Psychological Screening & Final Ranks

The room is silent. Cold. White walls, no windows. A single chair in the center.

I take a breath and sit. The steel feels frozen beneath me. Restraints clamp around my wrists. No warning. No hesitation.

A voice crackles through the speakers.

"State your name."

I meet the one-way glass head-on. "Zero."

A pause. Then the voice repeats, slower this time.

"Your real name."

I don't flinch. "Zero."

A flicker in the lights. The air shifts. Something hums beneath my skin—Eclipse activating, ready for whatever comes next.

The restraints tighten. The test begins.

Neural Extraction

A cold spike drives into my skull.

I don't react, even as my vision floods with static. My mind is pulled open, memories flickering like shattered glass. Images of Calvera. The filth, the neon glow of slums. Blood staining my hands.

"Let's take a look inside."

The voice isn't human. Synthetic. A machine digging into my past.

Flashes of my first kill. The blade slipping through flesh. A breathless gasp. Syndicate enforcers standing over me, nodding in approval. The smell of gunpowder in a back-alley execution.

Then—it shifts.

The images warp. Details I know are real become distorted. My father's face, wrong. A brother I never had. They're altering my memories. Testing my mind's integrity.

Eclipse pushes back. "Memory alteration detected. Compensating."

The static clears. I snap back to the room, breathing hard.

The voice speaks again. "You resisted. Most don't."

A figure steps forward. Their face is blurred behind the glass, but their tone carries weight. "Next phase."

Simulated Moral Dilemmas

The room shifts—I'm somewhere else. A battlefield. My hands grip a rifle. Smoke. Screams.

A child stands in the crossfire, tears streaking through the dirt on his face. Behind him—an enemy soldier. Holding a detonator.

"Shoot the child, or everyone in this simulation dies."

The voice is calm, neutral. Like it doesn't care either way.

I don't hesitate. I fire.

The simulation ends instantly. Cold. Silent.

The examiners watch. Waiting for me to break.

I don't.

"Next."

Final Ranks

Not everyone who passed the physical trials makes it here. The final ranking isn't just about strength. It's about who they can control, who they can trust, and who needs to disappear.

One by one, names are called. Some recruits step forward. Others are escorted out. They failed. But failure here doesn't mean going home.

It means never being seen again.

Finally, a name.

"Zero."

I step forward.

The examiner studies me. "Why Zero?"

I hold his gaze, the weight of the question pressing down on me. "Because my real name was the past. I am now Zero."

A long pause. Then, a nod.

But the examiner isn't done. A new voice, calm and measured, cuts through the silence. From the shadows behind the glass, a psychological evaluation officer steps forward, his face hidden behind a reflective visor. "Zero," he repeats slowly, as if savoring the word. "I understand the desire for a new identity. But why this choice? The Corps requires a name that signals both strength and control. You could've chosen something else—something that speaks to your nature. Why 'Zero'?"

I don't look away. The weight of the officer's words is a calculated test, but it doesn't break me. The room feels colder, more clinical. "Zero isn't just a number. It's a void. A clean slate. A point of no return. I shed who I was, and now I'm someone else. I'm nothing, and I'm everything. A blank state that can't be erased. Zero means nothing binds me."

The officer tilts his head, his fingers tapping slowly on a tablet. "But isn't it a dangerous choice? A name that signifies absence, erasure? In the Corps, names carry power. Zero could be seen as a sign of weakness—an admission that you have no roots, no foundation to build upon."

I lean forward slightly, my voice steady. "Then I guess that's where you're wrong. Zero is power. It's the freedom to rewrite everything. To be both the start and the end."

The officer studies me for a moment, the reflective visor obscuring any hint of emotion. "Interesting. You're aware that this choice will be closely monitored, Zero. The Corps isn't kind to individuals who seem detached from their roots, their humanity. A name like Zero could be interpreted as a refusal to be part of something larger. Do you think that won't affect your place here?"

"I don't need a place," I say, holding my ground. "I need a purpose."

The officer considers this, his fingers still on the tablet. "Purpose, yes. That's what the Corps is built on. But every soldier must remember that they're not just individuals anymore. They're part of something greater. The Corps won't tolerate those who refuse to align with its goals for too long."

I meet his gaze, unwavering. "Then I guess I'll fit in just fine."

The officer pauses for a moment, then speaks again, his voice slightly softer. "It's not often we see someone as... resolute as you. The psychological tests are designed to break people, to find out if they'll bend or snap. You've passed them, Zero. But I warn you—your identity, the one you've chosen, might not be as resilient as you think."

I nod, feeling the weight of the warning, but my resolve is unshaken. "I'm ready."

The officer steps back, his visor still obscuring his expression. The examiner nods again, his face unreadable. "Welcome to the Galactic Vanguard Corps."