From his perch in the middle bunk, Riley watched Jenna step forward. The room's hush deepened as the younger orphans leaned in, their wide eyes tracking her every move. Jenna wasn't like Riley—she didn't hesitate, didn't falter under the weight of the room's collective gaze. Her cropped blonde hair framed a sharp, determined face, and her posture exuded confidence. Her strides were purposeful as she approached the LiteNet Pod.

  Its doors opened, and Jenna climbed inside with the same practiced ease she brought to everything. The holographic display flickered to life above. Her name and avatar appeared in sharp detail. Her figure wore the same standard enforcer gear: the reinforced armor fit her slender frame snugly, and the combat boots laced tight. The baton in her hand seemed almost out of place, too heavy and clumsy for someone built for speed.

  The countdown began. Three… two… one.

  The battlefield materialized around her. The same broken cityscape Riley had faced spread out before her. Jenna's avatar stood at the ready, the baton gripped loosely in her hands. Her sharp green eyes darted between the shadows, scanning for movement.

  Appearing in the blink of an eye, the first adversary charged, but Jenna was already moving. She darted to the side, her boots skimming over the cracked asphalt as she avoided its first strike. The baton swung in a tight arc, connecting with the back of the adversary's head. It dissolved into a flicker of light, and the next opponent was on her before the first had fully disappeared.

  Jenna's movements were fluid, each dodge and strike perfectly timed. The room buzzed with soft murmurs of approval as she weaved through the battlefield, dispatching the enemies with precision. But Riley could see the cracks forming. Her strikes were quick, but the baton wasn't built for finesse. Every blow required more effort than her frame could sustain, and the weight of the armor slowed her just enough to make each dodge a little narrower, each strike a little less decisive.

  The second wave hit harder. Adversaries attacked in coordinated groups, forcing her into constant motion. She vaulted over a chunk of debris, her boots skidding as she landed and spun to counter the next blow. She managed to take down two more, but the exertion was wearing on her. Her movements lost their sharpness, her strikes their strength.

  Jenna's precision had given way to desperation by the time the final wave arrived. Her baton swung wide, missing its target, and an enemy's strike glanced off her shoulder, sending her stumbling. She rallied, managing one last hit before they overwhelmed her. The simulation ended with her avatar collapsing, her score blinking into view above the pod.

  It was better than Riley's but not good enough to matter.

  Jenna stepped out of the pod, her expression tight. She didn't bother waiting for the evaluators to wave her off, choosing instead to beeline toward her bunk. The muted cheers from the younger kids died off as she passed, replaced by awkward silence. Riley watched as she grabbed her bag, her frustration written in every sharp movement.

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  "They rigged it for the meatheads," Jenna muttered, slamming her locker shut. "No room for the quick or clever, just brute force."

  The bitterness in her voice cut through the room. A few of the other orphans exchanged glances, unsure if they were allowed to agree. Riley said nothing, keeping his gaze fixed on the pod.

  Jenna didn't stop to vent further. She slung her bag over her shoulder and made for the door, pausing only once at the threshold. For a moment, she stood there, silhouetted by the light spilling in from the hall. She turned back, her gaze sweeping over the room. Riley couldn't tell if she was saying goodbye or taking one last look. Then she was gone. The door clicked shut behind her.

  The silence didn't last long. The evaluators were efficient, barely glancing up as they prepared for the next candidate. The pod door hissed open, and all eyes turned to Marcus.

  If Jenna's confidence had been quiet and sharp, Marcus exuded something louder, heavier. He didn't just walk toward the LiteNet Pod—he owned the space with every deliberate step. Broad shoulders, a buzzed haircut, and a constant scowl made him look like he belonged anywhere but an orphanage. Even the evaluators straightened in their seats, their eyes tracking his every move.

  Marcus stepped inside the pod with the ease of someone stepping onto a stage they were born to dominate. The holographic display above came to life, showing his avatar clad in the same standard enforcer gear. Except, on him, the baton didn't look unwieldy or awkward. It looked like an extension of his arm, a tool built for destruction.

  The countdown began. Three… two… one.

  The simulation unfolded, the familiar urban battlefield took shape. But where Riley and Jenna had faced it with hesitation or precision, Marcus attacked it like a storm. The first adversary appeared, sprinting toward him, and Marcus met it head-on. His baton came down in a crushing blow, sending the enemy crumpling to the ground before it dissolved into pixelated light.

  He didn't stop to assess or regroup. Marcus charged forward, his boots thundering against the cracked pavement. The next wave arrived, but they might as well have stood still. Each swing of his baton was a brutal arc, clearing enemies with raw, unrelenting force. The evaluators murmured amongst themselves, nodding at each decisive strike.

  Marcus didn't bother with cover or evasion—he didn't need to. His armor absorbed glancing blows, and his sheer aggression kept the enemies from coordinating effectively. He moved through the battlefield like a wrecking ball, his heavy strikes echoing through the simulated streets. By the time the final wave appeared, it was clear who was in control.

  The enemies swarmed, their numbers greater and their attacks more focused. Marcus didn't flinch. He plowed through them, his baton swinging in wide arcs that sent adversaries flying. The simulation ended with a crack as his final strike obliterated the last opponent. The battlefield faded, replaced by his name and score displayed in bold, triumphant numbers above the pod.

  It was the highest score of the day by far. The evaluators didn't bother conferring. One stepped forward, holding a sleek metallic communicator branded with a guild logo.

  "This is your token of initiation," the recruiter said, handing it over. "Show this at the guild hall. They'll know you've been recommended."

  Marcus smirked as he took the device, holding it up for the crowd to see. His gaze swept the room, lingering on Riley's bunk. He didn't speak immediately, letting the silence stretch long enough to make everyone uncomfortable.

  Then, as he turned to leave, he muttered loud enough for only a few to hear, "Guess not everyone's cut out for this."

  The words stung more than Riley wanted to admit, yet he kept his head down, and his fists clenched at his sides, but the tension in his chest refused to fade. Marcus's laugh echoed through the room even after the door slammed shut behind him.