“The stories rarely mention the waiting. But, though war certainly is hell, it can also at times be boring.” - extract from the 2nd chapter of The Modern Proxy, written by Fatimeh Vahde 2087, Federated Press.

He got up, and began to walk, albeit slowly. He gazed up at the smoking mountain, and used it as his compass, considering his options.

The test, if it could be called that, seemed easy at first glance. Go under the mountain to get a Chassis. Atleast until you began to consider the ramifications. Something writhed in the smoke…maybe the creator of the test had allowed for a drone-imitation of a Regial to join?

He made sure to use the wide canopy as a cover, and began eliminating some of the ideas that came to mind. You could come from above. Ignoring the fact the drones would be able to pick him up from kilometers away, it was an idea.

Beneath was another option. Though, he had no equipment, no spades or even gear remotely meant to be used for digging. And the way the air danced and rose over the mountain suggested great heat.

In addition, there had been no hard time limit issued to this examination. Meaning that their bodies, and their eventual needs would begin to hamstring them.

That left, right and in front. Hardly ideal.

Martin swerwed between wide trees and thought of the difference between what the AC had said and Sviratham’s words. The instructor had spoken about bravery, and his contempt for the modern Proxy. He had called this test ‘the Examination of Worth’.

The ground shook again.

One interpretation could be that each of the entrees were supposed to show worth. Their worth. Nowhere had it been said that they actually had to fight the drones. The message he had gotten simply mentioned a location and a vague instruction.

In Martin’s head, an idea began to form.

***

The light had begun to wane. There was no sun in the sky yet all the same, dusk had fallen. The Regial had yet to make an appearance, but tentacles now drifted lazily through the smoke. The smallest of which could reach the height of the amphi-theatre they had so recently occupied.

An oversized ant crawled along his shoulder. The mud was beginning to crack. Martin felt the need to scratch his back, an urge he had denied for what felt like a subjective eternity, but what must have been hours.

The copse of trees stirred at yet another shake.

Another solid light message waited for him as he opened his tired eyes.

“Number of contestants is down to 41.”

A series of messages had gone him by as he waited for his opportunity to materialise. Not everyone was content to wait, it seemed. He still felt that this way, his way, was the better solution.

There had been another type of message, one which denoted success- those had been much rarer, the last one having arrived some time ago. There were more failures than successes though Martin didn’t think merely failing to physically acquire a Chassis was the basis by which they would be graded.

Indeed, there could be-

Rustle.

A girl was crawling through the undergrowth. Martin held his breath. It was the same girl that had comforted Renaldo. She looked like Martin felt; brown hair sticking to her forehead and blue tired eyes.

“Psst!”

The girl continued to crawl.

“PSST!”

She didn’t do anything so obvious as to glance up. The way her mouth opened and the tension of her shoulders spoke volumes however.

Blue eyes roved over the grass, across bamboo and passed Martin. He blinked, and they looked at each other.

There had been one rule, and one rule only in this test. With that in mind, Martin spoke his gambit.

“Do you want to get out of here? I have a plan.”