I'm Alex, just Alex, Mumbai's gym coach turned galactic hopeful, leading my crew—Dmitri, the Russian brawler who'd probably fist-bump a pulsar, and Fiona, the Irish MMA queen who reads foes like a dodgeball playbook. It's day thirty on the Arkvault, a seven-mile zoo of cosmic snowflakes, and we're at the Habitat-382 help desk, test day for the Space Adventurer Guild. Our bracelets—those cheeky, glowing wristbands—have been our lifelines, logging prep and trolling me with snack prompts.
We're at the help desk, a buzzing hub of drones and glowing panels, when Smirky McJawline and Knife-Twirler—yesterday's rival winners—stroll up, all polite grins. "Sorry for the taunts," Smirky says, introducing himself as Leo. Knife-Twirler, now Tara, nods. "Let's work together, yeah?" Fiona crosses her arms, her Dublin glare icy. "Not a chance." Leo's grin twists, Tara mimics Fiona's stance, and they saunter off, tossing mocking glances. "Still posers," Dmitri grunts. I shrug, unfazed. "Let's focus, Ramblers." Yeah, we settled on Earthly Ramblers en route—Fiona liked the earthy vibe, Dmitri grunted approval, and I pitched it as "wandering Earth's legacy, with swagger." My bracelet logs: Team name updated: Earthly Ramblers.
A guide, a sleek alien with eyes like LED fireflies, teleports us to the Space Guild dome, its red pulse throbbing like a cosmic heart. We register as Earthly Ramblers, the clerk's voice droning through our bracelets: "Written, fitness, aptitude tests. Proceed." The written test's a beast—starship navigation, Zykaran biology, Guild protocols. I fumble "warp coil" for "plasma vent," muttering, "Like my blender on steroids." My bracelet glitches: Error: Kitchen propulsion invalid. "Hilarious," I whisper, smirking. Fiona speed-reads, her bar-fight smarts nailing guesses. Dmitri squints, his Moscow grit pushing through. We pass, barely, my gym-coach brain dizzy but intact.
The fitness test's my jam—endurance runs, strength rigs, a cosmic obstacle course in a gravity-shifting arena. I sprint a treadmill mimicking Martian dunes, dodging holographic meteors without face-planting. "Progress!" I cheer. Fiona weaves through laser nets, her MMA kicks a blur. Dmitri heaves a lunar-weight boulder, nearly launching it into orbit. "Easy, champ," I call, dodging debris. The ref, a robotic alien, drones, "Recalibrating. Avoid chaos." We pass, sweaty and smug, my bracelet logging: Incident: Gym rebellion noted.
The aptitude test throws us—it's no jungle sim but a high-tech lab, all gleaming panels and humming scanners. We're zapped one by one, stats projected in glowing numbers. Fiona goes first: her agility and smarts are off the charts, and a new stat pops up—flux energy potential. The alien proctor, a spiky Vordex, explains: "Trainable under the Guild. Manipulates energy flows—rare." Fiona's eyes glint, but she stays cool, glancing at me before masking it. Dmitri's next: his strength stats are obscene, like he could bench a starship. No flux energy, but he's got elemental block potential. "Guild training," the proctor says. "Blocks attacks; mastered, it shields allies." Dmitri grunts, a rare smirk breaking. "My kind of wall."
I'm last, nerves buzzing like a bad set of burpees. My stats flash: above average across the board, not Dmitri-level but solid. Then, my potential reads "?????". The proctor's spikes quiver. "Unknown. Data incomplete." I blink. "What, I'm a cosmic question mark?" The aliens confer, confused, but in the lab's corner—a hidden panel. Unknown to us, a high-ranking elder, eyes glowing with excitement, watches from a secret room. His sleek subordinate, cloaked in dark, slim metal—unlike the bulky alien norm—materializes from camouflage tech, unseen by all. The elder, a scientist with authority, hisses, "Monitor Alex. Protect him if his life's at risk." The subordinate nods, vanishing like a shadow. The elder slips out, his exit unnoticed. My bracelet logs: Aptitude: Anomalous. Query: Mystery badge earned? "Cheeky bangle," I mutter, grinning.
We're back outside the dome, buzzing from passing all tests. Fiona's plotting flux energy training, Dmitri's eyeing his shield potential, and I'm stuck wondering what "?????" means. Leo and Tara pass too, smirking from afar, but we ignore them, Earthly Ramblers for life. I log: Day thirty: Tests crushed, powers unlocked, mystery vibes. Guild, here we come. Single, 500 years from Earth, I'm Coach Bounce, ready to ramble this galaxy—or at least not trip over its secrets.