The announcement echoed through the dorm, its meaning settling like a dead weight. The winnowing begins tomorrow.
That night, the usual exhausted silence was replaced by a tense energy. The holographic display on their wall now showed a new header: PHASE 1: THE CULL (200 -> 170). Below it, a list of names was divided into five groups.
"They're cutting thirty of us. Just like that," Remy said, oddly quiet. He was in Group 3.
"È necessario. It is necessary," Mateo stated from his bunk. He was in Group 1, the first to face the fire. "A chain is only as strong as its weakest link. They are not here to coddle. They are here to forge a weapon. To do that, they must break the weak links now." He didn't sound cruel, merely factual.
Kenji, in Group 2, was staring at the list, his eyes half-lidded in concentration. "The purpose is clear. This is not about teamwork. It is a raw, brutal assessment. They are identifying the absolute best individual raw materials. The events listed confirm it."
Lex scrolled down. The list of events was daunting:
{• The Combine from Hell: A series of grueling physical and technical tests under immense pressure.
- Repeated sprint drills with minimal recovery.
- Shooting accuracy after being physically battered in a simulated tackle.}
{• Biometric Overload: Every heartbeat, muscle twitch, and decision is monitored by RedLine's AI.
- We are not just looking for skill, but for genetic potential, recovery rate, and mental resilience.}
"Biometric Overload?" Lex muttered. "What does that even mean?"
"It means they will know if you are scared before you do," Kenji said without looking away from the screen. "They will measure the lactic acid in your muscles, the cortisol in your blood. They are not testing your football. They are testing your body's blueprint."
Remy let out a low whistle. "Blimey. No pressure then, just a completely invasive medical exam while running yourself into the 'hell'. Lovely." His eyes scanned down and found Lex's name in its final-day slot. "Saving the best for last, Chip Guy? Or are they putting the entertainment at the end of the show?"
"Or giving me the most time to get nervous," Lex replied, trying to sound casual.
Over the next four days, the dorm became a nightly debriefing room.
Mateo returned on Day 1, his kit soaked through with sweat. There was a new, grim respect in his eyes. "The tackling simulator…" he began, rubbing his shoulder, "…it is not a machine. It is like being hit by a small car. Repeatedly. Then, while your bones are still recovering, you must control a pass and place a shot from twenty yards. This is not football. It is… survival. Pure survival."
Kenji came back on Day 2, his complexion pale, his movements precise but slower. "The cognitive tests are the true challenge," he explained, lying flat on his back on his bunk. "The physical exhaustion is intense. You are at your absolute limit, your muscles are failing, your vision is blurring, and you must solve tactical problems in just three seconds. You must identify the passing lane, the scoring opportunity, try to minimize the hit impact and input the solution before your body gives out. Many failed here. Their bodies were willing, but their minds were not."
Remy came in on Day 3, his energy visibly drained for the first time since Lex had met him. "The repeated sprints…" he panted, climbing the bunk and collapsing onto his bed. "They never end. Mate, they test your soul, I tell ya. You run until you taste blood in your throat, you jog back and just as you think you're done, the AI blares another starting buzzer. Saw two lads just… quit. Walked off the pitch."
Each of them had passed. Their names remained on the list, now highlighted in green next to their completed status. The pool of red names—those who had been cut—grew each day. The atmosphere in the Crucible grew quieter, more intense.
The night before Lex's day, his roommates were silent. There were no more tips to give, no more strategies to share. They had given him everything they had.
It was Mateo who broke the silence from the darkness. "Forza, Lex," he said, the Italian word for strength carrying a weight of genuine solidarity. "Show them your strength. Not just in your legs. In here." He tapped a fist against his chest, the sound soft.
"Don't overthink it," Kenji's calm, measured voice added from below. "Your value is not in your logic. It is in your chaos. Let it out."
"Just be properly, magnificently annoying, mate," Remy said, his voice thick with sleep but utterly sincere. "Like you were in the sim. Wind them up. Annoy the algorithm. Good luck."
Lex lay awake long after their breathing evened out into the rhythms of sleep, the words of his roommates—his first and only allies in this gladiatorial pit—echoing in his mind. They believed he had a chance. They saw something in him that the leaderboard didn't. He had to believe it too.
The speaker blared at 7:30 AM. "Group 5. Report to Assessment Bay Gamma in twenty minutes."
Lex was already dressed, lacing up his boots. His stomach was a tight knot of nerves, but his hands were steady. He looked at himself in the reflective surface of the door terminal. No longer just a boy from Brackley. He was Candidate 196.
He met the eyes of his roommates. No words were needed. Mateo gave a firm nod. Kenji's gaze was analytical, but with a hint of approval. Remy shot him a thumbs-up and a wide smile.
Lex turned and walked out of the dorm, the door sliding shut behind him. The corridor to Assessment Bay Gamma felt longer than any tunnel he'd ever walked down onto a pitch. This was it. No more simulations. No more drills.
This was The Cull.
He reached the massive, circular bay. Forty other candidates stood there, including Kael, who shot him a dismissive glance. In the center of the bay was a complex array of equipment: sprint tracks lined with laser sensors, tackling dummies that looked like industrial pistons, and goal units surrounded by a halo of flashing lights.
High above, behind a wall of dark, reinforced glass, the shadowy, silhouetted figures of the coaching staff observed. One figure, broader and more still than the others, could only be The Gaffer. They were watching. Always watching.
A massive holographic countdown materialized in the dead center of the room, the numbers burning bright red.
{00:00:10}
Lex took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders, feeling the adrenaline begin to burn through the fear. He remembered the feeling of the chip against the Centauri sim—the stupid, glorious, perfect risk. The joy of it.
{00:00:05}
He grinned, a sharp, fierce expression.
{00:00:01}
"Either I become the world's best player, or I become the world's best player." His mantra remembered.
{00:00:00}
{COMBINE INITIATED.}
The first alarm screamed. It was time to fly or fall.