"Then come and take it."
The words barely left my mouth before I rolled hard left, instinct screaming. A stun baton crackled through the space where my head had been, painting Chen's earnest face in electric blue light.
"Sorry, Lord Raven!" He swung again, all noble intentions and terrible technique.
"Don't apologize." I slipped between bunks, using the darkness. "And don't telegraph your strikes."
More batons activated—twenty points of light in the darkness like a constellation of bad intentions. They were spreading out, trying to box me in. Smart. Krueger had trained them better than I'd expected.
But I'd played too many stealth games to be caught by basic tactics.
Rodriguez moved first, professional and quiet. Ex-mercenary instincts had him checking corners, maintaining spacing. The others followed his lead—Zek taking high ground on the upper bunks, Vega coordinating with hand signals barely visible in the baton glow.
Time to change the game.
I dove for my footlocker, muscle memory guiding me in the dark. My fingers found what I needed—flashbang training charges from afternoon drills. Not standard equipment for sleeping, but I'd learned to keep options handy.
"He's going for weapons!" someone shouted.
Three recruits rushed me. Mistake. I triggered the flashbang and rolled away, eyes squeezed shut. The explosion made the barracks light up like a lightning storm and everyone started yelling in confusion.
When I open up, the emergency lights were on and everything was red, like something out of a scary movie. Half the recruits were stumbling blind. The other half were smarter, hanging back.
I needed space. The barracks were a death trap with twenty-to-one odds.
The maintenance door beckoned—one of those details you memorize when you're paranoid about everything. I shoulder-checked it open and slipped into the corridor beyond.
Someone was waiting.
Imperial Elite armor, custom modifications, leaning against the wall like he had all night. He didn't even look up from his tactical display as I burst through.
"Thirty-two seconds," he said conversationally. "Slower than projected."
"Who the fuck—"
"Language." He finally looked at me. "Your father said you'd figure out the rules yourself. Personally, I had money on you going out the window."
Behind me, I heard the recruits reorganizing. Rodriguez's voice cut through the chaos, bringing order. Good for him. Bad for me.
"Where are they supposed to search?" I asked, mind racing.
"Training ground, barracks, anywhere within base limits." He tossed me something—a training tagger, military grade. "Non-lethal rounds. One hit and you're eliminated. Same rules for them."
I checked the charge. Forty shots. "Why help me?"
"Not helping. Observing." He went back to his display. "Your father wants to see what you're really capable of when pressed. Try not to disappoint."
"Any other surprises?"
"Oh, plenty." Was that amusement in his voice? "But discovery is half the fun."
Footsteps echoed from the barracks. Time to move.
The corridor split three ways—mess hall, training ground, administrative wing. In games, you always went where the enemy least expected. But Rodriguez would think like that too.
So I went exactly where they'd expect—straight to the training ground. Sometimes the obvious choice was obvious because it was right.
The facility's systems hummed around me, and I felt that familiar sensation—like the building was waking up, paying attention. Emergency lights flickered in sequence, almost like they were guiding me. Display screens showed brief flashes of facility maps before going dark.
What the hell was happening to me?
No time to wonder. The training ground's main door was too obvious, so I took the maintenance shaft. Tight fit, but gaming had taught me that uncomfortable routes usually led to better positions.
I emerged on the catwalks twenty feet above the main floor. Perfect sniping position. The facility spread below me—obstacle courses, sparring rings, equipment lockers. All bathed in that hellish red emergency lighting.
Movement caught my eye. Chen and three others, sweeping in formation. They'd learned from the flashbang—wide spacing, overlapping fields of fire. I lined up a shot on Chen, feeling oddly proud of their improvement.
The tagger whispered its discharge. Chen's vest lit up blue—elimination confirmed. He looked up, confused, just as I'd already displaced to a new position.
"Catwalks!" he shouted, good soldier to the end.
They scattered for cover, but I'd already moved. The facility's crane system offered perfect mobility—chains and hooks that would make any parkour enthusiast weep with joy. I swung across the gap, landed silently, took two more shots. Two more blue lights.
Seventeen to go.
"He's using the high ground!" Vega's voice, analytical and calm. "Force him down!"
Smart girl. They started coordinating, some providing covering fire while others went for the ladder access points. Rodriguez split off with a small team, probably trying to flank.
Time to get creative.
I dropped to the main floor, landing in a roll behind the equipment lockers. The technology connection flared—every electronic lock disengaged at my touch. Training weapons, smoke grenades, tactical gear—all mine for the taking.
"Did the locks just—" someone started.
I came out throwing smoke. The training ground became a maze of gray clouds and confused shouting. My UI—wait, no, that was the facility's display system feeding directly into my vision—showed heat signatures through the smoke.
This wasn't normal. This wasn't even abnormal. This was impossible.
But impossible was just another word for opportunity.
I moved through the smoke like death itself, tagger spitting non-lethal rounds with surgical precision. Every shot found its mark. Every movement flowed into the next. It wasn't me anymore—it was me and the building, working in perfect harmony.
Ten eliminations. Eleven. Twelve.
"Fall back!" Rodriguez's voice cut through. "Regroup at—"
My shot caught him mid-order. Thirteen.
The smoke began to clear. Seven recruits left, forming a defensive circle. Good tactics. Better than good—professional. They'd learned more in five days than most learned in months.
"Rush him together," Zek suggested, that nervous energy making him bounce. "He can't get all of us."
"Yes," I called out, "please bunch up. Make it easy."
They didn't take the bait. Damn.
That's when she spoke.
"Having fun without me?"
I spun to find the Princess perched on a cargo container like a lethal cat. She wore tactical gear that was definitely not regulation—form-fitting, flexible, and somehow managing to be both practical and distracting. Her own tagger was aimed casually at my head.
"Your Highness," I said, not lowering my weapon. "Come to join the party?"
"I came to win." She smiled, sharp and beautiful. "Did you know this test was my idea?"
"Somehow that doesn't surprise me."
"Your father wanted standard evaluations. Boring." She shifted position, and I tracked the movement. "I suggested something more... revealing."
Around us, the remaining recruits had frozen, unsure whether to engage with royalty involved.
"Stand down," she called to them without looking. "He's mine."
"With respect, Your Highness," Vega said carefully, "the Emperor said whoever subdues him—"
"Gets automatic captain rank, yes." The Princess's smile widened. "Tell me, recruit—do you think I need rank to command?"
The silence that followed was answer enough.
"Smart girl." She focused on me again. "Now then, Lord Raven. Shall we dance?"
She moved like liquid mercury, firing as she leaped from the container. I dodged, returned fire, missed as she bent in ways that defied anatomy. We circled each other, hunting for advantage.
"You're holding back," she observed, firing twice. I deflected with a equipment case. "The building was helping you before. Why not now?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Liar." She rushed me.
I'd expected speed. I hadn't expected her to be faster than me. Her first strike knocked the tagger from my hand. The second would have hit my throat if I hadn't twisted desperately aside. We grappled, and she was stronger than she looked.
"There," she breathed. "That's fear. Real, honest fear. Do you know how long it's been since anyone looked at me with actual concern?"
"Therapy might help with that."
She laughed, wild and free. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy being married to you."
That's when everything slowed down.
Not like before—this was complete temporal distortion. I could see all individuals in the room in slow-mo almost like I can think multiple times at once.
Time snapped back. I moved with inhuman precision, using her own momentum to flip positions. She landed hard with me on top, my recovered tagger pressed under her chin.
"Bang," I whispered.
She shivered, and not from fear. "There it is. There's what makes you special."
Every screen in the facility lit up: EXERCISE COMPLETE - ANOMALY DETECTED - RECORDING TERMINATED.
The lights blazed back to full power. Around us, eliminated recruits were gathering, but their faces showed confusion rather than defeat. The Imperial Elite from earlier approached, removing his helmet to reveal features I recognized from palace security briefings.
"Captain Tran," he said formally. "Imperial Special Operations. That was an impressive display, Lord Raven."
"It was rigged," I said, helping the Princess to her feet. She didn't let go of my hand.
"Everything's rigged," she said softly. "The question is whether you can win anyway."
"Lord Raven," Captain Tran continued, "you're to report to command immediately. Both of you."
"Both?" I glanced at the Princess.
"Did you think this was just about testing recruits?" She squeezed my hand once before releasing it. "Oh, Raven. The games are just beginning."
As we walked toward command, Meus emerged from the shadows. She'd been watching the entire time, I realized. Her expression was carefully neutral, but her eyes burned with questions.
"Commander," the Princess acknowledged. "Enjoy the show?"
"Educational," Meus replied. "Though I wonder what the review board will make of that temporal anomaly."
Temporal anomaly. So others had seen it too.
"I'm sure they'll find a reasonable explanation," the Princess said. "They always do."
The command center loomed ahead, and I had the sinking feeling that passing the test was the easy part. Whatever came next, whatever they'd really been testing—
I was about to find out.
Behind us, the recruits dispersed back to barracks, chattering excitedly about what they'd witnessed. But Rodriguez caught my eye as he passed.
Smart man. Dangerous man.
I'd have to remember that when forming my unit.
If I survived whatever was waiting in command.
"Scared?" the Princess asked as we reached the doors.
"Terrified," I admitted.
"Good." She smiled like a predator. "Fear keeps you sharp. And trust me—you're going to need sharp for what's coming."
The doors opened, and my future waited beyond.
Time to face the music. Or in this case, my father's reaction to whatever the hell I'd just displayed.
No pressure at all.