It was indeed not easy.
Twenty pairs had already formed, each one now suited in sleek, black, nameless jumpsuits and stationed high above the rest inside their towering mechs.
There were two minutes remaining and nobody left in the crowd inspired confidence, and he couldn't leverage familiarity since Hagen and Beatrice had already found teams as well.
He kept scanning the crowd. He couldn't afford to be picky, not with so little time left, but throwing himself into a team full of nervous wrecks didn't seem like the best strategy either.
Then he stopped.
To his side, three people were huddled together. One of them stepped forward. Tall, confident, bright eyes scanning what was left of the crowd. Those same eyes landed on him.
He pointed and strode over.
"Do you want to be in our team?!" he shouted, just as loud as Abel had been earlier.
Magenta glanced behind him at the team: two pilots, one male and one female. One looked terrified, with shaky legs and nervous breaths. The other was fine, hand on her hip, eyes scanning him like a hawk.
He most likely had known he had a point deduction. But by the process of elimination, taking on that deficit seemed better than another useless teammate.
"Sure," Magenta said. Time was almost up, and this was likely his last shot.
"Amazing!" the guy beamed. "I'm Cosmos Beldfer, but you can call me Cos. That's what my friends call me. Or Mos. Some people call me that too. And some people also call me Moses, like from the bible. I never really understood that one though."
Another weirdo.
"I'll stick with Cosmos for now," Magenta said, with a fake smile.
"Perfect!" Cosmos replied, still chipper. He waved over the two others, and they walked closer. "These are the rest of the team: Valentina and June."
Then, with theatrical flair: "And this here is Magenta!"
"Hey," Valentina said, seemingly focused on something else.
"Hi..." June followed, hands fidgeting.
"Hey," Magenta replied, and just like that, they were climbing into the cockpits of the Brandt mechs—a complete tier above the Ruspa 81s he'd used back in the army.
The Brandt 101s, were the latest design by Julius Brandt himself. Standing twenty feet tall, with a humanoid chassis and heavyweight frame, they could support up to ten tons of cargo and weaponry. Which made them perfect for training and basic combat ops, especially with separate weapon load-outs, which they currently had.
The last remaining teams scrambled to fill out, though one team—four people—never finalized. All complaining about something he couldn't hear. Paul's timer hit zero, and just like he'd promised, they were disqualified on the spot.
That left ninety six pilots.
Each one now seated in the cockpits, eyes turned to Paul as he approached the convoy.
"As I said earlier, the convoy is your best friend. But there are still a bit more things to explain." He said, pulling up the tarp on the cargo. "For the defensive units, your goal is to be steadfast and anchored. And the items in the convoy will help you do just that."
Everyone could now see into the convoys trunk, sitting in it was a new weapon type, the York-005, a heavyweight plasma mini-gun, forcefield emitters, and signal jammers.
Then he dropped the tarp.
"For the attacking team, your goal is simple, break and destroy. Unlike the defensive team, you don't get any items. With the blasters and blades that come equipped with the Brandt, you are to defeat your opponents by leveraging whatever you can."
It was clear the attacking side had it easier.
The defensive equipment might've looked impressive, but all it really added was weight and time spent shuffling and using items.
It was good, but it needed setup. Setup you might not have been able to afford.
He swallowed as the convoy engines began to hum, engineers darting between machines for final checks.
"At the end of this exam," Paul called out, "only twenty-four of you will be selected. And to make sure you have a fighting chance, you'll need points."
On every cockpit's screen—where the standard map usually sat—an interface popped up:
|POINTING SYSTEM|
5 points — Destroy an opponent's mech
10 points — Destroy a convoy
10 points — Protect a convoy from fatal damage
10 points — Deliver a convoy successfully
"These are the only ways to earn points," Paul continued. "The more points you have, the higher your standing on the final selection list."
Then, a voice cut in.
"What if the vice captains want to choose someone regardless of points?"
All eyes flicked toward the speaker. A blue-haired girl with round glasses. She sat upright in her cockpit like she belonged in a council room, not a warzone.
"Millicent Brugia," a voice responded before Paul could. A vice captain stood now—robes red as blood, a rose insignia blooming on her shoulder. "Daughter of Grant Brugia, once an esteemed rider. My, how you've grown."
Millicent didn't smile. "Answering my question is a better use of your time, Vice Captain Kayla."
Kayla chuckled, brief and dry. "Points aren't everything. If one of us believes a low ranking candidate has greater potential, we can choose them. But for most of you, the point system will dictate your position on the squad ranking."
She turned, locking eyes with Paul. "Right, Pauli-boy?"
"Yes, Vice Captain Kayla," Paul answered without hesitation. "The points earned here today will determine your squad ranking for the second phase of the Pilot Trials."
Then he added. "Any more unsolicited questions?"
The room fell quiet.
No further questions. No complaints. Just the cold clatter of cockpit hatches sealing shut. Mechs lit up one by one, reactors burning on as engineers scrambled clear of the field.
When the exam began, the attacking units were deployed to the far edge of the broken district, near the very end of a long-abandoned sector.
The defensive teams stayed in place, the convoy starting in their midst. Its path, hidden from the enemy was marked only on their private maps. The attackers would have to find it, intercept it, and destroy or disable it before it reached its end.
Paul's voice came through on comms, one last time: "It goes without saying, but as a defender. The only way to win is to deliver a convoy, and as an attacker. The only way to pass, is to destroy one. Anything less would result in an elimination."
Then with a deep breath.
"And to all the participants of the 117th batch. DO YOUR BEST!"
EXAMINATION, START!
The convoys dragged through the sandy terrains, most paths going separately from each other, toward different cardinal directions.
In just moments, everyone had cleared out. Each team separated by a mass of cracked buildings and large land fills.
Your map was your best friend in this exam.
It showed the terrain's full layout, the elevations, dips, blind spots, but it didn't track enemies. No pings or markers could be utilized, which meant even your teammates didn't show up.
So from the get go, you'd be flying blind, relying on vision, comms, and gut instinct.
Magenta moved behind the convoy. The others. Cosmos, Valentina, and June, took position at its flanks.
The district was in ruins. Leveled homes. Crushed factories. School buildings flattened into unrecognizable slabs. Yet, not a single body was in sight.
The cleanup crew had done their job.
He wondered if his hometown had looked the same. If they'd scrubbed the blood and broken bodies away like it was just another accident. Another warzone to sweep under the rug.
He shook the thought out of his head.
Now wasn't the time. He'd made peace with that a long time ago...
What mattered now were the holes in Paul's exam instructions.
"I think we should all get to know each other!" Cosmos said, his mech lurching forward with too much energy. "Talk life! Strategy!"
"You don't have to be so loud..." June muttered. His voice barely coming through the speakers.
"Is that so?!" Cosmos laughed. "Well, we gotta work together, right? No point flying blind if we don't know how the other fights!"
"Hate to admit it, but he's not wrong," Valentina added.
"Right?!?!" Cosmos beamed.
"Shut up," Valentina snapped. "You're gonna give our location away, idiot."
Cosmos chuckled, turning back to Magenta. "You've been quiet. Something wrong?"
Magenta snapped out of it. He glanced from Cosmos to the slow moving convoy, marching on like a steel hound. "Isn't this a little too one-sided?"
"How so?!" Cosmos asked.
"Do you always have to shout?" Valentina growled.
"I mean," Magenta continued, "we don't have a dedicated attacking unit, nobody does. Which means it's a free-for-all. Anyone can go for any convoy. That puts us at a big disadvantage."
"Yeah," Valentina agreed, "I guess it does."
"But also..." Magenta frowned. "The points don't add up. Delivering a convoy gets us the same ten points they get for destroying one. There's no edge for playing defense. We're on the losing side by default."
Valentina thought about it for a second, then said. "Wait, does that mean the numbers are wrong or something? Should we go back and tell Paul?"
Magenta didn't respond right away. He kept his eyes on the convoy, watching it move just in front of them, stop slightly but continue moving just as quick. "Guys, stop. All of you."
Cosmos halted. "What's the issue?!"
Magenta raised a finger and pointed forward. "Look."
The convoy stood still, just in front of them, one leg still up.
"What does that mean?" June asked, his voice barely audible through the comms.
Magenta scanned the broken district ahead. Shattered buildings lined the street, large shadows filling the cracks within crumbling buildings.
Then, from the distance ahead. A click.
A sound distinct and cold, like the snapping of fingers. But it wasn't human. It was the unique sound cue only used by the Brandt series—a mechanical chirp triggered when the mechs jerked their hands.
They were being watched.
Magenta's eyes narrowed and in one motion, he reached behind his mech's frame and pulled free the Halberd-12, A semi-auto assault blaster.
"What's happening?" Valentina asked, looking around, confused. But beside her, June had already moved, his rifle was up, aimed down the path ahead.
"They hid their convoys" Magenta said, irritated. "It won't move too." Then with a click of his tongue, "they're smart."
A low whir echoed from the building ahead.
The unmistakable sound of Brandt 101 engines.
And the unmistakable sight of them.
Orange, pulsing reactor cores glowed from their chests, strapped deep within the skeletal frames of silver-armored mechs. They emerged from the shadows like wraiths of steel, stepping in perfect sync. Guns raised and blades drawn.
"Are the attackers here already?" Valentina asked. "That's not possible is it?"
"They're not attackers," Magenta whispered.
Cosmos stiffened. "What are they doing here then?"
Magenta exhaled, "exploiting a loophole."
"What?" Valentina asked.
"They hid their own convoys," Magenta said, eyes fixed ahead. "The attackers haven't shown up yet, so they're taking out the rest of us first, destroying convoys and mechs. Easy points. And once they're done... they can just fall back, escort their own convoy, and pass the exam with a perfect score."
"These sneaky son's of—" Valentina cursed under her breath. "Aren't we all teammates? This isn't fair!!"
"No one ever said we had to play fair," Cosmos muttered.
"And to top it all off, they're partnering together," Magenta said, eyes locked on the eight approaching mechs. "This isn't good at all."
The enemy squad spread out, forming a wide semicircle.
They weren't hesitating.
And they weren't here to talk.
"And worst of it all," Magenta laughed. "Why the hell didn't I think about doing this?"