A panel slid out of the back of each seat with a soft mechanical hum.
Alex looked down. A thin screen had risen in front of him, lit a pale blue, with a single word glowing in the center.
Begin.
"You have thirty minutes," Dr Hela said from the platform. "Answer every question. Once you submit, you may not change your answers. There will be no second attempt."
Alex touched the screen. The word dissolved, and the first question appeared.
Question 1. How many Maximizers can a Ravager of D rank wield safely?
Under it were four options.
A. One
B. Two
C. Three to five
D. Seven to ten
He read it once. The table from the Ravengers and Beast book rose in his mind as clearly as if it were printed in front of him. E rank, one. D rank, two. C rank, three to five.
’Easy,’ he thought.
He tapped B.
The screen advanced.
Question 2. Which of the following is the best course of action when a single pilot is faced with three Beasts of level five and above?
A. Engage all three at once to prevent them from flanking
B. Retreat to a defensible position and call for support
C. Target the weakest first and ignore the others
D. Use all available Maximizers in a single burst
Alex leaned back and chewed on the inside of his cheek.
He had read a Chapter on this in the fifth stack of books. It had been in a story style, a case study of a pilot who had fought three Beasts alone and died. The lesson at the end had been simple. Numbers mattered. Level five and above was too much for one person.
’Retreat,’ he thought. ’Don’t be a hero.’
He tapped B.
Question 3. Which factor most directly determines the quality and purity of a monster drop?
A. The location of the gate
B. The time of day the Beast was killed
C. The level of the Beast
D. The weapon used to defeat it
’C,’ Alex thought at once. He remembered Kelly standing in front of the glass tanks with her hand flat on the tank. The purity and concentration of a drop depends on the level of the Beast.
He tapped C.
Question 4. True or false: drop quality generally improves as monster level increases.
True. He tapped it.
The questions came one after another. Some were easy. Some made him stop and stare at the ceiling. A few he answered with a quick tap, and a few he thought over for half a minute. There was one about the color coded talents. Which color signified the Water talent? Blue. Which of the following was not affected by the synchronization percentage? He read the options twice, and picked the one that named a pilot’s height.
Then he came to a question he did not recognize.
Question 17. According to the Foundation’s Classification Standard, a Beast with a Threat Index above 7.5 is designated as which of the following?
He read it again. The words did not mean anything. Threat Index. Designated. He had never seen either in any book he had opened.
’That’s from one of the ones I skipped,’ he thought.
His hand hovered over the screen. He glanced at the four options. None of them looked more right than the others. He shut his eyes, took a breath, and picked the one that sounded most likely.
A few questions later there was another. Then another after that. Each time it was the same cold prickle at the back of his neck, the quiet knowledge that he had left a gap and it had caught up with him. Four questions in total that he flat out did not recognize. He guessed all four.
’That’s the price for skipping books,’ he thought.
But he did not panic. He finished the rest of the paper and felt something settle in his chest.
’I still think I’ll make it.’
It was not just confidence. He had read more in the last month than in the whole of his old life. Novels included. He had absorbed what mattered, the rankings, the mechanics, the limits. The gaps were small. And the men around him, the ones who sat with their heads bowed over their screens, were hardcore criminals. Killers, thieves, arsonists. Very few of them would have taken a book seriously for a single hour.
He glanced around. A man two rows over was tapping answers at random, his tongue between his teeth. Another had his arms folded and his eyes shut. Someone near the back was staring at the ceiling with his mouth open.
’They didn’t study,’ Alex thought. ’Most of them didn’t even try.’
He returned to the screen.
When the last question was done, the panel flashed. Submit? He hesitated for a second, then pressed the button.
The screen went white.
A moment later, it filled with text.
Score recorded. Position: 6.
Alex stared at it.
’Sixth?’
He read it again. It did not change. He had come in sixth. Out of sixty six, sixth. He had not even covered every book. He had left whole stacks unread, and still he had come in sixth.
A small, disbelieving laugh rose in his throat. He swallowed it.
Around the hall, he could see other inmates looking at their screens. The results were private. Each person saw only their own position, and nobody could see anyone else’s. Faces went blank. A man near the front gripped the edge of his seat. A woman in the third row let out a small sob and covered her mouth.
Dr Hela waited until every screen had gone dark.
"The results have been recorded," she said. "You have each seen your position. The top thirty of you have passed. The bottom thirty six have not."
Nobody moved.
"The bottom thirty six of you will now leave us."
The hall went silent in a new way.
For a second, nothing happened. Then a chair scraped, and a voice cracked out from somewhere near the middle.
"That’s not fair!"
Alex turned his head.
A woman had shot to her feet. Her hair was cropped short, and her face was hard and gray. He knew her at once. She was the woman from the room next to his, the one who had slammed the door in his face.
"That’s not fair," she said again, louder. Her voice shook. "It’s a test. It’s just a stupid test. You can’t do this. I can do the suit. I know I can. Give me a chance..."
"Sit down," said a guard.
"No! I won’t. You can’t just..."
A sharp electronic whine cut through the hall.
The green light on her collar flared red. She stopped mid word. Her eyes went wide, and her hand flew to her throat. Then a crack of white fire went through her, and she dropped like a stone between the rows.
Nobody moved. Nobody made a sound.
Two guards hurried down the aisle. One bent over her, checked her neck, and shook his head. They lifted her between them and carried her toward the doors.
Alex sat frozen with his hands on his knees. He did not look away. He could not.
’That’s what happens,’ he thought numbly. ’That’s what the collar is for.’ it could do more than just shock.
He had known it. He had been told on the first day. But knowing and seeing were not the same, and something cold and heavy dropped down through his stomach.
Guards moved through the rows. They tapped shoulders and pointed at the doors, and one by one the bottom thirty six rose from their seats and filed out. Some walked stiffly. Some had to be helped. A few were crying openly. The guards led them in a long line to the far end of the hall, through a set of heavy doors, and shut them behind.
The sound of the latch echoed.
For a moment, nobody spoke. Alex counted the seats that were left. Thirty. He glanced to his side, and the seat beside him was still occupied. Jerry sat with his hands clenched in his lap, his face white and rigid, staring straight ahead. But he was there.
’He made it too,’ Alex thought.
Dr Hela stepped to the edge of the platform.
"Congratulations," she said. Her voice was flat, but there was something almost like respect in it. "You have passed the first hurdle."
A few of the thirty exhaled. Someone let out a shaky laugh.
"Nothing stands between you and that pardon after you pass this next phase," she said. "The written exam was the gate. What comes now is the key."
She was about to continue when a guard hurried up the steps of the platform. He leaned close to her ear and murmured something, low and quick. Alex could not hear it. The doctor listened without changing expression. When he was done, she gave a small, dismissive nod.
"Yeah, sure," she said, not quietly enough. "Execute them at once."
The guard bowed and left.
Alex swallowed.
It was a dry, hard swallow. The words were so casual. There had been no pause, no weight, as if she had just ordered lunch. Thirty six people had been walked out the door minutes ago, and already the order had been given.
’I made it,’ he thought. ’Others weren’t so lucky.’
He looked down at his hands. They were steady. He had come in sixth, out of sixty six, without reading every book. He had guessed four answers and still made the cut. It did not feel real.
But it was. He turned the number over in his mind and let it settle. Sixth.
Around him, the thirty survivors sat in stunned silence. Someone was breathing hard. Someone else muttered a prayer.
On the platform, Dr Hela lifted her tablet and studied it, and the screen behind her flickered to a new image.
’Next,’ Alex thought.