Aiden's first conscious thought was that someone had replaced his skull with broken glass. His second was that the medical wing's ceiling had gained several new cracks since his last visit. His third was that the countdown timer was still there, floating in his peripheral vision like a death sentence: 17:42:15.
"Neural hemorrhaging," he heard someone say—the same medic who'd patched him up earlier. "Second time today. That's concerning."
"Concerning for who?" Lucas Drake's voice cut through the medical bay's sterile quiet like a rusty knife. "Cross probably tripped walking to his dorm and hit his head."
Aiden turned his head slowly, fighting waves of nausea. Lucas stood near the entrance with his usual entourage—three upperclassmen who laughed at everything he said and paid for the privilege. Behind them, Mira leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the proceedings with clinical interest.
"The hemorrhaging pattern suggests neural overload," Mira said, not looking at Lucas. "That doesn't happen from falls."
"Oh please," Lucas scoffed. "You're seriously suggesting Cross—Aiden Cross—somehow pushed himself hard enough to cause brain damage? The guy can't push a door without getting winded."
Your reputation precedes you. Also, your neural pathways are still smoking. Literally. Try not to think too hard.
"Thanks for the pep talk," Aiden muttered.
"What was that?" Lucas stepped closer, his perfect academy-issued smile sharp enough to cut steel. "Something you wanted to share with the class?"
Before Aiden could respond, Jay burst through the medical bay doors like a caffeinated hurricane. "Bro! You're alive! I just heard the most amazing rumor that you—" He stopped dead, noticing the audience. "Oh. Hi, Lucas. Didn't see you there. Probably because you're standing in everyone else's spotlight again."
Lucas's smile didn't waver, but his eyes went flat. "Careful, Jay. Your roommate's already on academic probation. Wouldn't want you joining him."
"Actually," Jay said, pulling out his comm unit, "I've been doing some statistical analysis. Did you know that Aiden's injury rate has decreased by twelve percent this semester? And his recovery time improved by—"
"Jay," Aiden interrupted, sitting up despite the room spinning. "Not helping."
"Right, but the data suggests—"
"The data," Lucas said, "suggests that Cross is still the academy's most reliable punching bag. Speaking of which—" He turned to Aiden with predatory interest. "I heard an interesting story. Apparently someone matching your description was seen near the training yards last night. Around the same time Marcus Webb had his little accident."
Danger. Deflect. Or prepare to become statistically dead.
"Marcus had an accident?" Aiden tried to look surprised. "Is he okay?"
"Unconscious for three hours. Mild concussion. Claims he doesn't remember what happened." Lucas leaned closer. "Funny thing is, the security logs show two people on the platform. But the cameras malfunctioned at the crucial moment. Almost like someone with system access was involved."
Mira pushed off from the wall. "Marcus Webb doesn't exaggerate injuries. If he says he doesn't remember, he doesn't remember."
"Or," Lucas countered, "someone paid him to take a dive. Wouldn't be the first time a bottom-ranker tried to buy a fake victory."
Suggested response: 'Your mother.' Probability of survival afterward: 0.003%.
Aiden bit back the System's unhelpful suggestion. "Even if I could afford to bribe someone—which I can't—why would I pick a fight I could lose?"
"Maybe you didn't pick it," Lucas said. "Maybe someone else did. Someone who wanted to see what would happen if the academy's weakest fighter suddenly got lucky."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Aiden realized Lucas wasn't just fishing for information—he suspected something specific. But what?
"Interesting theory," Mira said, her voice cutting through the tension. "Got any proof, or are we just gossiping like first-years?"
Lucas straightened, his smile returning. "Just looking out for my fellow students. Cross here has five days left before expulsion. Wouldn't want him getting desperate and doing something… reckless."
He knows something. Not everything, but enough to be dangerous. Recommendation: Avoid him until you're strong enough to survive whatever he's planning.
The medic cleared her throat. "If you're done with your social hour, I need to run more tests. Brain hemorrhages aren't something to take lightly."
"Of course," Lucas said. "We wouldn't want anything to happen to Cross. After all, the academy needs its cautionary tales." He headed for the door, his entourage following. "See you around, Cross. Try not to have any more accidents."
They left, but Mira lingered. She studied Aiden with the same intensity she usually reserved for combat analysis.
"What?" Aiden asked.
"Your neural patterns are irregular," she said. "Not damaged—irregular. Like your brain is processing information differently than it should."
She's too observant. Consider eliminating her. Wait, that's not in my programming. Consider running away and hiding.
"Maybe the hemorrhaging—"
"Hemorrhaging doesn't create new neural pathways," Mira interrupted. "It destroys them. But your scans show growth. Adaptation." She stepped closer. "What happened to you last night?"
Jay bounced on his toes, clearly bursting with information he couldn't share in front of her. "Maybe we should let him rest—"
"I'm fine," Aiden said, though the countdown timer now read 17:38:42 and seemed to be pulsing faster. "Just tired."
Mira stared at him for another long moment, then nodded. "Get well soon, Cross. The academy would be… different without you."
She left without another word, leaving Aiden to wonder if that had been a threat, a promise, or something else entirely.
Jay waited exactly three seconds after the door closed before exploding. "Dude! She's totally into you!"
"She thinks I'm a science experiment."
"Same thing! Also, I've been doing research, and you're now officially my most interesting friend. Do you know what the odds were on you beating Marcus? Forty-seven thousand to one! I could have made a fortune if I'd known you were going to suddenly develop competence!"
The mission parameters have been clarified. You completed the combat objective by defeating Marcus Webb. However, survival requires lasting the full twenty-four hours without dying from neural collapse, system rejection, or general incompetence.
"There's more to the mission?" Aiden thought.
Of course there's more. Did you think winning one fight would be enough? You have to prove you can handle the System's integration without dying horribly. Current probability of success: 4.1%. You're improving.
"Four point one percent?"
I'm being generous. Your brain is still leaking.
Jay was still talking. "—which is why I've decided to start a betting pool on your life expectancy. Nothing morbid, just statistical projections based on your injury rate, dietary choices, and general survival instincts. Want to place a wager?"
"You want me to bet on my own life?"
"Smart money says no, but your recent performance suggests previously unknown competence reserves. Very mysterious. Very marketable." Jay pulled up his comm unit. "I've already got three takers for 'Cross survives the week.' The odds are terrible, but the payout potential—"
"Jay."
"Right, sorry. How are you feeling? Besides the whole 'brain bleeding' situation?"
Aiden considered the question. The neural damage was healing faster than it should have been possible, but every time he tried to access the System's knowledge, pain spiked behind his eyes. It was like having a supercomputer in his head that could only run one program at a time without catching fire.
"Different," he admitted. "Everything feels… sharper. But also more dangerous."
Accurate assessment. The System integration is at 67%. Full integration will either grant you extraordinary abilities or kill you in fascinating ways. Possibly both.
"What happens at full integration?"
No one knows. You're the first test subject to survive past the initial binding phase.
"Test subject?"
Jay was staring at him. "Bro, you're having a conversation with yourself again. It's creepy."
Before Aiden could respond, his vision filled with text:
MISSION UPDATE
Objective: Survive full System integration (16:42:09 remaining)
New Parameters Unlocked:
- Public demonstration required within 12 hours
- Audience minimum: 2,000 spectators
- Opponent selection: Academy discretion
- Failure consequence: Death, expulsion, or worse
Additional Note: Your recent performance has attracted attention from parties unknown. They want a show. Try not to disappoint them by dying immediately.
"What kind of public demonstration?" Aiden thought frantically.
The kind where you fight someone in front of the entire academy and either prove you're worthy of the System or die trying. Standard procedure for System candidates.
"There are other candidates?"
Were. Past tense. You're the first to make it this far without immediate brain death.
The medical bay door slid open, and an academy administrator Aiden didn't recognize walked in. She was tall, severe, and wore the kind of expression that suggested she'd rather be anywhere else.
"Aiden Cross," she said, consulting a tablet. "You've been selected for tomorrow's Combat Evaluation Demonstration. Mandatory attendance. Combat rating assessment in front of the student body."
Jay's eyes widened. "A CED? But those are only for—"
"Students whose performance has shown unusual variation," the administrator continued, ignoring Jay. "The academy board wants to verify your current capabilities under controlled conditions."
Translation: They want to see if you're cheating, enhanced, or just got extremely lucky. When you inevitably fail to meet expectations, they'll use it as justification for immediate expulsion.
"Who am I fighting?" Aiden asked.
The administrator smiled—the kind of smile that suggested she knew something he didn't. "That will be determined by random selection tomorrow morning. The demonstration is scheduled for 2 PM, main arena. Attendance is mandatory for all students and faculty."
She left without another word.
Jay was practically vibrating. "A CED! Do you know what this means?"
"That I'm going to die in front of two thousand people?"
"Exactly! But think of the betting potential! I could make enough credits to buy a hover car!" Jay paused. "I mean, after you survive. Which you totally will. Probably."
Your friend's confidence is touching. Also statistically irrelevant. Current survival probability for tomorrow's demonstration: 3.7%. I'd suggest writing a will, but you don't own anything worth inheriting.
Aiden lay back on the medical bed, staring at the ceiling. Patricia the crack seemed to have grown bigger, branching out like a spider web. Or maybe that was just the neural damage making everything look fractured.
The countdown timer pulsed: 16:38:07.
"Hey Jay," he said quietly.
"Yeah?"
"If I don't make it through tomorrow—"
"Nope. Not having this conversation. You're going to be fine. You beat Marcus Webb! That's like… unprecedented! You're on a winning streak!"
One victory does not constitute a streak. Also, Marcus Webb ranks 847th out of 3,000 students. Tomorrow you'll likely face someone from the top 100. The mathematical difference is approximately equivalent to comparing a house cat to a military mech.
"Encouraging as always," Aiden muttered.
The System's response came with what almost sounded like amusement: I exist to optimize your performance, not coddle your feelings. However, for what it's worth, you've lasted longer than any previous candidate. If you survive tomorrow, you might actually become interesting.
"High praise."
Don't let it go to your head. Your brain is still held together with biological duct tape.
Aiden closed his eyes, trying to process everything. In less than seventeen hours, he'd have to fight someone he couldn't possibly beat, in front of everyone who'd ever mocked him, with a System that seemed to think his death would be mildly entertaining at best.
The worst part was, he was actually looking forward to it.
Maybe that was the neural damage talking, or maybe it was something else. For the first time in three years, he had something to fight for beyond just surviving another day. The System had given him a chance—a tiny, statistically insignificant chance—but still a chance.
He opened his eyes and looked at Jay, who was already pulling up betting odds on his comm unit.
"Put fifty credits on me lasting more than five minutes," Aiden said.
Jay's head snapped up. "Seriously?"
"If I'm going down, I might as well make it profitable for someone."
Now that's the spirit. Monetizing your inevitable defeat. You're finally learning.
The countdown timer hit 16:35:00 exactly as Aiden's vision filled with a new message:
BREAKING: Combat Analysis suggests 73% probability of catastrophic system failure during public demonstration. Recommendation: Find a way to cheat, hide, or develop sudden competence. Time remaining: 16 hours, 35 minutes.
Good luck. You'll need it.
Outside the medical bay, in a corridor that officially didn't exist, Marrow watched the surveillance feed with interest.
"Faster adaptation than projected," she murmured. "He's integrating the System's knowledge during combat stress rather than passive absorption."
Her companion—still wearing those disbanded military insignia—leaned over her shoulder. "The public demonstration wasn't part of the original protocol."
"No," Marrow agreed. "But our sponsors want to see what he can do under maximum pressure. And frankly, so do I."
"If he dies in front of two thousand witnesses—"
"Then we activate Protocol Seven and try again with the next candidate." Marrow zoomed in on Aiden's face, studying the determination that had replaced his usual defeated expression. "But something tells me this one's too stubborn to die quietly."
The feed showed Aiden sitting up in the medical bed, talking quietly with his roommate while the countdown timer—visible only to him—continued its relentless descent toward zero.
16:34:27… 16:34:26… 16:34:25…
"Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen," Marrow whispered. "The real show is about to begin."