Far above, in the control tower at the edge of the test field, the commanders of the Galactic Navel force gathered before a large set of monitors.
Holographic projections hovered in front of each of them, displaying various parts of the survival zone. Each camera feed showed chaos.
"How are we looking?"
One of the younger commanders asked, adjusting his sleeve.
A gruff, older woman scoffed.
"Another failure batch. Too soft. These aren't soldiers. They're civilians with delusions of grandeur."
She muttered.
Another leaned back in his seat.
"I warned you. Increasing the artificial mutation rate of the forest would weed out the weak."
"Yeah, well, looks like it's weeding out everyone. Do you even see that eastern group? They're getting wiped. We'll have corpses to clean up again."
Another commander shot back.
"What about the humanoid?"
Someone asked, bringing up a glitched screen.
