Week 2: Duel with the Player

1st week of tests for the experimental Nexus passed without a hitch.

'Nothing tough about it.'

Most of the tests were just repeating what we'd done in the first round, only swapping out the test site. If I had to guess why, it was probably because the frame still wasn't fully complete—they couldn't push it too hard yet.

'And the load...'

After my first test run, contrary to Mastema's warning and the briefing I'd gotten beforehand, the system load wasn't devouring the pilot at all.

'They called it a blood-sucking demon.'

The load had plummeted during that initial test, and it stayed that way afterward. Sure, there were still spikes like that at system boot-up sometimes, but once pilot identification was complete, it dropped right back down. They'd even done a full frame inspection because of it.

'But they said nothing was wrong.'

That was the report I got after resting a full day because of the inspection. I had no idea what they checked, but if that's what they said, then fine.

"So it's an improvement over Unit 1," I said to the broker relaying all this info.

Good news if the machine had been refined.

"Well, that's the story, but..."

His expression, though, wasn't exactly joyful—more ambiguous.

"They upstairs seem to want you to keep handling test pilot duties. They're even considering extending the contract."

"Contract extension?"

"With a pay bump in mind, too. I don't have the details myself."

Suspicious attitude. If they were raising the pay, why not just hire another pilot?

'Plus, with the load reduced, no more worries about pilots getting hurt.'

They could throw in their own pilots at that point. No risk, just data farming—why pass that up?

"Just my personal guess," the broker said, offering an opinion unbecoming of a corporate middleman.

I tilted my head, listening.

"They said the frame inspection found no issues, but something clearly came up. Word is, they tried another pilot to see if they got the same results as you."

"Is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that so?"

"I didn't hear the outcome, but if they've decided to keep using you..."

Obvious. The other pilot triggered the problem again, so they stuck with me.

"You must be some special kind of human."

"Is that right."

No real feelings on it. Just... whatever.

'Anyway, I don't like the idea of the gig dragging on for no reason.'

In that one week riding Fallen Angel, I'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gathered all the info I could access. Detailed specs, the generator behind its monstrous ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠maneuverability.

'But no real leads tying it to Mastema.'

Interest had pretty much evaporated by then. Instincts screamed that during the first test, when the noise hit and the load dropped, there was a clue right there.

Too bad I'd missed it. Can't rewind time on a whim.

'Can I, though?'

Who knows. If you're a player, maybe. This is a game world with reroll runs, after all.

I shook off the idle thought and looked back at the broker.

"I'll pass on the offer."

"Turning down the extension? That's..."

For a split second, his face lit up. Weird reaction.

"Ahem. Normally I'd welcome it with open arms, but you're such a desireless sort. Shame, but we'll leave it at that for now."

"Got a personal take on it?"

"Hm?"

"Like what you'd want me to do."

He was unusually free with his opinions for a corporate broker. Probably just his personality. A little nudge, and it'd all spill out.

Sure enough, he pondered briefly before speaking.

"I'd love for you to stick around. You're a rare talent. Hate to see you wandering like a stray dog and dying out there. But... is it really safer inside than out?"

He fidgeted with his hands anxiously.

"In a corporation, lives are just numbers. Underperformers get treated worse than street trash. And you're an indie merc, no formal academy creds—you'd be looked down on, always under suspicion. Might as well keep doing your thing."

Bluntly trashing his own company. Bolder than expected—wonder if that's okay.

"So you don't want me sticking around."

"No bad intentions. Not my place as one of the adults who built this world... but I can't in good conscience introduce a kid like you to this cesspool."

"Hm."

He saw me as a full-on kid. Fair enough.

I nodded silently, watching him. He rubbed his neck.

"You might think I'm an idiot. I know. You're no ordinary kid—everyone around you shouts it. I've wondered myself."

"Is that so?"

"But humans can't help pretending otherwise. We fall for monsters in human masks. We can't see inside. Yeah, objectively... I'm a fool."

He shrugged and stood.

"Gabriel's told me a lot about you. Good guy."

"Ah, yeah."

"About a week left. Connections are valuable. Gabriel's top-tier. Building rapport wouldn't hurt."

As a merc, it wouldn't bite me either. He switched topics abruptly like that and wrapped up.

I eyed his back as he gazed out the window, then left the office.

Short break over, week 2 tests kicked off.

Fallen Angel was fully armored now in sleek black sheen. Worlds away from that skeletal frame I'd first seen.

'Hard to believe it was just a week.'

Even so, in that week, I'd spent most of it in non-stop tests. sortie count might even top my usual Nexus runs.

I glanced at the familiar bluish HUD of Fallen Angel, thinking that.

Suddenly, the test controller's tone shifted.

Kuuuung—

The second bulkhead in the Aleph sector opposite slid open, locking onto a target.

Nexus-on-Nexus test this time. Leagues beyond punching scarecrows.

'No problem.'

Confidence surged.

But then.

Words barely registered. Only question: why the hell was that guy here?

Felt it during the Nest invasion intercept too—this world was seriously fucked up. No other explanation for the protagonist popping up in a mission that didn't even exist in the game. Twice. Tied to me, no less.

'Whatever, doesn't matter.'

Too headache-inducing to fuss over canon or whatever. I'd decided long ago not to care.

'No need to overthink.'

That announcement actually felt refreshing. Calmed me right down.

As Anon ramped output, I matched it and charged.

Mastema flashed in mind.

'Revenge match.'

That's what this was. Time to settle the score from that day.

This time, I win.

Pssshuu—

"Hoo..."

Test ended in a draw for both sides. Who'd have thought it'd play out like that...

Weapons and mobility restricted, sport-style rules—guess that's how it goes.

Hmm.

'Still satisfying.'

Less than full-power brawl, sure, but I thought we fought well. Never saw that love tap coming, though.

I sighed, climbing out of the Nexus in the hangar.

'Next time, I'll win.'

Full throttle? Whole different story. If one of us was out for blood...

Dragging myself out and onto the wheelchair, I spotted—

Kuuuung—

Another Nexus entering the hangar.

'WORKER.'

The player's machine. Anon.

Curious who was inside, I lingered on the gangway to watch.

It followed the guides straight ahead. Soon, the cockpit popped.

Upper body hatch opened... pilot emerged.

"......"

"......"

We locked eyes briefly.

Black hair, unremarkable face. Innocent if you want, cold-blooded if you squint. That ambiguous vibe, boy staring straight at me.

Awkward not to greet. Who first? We eyed each other like a standoff.

I broke first.

"Hey."

Short. Casual for strangers, maybe off.

"Nice to meet you."

His eyes widened slightly. Then a small smile.

"Yeah. You too."