My Scumbag System

A thousand footsteps echoed through the massive staging area, each step ringing against the concrete in a chaotic drumbeat of anxious prospects. The cold air bit viciously at my exposed skin, carrying the distinct smell of ozone and antiseptic that reminded me of hospital emergency rooms from my past life—places where life and death hung in precarious balance. Underneath that clinical sterility lurked something else more primal—the metallic tang of raw power, like the air before a devastating lightning strike, a promise of violence waiting to be unleashed.

Along the far wall, fifty massive circular gates stood silent and watchful, each marked by a number in pulsating blue font that cast eerie shadows across the concrete floor. They resembled dead eyes, waiting to blink open and swallow us whole, portals to whatever hellish challenge awaited the unlucky souls assigned to them.

"PROSPECTS, PROCEED TO YOUR ASSIGNED PREPARATION ALCOVES."

The mechanical announcement reverberated through my bones as I followed the directive to alcove twenty-seven, where a recessed panel hissed open. Inside, suspended in a sterile energy field that hummed with quiet menace, hung a folded black bodysuit that seemed to absorb the surrounding light.

"What the hell is this?" someone muttered nearby, their voice tight with apprehension.

I reached out and touched the material with cautious fingers. It felt almost frictionless against my fingertips, like oil given solid form. The inside had a strange, gel-like texture that reminded me disturbingly of raw squid—cold, alien, and somehow alive. As I reluctantly pulled it on, the material seemed to awaken, crawling across my skin with deliberate purpose and constricting around my limbs with a series of soft, unsettling clicks.

When the suit sealed completely at my neck with finality, I felt a cold, sharp prick at the base of my skull. A jolt, like ice and lightning, shot down my spine and made my teeth ache. For a second, my vision filled with digital static, reality disintegrating into meaningless pixels.

\\[SECOND SKIN BIOMETRIC SUIT - SYNC COMPLETE. VITAL SIGNS, ASPECT OUTPUT, AND NEURAL ACTIVITY ARE NOW BEING MONITORED BY THE VALORIAN EVALUATIVE GAUNTLET AI (VEGA).\\]

The text scrolled across a newly activated HUD that materialized in my vision, an unwelcome intrusion into my consciousness. Great. Just fucking great. They weren't just testing our bodies, but monitoring our very thoughts.

Without warning, the main lights dimmed dramatically, plunging us into near darkness, leaving only the eerie blue glow from the gate numbers to illuminate the faces around me. A low murmur passed through the prospects, the sound of a hundred strained whispers blending into a single, anxious hum.

The massive holographic screen at the front of the hall flickered to life with a surge of power that made the air crackle. It didn't show a face, but a stylized, minimalist blue eye. It was a cold, digital gaze that felt like it was peeling back my skin to read the code underneath. Its iris was a constantly spinning loading symbol, hypnotic and vaguely threatening, the digital embodiment of whatever entity would be judging our worthiness.

"Welcome, surviving specimens, to Phase Two!"

The voice piped directly into our comms—a saccharine female alto. It reminded me of the automated customer service voices that had made me want to punch through phone screens in my past life, but with an extra layer of condescension.

"I am VEGA, and it will be my distinct pleasure to quantify your inadequacies for the next several hours."

Great. A sociopathic AI with a god complex. Just what this day needed.

"You will be judged on three primary metrics," VEGA continued. "First, Combat Efficiency. For those of you who prefer brute force. Simple. Crude. And oh-so-dull."

"Second, Tactical Acumen. A metric for the clever little things who think outside the box. A personal favorite of mine."

"And finally... the Appeal Score."

"After all, strength is a commodity, but charisma is a brand. What good is a hunter no one wants to watch... or sponsor? Your every move will be analyzed for marketability. So try to look good while you're failing, won't you?"

With a sound like a cash register's chime, a massive, live-ranked leaderboard materialized beside VEGA's eye. It displayed 150 empty slots, waiting hungrily to be filled.

"PROSPECTS, PROCEED TO YOUR ASSIGNED GATES."

We shuffled into lines, the herd being sorted for slaughter. I found my place at Gate 27, settling into the mindless wait that was clearly designed to be its own test. Boredom and nerves are a potent cocktail for fraying nerves.

I scanned the lines, dismissing the obvious non-threats—the muscle-bound idiots shadow-boxing in place, the nervous wrecks muttering affirmations to themselves. I was looking for the real predators, the ones who knew how to hide in plain sight.

A few lines over, at Gate 32, I spotted her.

The blue-and-pink haired girl. Bubblegum, I mentally labeled her. Unlike the rest of us, she wasn't tense. She wasn't posturing. She was laughing—a genuine, easy laugh—with a friend beside her.

She wore the standard Second Skin like the rest of us, but with one small modification—a single, stylish crimson data-jack cable running from her temple to a port on her collar. It was subtle but obviously expensive, the kind of custom tech only the truly elite could afford.

As if feeling my gaze, she turned her head. Her eyes locked with mine across the space between us. There was no surprise, no fear. Just sharp, intelligent recognition. It was like two apex predators acknowledging each other across a watering hole.

She didn't look away. A slow, challenging smirk spread across her face. She lifted her hand and gave me a crisp, two-fingered salute.

Well, well. It seems the board wasn't empty after all. This just got interesting.

A low, resonant thrum filled the hall as the gates began to power up. I gave one last look toward Natalia's line. She was watching me, her posture rigid with tension. Her expression was unreadable to most, but I could see the burning intensity in her eyes. A silent pact passed between us: See you at the top.

The number above Gate 27 flashed from red to a brilliant, inviting green.

\\[PROCEED, CADET NAKANO.\\]