Walking was the foundation. Combat was the purpose.

  Valoris lay in Paragon's neural cradle on the combat training grounds, a massive arena carved from reinforced alloy and dimensional-resistant materials, scarred by decades of exercises that had tested every limitation of pilot and mech. The connection had become almost routine after six weeks of daily practice: that sensation of existing in two bodies simultaneously, awareness stretched between flesh and dimensional substrate, consciousness extended into something larger than biology allowed.

  Almost routine. But routine didn't mean comfortable, didn't mean she'd stopped experiencing that pervasive fever-wrong sensation suggesting something fundamental about her existence in this form. Didn't mean she'd forgotten what it felt like to be only human.

  They'd mastered walking and running. Mostly. They could move without constantly falling, could maintain formation without crashing into each other, could navigate obstacles without panic. Progress measured in small victories: ten steps became twenty became fifty became walking for entire training sessions without catastrophic failure.

  But walking wasn't enough. Walking wouldn't protect sectors or respond to threats or keep civilians alive when dimensional tears opened and things came through that didn't follow physics.

  Combat was what the academy existed to teach, what separated adequate pilots from the ones who survived deployment.

  "Advanced training phase." Instructor Davis's voice came through cockpit comm, reaching Valoris's consciousness that currently existed as both pilot and mech. "You can walk. Congratulations. A toddler accomplishment achieved by third-years. Now we discover if you can actually fight."

  Around the training arena, Chimera Squad stood in their mechs: five massive entities learning to exist as weapons rather than bodies. Paragon beside Reaver beside Meridian beside Specter beside Jinx. Forty-foot war machines that represented two years of preparation, five weeks of recovery, and six weeks of learning basic coordination.

  Now they would learn to kill with them.

  "Each mech is unique," Davis continued. "Custom configurations based on dimensional entity characteristics, pilot neural patterns, combat roles determined during summoning. You've spent six weeks learning to move. Now you learn your mech's capabilities, its weapons and specializations."

  Through Paragon's sensors, Valoris watched as targeting displays activated across her mech's systems. Tactical overlays she'd barely explored during walking training bloomed into full awareness: data streams showing battlefield information, threat assessment algorithms processing potential combat scenarios, coordination tools allowing squad-level command of multiple mechs simultaneously.

  Command-class capabilities. What Paragon had been designed for. What Valoris had been shaped to execute.

  "Kade." Davis said, and she realized he'd been talking while she'd been processing her mech's systems. "Your mech. Capabilities. Tell me."

  Valoris forced her awareness to compress enough that she could speak clearly, still connected to Paragon but focused enough to form words through her biological body's vocal cords.

  "Paragon is command-class. Alpha-rated combat capability with emphasis on tactical coordination. Primary systems include long-range precision weapons: particle beam arrays, guided ordinance, anti-armor missiles. Secondary systems provide battlefield analysis: threat assessment, terrain mapping, enemy tracking across multiple vectors. Tertiary capabilities allow squad-level coordination through direct tactical overlay sharing and strategic data distribution."

  She paused, then added what she'd learned through six weeks of connection. "It's built for seeing the battlefield clearly. Planning engagement strategies. Coordinating squad actions through superior information awareness. Built to lead."

  "Correct," Davis said. "Command-class mechs win battles through coordination rather than individual dominance. Your role is battlefield control. Maximum effectiveness requires you to stop thinking like a solo combatant and start thinking like a squad coordinator. Your mech gives you tools for that. Use them."

  Easier said than implemented. Valoris excelled at planning, at seeing strategy clearly, at understanding tactical implications, at analyzing situations until patterns emerged. But executing those plans at mech scale while connected, while processing lag and fever-wrong feedback and coordinating other pilots, proved significantly more complex than theoretical analysis.

  "Zavaretti," Davis said, moving to the next mech. "Your capabilities."

  Through Paragon's sensors, Valoris watched Zee shift Reaver into a ready stance. Aggressive posture that looked eager for violence, predatory readiness that suggested the mech was barely contained.

  "Reaver is assault-class," Zee said, her voice carrying satisfaction that bordered on fierce joy. "Beta-rated with specialization in close combat. Primary weapons are integrated forearm blades that extend and retract on command, monomolecular edges capable of cutting through reinforced armor. Secondary systems include grappling arrays for grabbing and crushing targets. Tertiary weapon is a pile bunker, a devastating close-range impact weapon that drives a spike directly into the enemy core."

  She paused, then added with audible grin: "It's built to get close and dominate. To close distance rapidly and execute brutal assault before enemies can respond. Built to tear things apart."

  "Accurate summary," Davis confirmed. "Assault-class mechs win through controlled aggression and mechanical superiority in close quarters. Your role is pressure application, forcing enemies to respond to your presence rather than executing their own strategies. Maximum effectiveness requires decisive action without hesitation. Your mech rewards aggression. Use it."

  Valoris felt something twist in her awareness. Jealousy, maybe, or recognition of fundamental difference. Zee's natural combat instincts translated perfectly to her mech's specialization. Her tendency toward decisive violence, her lack of hesitation, her ability to commit fully to action without second-guessing; all of it aligned with what Reaver needed from its pilot.

  Meanwhile Valoris was supposed to execute plans she constantly questioned, deploy weapons she second-guessed, coordinate actions she analyzed until opportunities passed.

  "Maddox," Davis continued. "Capabilities."

  Saren's Meridian shifted position with mechanical precision. Long-range configuration built for extreme distances, weapons platforms designed for patient execution rather than rapid assault.

  "Meridian is marksman-class," Saren said, her voice carrying controlled intensity. "Alpha-rated with specialization in long-range engagement. Primary weapon is electromagnetic railgun requiring absolute stillness during firing sequence, effective range exceeding three kilometers. Secondary systems include laser arrays for close-range defense and target designation. Tertiary capabilities provide automated counter-targeting: detection and engagement of incoming projectiles before impact."

  She stopped, then added with barely contained frustration: "It's built for patience. Perfect execution. Absolute discipline. It requires a control I'm still developing."

  "Marksman-class mechs win through superior positioning and flawless execution," Davis said. "Especially sniper specializations. Your role is area denial, controlling space through threat of perfect accuracy. Maximum effectiveness requires patience beyond most pilots' capability. Your mech punishes impatience. Master discipline or fail."

  Valoris caught the tension in Saren's connection, that spike of frustration she'd noticed increasingly during training. Saren wanted perfection, demanded it from herself, but Meridian's systems amplified rather than suppressed pilot intensity. When Saren was angry, which was often, weapons armed without conscious command during simulations. Her trigger finger itched constantly during connection. She was fighting for control every session, struggling against her own intensity while trying to achieve the stillness her mech required.

  "Sterling," Davis said. "Capabilities."

  Quinn's Specter remained motionless. Reconnaissance configuration built for invisibility rather than direct engagement, systems designed around abilities most pilots couldn't sustain for long.

  "Specter is interceptor-class with a stealth optimization," Quinn said in their flat affect. "Alpha-rated with specialization in phase-shifting capabilities. Primary function allows dimensional phase state: mech becomes incorporeal, passes through solid matter, becomes untargetable by conventional weapons. Duration limited by pilot concentration and dimensional stability. Secondary systems include stealth arrays and advanced sensors for intelligence gathering. Tertiary capabilities provide limited combat effectiveness in solid state with the primary system being a defensive laser array."

  They paused before adding with clinical precision: "It's built for invisibility. Maximum effectiveness requires a sustained phase state which proves increasingly difficult to exit. Instructors have noted concerning dedication to phased operation."

  Silence followed that statement. Even Davis seemed uncertain how to respond.

  "Stealth-class mechs win through information superiority and tactical surprise," he finally said. "Your role is reconnaissance and disruption: gathering intelligence, executing behind enemy lines, creating chaos that allows your squad to exploit confusion. Maximum effectiveness requires... balance. Between phased and solid states. You understand?"

  "I understand the theory," Quinn said. "The implementation proves difficult. Solid feels increasingly incorrect. Phasing feels natural. More natural than biological existence. I'm managing the discrepancy."

  They weren't managing it. Valoris could see that through Paragon's sensors. Quinn's connection showed patterns suggesting that they were pushing limits of what human consciousness could sustain in dimensional flux, that they were choosing incorporeal existence over solid form whenever possible.

  It was concerning. It was also uniquely effective. Quinn had mastered phase-shifting with obsessive dedication that bordered on self-destructive, and their capability exceeded any other infiltration-class pilot in their year.

  "Renn," Davis said, moving to the final mech. "Capabilities."

  Milo's Jinx stood in the specialized configuration that defied easy categorization. Modular weapon systems that Milo had already modified seventeen times despite direct orders not to. Asymmetric design that shouldn't work but somehow functioned anyway. Experimental technology that violated every established principle.

  "Jinx is support-class," Milo said enthusiastically. "Rating uncertain but Buddy suggests we're actually Alpha if properly configured. Primary systems are modular weapon platforms currently including experimental energy weapons, deployable drone swarm for reconnaissance and harassment, grappling hooks for mobility and target manipulation, and plasma cutters for breaching operations."

  He paused, clearly struggling with how to explain. "It's built for adaptation. For solving problems through creative application of available resources. Buddy helps me understand optimal configurations for different scenarios. We work together to determine the best approach."

  "Support-class mechs win through tactical flexibility and problem-solving," Davis said, though his tone suggested resignation more than enthusiasm. "Your role is adaptation: responding to unexpected situations with innovative solutions. Maximum effectiveness requires... controlled creativity. Which you consistently fail to demonstrate. Stop modifying your mech's systems without authorization."

  "But the modifications work," Milo protested. "This week's energy weapon configuration increased firing rate by thirty-seven percent while reducing power consumption by–"

  "I don't care if it works. I care that you're violating regulations. Again. For the fourteenth time. This month."

  "Technically it's the eighteenth time if you count the minor adjustments–"

  "Stop. Talking."

  Milo stopped talking. But Valoris could see through Paragon's sensors that Jinx's systems were already adapting: small adjustments happening in real-time, weapon platforms shifting configuration in response to training ground conditions. Buddy was helping him. The mech's entity was actively collaborating with Milo's genius in ways that shouldn't be possible but clearly were.

  The instructors had given up trying to enforce standard protocols. Milo's innovations worked too well, demonstrated capability that exceeded traditional support-class limitations. They'd settled for documenting violations while allowing him to continue because stopping him proved impossible and counterproductive.

  "Basic combat training begins now," Davis announced. "Hand-to-hand fundamentals at mech scale. You will learn to fight without weapons first. Close quarters engagement where equipment fails and only mechanical superiority matters. Form pairs. Kade with Zavaretti. Maddox with Sterling. Renn with training drone designated Beta-Seven."

  The training grounds reconfigured. Walls rising from the floor to create contained arenas, reinforced barriers designed to withstand mech-scale combat impacts, tactical displays activating to show engagement parameters.

  "The rules are simple," Davis continued. "Victory is achieved through forcing your opponent to the ground and maintaining dominant position for five seconds. No weapons. No phase-shifting. No external tools. Only mech against mech using grappling and leverage. Begin."

  Valoris faced Reaver across the arena, consciousness spread across Paragon's systems, trying to process exactly how she was supposed to execute hand-to-hand combat at forty-foot scale against a mech literally designed for close-quarters dominance.

  "Don't hold back," Zee said through squad comm, her voice carrying anticipation that bordered on excitement. "I want to see what Paragon can actually do."

  Valoris had approximately three seconds to develop strategy before Reaver moved with explosive aggression, closing the distance faster than Paragon's defensive systems could fully track.

  She tried to respond tactically. Attempted to use Paragon's superior battlefield awareness to predict Reaver's approach and position defensively. Analyzed twelve different defensive formations in the microseconds before impact.

  Then Reaver crashed into Paragon like controlled violence made mechanical, and all her analysis proved useless against pure aggressive execution.

  They went down hard. Forty-two feet of command-class mech taken to ground by assault-class superiority in close quarters. Valoris felt the impact through every sensor in her connection.

  She tried to recover. Attempted to use Paragon's mass to leverage position, apply tactical thinking to physical engagement.

  Zee didn't give her time. Reaver maintained a dominant position with mechanical efficiency that spoke of perfect synchronization between pilot and mech, combat instincts translating seamlessly across scales, aggressive certainty that accepted no hesitation.

  Five seconds. Victory achieved through decisive action while Valoris had still been analyzing approach options.

  "Again," Davis ordered.

  They fought nine more times that session before switching partners. Valoris won three engagements: twice through superior positioning she'd managed to achieve before Zee closed distance, once through tactical maneuvering that used Paragon's coordination capabilities to predict and counter Reaver's approach.

  Zee won the others through sheer aggressive superiority combined with perfect combat instinct.

  "You overthink," Zee said after the final engagement, both mechs standing in their respective positions. "You see every option, analyze every approach, calculate every risk. But combat doesn't wait for perfect analysis. Sometimes you need to commit to action even when you're uncertain."

  "Easy to say when your instincts are correct," Valoris replied, trying not to sound bitter.

  "My instincts are trained. Years of fighting taught me to trust decisive action over hesitation. You have different strengths: better strategic awareness, superior tactical analysis, coordination capabilities I don't possess. But you need to learn to execute your strategies without questioning them mid-action."

  Across the training grounds, Saren and Quinn completed their own exercises with mixed results. Meridian's long-range configuration struggled in close quarters; precision weapons useless when grappling, patient approach ineffective against infiltration-class agility. Quinn won most engagements through superior mobility combined with their unsettling ability to predict exactly where opponents would move.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Milo fought the training drone with characteristic chaos. Jinx moving in ways that shouldn't work but somehow did, grappling techniques that violated established principles but achieved results anyway. He lost most engagements but learned from each failure with enthusiastic dedication that suggested he was treating combat training like puzzle-solving rather than competition.

  "Weapons systems familiarization," Davis announced after two hours of hand-to-hand training. "You understand your mech's capabilities theoretically. Now you learn to deploy them in simulation. Weapon activation, targeting acquisition, firing protocols: all practiced in training mode with safety limiters active. No live fire. No actual ordinance. Only systems familiarization until you can deploy without conscious thought."

  Paragon's targeting systems activated fully, overlays blooming across Valoris's awareness showing simulated threats, practice scenarios designed to test pilot reaction time and weapon coordination under pressure. Her particle beam arrays came online in training mode, powered but safety-locked, capable of acquiring targets and executing firing sequences without actually discharging energy.

  The training arena populated with holographic targets: simulated entities, virtual objectives requiring precision engagement. Not real, but designed to feel real enough that muscle memory would develop properly.

  "Acquire and engage targets," Davis ordered. "Weapon deployment should become an unconscious response. You should be able to identify the threat, select the appropriate weapon system, and execute firing sequence without deliberate thought. That level of integration takes months to develop. Start now."

  Valoris acquired her first target, a holographic entity positioned at medium range. Her tactical displays highlighted it automatically, threat assessment algorithms processing simulated danger level, recommended weapon systems appearing in her awareness without conscious query.

  Particle beam arrays were the optimal choice. She activated them, thought the command, felt the systems respond through her connection, and began the targeting sequence.

  Then she hesitated.

  Double-checked the firing solution. Verified the backdrop was clear despite this being a simulation. Confirmed her energy expenditure wouldn't compromise other systems even though nothing was actually powered. Analyzed different engagement approaches before committing to the obvious choice. Even though this was a simulation it felt more real, piloting a real mech, and the consequences felt real.

  The holographic target disappeared. Training scenario timeout because she'd taken too long to engage.

  "Kade." Davis's voice carried frustration. "Training mode. Simulated threats. Nothing you do here causes actual harm. Stop second-guessing and execute."

  She tried again. Acquired target, calculated solution, committed to firing sequence before her doubts could interfere.

  The systems responded smoothly with a simulated particle beam discharge. The holographic target registered the hit. Tactical displays confirmed successful engagement. No actual weapons fire, systems practice building muscle memory.

  "Better," Davis said. "Again. Faster."

  She engaged thirty-seven holographic targets that session. Successfully deployed weapons for twenty-three without excessive hesitation. Missed fourteen through overthinking or second-guessing deployment timing or analyzing options until scenarios timed out.

  Her performance was adequate. Better than Saren's nineteen successful engagements from forty-one attempts, worse than Zee's thirty-one successes from thirty-four attempts.

  But adequate wasn't good enough when failure meant civilians died.

  Around the training grounds, Chimera Squad learned their weapons through simulation and repetition.

  Zee's forearm blades extended and retracted in training mode, safety-locked edges that registered contact with holographic targets without actual cutting capability. She adapted fastest to weapon deployment, combat instincts translating perfectly to mech-scale execution, every simulated strike decisive and committed without hesitation.

  Her hair was wild after every session, escaping from whatever attempt at containment she'd made that morning, falling in all directions while she grinned fierce satisfaction. "This is what I was made for," she said after destroying eighteen holographic enemies in rapid succession. "Close quarters dominance. Mechanical superiority. Everything I've been training toward my entire life."

  Saren struggled with Meridian's railgun, a weapon requiring absolute stillness during the firing sequence, patience that conflicted with her intensity. The training system registered every time her aim wavered from emotion, every instance where her trigger discipline failed because frustration made her attempt firing before proper acquisition.

  When she was frustrated, which was increasingly often, weapons armed without conscious command even in training mode. Her targeting systems activated spontaneously, threat assessment algorithms engaging when she experienced strong emotion. She was fighting for control every moment, struggling against her own intensity while trying to achieve the perfect execution her mech demanded.

  "I need to be better," she said after her tenth consecutive failed engagement, frustration bleeding through her carefully controlled voice. "More disciplined. More patient. I can see the solutions clearly but I can't execute them without my emotions interfering. It's not acceptable."

  Quinn mastered Specter's phase-shifting with obsessive dedication that concerned the instructors. They spent entire training sessions practicing incorporeal states: phasing through simulated obstacles, becoming untargetable in holographic combat scenarios, existing in dimensional flux longer than any other pilot their year could sustain.

  When forced to practice solid-state weapon deployment, they moved with visible reluctance. Their limited offensive systems in physical form felt wrong to them, inadequate compared to the security of being untouchable.

  "Phasing feels right," they said when Davis questioned their concerning dedication to incorporeal operation. "More right than being solid. Specter's natural state is dimensional flux. Maintaining physical form requires conscious effort now. The training scenarios work better when I'm phased. Why practice the inferior state?"

  "Because you can't complete every mission incorporeal," Davis said. "You need to be able to function in both states. Balance, Sterling. You're losing it."

  Quinn didn't respond. Just phased again during the next drill, disappearing from sensors, existing somewhere between dimensions where solid state felt increasingly optional.

  Milo's weapon systems defied easy categorization even in training mode. He deployed experimental energy weapons that the simulation barely recognized, safety-locked configurations that shouldn't exist yet but somehow registered successful engagements. His drone swarm operated in practice mode: holographic units providing reconnaissance and harassment capabilities no other support-class mech possessed.

  He talked to Jinx constantly while practicing in a conversational murmuring that never stopped during combat drills. "Come on Buddy, target left, good job, now the cluster at two o'clock, excellent work, let's try the new energy configuration in training mode..." The squad had stopped questioning whether Jinx actually responded. The mech clearly adjusted its systems in ways that matched Milo's requests, collaborated with him through connection in ways that exceeded standard pilot-mech interaction.

  The instructors had given up correcting his unauthorized modifications. In training mode, his innovations registered successful engagements without violating safety protocols. They documented every violation while acknowledging his systems sometimes worked better than standard configurations.

  "Squad coordination drill," Davis announced after individual weapons familiarization. "This will be a simulated combat scenario against a holographic enemy formation. Command-class leads. All others follow tactical direction. This tests your ability to function as a coordinated unit outside a simulator. Training mode active: no live fire, all engagements simulated. Begin."

  This was what Paragon was designed for. What Valoris had been shaped to execute. Battlefield coordination through superior information awareness, tactical overlay sharing with squad members, command priority communication that allowed her to direct multiple mechs simultaneously.

  She pulled up Paragon's coordination systems. Displays showing all of Chimera Squad's positions, threat assessments for holographic enemies, tactical options highlighted with probability calculations, suggested engagement sequences optimized for squad capabilities.

  The training scenario loaded around them: holographic enemies in defensive positions, a mission objective requiring coordinated assault with minimal collateral damage.

  An obvious approach with what should be a clear strategy.

  She opened squad comm, prepared to issue coordinated directives.

  And hesitated.

  What if her analysis was wrong? What if she directed them into worse positions than they'd achieve independently? What if her coordination caused failures rather than preventing them? This wasn’t the simulator, if she failed in combat mechs would really take damage, her squad would be hurt for real.

  "Valoris." Zee's voice cut through her spiral. "We're waiting for commands. Deploy us or we engage independently."

  She forced herself past doubt and issued tactical directives that positioned Reaver for close assault while Meridian provided simulated long-range support and Specter infiltrated enemy formation and Jinx deployed a practice drone swarm for harassment and reconnaissance.

  It worked. Mostly. They cleared the holographic enemy squadron with acceptable efficiency while taking minimal simulated damage, the training system registering their coordinated execution as a successful engagement.

  But her hesitation had cost them three seconds at the scenario start, three seconds where holographic enemies had achieved better positions than necessary. Three seconds that would mean casualties in real combat.

  "Adequate execution," Davis said after reviewing performance data. "Tactical planning was sound. Implementation delayed by commander hesitation. In actual combat, three-second delay results in casualties. Fix it."

  "How?" Valoris asked, and her voice came out more frustrated than intended.

  "Stop questioning yourself mid-engagement. Develop your strategy, commit to execution, and adjust as needed. But never hesitate at deployment. Doubt kills faster than enemy action. Your tactical analysis is superior to most command-class pilots. Trust it. You can always adapt midstream."

  She wanted to. Wanted to execute strategies without second-guessing, coordinate her squad without questioning whether her decisions were correct.

  But she was a Kade. Five generations of perfect performance and legendary reputation and expectations that demanded flawless execution. Doubt was safer than failure, hesitation more acceptable than catastrophic mistakes.

  Except in combat, hesitation killed people.

  They ran training scenarios for six more hours. Valoris improved incrementally, shaving microseconds off her hesitation, executing with slightly more confidence, trusting her analysis fractionally better. Progress measured in tiny victories barely visible in performance metrics.

  Around her, Chimera Squad adapted to their weapons systems and learned to fight as a coordinated unit.

  Zee excelled at everything involving direct engagement, taking to close combat drills like she'd been born for it, every simulated action decisive and committed.

  Saren struggled with emotional control, fighting a constant battle against her own intensity while trying to achieve the patience Meridian demanded, weapons arming spontaneously when her frustration spiked.

  Quinn spent concerning amounts of time phased, existing incorporeal more than solid, choosing dimensional flux over physical presence whenever training scenarios allowed.

  Milo's innovations kept working despite violating every principle, his collaboration with Jinx producing simulated results that exceeded traditional support-class capabilities.

  And Valoris coordinated them, guided them, tried to trust her tactical analysis enough to execute without drowning in self-doubt.

  By the time training ended, eight hours connected, consciousness stretched across dimensions until awareness felt permanently extended, they'd completed twelve combat simulations. Won nine through coordinated execution and superior tactics. Lost three through Valoris's hesitation or incomplete coordination or squad members still adapting to their specialized roles.

  Disconnection was harder now. Always harder after extended connection. Valoris emerged from Paragon's cockpit with her sense of scale completely destroyed, her spatial awareness calibrated for nine-foot-wide shoulders instead of eighteen-inch biology, her consciousness still trying to deploy tactical displays that didn't exist in human form.

  She walked directly into the doorframe. Actually walked into it, shoulder impacting metal with force that would leave bruises, because her brain insisted she was forty-two feet tall and needed different clearance than her five-foot-six human body required.

  "Fuck," she said, then said it again because cursing helped sometimes with the disconnect between perception and reality.

  Connection fluid soaked through her pilot suit, ports weeping continuously now that she spent six to eight hours daily connected. The fluid would keep producing; her body had adapted to constant interface, neural pathways permanently altered to accommodate regular consciousness extension. She'd always smell faintly of metal and ozone now. Always be slightly damp at port sites.

  Changed.

  Around the mech bay, the rest of Chimera Squad dealt with their own disconnection difficulties.

  Zee clipped doorways constantly, turning sideways unnecessarily because Reaver was nine feet wide and she kept forgetting her human body wasn't. She'd grown her hair out over the past months, longer than regulation, wild and uncontrollable, making her look fierce and untamed after every session when it escaped whatever attempt at containment she'd made.

  Saren took stairs one at a time with careful precision, each step requiring conscious thought because Meridian didn't do stairs, it jumped obstacles using its leg boosters or used grappling systems instead. Her perfect military bearing had started looking more like rigid control masking fundamental disorientation.

  Quinn walked directly through a wall. Actually walked straight into it because they forgot they weren't phased, broke their nose on solid matter that their consciousness insisted shouldn't be solid at all. Blood streamed down their face while they stood there looking confused about why reality had suddenly become tangible.

  "Solid is starting to feel optional," they said, voice muffled by hands pressed against their bleeding nose. "Like it's a state I'm choosing rather than my natural existence. I don't like it. Solid is wrong. Phasing is correct."

  "You need to stay solid more," Valoris said, trying to sound authoritative despite her own disorientation. "Spending too much time incorporeal is dangerous. You're losing connection to physical existence."

  "Physical existence feels increasingly irrelevant," Quinn replied. "But I'll attempt to maintain solid state more frequently. For squad cohesion if nothing else."

  They wouldn't. Valoris could already see that. Quinn was choosing phase state over solid form whenever possible, existing incorporeal because it felt more natural than biology, slowly losing attachment to physical reality through repeated consciousness extension into dimensional flux.

  It was concerning. It was also uniquely effective. Quinn had mastered infiltration-class capabilities better than any other pilot in their year.

  Milo kept reaching for weapons he didn't have, hands moving to deploy shoulder cannons that existed on Jinx but not on his human body, fingers trying to activate systems that weren't present in baseline biology. He'd get frustrated when nothing happened, his confused expression suggesting he genuinely couldn't remember which capabilities were mech-specific versus permanently integrated.

  "Where are my… oh. Right. Human. I'm human," he kept saying, like he needed to remind himself of his baseline form. "Just forgot for a second which body I'm in. Happens sometimes now. Getting harder to track."

  They helped each other back to the barracks. Zee supporting Valoris when spatial awareness failed, Milo leaning on Quinn despite their broken nose, Saren accepting assistance after refusing it twice because even her pride couldn't overcome complete disorientation from stairs.

  "This is fine," Milo said, stumbling over nothing because his balance was calibrated for Jinx's asymmetric configuration rather than human bipedal design. "Just need a few minutes to remember which body is mine. Perfectly normal pilot adjustment. Happens to everyone. Nothing concerning happening here at all."

  It wasn't fine. The joke was wearing thin, transition from genuine reassurance to desperate mantra to obvious denial of their deteriorating connection to baseline humanity.

  But they kept saying it anyway. Kept pretending the horror was manageable, that forgetting which body was theirs was a normal experience, kept reminding themselves that constantly weeping ports and destroyed spatial awareness and choosing incorporeal existence over solid form was all part of the acceptable adaptation process.

  In the mess hall that evening, they collapsed at Chimera's usual table with food they barely tasted. Valoris tried to eat but her throat felt wrong, sized for Paragon's scale rather than human dimensions, swallowing requiring conscious effort that should have been automatic.

  "First inter-squad simulation tomorrow," Zee said, consulting the training schedule on her tablet between bites she forced down with visible effort. "Chimera versus Shimmer Squad, formerly known as Adeyemi-32. Should be a good match."

  "We'll win," Saren said with quiet certainty. "Our coordination is superior. Our tactical planning is better. We've been training together longer than most squads maintain cohesion."

  "Assuming I can execute without hesitating for three seconds," Valoris muttered.

  "You will," Milo said, adjusting his glasses with the wrong hand, reaching across his body because Jinx's asymmetric configuration made that movement more natural than using the closer hand. "You always do when it matters. Training mode makes you cautious. Real scenarios, even simulated combat, you commit better. Trust yourself."

  She wanted to believe that. Wanted to trust that combat pressure would override her tendency toward overthinking rather than amplifying it.

  Tomorrow they'd find out.

  Tomorrow Chimera Squad would face another squad in their first competitive simulation since becoming pilots. Tomorrow they'd discover if six weeks of training had made them a functional combat unit or just five people who could walk in mechs without falling.

  "This is fine," Quinn said flatly, staring at their food with blood still crusted under their nose from walking through a wall. "We're adapting adequately. Everything is proceeding within acceptable parameters."

  "Sure it is," Zee agreed, and nobody mentioned that she'd tried to turn sideways going through a door that was perfectly wide enough for her human body.

  This was fine.

  It had to be fine.

  Rankings updated that evening:

  Chimera Squad: #8 overall (dropped from #7; everyone relearning combat at mech scale, adaptation periods varied across squads)

  Apex Squad: #1 (maintained position; they'd adapted faster as always, three years of training showing in every coordinated action)

  Valoris stared at the rankings displayed on her tablet, trying to feel something about the drop. They'd worked for their position. Earned it through two years of coordination and gradual improvement from sixty-first place to top-tier squad.

  But now everyone was relearning combat at mech scale, and Apex Squad's experience advantage showed clearly. They'd adapted faster, coordinated better, demonstrated superior capability in every metric.

  "We'll get it back," Zee said, looking over Valoris's shoulder at the rankings. "Just need more time practicing with weapons. Tomorrow's simulation will help. Win decisively, move back up."

  "Assuming we win," Valoris said.

  "We'll win," Zee replied with complete certainty. "We're Chimera Squad. We function despite being fractured. That means something."

  It did mean something. Valoris just hoped it meant enough.

  Tomorrow they'd find out if six weeks of stumbling around in mechs while forgetting how to be human had actually prepared them for combat. Tomorrow they'd discover if their coordination translated to victory or if they'd just been fooling themselves about being ready.

  But tonight, they were together. Five people who'd chosen each other through two years of shared struggle, who'd survived summoning and surgery and walking training and weapons familiarization while slowly losing connection to baseline humanity.

  Together.

  That had to be enough. Had to be the foundation they built capability on.

  "Same time tomorrow," Zee said.

  "More simulations," Milo confirmed.

  "More proof we're functional," Saren added.

  "More existing in wrong bodies," Quinn said flatly.

  "Together," Valoris said, and the word came out stronger than she felt. "We do this together."

  "Together," they confirmed.

  And for now, that was enough.