted the last bit over her shoulder as she bolted out of the store, almost plowing through a squad of Marines heading in, but twisting out of the way just in time—leaving a trail of startled curses behind her.

She could’ve sworn she heard Karania mutter something like, “Why is she such an idiot sometimes…” but she was already gone. 

She had a mission.

—

“Hi, yes—it’s me again,” Thea announced as she marched up to the front desk of Abundant Ammunitions, giving the store clerk her best sheepish smile. “I was wondering… would it be possible to speak with the clerk that helped me earlier?”

The man blinked once, then nodded with professional efficiency. “Of course. I’ll notify her right away. Please wait just a moment.”

Thea nodded eagerly, already feeling the weight lifting off her chest.

'Might not have completely fucked this up after all. Saved...!'

—

—

PoV: Peria Akin

Having waved goodbye to Thea at the side-exit and just stepped back into the store, Peria finally let everything out.

“Yeeeeeeeeeeeessss!” she shouted, the sound echoing off the metal shelves and workbenches in the backroom workshop.

The nerves, the anxiety, the sheer rush of having not only handled a high-tier VIP but actually nailed it? All of it hit her at once. She’d been as jittery as a faultily screwed on actuator at first, sure—but the second she got Thea talking about the weapons, really digging into the systems and specs, everything had clicked. Like flipping a switch.

Tech-talk was her happy place.

‘I can’t believe someone like that actually exists… A top-level Marine, probably worth more than every single clerk on the ship combined, geeking out over laser refraction and magnet synchronization with me? That’s fucking crazy!’

It still didn’t feel real.

Even more unbelievable was the casual way Thea had thrown down nearly fifteen thousand System Credits—on testing material. Not for a mission. Not even for testing purposes. 

Just research, based on the way Thea had talked about them.

“That’s almost a year and a half of my salary… just gone, like it’s pocket change…” Peria muttered, still stunned. “And she wasn’t even sweating it.”

But that was the divide. 

The UHF Marines—and a mega VIP like Thea McKay herself—operated on a whole different level than someone like her. They had access to the levels of resources and perks most Unintegrated couldn’t even dream of in their wildest imagination.

And even after serving aboard UHF vessels for over three years now, Peria still couldn’t.

Still, the part Peria appreciated most—the real cherry on top—was the fact that the store had had to call her in for the consultation. She hadn’t been just a lucky tag-along; she was the official point of contact. That meant one thing: Commission payout.

An unbelievably fat one.

‘She even used three UHF vouchers…?! This is fucking huge!’

Peria practically buzzed as she paced the backroom, hugging her data-pad to her chest.

Early in her career, she had learned how commissions were calculated. 

On a UHF ship like this one, a decent portion—usually around 30%—of any sale made to a Marine was automatically rerouted back into the UHF coffers. The rest got split between the manufacturer and the store, and then the store’s slice got split again between corporate and the selling clerk. End result? Not exactly much left over for the clerk in question.

But when a Marine used UHF Vouchers? Whole different ballgame.

Vouchers meant the UHF paid the listed percentage directly to the store. So instead of the usual 30% getting pulled out of the transaction, that entire chunk funneled right into the store’s pool. And that meant her commission cut just ballooned.

Two 60-percent-off vouchers and a 50? On full licenses and prototype-grade hybrid weapons?

‘It’s like triple commission day. That’s practically a whole extra salary drop, maybe even two. Holy shit!’

She was so overwhelmed with excitement she didn’t even know where to put it. She was already planning how she’d budget the payout when her data-pad chimed.

A low, ominous ping.

Peria glanced down, and her stomach plummeted straight through the floor.

A black-enveloped notification.

Her entire body froze. 

She know there was only one singular instance a black envelope would show up: Corporate Review.

‘No no no… please no… Not like this…!’

Her heart spiked, blood roaring in her ears as panic started to creep in from every edge of her mind.

‘I didn’t do anything wrong! The VIP was happy—she smiled! She bought so much stuff! She looked relaxed when she left! There’s nothing they can blame me for… right?!’

Her fingers moved on autopilot, tapping open the message. She barely registered the text as her eyes scanned it.

Immediate presence requested. Backroom office. Corporate Review. Attendees: Store Manager. Local Franchise Owner. Regional CEOs.

‘CEOs?! Of the Kuigon Sector?! This is bad. This is so fucking bad…! Why the fuck are the regional heads involved?! I didn’t—there’s no way I—’

She moved like a ghost toward the backroom office, barely feeling her legs under her. She scanned her ID without thinking, the door clicking open with a heavy finality.

One single chair. A wall of glowing datascreens blinking to life one after another, faces appearing on each one.

She sat, barely managing to keep her hands from trembling.

She couldn’t even look up.

‘Am I going to get terminated…?’

—

“…seventeen verbal interruptions during direct VIP communication,” one of the middle screens droned, the voice cold and clipped. “Twenty-six physical contact instances initiated without explicit authorization. One hundred and seventy-four uses of informal language or colloquialisms while engaging the VIP. This includes terminology such as ‘yeah,’ ‘kinda,’ ‘fucking,’ and direct analogies unsanctioned by corporate comms protocol—‘tech gremlin’ being particularly egregious.”

Another face took over, the camera angle slightly tilted upwards so the woman on the screen looked down at Peria with thinly veiled contempt.

“Failure to maintain standard physical distance protocols. Clerk remained within the one-meter radius bubble for over ninety percent of the consultation without explicit consent, violating Paragraph IV-C of the VIP Behavioral Guidebook,” she continued, each bullet point hitting like a dull hammer to the chest.

“Nonstandard emotional conduct noted,” said another, almost bored-sounding voice. “Several moments of uncontrolled enthusiasm, including several vocalized outbursts in the presence of the VIP, which triggered three separate internal sensor alerts for excessive decibel levels in the staff-only area.”

A third screen lit up with a new speaker, male, rotund, lips pursed as if he were sucking on a lemon. “Let us not forget, colleagues, the egregious breach in post-request conduct. The employee in question failed to immediately excuse herself from the interaction once the initial request had been dealt with. Instead, she proceeded to engage in unsolicited educational dialogue, weapon disassembly demonstrations, and prolonged conversation beyond the standard engagement time frame.”

Peria stared at the floor. Eyes wide. Hands numb.

Not once had anyone looked at her.
Not once had anyone asked a single question.
Nobody had even asked for her name or even mentioned it once.

She was certain they didn’t even know it, at this point. Nor that they even cared for it.

She was just there. Witness to her own autopsy.

The next one was clearly reading from a tablet.

“Improper referral protocol in pre-sale redirection—‘Let me grab you a spec-sheet’ is not within the approved phrasing library. Official phrasing should’ve been, ‘Please allow me to retrieve the technical information package for your convenience.’”

Then came the voice that always made her flinch—the Chief Regional Executive of Customer Integration Standards, Mr. Valencrux, whose data screen always displayed in harsh monochrome for reasons no one understood. 

She had met him a few times before, during initial training and scheduled corporate reviews—he was not an enjoyable person to have around.

“Who,” he said slowly, the word stretched like a rubber band about to snap, “was responsible… for assigning a Mid-Worlder… to a Tier-One VIP of this magnitude?”

The way he said “Mid-Worlder” always sounded more like a slur than anything else to Peria.

Silence answered for a few heartbeats before the store owner, a balding, beady-eyed man named Cerson, cleared his throat nervously, dabbing away beads of sweat on his forehead.

“That would’ve been the head-clerk of the day shift, sir. Jordan Holman. He made the call to redirect the VIP to our specialist consultant based on—”

“He goes on the list,” Valencrux snapped.

The command was immediate. No room for discussion.

Another executive—this one sporting sleek black implants along his jawline—nodded solemnly and began tapping something on his personal interface.

Peria sat frozen in her chair. It felt like her Soul had already left her body, watching this all unfold from somewhere high up near the ceiling.

This was it.

They weren’t even reviewing her performance. They were cataloging it.

Preparing the file that would be used to justify her termination. Every second that passed felt like another nail in the coffin, another damning number on a spreadsheet somewhere.

And still, no one had spoken to her. No one had asked for her version. No chance to explain. 

No mention of the VIP’s clear satisfaction. No acknowledgment that the sale had been a resounding success by every metric except the ones that apparently mattered to the people on these screens.

She wasn’t even angry. She just felt… hollow.

The rotund man spoke again, tone dripping with smug certainty, “I don’t believe that—”

He didn’t finish.

Peria’s datapad lit up in a harsh crimson glare, a sharp siren bursting from it like an alarm klaxon in a munitions depot. The sound was loud—intentionally so—and instantly drew every pair of eyes in the room toward her. 

Her own head jerked to the side, staring at the device in disbelief.

Her throat felt dry, but she still managed to croak out, “M… May I?”

“You may not. You must,” Mr. Valencrux snapped from his screen, voice like a slap across the face.

Her fingers, shaking and numb from the cold pit in her stomach, fumbled the datapad into her hands. The display burned red against her vision as she registered the short, simple message.

[VIP Consultation Request: Thea McKay. Reason: Unknown.]

Peria blinked at it.

‘No way. No way, no way, no way—’

“What are you waiting for, Miss Akin?” Valencrux growled. “A crimson request isn’t that difficult to understand, is it? Move it.”

That jolted her back to life. 

She shot out of the chair so fast it scraped against the floor, bowing repeatedly toward the wall of screens as she stumbled back toward the exit. Her knees were weak, her head spinning—but she didn’t stop.

The second the door shut behind her, the suffocating corporate air lessened, but not by much. She felt like she was walking underwater as she tried to process what just happened.

‘She requested me? Again? Why now…?’

Her legs carried her forward automatically, feet moving on pure memory toward the customer-facing area. 

Her thoughts, meanwhile, spiraled in every direction at once.

‘I can fix this. Maybe. Maybe she wants to return something? No, she wouldn’t need a VIP Consult for that... She wouldn’t use that for a complaint, would she?! What if she changed her mind and now hates everything…? What if she realized I screwed something up—’

She stopped just short of the last aisle.

Slapped both cheeks lightly. Focus.

“Alright, Peri. Come on. She asked for you. That means she doesn’t hate you. Probably. You made it this far, don’t fuck it now,” she whispered, bracing herself as she rounded the corner with a deep breath and the fakest confidence she could muster.

“Holman, you requested my assistance?” she said crisply as she approached the front desk, posture perfect, voice locked into corporate tone.

Holman turned to her with that practiced smile that never quite reached his eyes. “Ah, yes. Our recent client, Thea, wanted to speak with you. I’ll leave her in your capable care.”

He gestured grandly behind him—like she somehow hadn’t noticed the towering Marine already standing just two meters away, looking awkwardly out of place amidst the pristine shelves and sterile lighting.

“Thank you, Holman,” Peria said smoothly, before shifting her attention fully to Thea.

Something was immediately off, she realised.

The giant of a woman—who’d just minutes earlier radiated sharp focus and precise intent—was now visibly fidgeting. Her stance was off-balance, her fingers twitched near the hem of her sleeve, and she kept shifting her weight like a kid caught sneaking snacks before dinner.

‘What the fuck happened to her…?’

Still keeping to corporate etiquette, Peria dipped into a slight bow and gave her most professional tone—despite the gnawing curiosity building in her chest.

“How may I assist you, Thea?”

“I… I wanted to ask a really weird question, if that’s okay?” Thea started, awkwardly shifting her weight from one leg to another as she spoke. Her voice wasn’t quite steady, her words rushing out faster than she probably intended.

Peria nodded without hesitation, eyebrows slightly raised in surprise. “Of course.”

“I was wondering what your name is, actually,” Thea continued. “It… it never came up. I was talking to a friend, and she pointed out that it’d be way easier to ask for your help again if I knew your name—which makes a lot of sense. I didn’t think about it at the time, but now I feel kinda dumb for not asking. And, well… I think it’d be nice to call you by name, if that’s alright with you…?”

The nervous, stumbling explanation caught Peria completely off-guard. 

The VIP—The Thea McKay—was tripping over her own words, just asking for Peria’s name! 

But the meaning behind them hit her like a shock charge to the chest.

‘She wants me here. She’s asking for me, specifically. Future visits… That has to mean they can’t terminate me, right?! Not if the VIP depends on me!’

Peria fought to keep her composure, but she could feel the smile tugging at her face before she even opened her mouth.

“Ah! Of course—yes!” she answered, stumbling slightly over her own eagerness. “My name is Peria Akin. It’s… nice to meet you properly, Thea.”

“Likewise!” Thea grinned down at her, visibly relieved that her request hadn’t been shot down. She stood a little straighter now, her shoulders relaxing.

“I was also wondering…” Thea started again, rubbing the back of her neck. “And it’s totally fine if not—but would you maybe be okay with sharing your contact ID with me as well? I just thought it might be cool to message you sometimes if I’ve got questions. Y’know, about tech stuff. Or research. Or weapons in general. I mean, only if you’re cool with it—totally get it if not, you’re probably busy and—”

“Yes! I would love to!” Peria interrupted, before instantly regretting the impulse. 

Somewhere, deep in the corporate back room, she was sure a fresh little red mark had been logged under “Interrupting the VIP”. But she couldn’t help it.

“You can message me anytime,” she added quickly. “Seriously. It’d be awesome to keep talking. I loved our conversation earlier—I don’t really get to talk tech with anyone these days.”

Thea’s grin turned radiant, and Peria felt a weird kind of warmth in her chest. Not just the adrenaline of narrowly escaping corporate death, but something simpler. 

Something more… human. A friendly connection in this terrible series of events.

She quickly flicked open her data menu, sharing her contact ID. And to her complete and utter disbelief, Thea sent hers back.

Peria stared at the notification in stunned silence for a moment, eyes going wide before she hastily accepted the mutual exchange. 

It felt surreal—like she’d just been handed a direct-call line to the nearest star.

“Thanks, Peria! That’ll help a lot,” Thea said, her tone light, though the awkward way she scratched the back of her head made it clear she still felt a little out of place. “Ehh… That’s really all I wanted. I’m sorry for interrupting your work—I’m sure you had more than enough going on without me randomly asking your colleague to call you over. I didn’t mean to drag you away or anything—”

“It’s more than fine! Really!” Peria jumped in again, her voice a bit too quick. She nodded rapidly, hands half-lifted in reassurance. “You didn’t interrupt anything I couldn’t handle later, I swear!”

“That’s good to hear, then.” Thea gave a sheepish smile, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Well… thanks again for all the help, Peria. And, uh, I guess I’ll message you when I’ve got questions. Feel free to hit me up whenever too, if you ever wanna talk or something—though I might be in a mission or lecture or whatever, but I’ll reply as soon as I can, promise.”

She paused, glancing around the store like she was trying to orient herself. “Oh—and I’ll make sure to ask for you next time I need anything weapon-related. You… Ehh… You just work here, right? Like, this store specifically? I don’t really know how the whole worker situation works on these ships yet... We haven’t had the Economy & Logistics lectures yet. You’re only with Abundant Ammunitions?”

“Yeah, just here,” Peria nodded, doing her best to sound casual. “Deck 1, Tier 1. Abundant Ammunitions branch. My contract’s still running for another two years, so… I should definitely be around.”

She hated how much that last part sounded like a warning to the people watching her from the corporate side—like she was trying to leverage Thea’s goodwill as a shield. 

But she didn’t know how else to secure her position. If there was even a chance that mentioning it could buy her some breathing room, she had to take it.

‘I’ll make it up to you somehow, Thea. I swear I will!’

“Perfect!” Thea grinned. “Well… thanks again, and have a great day, Peria!”

With that, she turned and walked out the front door, practically sprinting the second she hit open air—moving so fast Peria barely had time to catch her silhouette through the front window before she vanished again.

Peria just stood there for a moment, frozen in place.

‘Did that really just happen…? She actually came all the way back just to ask for my name and contact ID? That’s it? That’s all?’

She blinked several times, barely registering the world around her. 

Then, with a sharp slap to both cheeks, she forced herself back into motion.

“Thank you for the notification, Holman,” she said, following protocol as she turned toward the clerk who’d fetched her.

Then, with leaden steps, she made her way back toward the rear of the store, heading for the same back-office she had been so desperate to escape just minutes ago. 

The Corporate Review hadn’t ended earlier. It had simply… paused.

The moment Peria sat back down, her spine ramrod straight despite how much she wanted to curl into herself, the room full of data-screens flickered to life again.

The moment her eyes met those of the regional CEOs again, that fragile bit of security she had managed to claw back, completely evaporated. There was something chilling about being judged by people who held absolute control over your life—people who didn’t even know your name until it showed up on a mistake report. 

People who might never bother to learn it at all.

But instead of the stern, judgmental silence from before that she had been expecting, there was… chatter.

Lively chatter.

“I mean, honestly,” the rotund man from earlier began, voice now laced with cheerful consideration rather than disdain, “we have to start acknowledging that real adaptability in the field sometimes demands… Well, a certain measure of rule-bending, at times. Especially with clients of this caliber. Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Valencrux?”

Valencrux, who had all but ordered her out of the room earlier, now nodded with faux-gravity. “Yes, indeed. It's true we must hold high standards—but not at the expense of customer satisfaction! Perisha here demonstrated excellent initiative. A certain… tactical finesse, if you will, that the Marines of the UHF would no doubt be able to appreciate.”

“It’s Peria,” she mumbled under her breath, but nobody heard her over the sudden flurry of agreeing voices.

Another screen blinked to prominence—an older woman with a sharp jawline and clipped tone who’d not spoken up before, but had definitely been nodding profusely at the earlier question of how a Mid-Worlder had even ended up near a VIP. “I have been saying for years that the guidelines could use a flexibility clause. Something to allow for exceptional judgment calls. After all, the clerks on the ground are the ones facing these high-pressure moments—not us.”

The man to her right—an executive with sunken cheeks and that constantly suspicious squint—jumped in almost too quickly. “Exactly. Look, this… this Pareena—she demonstrated excellent customer management instincts. Engaged the client, anticipated needs, created rapport—textbook excellence, if you ask me.”

“She even secured repeat business,” chimed in another voice, one Peria vaguely recognized as having listed out one hundred and seventy-four instances of casual language usage earlier. “Not just that, but cross-channel communication with the client! She’s already initiated a communication thread with the VIP! That’s the kind of initiative we should be rewarding!”

“I think we need to revisit the current script entirely,” the rotund man said, his tone becoming increasingly animated. “And maybe update the training modules to allow for some clerks—like Miss… ah, Pree-uh… to go off-script when dealing with Tier-1 VIPs. As long as their judgement is unquestionable, of course.”

“Exactly! Her instincts were clearly well-honed in training!” a younger-looking exec cut in, visibly eager to be part of the new consensus. “Let’s not forget—the client requested her, specifically!”

Valencrux made a grand show of nodding solemnly again. “It’s settled then. A proposal for protocol amendment will be drafted. We’ll call it the ‘Akin Clause’—to honor her contribution.”

Peria blinked.

‘The Akin Clause…?’

She sat there, utterly dumbfounded, as one board member after another repeated her name—each one mispronouncing it differently. Perrah, Puria, Peerah, Peyra—as if they were trying to make it sound more impressive, like slapping extra syllables onto it gave it more gravitas. 

None of them seemed to realize they were getting it wrong.

One of the CEOs even leaned forward into his camera, his face filling the screen. “Just imagine if we had penalized this kind of performance due to a simple misunderstanding…! We'd be turning away talent like Pireah Aken. That would’ve been a downright tragedy! I say we offer her a promotion for her exceptional work ethics.”

The rows of heads nodded profusely at that idea.

Peria didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak.

She wasn’t even sure if any of this was real anymore—or if she had actually died when she’d fallen backwards off the couch earlier that day, hitting her head on the floor, and this was some kind of cosmic joke-dimension where Souls got sent to be mocked after death.

Less than five minutes ago, these same people were practically sharpening the guillotine. 

Now they were falling over themselves to paint her as a model of innovation and customer-centric thinking.

All she could do was sit there, wide-eyed and hollowed out from the emotional whiplash, quietly praying she didn’t throw up before they finished deciding how inspired her noncompliance had apparently been.

‘What the actual fuck is happening right now…?’

She didn’t know whether to cry, laugh, puke or just faint on the spot. 

All she knew was that the word “termination” had vanished from the conversation entirely. 

And somehow, impossibly… they all knew her name now.

Kind of…

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[ND] Chapter 132 - Probatio

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---------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ----------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Chapter 127 - Curiosity has just released on RR with no major changes.

For the Fixers, this chapter has seen no changes.

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Title Translation: Probatio - Test, Proof, Approval

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Holy Moly, action scenes in MY Cyberpunk Novel? I'd never!

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I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the googledoc to the actual Chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1WMV-_i1q6PIVf7b1zSdv4eAXSYfnePR1i0VoTs58fQ4/edit?usp=sharing

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Chapter 132 - Probatio

Pina glanced over at me and Cryo just as the footsteps came to a stop on the other side of the door. We both gave the nod—quiet, sharp, and synced. 

We were ready for whatever came next.

A quick electronic chirp broke the silence, followed by the clunk of an old mechanical lock disengaging. The door creaked open just a crack—then—

“Well—”

That was all the Scav managed to get out before Pina slammed forward like a freight train. 

Her heavy revolver jammed straight into his mouth, cutting him off mid-breath. 

She grabbed the front of his jacket with one hand and yanked him towards her like he weighed nothing, before stepping through the threshold with him held tight as a meatshield.

The guy’s eyes bulged, darting from the muzzle stuffed between his teeth to Pina’s expression—which, for the record, was not friendly. He was shaking already, hands hovering in mid-air like he couldn’t decide whether to surrender or piss himself—or both.

“Alright, listen the fuck up!” Pina’s voice cut through the space like a shotgun blast, hard and loud. “This is a clear-out! You’ve got sixty seconds to get outta this building or you’ll be leakin’ outta new holes. Don’t play fucking hero. You’re outgunned and outclassed. We’re experts and we don’t have to worry about clean-up. So move. Now.”

For a second or two, nobody reacted. Just wide eyes and slack jaws from a crowd of scrappy, underfed Scavs scattered around the warehouse like rats in a dimly-lit kitchen.

That hesitation was all Cryo and I needed. 

We moved in right behind her—me with RaZ in my main hand and two throwing knives drawn and ready in my off as I stepped inside. 

My eyes swept the room, taking it in fast.

The place was bigger than I’d expected—very high ceilings, rusty support beams, scattered crates, junk tech, and some janky-ass furniture. A flickering ceiling light cast long, twitchy shadows across the cracked concrete floor. There were a half-dozen people in immediate view, and probably more tucked behind the heaps of trash and makeshift barricades.

I had expected the warehouse to be a bit more sectioned off—maybe a second floor, a few offices, something resembling structure. 

But nope. 

This place might as well have been a giant garage or an old hangar, just one wide, open sprawl of space with barely anything breaking it up aside from the Scav’s “furniture”.

I didn’t say anything. Just kept scanning, ready for the first wrong move.

The Scavs, eight of them scattered around the immediate area near the entrance, stared at us with varying mixtures of shock, fury, and fear etched across their dirty faces. For a few tense heartbeats, nobody moved; the only sounds were the muffled choking noises of the guy currently gagging on Pina’s revolver.

“What the fuck is this?!” one of them finally shouted, rising from his chair aggressively but freezing when Cryo shifted his stance and aimed his gun right at the Scav’s face.

“We ain’t fuckin’ going nowhere!” another scav spat, clenching his fists and glaring at us defiantly. His bravado, however, faltered the instant he noticed Cryo’s cold, unwavering stare hit him.

Behind them, another scav—a smaller, wiry guy with nervous eyes darting frantically between us—quickly snatched up a battered backpack from the floor and bolted, nearly tripping over himself as he sprinted past us out into the street. 

We made no move to impede him, as his body language and demeanour were more than enough to guarantee that he wasn’t going to try anything on his way out. He didn't even glance back, clearly uninterested in risking his neck for the place—or the rest of the crew.

“Smart man,” Cryo muttered, his gun still trained steadily on the group. “Y’all should follow.”

Pina ignored all the drama, not even sparing a glance towards the fleeing scav, and instead calmly began counting down, each number punctuated by another forceful shove of her revolver barrel deeper into the captive scav’s mouth.

“Fifty-five,” she said flatly, prompting another strangled gag as the scav’s eyes bulged, tears streaking down his grimy cheeks.

“You fat bitch! Let him fucking go!” the largest scav barked, stepping closer, but still around a dozen meters away, as if he thought his size alone might intimidate Pina.

“Forty-eight,” Pina continued calmly, her cybernetic hand effortlessly keeping the scav pinned as he squirmed and choked, desperate for air. 

The revolver shifted just enough to keep him terrified.

Panic visibly rippled through the remaining scavs as Pina’s countdown progressed. Their bravado faded as reality settled in. Slowly, one by one, they started exchanging uncertain, anxious glances.

“Thirty-nine,” Pina went on, utterly indifferent to their indecision, her voice clear and menacingly calm.

Finally, another scav broke ranks, shaking his head bitterly, muttering something incomprehensible, and storming past us out the open door with whatever supplies he could grab in immediate reach.

“Thirty,” Pina kept counting, the tension ratcheting up even further as everyone remaining in the room realized we weren’t bluffing.

At “twenty-seven,” the mood in the room turned. Fast.

The biggest of the remaining Scavs—some slab of synth-muscle and bad decisions with a metal jaw and eyes that screamed too many stims and not enough sleep—took a single slow step forward.

“The fuck do you think you are?” he barked, voice thick with gravel and rage. “This’s our turf. You don’t get to just walk in here and take it.” He jabbed a thick finger toward Pina, who didn’t so much as blink. “You think just ‘cause you got fancy guns and some asshole blank paying you, you’re better than us?!”

The others, emboldened by his show, began to shift, pick up whatever junk they had nearby. 

One grabbed a rusted pipe off a workbench. Another slid a box cutter from his sleeve. A third picked up what looked like the broken end of a shovel, wrapped in electrical tape. None of it was high-grade gear, but desperate people didn’t need good weapons—they just needed enough courage and numbers.

“Twenty-two,” Pina said, voice still calm, almost sing-song. The bastard still gagging on her revolver whimpered wetly.

The big one kept talking, taking another step, slow and deliberate. “You don’t get to walk in here and act like you’re gods. We bled for this place. We killed for this place. Ain’t no one takin’ it from us!”

Cryo’s voice came low, barely above a whisper, so that only Pina and I could hear him: “On fifteen. They’re past the point’a talkin’.”

I nodded, not that he could see.

The seconds stretched painfully, as adrenaline and anxiety collided in my veins. I forced my breathing steady, trying to anchor myself against the fear that threatened to break through. 

‘They’re not people, just scavs,’ I reminded myself, the mantra louder and louder inside my head.

“Eighteen,” Pina counted, completely ignoring the raging scav leader as he tried to further stir up his group, eyes locked on ours, full of barely-contained violence.

“Seventeen.”

“Sixteen.”

My grip on the RaZ tightened. 

The nerves were back, coiled tight and burning in my chest, threatening to choke me. But the adrenaline drowned most of it out, sharpening everything into focus. 

Every motion. Every breath. Every shuffle of feet or shift of weight from the Scavs ahead of us etched itself into my awareness like I was watching it all in slow motion.

The big one was still moving forward, real slow, like if he dragged his feet enough we wouldn’t notice the gap closing between us. His voice stayed loud, angry, echoing across the hangar, riling the rest of them up until they all looked just mad enough to do something very, very stupid.

“Fifteen,” Pina’s voice finally rang out and everything exploded into motion.

She didn’t even finish the word before slamming her forehead straight into the scav’s face she had been holding onto this entire time. The sickening crunch of shattering bone echoed sharply, and the poor bastard crumpled instantly, his jaw now a mangled mess, blood and teeth scattering as he hit the ground.

Without even glancing at the poor bastard she’d just headbutted into unconsciousness, Pina fired her revolver—except it wasn’t actually a heavy revolver at all, I now realized as the shot went off. 

It was a shotgun revolver. 

She’d clearly spent the countdown subtly shifting her “hostage” into position, using his limp weight as a screen until she had a perfect shot lined up center-mass on the big guy, mid-rant and completely unaware.

The payload of shrapnel-like ammunition hit him like a swarm of furious hornets. 

Some rounds sparked and pinged off his metal jaw and half-reinforced cheek, but the rest tore straight through flesh and bone, punching bloody holes through his torso and exploding out his back in a spray of gore. 

His whole body seized up for a split second—like a puppet with half its strings cut—before crumpling to the ground in a twitching, sloppy heap.

My ears rang with the roar of the shot, but before the rest of the Scavs could even process what had happened, Cryo had already fired twice in quick succession—two precise, controlled pops from his pistol. Two scav heads snapped backward with sharp cracks, red mist splattering across their friends, their bodies slumping without so much as a twitch.

My own target, the guy who’d been idly eating synth-beans moments before when we had entered, now surged forward, pipe raised and eyes wild with panic and rage. 

Heart pounding so hard I thought it might punch its way out of my chest, I let everything else fall away—thoughts, nerves, anxiety—just muscle memory and adrenaline taking the wheel.

The first Scav came at me fast, pipe raised like he actually thought that was gonna be enough. I sidestepped the telegraphed swing easily, pivoted off my back foot, and brought the RaZ low, then up in a sharp arc. 

The blade bit deep into the meat of his right arm, just above the elbow. 

His scream was immediate and raw, the pipe clattering to the floor as he dropped to one knee, clutching the wound with a frantic desperation as torrents of blood started pouring out in a rhythmic cadence.

A gunshot cracked somewhere to my left—Cryo’s, probably—and another Scav dropped mid-charge. I didn’t look.

The guy in front of me was still screaming, still alive. 

I stepped up towards him, aiming to finish the job.

He looked up at me, eyes wide and bloodshot. “Wait! Please, fuck, I give up! I give up, alright?! I was stupid, I was—shit, I’m sorry, I’ll leave! I’ll leave right now, just—just let me go! I swear!”

Another blast echoed—Pina this time, close and loud enough to rattle in my bones.

“I… I got a fucking sister!” The Scav wheezed, his breath hitching as he clutched his mangled arm. “She’s your age! I’m all she’s got! Please… Please don’t kill me—she’ll be all alone out there!”

The blade in my hand was still dripping, the edge ready for the next strike. 

But my body stopped. 

Not frozen—just caught between the instinct to finish it and the words he’d thrown out like a lifeline.

‘They are not people.’ The mantra kept repeating itself in my head, but it felt distant now, dulled by the raw humanity of his panic. 

The scav couldn’t have been much older than Gabriel, and his terrified pleas had managed to claw at something buried deep inside me. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t hesitate—that mercy wasn’t for scum like this—but his words felt so painfully real.

Too human. Too close to home.

And worst of all: People-shaped.

“Fuck,” I muttered bitterly, feeling my grip on the RaZ slacken slightly. “Get the fuck out then—hurry!”

I stepped past him, eyes already scanning for my next target that wasn’t already in a brawl.

‘Three more. I’ll take the—’

Movement.

Just a flicker in the corner of my eye, but enough. The bastard had picked up the pipe again, this time in his off-hand, coming at me from behind with all the cowardice in the world.

Fast, but predictable—especially when half of me had already expected this very thing.

Compared to Jin’s punches or Kenzie’s terrifying dashes, this wasn’t fast.

I smoothly shifted my weight and leaned back, feeling the displaced air whisper past my face as the pipe missed by centimeters. I spun back around, eyes locking onto his. 

The scav’s twisted grin of triumph froze instantly, eyes going wide with sudden, cold realization. It shattered completely as my RaZ plunged through his temple, splitting bone with a sharp crack, driving deep enough that the guard itself smashed into the side of his skull.

“Thank you,” I whispered quietly as his body slid lifelessly off my blade, collapsing onto the floor in a tangled heap.

‘Not people, indeed. None of them are.’

I was already pivoting towards my next target, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cryo’s gun—aimed right at me.

My heart lurched in shock.

‘This motherf—!’

I didn’t even get a second to process what the hell was going on—why Cryo would suddenly be aiming at me, what could’ve made him do this, or how the fuck I was going to get out of this situation.

My body just moved.

I was already mid-dive, hand snapping back, ready to whip a knife his way, and the half-formed thought of burning my emergency-Trait-use pulsed at the edge of my mind.

[Blademaster’s Th—]

But no muzzle flash came.

No gunshot followed.

Instead, Cryo gave me the smallest, sharpest nod I’d ever seen—just enough to catch, just enough to say ‘good’—before whipping back around and putting a round straight into the nearest Scav’s skull. The guy hadn’t even seen it coming.

Before the body even hit the ground, another Scav came charging out of the chaos, slamming into Cryo with a half-mad scream and forcing him into a full-on brawl.

My heart was still thundering in my throat, adrenaline roaring through every nerve, but I didn’t have the luxury of figuring out what the hell had just happened. 

Cryo aiming at me—yeah, that was gonna need a serious conversation later. 

But right now? I had two more Scavs left breathing, and they were already moving—coming right at me.

I didn’t hesitate.

One step back, one breath, and two throwing knives were already flying from my fingers. 

The first thunked into the guy’s eye with a wet crunch, the second buried itself in his throat just as he opened his mouth to yell. Whatever sound he’d planned on making turned into a gurgling gasp as his knees gave out and he crumpled to the floor.

The second one didn’t even flinch. 

He was bigger, faster than I expected—and pissed. 

He came in with a giant board full of rusted nails, swinging wide. I ducked the first strike and slashed low at his exposed side, aiming to drop him in one clean motion.

Clang.

The blade bounced off like I’d hit a damn car door.

“Fucking Scavs just chipping whatever they can get their hands on!” I cursed under my breath, pivoting away from the follow-up swing as it whooshed past my head and splintered a piece of old furniture behind me.

He pressed forward hard, forcing me deeper into what had once been the warehouse’s kitchen area—if you could still call it that. 

The floor I stepped on was a fucking nightmare to navigate: Dented cans, broken tiles, rust flakes, some mystery liquids that had been spilled. 

But [Elemental Balance] kept my footing perfect, like I was moving across an acrobatic gym flooring. I felt the weight of every shift, every muscle coiled just right, waiting.

He came at me again, this time with the janky-ass board in both hands. 

His swing was wild and horizontal, trying to take my head clean off.

I didn’t back up.

I lunged sideways into the narrow space between the swing and his chest, my knife flashing up as I twisted past him.

It slid in smooth—too smooth. 

I barely felt the resistance as it cut through his throat and into the meat of his neck. 

He was still mid-step, still thinking he might land the swing, when his head half-detached from his body. Bone, muscle, artery—all gone in one fluid movement as the force of his own momentum carried him straight into my blade.

He twitched once, gurgled in disbelief. Then dropped like a sack of meat.

I immediately snapped my attention back towards the rest of the room, catching sight of Pina just as she smoothly side-stepped a desperate slash aimed at her throat. 

Without skipping a beat, she palmed the scav’s face with her cybernetic arm and slammed him straight down into the concrete, turning his skull into a shattered mess of brain and blood as new paint for the floor.

Cryo, meanwhile, had already dispatched the scav who’d barrelled into him earlier. 

He was carefully scanning the warehouse, gun still raised, mirroring my own wary inspection of the room as we searched for any remaining threats.

The warehouse had gone dead quiet—well, almost. 

Not even a minute had passed since Pina had called out “fifteen,” and eight scavs lay dead, sprawled in various grotesque poses across the blood-slick floor. The scav who’d answered the door was still alive, just barely, making pitiful wet noises as he choked on his own blood through what was left of his shattered face.

I now realised that there had been ten scavs inside the warehouse, not eight. Two of them had likely been impossible to see from the entrance, when we first entered.

“Check for stragglers,” Cryo ordered, as if he had read his mind or realised the same thing. His voice sounded calm, almost casual, but I noticed the slight breathlessness hidden beneath it.

‘Did he get hurt?’

I fell into step behind Cryo and Pina, carefully sweeping the warehouse’s shadowy corners, crates, piles of trash, overturned furniture—anywhere someone desperate enough might still be hiding. 

I kept myself at a calculated distance from Cryo, wary and hyper-aware of his movements. 

My nerves were still tight from when he’d aimed his gun at me in the heat of combat, and I wasn’t about to ignore that.

‘Stay close enough to react if he makes a move, but far enough that he can’t catch me off guard,’ I reminded myself as I continued my search, half my attention locked onto Cryo while the rest of me stayed focused on the job at hand.

After a few tense minutes of careful searching, Cryo finally gave the all-clear. 

The place was officially empty, and it was time to call in the client’s crew.

But before he even finished turning around, I was already moving, pressing the bloodied blade of my RaZ firmly to his throat, my voice low and deadly serious. “What the fuck was that shit all about, Cryo, huh…?!”

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[Fixer+ | Draft] Chapter 133 - Lessons

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------------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) -------------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!

Welcome to the draft release of Chapter 133 for y'all.

As always, a quick reminder that this chapter is still in the process of being workshopped by me and that this is simply the first-draft.

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Sera making mistakes? Never!

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I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/

I hope you will enjoy it!

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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is the link to the chapter:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1FHovdaub_yTyq2CHeT9l5usKiImqEADarFSDHk3KUO8/edit?usp=sharing

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Chapter 133 - Lessons

I was surprisingly calm, given the knife I currently had at Cryo’s throat.

Adrenaline was flooding my veins, but my mind had never felt clearer. Cryo had pointed his gun at me—mid-combat—when we were supposed to be on the same team. 

That wasn’t something I could just shrug off.

I kept my eyes locked firmly on Cryo’s, waiting for a reaction. 

But the guy looked as unbothered as always, like having a blade pressed against his jugular was just another minor inconvenience. Honestly, that calm stare pissed me off even more—he should’ve at least shown some kind of shame or guilt.

Pina, meanwhile, was completely unfazed. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her casually strolling off to the nearest dead scav, already searching for anything worth taking like this was just another Tuesday.

“Ya hesitated,” Cryo finally said, his voice matter-of-fact, as if that explained everything.

“I killed him,” I snapped back, venom heavy in my voice. 

He wasn’t completely wrong—I had paused for a split second—but I’d been fully aware of what I was doing, ready to react the instant the scav inevitably tried something stupid.

“Yeah, but ya hesitated,” Cryo repeated calmly. “Ya wasted time talkin’ to an enemy mid-combat, lettin’ yerself get manipulated. Even if it ended fine, ya took an unnecessary risk. Put the whole crew in danger.” His eyes bore into mine with brutal honesty. “I was aimin’ at the scav first, Ela. Woulda shot ‘im if ya didn’t. And then I woulda shot ya too if ya hadn’t fixed yer own blunder immediately.”

The way he said it—like it was a fact, not a threat—sent a chill through my spine.

‘I wouldn’t have been the first one either,’ I realized. The thought settled in my stomach like ice.

“But ya did fix it. And yer reaction at seein’ me pointin’ that gun at ya was spot-on,” Cryo continued, his voice softening just the tiniest bit. “Ya were ready to kill me right then and there, no hesitation. Good instincts. That’ll keep ya alive out here. Operators ain’t friends, Ela, especially ones ya don’t know yet. Betrayal ain’t common, but it sure ain’t rare either. Every week the OPN publishes a list of dead Operators—plenty of ‘em ain’t killed by scavs, or gangers, or corpo goons. Nah, they’re zeroed by their own crew. Didn’t watch their backs, ended up catchin’ a bullet.”

Cryo took a slow, deliberate breath. “Ya passed the test, Ela. I ain’t sorry for puttin’ ya through it. Needed to see if ya had what it takes. If ya hadn’t reacted right, wouldn’t matter how skilled ya are—I’d never give ya a rec for yer license. Woulda been just another rookie face disappearin’ after trustin’ the wrong Op. But the way ya moved, calculatin’ distance between us, throwin’ knives ready to fly the instant ya saw me gun... yeah, yer gonna make it out here. Ya did good.”

I hated how much sense Cryo was making right then.

I really had fucked up, hadn’t I? 

Letting myself get talked down like that, wasting precious seconds on a scav who had no intention of ever being anything but the bottom-feeding trash they always were. If I hadn't corrected my mistake at the last second, getting shot by Cryo would've probably been justified.

Slowly, carefully, I lowered my knife, never breaking eye contact with Cryo. 

My muscles stayed tense, still not completely trusting him after everything—especially since I’d just threatened him too. 

Threatening your teammate wasn't exactly something you walked away from easily. 

After all, once that line was crossed, what was stopping me from doing it again? Or him from retaliating?

Cryo was stronger than me. Probably faster, too. 

I was painfully aware of how vulnerable I was in this moment.

My Intuition was desperately trying to get a read on him, but the guy was a Face—an experienced one at that—and he wasn't giving me any openings. 

His expression stayed calm, unreadable, and it made me even more nervous.

‘Is he gonna shoot me as soon as I back off? The second I’m not close enough to put a knife in him, will he take me out for threatenin’ him like that…?’

My palms were getting clammy, my heart rate spiking again as anxiety clawed its way up my throat. 

Damned if I did, damned if I didn’t.

Cryo’s voice broke into my spiraling thoughts again, almost conversational, despite the intensity of the moment. “Ya wanna know why it’s such a problem, Ela? ‘Cause we were a crew goin’ in here. Everyone had their roles—yerself included. But the instant ya stopped to listen to that pile o’ dreck, wastin’ precious seconds on absolutely nothin’, ya put Pina’s life at risk. Mouse’s life. My life.”

He leaned forward just a fraction, deliberately putting his neck back against my knife. “The second ya hesitated, ya already put a knife to our throats, Ela. Try steppin’ outta yer own head for a second and consider the situation: We’re outnumbered, each of us takin’ our share to keep things manageable. Then ya freeze up. Suddenly yer not applyin’ pressure to anyone but that one scav ya shoulda iced the moment ya had the chance. What if the other two scavs hadn’t rushed ya? What if they’d jumped me or Pina instead? We were busy handlin’ our own targets, trustin’ that ya had our backs. But ya didn’t—ya were too busy listenin’ to some worthless sob story from a scav.”

His eyes hardened even further, drilling into mine with brutal clarity.

“Did ya think bein’ part of a crew meant ya only look out for yerself? That yer actions wouldn’t affect the rest of us? Have no consequences for anyone but yerself? This ain’t a solo gig, so why’d ya act like it was? Tell me, Ela—what would ya think about somebody who pulled the same stunt on ya? Someone neglectin’ their teammates, puttin’ everyone’s lives on the line for a scav’s sob story?”

My grip loosened. 

Slowly, I let the tip of the blade fall away from Cryo’s throat, stepping back a pace—measured, deliberate. Not enough to lower my guard, not enough to take me out of [Blademaster’s Strike] range. 

Just enough to say I wasn’t obviously picking a fight anymore.