“Three against one,” Nic muttered. “You have a funny idea of a fair fight.”

The three proxybots stared down Nic’s, Submachine Guns drawn and ready to fire. The ringleader in the center shook his head. “There’s no fair or unfair anymore, dude. There are winners. And losers. The head start we’re giving you is just us taking some pity on you. We could just kill you and take your stuff now.”

“But you’d risk getting killed yourselves,” said Nic, smiling in his SimSuit. They don’t know the heat I’m really packing, or they wouldn’t be this cocky, he thought. Still... Once they open fire all at the same time, I’ll be down quick. And I’ll lose all my weapons anyway. There’s got to be a way out of this...

PLAYER 103: [##########]100% PLAYER 99: [##########]100% PLAYER 255: [##########]100%

“There’s no way you can kill us all in time,” said the proxybot on the left, Player 103. He spoke with unearned confidence, as if he’d been playing and studying the Final Exam for years—as if they all hadn’t been thrown into it blind less than an hour ago. “Even with your active Overclock, you won’t be able to switch from your empty SMG fast enough. And two Grenades still won’t be enough to mop us up. If you’re a perfect shot and don’t waste a millisecond, you might be able to kill one of us. Then you’re still dead and the survivors get your leftovers.”

“You’re making a lot of assumptions,” Nic replied coolly.

“Nah,” said 255. “He’s just speaking facts. So, what’s it gonna be, 443? Are you taking that head start we so graciously offered, or dying where you stand?”

“We’re wasting time,” said Player 99. “Let’s do this already.” There was something familiar about her voice... and then he realized why.

“Lita,” said Nic disapprovingly. “I thought we were friends.”

99, Lita, shrugged. “This is the Final, Nic. We’re never gonna see each other again. It’s all about winning now. And if you make it off this rock, the only memento you’ll have is your scar.” Nic thought briefly of his mother. “Look at that. You wasted the rest of your Overclock talking to us. Ten... Nine...”

I have to apologize to Jarek if I ever see him again, thought Nic. “It’s not gonna go down that way. I’ll die fighting before I let you rob me.”

“Suit yourself,” said 255, and they all aimed and fired their SMGs in near-perfect unison. Nic’s already dwindling health nosedived. At the same time, he drew his Rocket Launcher from behind his back and pulled the trigger, expending his final Rocket.

There was just enough time for the cocky Player 103 to say, “He’s got a Ro—!” and nothing else.

PLAYER 99 [DEAD] KILL! | +100pts PLAYER 103 [DEAD] KILL! | +100pts PLAYER 255 [DEAD] KILL! | +100pts *MULTI-KILL BONUS! | +50pts PLAYER 443: 900pts [22ND]

His victory was imperfect. In their last moments, their SMG rounds pelted him painfully and thoroughly. The closest analog he had was the feeling of being stung by a simulated swarm of Killer Bees in Elvenchant, since he had, of course, never seen such animals in the flesh.

PLAYER 443 [DEAD]

Worth it, he thought, grinning to himself.

PLAYER 443 PROXYBOT ELIMINATED [8/10 REMAINING] RESPAWNING: 10...

22nd place, Nic thought. 900 points. I just need one more kill. But if I’m behind 21 other people, there’s no telling how many of them have already passed the Final. And any number of the next 78 people below me could get a multi-kill with Grenades or their own Rocket Launchers and throw me back down the scoreboard. I didn’t get this far by assuming my lead was safe. It’s time to finish this.

Nic respawned in his third proxybot, lunging forward from a holding cell. A brand-new section of the Arena awaited him.

MILESTONE ACHIEVED! (800pts) REQUEST WEAPON DROP? (Y/N)

He optically confirmed his request and was greeted with the Weapon Drop menu. Time to get me another Rocket Lau—hey, wait a minute...

WEAPON DROPS AVAILABLE (1)

>>SHOTGUN

A pump-action firearm that shoots a shell of dispersed projectiles. Ideal for close-combat situations.

*Close-range: Lethal to enemy target. Mid-range: Can damage multiple targets. Long-range: Ineffective.

Ammo: Shotgun Shell (12)

>>SNIPER RIFLE

A semi-automatic rifle with a triple-setting scope that shoots armor-piercing rounds. Ideal for reconnaissance and long-range combat situations.

Close-range: Effective use impossible due to weapon length. Mid-range: Potentially lethal to enemy target given proficient unassisted aim. Long-range: *Lethal to enemy target.

Ammo: 5-Round Detachable Box Magazine (2)

>>ROCKET LAUNCHER

A shoulder-fired heavy weapon that shoots an unguided rocket-propelled explosive at 80m/s.

Close-range: Lethal to both user and enemy target(s). *Mid-range: Lethal to enemy target(s). Long-range: Can damage multiple targets, but often ineffective due to projectile travel time.

Ammo: 2-Rocket Detachable Box Magazine (2)

The Rocket Launcher section of the Weapon Drop menu was completely grayed out. He kept navigating to it with his eyes, trying to select it repeatedly, but he was met only with a barely-audible clunking sound like a metal spoon tapping the inside of a can.

He tried issuing a verbal command. “RTIFIS, select Rocket Launcher.”

RTIFIS replied neutrally.

“Fine,” Nic sighed. Another Rocket Launcher would make this too easy anyway. “Give me the Sniper.”

His next pod dropped from the Arena’s ceiling, impacting powerfully on the rocky crust of Ayrus in front of him. He opened the pod hatch and it mechanically dispensed a long, sleek, black rifle with a bulky built-in scope. He snatched up his latest instrument of destruction.

ALERT! 2-WEAPON MAXIMUM EXCEEDED DISCARD (1) WEAPON TO CONTINUE RANDOMIZED DISCARD IN 3... 2...

Nic dropped his Pistol and left his Submachine Gun strapped to his back, opting to lead with the Sniper. There was a multi-group tussle happening in a trench over an orange Upgrade Pak. It was too far away for his HUD to tag what it was, and from ground level, it would be difficult to pop off a good shot without being noticed.

Instead, while those players were distracted, he ascended an astrosteel observation tower. The crow’s nest for me, he thought with a smile, remembering a quest in Elvenchant that involved sailing with goblin pirates. At the top of the winding staircase was a platform with two squat, square windows and one long and rectangular one that was a bit narrower.

He leaned out of the latter and scoped in on the brawl happening in the trench just a moment ago. A dial on the scope allowed him to select between 5x, 10x, and 20x magnification. He settled on 5x for the time being, since his targets were not that far from him.

All but two of the players were dead on the ground. The final two were literally fighting over the Upgrade Pak, pulling it back and forth in a robotic tug of war. This is it. My chance. He tried to focus his rifle’s reticle on one of the moving targets, but at this distance, adjusting a hair left or right took him completely off the mark. He wasn’t yet accustomed to the delicate precision this weapon demanded of him.

By the time he felt comfortable enough lining up his shot, both players died in a sudden explosion. Rocket fire. Enjoy that beauty while it lasts, whoever you are.

Nic hypothesized that other players with Sniper Rifles might also have chosen lookout towers as their ideal vantage points for scoping out kills. As such, they were probably distracted looking at other parts of the battleground. Using the Sniper Rifle’s 10x modification, he zoomed in on the nearest towers he could see. Empty. Empty. Empty. Also empty. This strategy did not seem promising...

...until he came scope-to-face with a fellow sniper as they shot a round just next to his ear. The muzzle flash came briefly before the muffled crack of the shot and then the high-pitched ping of the round ricocheting in the lookout room. Nic fired back immediately, popping off two rounds that missed wildly. Panic shots never work, he scolded himself, a lesson learned in his Trigger Point sim. Exhale. Line it up. You can do this.

His enemy ducked back into the tower, either to reload or to pop back out with the element of surprise. Nic resolved not to let himself get baited like that. He waited patiently for his opponent to reappear. When they did, he took the time and care to line up his next shot before firing.

This one clipped them in the shoulder. It was at this moment that his HUD finally tagged them as an enemy combatant. They retreated again at once, but he got a glimpse of their tag and health bar before they disappeared from view.

PLAYER 4: [#######___]70%

“Four,” Nic snorted out loud incredulously, realizing they were the fourth person to finish their exit exams. “Get outta here...” Number 4 poked their head back out of the tower’s square window. He took aim and squeezed the trigger, popping off another two rounds—one of which was a direct headshot! “I win! I win!” He waited eagerly for an RTIFIS notification and congratulations that never came. “Wait...”

Then he started to put it together.

The proxybot he should have domed was still leaning casually out of the window. A headshot with a gun of this caliber should have been an instant kill, as he’d seen on another proxybot already. But this one seemed unbothered, almost taunting him through his scope. It even swayed back and forth and did a little dance for him, complete with a limp, mechanical wave of its right arm.

Player 4, the real Player 4, was puppeteering a dead proxybot in the tower. They let the robotic corpse fall and then peeked their true head out of the window, where his HUD tagged them with their number and health bar again. Finally, at the end of this elaborate ruse, Player 4 engaged in a complex ritual as old as first person shooter sims themselves—even as old as their antiquated “video game” predecessors—that involved crouching and standing repeatedly in a fast rhythm, a versatile dance with varied purposes.

Teabagging.

Nic couldn’t help but laugh. He had been taking the Final Exam so seriously that this might have been the first time he’d cracked a smile this wide all day—maybe longer. He saw that Player 4 was still scoped in, indicated by the red light on the side of their scope, but they were not firing. They were watching him. He responded in kind by crouching and standing repetitively as well, and they teabagged together at a feverish pace for a few seconds.

Then Nic made a show of scoping out and drawing the next magazine of rounds for his Sniper Rifle. This is me giving you a fair shot, Player 4, he thought. I’m still here to win. I know you’ll do the same for me. Now, get ready to—

Another shot pinged inside his tower. This one ricocheted and hit him in the back of his right leg.

PLAYER 443: [#######___]74%

“Hey!” Nic shouted. “Low blow, dude. I thought you were cool.” He furiously slapped the magazine into his rifle and scoped back in. But Player 4 wasn’t scoped in anymore—they were pointing. “Wait...”

By the time he realized what was happening, it was too late. Another player grabbed his head from behind, plunging a Combat Knife into his proxybot’s neck. They raked it through the cords in his bot’s throat. His SimSuit jabbed him in the corresponding location, giving him an uncomfortable but non-injurious taste of his own simulated death.

“Agh...” he grunted, wincing. “4 was trying to... warn me...”

PLAYER 443 [DEAD] PLAYER 443 PROXYBOT ELIMINATED [7/10 REMAINING] RESPAWNING: 10...

There goes my Sniper Rifle, he thought bitterly. I didn’t even get a Kill with it! This sucks. He was filled with regret for his moment of silliness with Player 4, despite how refreshing it was—it made him sloppy. It’s my own fault. No more messing around—for real this time! “RTIFIS,” he said into his SimSuit mic. “Current scoreboard standing.”

the AI replied.

His heart skipped a beat. Then he felt like he might throw up. “There is no way. Must be a glitch. RTIFIS, check again, please.”

That’s not possible. That’s not freaking possible! “That is numerically im-freaking-possible!” Nic yelled in frustration as his new proxybot prepared to enter the Arena. “You cannot design a Final Exam with no clear cause and effect for the choices made in the exam itself! There is no way I dropped that many places in that short amount of time! I’m not stupid! RTIFIS, check again.”

This makes no freaking sense. He felt his sanity slipping away from him, as if his brain had just sprung a leak of the stuff. Screw it. The rules haven’t changed. All I need is one more kill and I win.

His new proxybot emerged like a birthed calf from a randomized holding cell. He instantly took stock of his surroundings—a tower flanked by a trench on each side, three astrosteel walls of cover spaced out in the surrounding area, and a boulder, which held a plinth at its summit. And that plinth held a glowing crimson Upgrade Pak.

Someone else was already making their move.

PLAYER 77 [##########]100%

Nic bolted for the Upgrade Pak like his life depended on it.

And it did.