The plastic buckles of the medical brace cracked loud in the quiet clinic room.
Caleb pulled the thick velcro straps loose and dropped the heavy protective shell onto the metal tray.
Deep, mottled purple bruising wrapped from his right shoulder down to his wrist. Ragged scar tissue traced the edge of his bicep. He sent a command from his brain to his fingers. The joints popped. The muscles in his forearm twitched.
The 1.2 percent biological fibers of his combat suit hummed against his skin. The artificial tension acted as an internal splint, pushing back against his own body weight to keep his fractured ribs locked in place. He flexed his hand into a loose fist. The damaged tissue sparked with a faint, prickling heat.
He grabbed his stained canvas disposal jacket off the back of a plastic chair, shoved his bruised right arm through the sleeve, and walked out the door.
The sloped concrete deployment tunnel opened into the massive underground staging bunker. Eighty recruits remained. They checked their ammunition and tightened their harness straps. Above them, hundreds of broadcast drones sat docked along the ceiling grate, their lenses dark.
Iharu Furuhashi leaned against a concrete pillar near the center of the room. The redhead wiped sweat from his chin guard. He stared at Caleb's bare legs, then at the un-slung right arm.
Iharu let out a barking laugh. "The scrubber lives. I thought medical scraped you into a bio-bag."
A few recruits snickered.
"Try not to bleed out in my sector, old man," Iharu called out, tapping the barrel of his heavy scatter-rifle. "The Captains want a clean show."
Caleb kept walking. He navigated the uneven dirt floor toward the secondary weapon racks along the far wall. He bypassed the heavy assault rifles and tactical shotguns. He grabbed a standard-issue combat knife. The iron grip sat cold in his palm. He wrapped his taped fingers around the hilt and slid it into the canvas belt of his jacket.
Boot steps crunched the gravel.
Hiro jogged over. His oversized track jacket flapped over his armor plates. He stared at Caleb's right arm. "You took the brace off. You can't even hold a gun."
"I don't need a gun," Caleb said.
Hiro pulled a datapad from his chest rig, swiping across the glass screen. "Phase Two is urban elimination. The mechanical targets are fast. You try to close the distance with a knife, they will tear through your chest plating."
Caleb checked the seals on his left gauntlet. "I missed eighty percent of my shots on the firing line. If I take a gun into the zone, I just waste ammo."
Hiro pointed to a schematic of the VIP viewing boxes on his screen. "Phase Two is the Captains' Draft. The Division Commanders sit in those boxes above the arena. They watch the private feeds and draft recruits based on raw combat utility. Passing and getting hired are two different things. If you cross the finish line without proving you are a useful asset, the Defense Force dumps you into the sanitation corps. They want weapons, Caleb. Not survivors."
Fifty thousand credits a month. That was the minimum Caleb needed to keep the family debt interest from drowning him. A sanitation paycheck wouldn't cover his transit fare. To get a Captain to draft him, he had to show utility.
"The elites dominate the draft," Hiro said, glancing toward Iharu. "Captains bid massive salaries for high sync rates."
"Then I hunt differently than they do," Caleb said.
Hiro stiffened into a rigid salute and stepped backward.
Kikaru stopped exactly three feet away. Her white and crimson prototype armor bore deep scuffs from their clash in the ring. A sleek medical compression sleeve wrapped her right bicep. She favored the injured limb.
"Leave us," Kikaru ordered.
Hiro gave Caleb a quick nod and retreated into the crowd.
Kikaru's gaze drifted from the combat knife at Caleb's hip up to his open jacket, lingering on the thick white medical tape wrapping his ribs. "You are a massive liability. Your sync rate is abysmal. You step into the urban zone with a knife, the mechanicals will eviscerate you. The Captains' Draft is a utility assessment. A man with a one-percent sync rate possesses zero tactical value. Why are you doing this?"
Caleb rested his hand on the hilt of the combat blade. "I have a debt. The disposal yards pay thirty credits a cycle. I go back there, I die slow. I walk out those doors, I get a chance to live. I just need one Captain to see I know how to track."
Kikaru reached into the storage compartment on her thigh rig. She pulled out a small silver medical patch and tossed it at his chest. Caleb caught it. A high-grade coagulant seal stamped with a corporate logo.
"Put that over your stitches," Kikaru muttered. A faint flush colored her cheeks. "If you bleed to death in the first three minutes, the Captains will question the integrity of the entire screening process. I refuse to let my evaluation be tainted by your incompetence."
Caleb slipped the patch into his pocket. "Thanks."
"The mechanical Yoju replicate real Kaiju attack patterns," Kikaru said, pointing at the knife in his belt. "They flank. They aim for blind spots. Your right side is exposed. Keep your back to the concrete walls."
She spun on her heel and marched away, resting her hand on her custom rifle holster.
A sharp crackle of static popped directly behind Caleb's right ear. The military blue HUD inside his visor flickered. Lines of code corrupted into a deep purple.
[??? : She hovers around you like a lost puppy. How pathetic.]
Caleb locked his jaw. He checked the straps on his left gauntlet.
[??? : Focus on the hunt, Caleb. Do not let the princess distract you. You belong to me today. Show the Captains what I already know.]
The purple text dissolved.
The green charging lights on the ceiling grate flared to life. Two hundred broadcast drones detached from the ceiling, their lenses whirring as they dropped into the air. The live streams were active.
The head proctor stepped onto the raised metal platform in front of the blast doors.
"Phase Two. Urban Survival and Target Elimination. We have released one hundred mechanical Yoju into Sector B. You score points by destroying targets. You survive by reaching the extraction zone. The mechanicals are programmed for lethal force. If your suit registers critical damage, it will lock your joints to prevent death, and you fail. You have one hour. Gates open."
The heavy steel doors ground apart.
Thick gray artificial smog spilled into the deployment tunnel. The starting siren shrieked.
Iharu sprinted into the ash. Kikaru ignited her thrusters and shot past the boundary line. Hiro gave Caleb a wave before jogging into the smog.
Caleb stepped over the painted white line.
The heavy ash swallowed the stadium lights. The artificial ruins mirrored the exact layout of the disaster zones he scrubbed for a living. He kept his right side angled away from the open street, pressing his shoulder close to a ruined brick wall. He drew his knife with his left hand.
The street was entirely quiet. No mechanical whines. No crawler targets darting through the rubble. The air pressure felt heavy. A static charge made the hairs on his arms stand up.
A low subsonic vibration rattled the soles of his boots.
The pitch of the stadium sirens shifted abruptly. The standard electronic shriek cut off. A deep rhythmic blast shattered the quiet.
HROOOOM. HROOOOM.
The red strobes lining the tops of the artificial buildings ignited.
"Halt the exam! Halt the exam!" The proctor's voice screamed over the PA system. "All applicants, evacuate Sector B immediately! This is not a drill! Seismic activity detected! Honju-class signature! All Defense Force personnel, engage lethal protocols!"
The ground exploded.
A serrated claw the size of a building punched through the asphalt. Toxic black vapor geysered from the fissure.
The military formation broke. Recruits sprinted blindly back toward the blast doors, shoving each other into the gravel to escape the expanding fissure. Kikaru reversed course, landing hard near the edge of the collapsing street. Her customized rifle trembled in her hands. Iharu stood beside her, his weapon lowered.
Caleb held his ground in the flashing red strobe light. He watched the massive chitinous beast drag its colossal bulk out of the earth. Acid dripped from its mandibles, dissolving the concrete in hissing pools. The creature's core pulsed with a bioluminescent green glow beneath its chest plates.
He studied the creature's anatomy. The cartilage gaps between the thick armor plating. The primary articulation joints in the massive forelegs. The exact angle where the scales thinned out near the cervical spine. The exact same structures he had dismantled a thousand times in the disposal bays.
His biological fibers hummed against his ribs, providing just enough artificial strength to keep his boots planted on the shaking earth. The combat knife felt solid in his hand. He tightened his grip on the hilt.
The encrypted comms-chip vibrated behind his ear.
[??? : Oh, wonderful. The main event begins.]
The smooth voice carried a vicious thrill.
[??? : They are all running like frightened sheep. Show the Captains how a butcher works, Caleb.]