Convergence

The Gauntlet had changed.

What had begun as a sprawling multi-zone battlefield filled with six thousand Initiates had thinned to a hardened sliver of survivors—less than fifty remained. Every failed battle and injury too critical had been met with ejection. The simulation didn't kill, but it mimicked the cost closely enough to remind them all what war really looked like.

The terrain had shifted with the attrition. The sprawling cityscape once broken into vast sectors had begun compressing—slowly, almost imperceptibly. At first it was a simple narrowing of corridors, a sealing off of outer zones. But by now, the collapse was undeniable. Buildings caved inward, roadways buckled, and safe zones shrank to choke points.

With fewer people left and tighter quarters to maneuver, encounters grew rarer—but deadlier because there were whispers of more Tier-Ds now.

Emric now with Kestrel moved quietly through a broken skybridge, the glass long since shattered. Below, the ruins of Sector Twelve swam in the mist. He'd patched up his sync band, replaced his spark knife with a new pulseblade scavenged from a fallen crate, and his HUD had begun warning him of his proximity to irregularities more frequently.

Still, this stretch was calm—eerily so. Until they heard familiar voices.

"…I'm just saying, we're not going to rank up much further unless we take something with real weight," Roan was saying, pacing beside a flickering relay hub.

"You mean self mutilate? with hardly any usable weapons" Kestrel replied, as they walked in, with her sniper rig still in pieces inside a make shift bag she slung on her shoulder. "All Tier-Ds we've encountered are practically anomalies. I can't help but think who ever setup this gauntlet is a sadist."

In the observation deck, the instructors and analysts held back their laughter as they sneaked a glance at Strategos Datch who looked on, a picture of indifference. Only close associates would realizes his embarrassment from how he stroked his beard. 

"They're also worth twenty points minimum." Roan pointed out.

Tammel leaned against the wall, adjusting his shoulder wrap. "I'd rather finish the gauntlet with minor injuries and looking fresh, that way I can hit on some chicks and maybe get one or two relaxing massages, if you know what I mean."

The boys laughed along. Speechless, Kestrel looked at him with disgust.

It was frustrating that despite the ratio of awakening not discriminating between gender. Society was still dominated by men, more so in a relationship.

That when Brin finally spotted him. "Hey," he said, nodding as Emric approached. "Look who didn't die in the tram sector."

Tammel grinned. "Figured that was you setting off that chain rail pulse."

"I had help," Emric said, stepping into the half-circle. "Malric Dane."

Roan blinked. "The Obscurant elite?"

Emric nodded. "He dampened the field. I rerouted a surge. We killed a Dirgemaw."

A moment of silence.

Then Tammel coughed. "Nicely done."

"We're actually about to try something equally dumb," Roan said, motioning to the team. "One of the outer shunt towers is registering pulse disruptions—Tier-D class. We want to challenge it."

"For points," Roan said flatly. "And placement."

Emric glanced around. "You need a fifth."

"You volunteering?" Kestrel asked.

"I didn't come back to spectate."

They moved out soon after.

The path to the pulse tower cut through former commercial blocks—wide-open plazas now overtaken by debris and cracked glass. Their boots echoed across tile that hadn't seen foot traffic in hours.

"This compression thing is really starting to screw with my directional reads," Brin muttered. "Half my HUD maps say we're in Sector Ten. The others say we're floating somewhere near Central Loop."

"It's all collapsing," Kestrel said. "Endgame terrain squeeze. I've seen it in war sim drills—they want to force tension. Increase the stakes."

Roan added, "And raise the odds of a high-value encounter."

Emric's eyes scanned the skyline. "They're also counting on mistakes. Tight space, low resources, rising fatigue… classic pressure chamber design."

Tammel snorted. "I miss the part of the Gauntlet where we killed things and looted gear. This chessboard stuff is annoying."

"Welcome to the real game," Kestrel replied.

They hit light resistance crossing an exposed concourse. A trio of F-tier ghouls leapt from a split stairwell—skin peeled back, teeth serrated. Emric didn't even draw his blade.

Roan dispatched one with a combat baton swipe. Brin handled another with a compressed concussive round. The third lunged—and met Emric's elbow, followed by a pulseblade to the neck.

[+1 Point: Emric Vale]

"Hardly worth the energy," Emric muttered, flicking blood off the edge.

"The ones left in the field aren't here by luck," Roan said. "Everyone's hit this point—F and E tiers are just filler now."

"I kind of miss the early panic," Brin mused. "Remember when we all thought five F-tiers meant death?"

Kestrel laughed under her breath. "Yeah. Then I met this guy."

She pointed her chin at Emric.

"Aw, don't give me credit," Emric said. "You're the one who gave me the rifle in the first place."

"You broke it in like an angry god," she said. "Still mad about that."

Tammel cut in, changing the subject. "After the Gauntlet… what's everyone aiming for?"

"You mean if we don't get crippled?" Brin asked.

Tammel shrugged. "Just saying, some of us need direction."

"Combat Corps," Roan said immediately. "Tactical command track."

"Vanguard Deployment for me," Kestrel said. "Sniper specialist division. Mobile insert ops."

Brin smiled. "I'm probably going Mechanized Recon. I like watching other people nearly die from a safe distance."

Emric hesitated.

Then: "I'm still deciding."

They all looked at him.

"I was locked into the Cognivore academic branch," he said, "but lately I'm… less sure."

Kestrel studied him. "You fight like someone who doesn't know how to do anything halfway."

"Thanks?" he said, unsure.

"I mean it," she said. "You should look into the Tactical Experimental Wing. The ones that study emerging systems and battlefield anomalies."

Emric didn't respond. Just walked a little faster.

The last stretch to the pulse tower came through an old market arcade—half collapsed, eerie and full of dead kiosks. The smell of ozone and scorched fabric hung in the air.

They moved carefully, weapons raised.

[Pulse Spike: Tier-D Detected – Estimated Proximity: 480 Meters]

[Warning: Multiple Lifesigns Detected – Signal Unclear]

They stopped at the edge of a collapsed elevator shaft.

Kestrel checked her HUD. "It's below."

Roan pulled up the schematic. "Maintenance route through lower sublevel. There's a stairwell north entrance."

"No time to waste," Emric said.

They prepped quietly—reloaded clips, adjusted belts. Emric pulled a compact rifle from the rack by the abandoned kiosk wall. It had a scorched casing, but the charge read stable. Someone had dropped it mid-fight.

"New toy?" Kestrel asked.

"Let's hope it doesn't blow up," Emric said looking at his HUD display.

[Time Remaining – Phase Two: 00:22:08]

"Guess this'll be my final fight in this gauntlet." Emric muttered.

They descended as one—five silhouettes fading into the dim, humming dark.