"Live your life, Maggie. Don't worry about us, we'll be fine."
Those were the last words his mother ever said to him, the last time he'd heard her voice or anyone else's from his hometown.
The memory of that day was etched into his mind as vividly as if it were recorded on film. He could still hear the crashing buildings, the panicked screams of people running through the streets, praying, hoping that something—someone—would come to save them.
It had been a replayed broadcast, displayed on the camp screen for everyone to see. As he stared at the footage of his hometown being torn apart by monsters, his chest tightened. His heart sank deeper with every passing second.
He wanted to look away, to block out the horror he knew was inevitable, but he couldn't. He didn't have the strength to tear his eyes from the screen.
When the camera panned across the city's destruction, he found himself searching. Searching for his home, for his mother, for any sign of her. He wanted to see her one more time, yet at the same time, he desperately prayed he wouldn't.
What was his purpose now? The only thing he had ever wanted was to give his mother a chance to see the world beyond their little corner, to share with her sights and wonders she had only dreamed of. That purpose was gone now, wiped away in a single, devastating afternoon.
He could still remember how suffocating it was, the way his thoughts refused to form, the way his tears wouldn't stop.
Magenta opened his eyes.
He lifted his head, half expecting to see his combat commander looming over him, ready to scold him for oversleeping. But no one was there, and nothing was there either, save for the empty bed to his side.
Scanning the room, his eyes landed on the door. There she was, Beatrice Morrow, his eccentric roommate. She stood in front of the door, staring at it with such intensity, you'd believe it owed her money. Typical weirdo behavior.
"Sounded like you were having a nightmare," she said.
"Crap." Magenta ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't scream, did I? Please tell me I didn't wake you up."
"Yeah, you screamed like a rat getting mauled by a pack of hyenas," she said, turning to face him with a mischievous grin. "Kidding. You didn't scream, but you were shaking so much, I thought the bed was gonna collapse."
"Ah. I see." Magenta rubbed his face, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep and embarrassment.
"Do you want to talk about it—"
"Hmm?" He raised an eyebrow, not quite catching her words. "What'd you say?"
"Nothing," she replied, already turning toward the door. "You should get up. The alarm's going off soon."
"Alarm?" Magenta repeated, groggily standing. "What alarm—"
His question was cut off by the piercing blare of sirens. The dimly lit room flooded with red light, and before he could fully process it, the door slid open, Beatrice already stepping through.
"Wait, what's going on?" Magenta called out, trailing behind her with his hands clamped over his ears.
"The evaluation is starting, silly." Beatrice said, beaming down the hall.
The evaluation. Right. He had completely forgotten. Lowering his hands as the sirens died down, Magenta quickened his pace. "What do you think the evaluation's going to be? Body checkups?"
She shot him a sideways glance. "They haven't done body exams in quite a bit, have you not looked at the past exams?"
"I was going to get to that," Magenta lied with a shrug. Trying to pose as an experienced pilot, same as everyone else. "Eventually."
"That's good, knowing what you're up against is always important!" she said with a high pitched smile, pushing open a door that led to the courtyard. She stopped at the threshold as a flood of people passed by, letting them flow around her.
And in the turmoil, she went missing. Blending into the crowd like a shadow by noon.
"Great. Back to being alone," Magenta muttered, stepping into the moving crowd.
The group funneled into the courtyard, and as everyone settled into place, the space was filled with indistinct chatter. Conversations about future events and speculation about the evaluation were talked about around him, until the loud voice of Commander Paul cut through the noise.
"Seems like you're all here," Paul said, standing tall on the stage as his eyes scanned the crowd. "Without further ado, let's begin the evaluation. But before that, there are a few things you need to understand."
Behind him, a set of chairs stood behind a long dark table, and coming in from the other door were six individuals, all taking a seat one by one.
As they sat, the crowd began to speak even louder. Whispers coming through like wind through the cracks.
"Aren't those the captains?"
"Wait, where's Rass. I wanted to join his team!"
Magenta looked at the faces that sat in front of him, all unique looking individuals. Yet, he had no idea who they were. The only reason he knew who Captain Rass was in the first place was because of his obsession with Juggernauts.
Out of the Juggernauts, however. They were just regular people, all of which he didn't know.
"After the conception of the Ten Districts," Paul began, "the Federation appointed ten individuals to protect them. These individuals are what you know as the Captains. And behind me stand their seconds-in-command, here to observe and potentially recruit you into their squads."
Magenta's gaze drifted toward the table behind him. Several figures sat casually, one slouched so far back he was practically fused with the chair, light snores escaping him. Another tapped furiously at her phone, the rapid fire clicks filling the silence between Paul's sentences.
They didn't look especially impressive.
Compared to Rass, they seemed to lack that commanding presence he had. Was the captain simply an exception?
"But," Paul continued, "the Captains themselves don't handle recruitment. That duty falls to the ones behind me. They'll be the ones deciding which of you make it through."
"Wait... there's only six of them!" someone blurted out.
The crowd parted to reveal the speaker, a stocky man whose wide eyes met Paul's without confidence.
"And?" Paul asked.
"And...?" the man repeated dumbly. "There's a hundred of us. And the max the squads can recruit is four. That means..."
"Yes," Paul said. "Only twenty-four of you will pass this year's exam."
"That's bullshit!" the man snapped. "Some of us have waited our whole damn lives for—"
"Can you please shut up?" came a bored voice from the table.
One of the seconds-in-command. Headphones on, feet kicked up on the desk said, his head bobbing slightly to the muffled sound of music."If you don't like it, there's the door, and if you think this is a fairytale, try flying."
Paul nodded. "Like Vice Captain Thorne said: that's the offer. If you're not good enough, leave now."
The man fell quiet. The crowd shuffled back in, swallowing him up once more.
"Now," Paul exhaled, "before the interruption, I was going to explain how Squad Selections work. But I think you can figure that out."
He gestured behind him as doors opened. More people entered, not to sit, but to usher the hopefuls out.
All one hundred pilots were led into a new chamber. A massive, sterile space.
Everything was white.
So white it was disorienting, like time itself had been bleached out of the room.
Then came a flash of green light, and when their eyes reopened.
They were no longer in the Federation building, but now in the abandoned battle zone of,
DISTRICT FORTY THREE.
In front of them lay engineers, dozens of them, all working on field mechs. Over a hundred of the damned things stood before him, brand new, each single one of them.
"Brandt 101..." Magenta said, walking to the front. Sparkles in his eyes. "With the maximum speed of sixty miles per hour, Powered by the new Phrolova energy cells, extracted from Rift-class Wyrm cores. They're even more beautiful than the schematics."
"You're a real nut, huh?!"
Magenta flinched. A tall man had appeared beside him, blonde hair slicked back, voice louder than necessary.
"No... I'm not, I just happen to dabble a bit is all." Magenta hid.
"Uh-huh." The man smirked. "Name's Abel. Abel Selmani."
"Magenta Hommes."
"Oh! You're the 'I'M HERE' guy!" Abel laughed. "Knew I recognized the voice."
"Please erase that memory from your brain," Magenta groaned.
Before Abel could answer, Paul's voice cut through the chatter.
"Enough talking!" he barked.
The next wave of candidates emerged from the portal. The vice-captains followed, slow and lethargic, barely able to mask mask their boredom.
"Now that we're all here," Paul began, gesturing beside him, "let me explain your first exam."
He pointed to a vehicle parked nearby, four mechanical limbs locked in place, heavy cargo strapped to its back.
"It's a protect the convoy match, with two teams on each side, one attacking and one defending."
"Protect the convoy?" someone echoed, confused.
"Yes," Paul explained. "As the name suggests, your job is to ensure the vehicle completes its route. If the convoy takes enough damage to stop, or if your entire team is immobilized. You will fail."
A low murmur rippled through the crowd. "That sounds easy enough," someone whispered.
Paul didn't smile.
"Teams will consist of four members each, to mimic real world combat. That means you need to find a partner. Then get to your mechs."
He glanced at his watch.
"You've got ten minutes. Good luck."
Magenta nodded his head, a mission like this wasn't quite difficult. He's had to protect convoys from way worse than a bunch of standard mechs. He laughed, then stopped, looking back toward the combat commander.
"Excuse me, sir." He asked. "Did you say we have to get our own teammates?"
Paul didn't blink. "Yes. If no team wants you, you're out. No exceptions."
"Oh."
Magenta turned around. And everyone around him scattered like he had the plague, and he couldn't blame them. Going with him meant that you started with a deficit, and with no clear indication as to how the points were spread.
Those five points could've meant quite literally nothing, or the entire exam.
Which meant he had ten minutes.
Ten minutes to find teammates.
Or ten minutes until disqualification.
"Easy enough," he fibbed.