A full week passed after the tryout invitation, and Jackie hadn't wasted a second of it. From the moment after he told Aunt Ira, he got to work. Training every morning. Training every night. Pushing himself until his muscles screamed and his lungs burned. Whatever Vermillion threw at him, he wanted to be ready.
Heavy Metal had given him the basics. A written test first. Nothing fancy, just enough to prove you weren't reckless or stupid. Then the real deal. A practical exam inside a simulation chamber. The exact scenario changed every year, but Metal had laughed when he described it. "Always hectic," he'd said. "Or fun. Depends on the person."
Today was the day.
Jackie stood on a street corner, staring straight up at the Vermillion Agency headquarters. The building dominated the skyline, sleek and towering, its crimson accents catching the sunlight. The place was alive. Heroes walked in and out with purpose. Some took off straight from the roof, streaking into the sky. Others landed with casual precision, as if this was just another day at the office. Which in their case, it was.
It was everything Jackie had imagined the biggest hero agency in New Haven would be.
He adjusted his coat, took a steadying breath, and walked through the doors, ready to see if this was where his future started.
The moment Jackie stepped inside the Vermillion Agency headquarters, he was swallowed by motion. People moved in every direction at once, a constant flow of bodies weaving past each other with practiced ease. Uniformed authorities spoke into radios. Office staff hurried along with tablets tucked under their arms. Superheroes passed through in full costume, some scuffed and fresh from patrol, others polished and camera-ready. A few everyday civilians stood off to the side, staring wide-eyed at it all.
Jackie adjusted his trench coat and pushed forward, following the signs toward check-in. It took a bit of sidestepping and patience, but he eventually reached the reception desk. He leaned in slightly and spoke over the background noise.
"Hey. I'm here for the tryouts."
The receptionist looked up, professional and calm despite the chaos. Jackie slid the form Heavy Metal had given him across the counter. She scanned it quickly, eyes flicking over the details before nodding once.
"Alright. Come with me."
She stepped out from behind the desk and led Jackie through a secured door into one of the back halls. The noise dulled slightly, though the building still felt alive. As they walked, Jackie glanced around at the sleek corridors and polished floors.
"Is it always this busy?" he asked.
She nodded. "Pretty much. Vermillion is one of the biggest agencies in the state. We don't just handle hero work. Advertising deals, merchandising, licensing, and public events. And every day someone's trying to pitch a new idea for one of the heroes under our banner."
"Figures," Jackie said. "Feels like a city in here."
They stopped in front of a plain door. The receptionist gestured to it. "Waiting room. All the other applicants are inside. Your judge should arrive in about fifteen minutes."
Jackie hesitated, then asked, "Do you know who the judge is?"
She adjusted her glasses. "Not officially. But it's tradition to send one of the higher-profile veterans. You'll probably recognize them."
She offered a small smile. "Good luck."
"Thanks," Jackie said.
She headed back down the hall, and Jackie opened the door.
The room went quiet.
About twenty other applicants were already inside, seated or standing in small clusters. All eyes turned to him. Jackie took them in just as quickly. Different builds. Different outfits. Different levels of confidence. Some looked calm. Others looked like they were barely holding it together.
Jackie stepped fully inside, letting the door close behind him.
Jackie eventually claimed an empty chair along the wall, pointedly ignoring a few lingering glares as he sat. He leaned back, crossed one ankle over his knee, and reached into the inner pocket of his trench coat. From it, he pulled an old, dog-eared sci-fi novel, the spine creased from years of rereads. He opened it and settled in like he was killing time at a bus stop instead of waiting for a career-defining evaluation.
Minutes slid by.
The room slowly filled as more applicants filtered in, tension thickening with each arrival. Jackie barely looked up, eyes tracking lines of text, breathing steady. Eventually, someone dropped into the chair beside him a little too fast. Jackie glanced over.
The guy was dressed head to toe in orange spandex. Lean build. Hands clenched tight on his knees. Thin wisps of smoke curled out of his ears, drifting upward in lazy spirals.
Jackie tilted his head. "Hey. Your ears are on fire. Like. Literally."
The man startled. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry." He wiped at his ears instinctively, making it worse. "I'm Flamando. That just kind of happens when I'm nervous."
"Checks out," Jackie said, turning a page.
Flamando nodded rapidly, then launched into a breathless ramble. "This place is insane, right? I mean, Lady Prime runs this agency, and there are so many tough-looking heroes in here, and I can't stop thinking about how this feels like that time at my cousin's wedding where I—"
Jackie slowly raised an eyebrow and closed his book partway. "Quick question. Do you talk a lot when you're nervous?"
Flamando froze. "Yes," he said, blinking. "How did you know?"
"Intuition," Jackie replied. He extended a hand. "Knockout Star."
Flamando shook it eagerly. "Flamando. Huge fan of… well, everyone here, honestly. I keep track of heroes, whether they be mainstream or the up-and-comers like yourself."
Jackie chuckled and set his book aside. They talked for a bit after that. Flamando calmed down, smoke thinning as he focused on the conversation. Jackie listened, chiming in now and then, the room's tension fading just a notch.
Then the doors opened.
The chatter died instantly.
A woman stepped inside, her presence commanding without a word spoken. She wore a red and purple spandex suit etched with deliberate patterns and glowing runes that shifted subtly as she moved. Long hair framed a calm, sharp face, eyes assessing the room like she already knew exactly what she was looking for.
Jackie recognized her at once. Magia, the veteran hero. Mistress of sorcery. One of Vermillion's most respected heavy hitters.
Jackie straightened in his seat as Magia closed the doors behind her.
She entered the room with the kind of authority that didn't need volume to carry. The moment she spoke, the scattered nerves settled into focus. She laid out the structure of the day in clear, measured terms. Written evaluation first. Practical assessment second. Performance would be judged individually, but awareness, restraint, and judgment mattered just as much as raw power.
Nothing she said surprised Jackie. Heavy Metal hadn't skipped on any of the details.
Once she finished, Magia turned and led the group down a clean, white corridor to the first testing room. Rows of desks waited inside, already set with tablets and styluses. Twenty-seven applicants took their seats. Jackie included.
The written exam began.
An hour passed quietly, broken only by the soft tapping of fingers against glass. Jackie moved through the questions with ease. Risk assessment scenarios. Use-of-force thresholds. Collateral reduction measures. It was all common sense to him. Stuff you learned the hard way or didn't survive long enough to forget. He reviewed his answers once, shrugged, and submitted with time to spare.
After the final applicant finished, they were herded back into the hall and toward a massive elevator recessed into the floor. The doors slid open to reveal a platform large enough to hold all of them comfortably. The doors closed. The descent began.
The elevator dropped longer than Jackie expected. When the doors finally opened, they revealed a space that made a few applicants inhale sharply.
It looked like nothing.
A vast, blank void stretched out in every direction. White floor. Pale horizon. No visible walls. No ceiling. Jackie stepped forward instinctively, boots echoing softly. He couldn't tell where the room ended, but he could feel it. The scale of it pressed against his senses. Massive. Controlled. Expensive.
"Simulation chamber," he muttered.
Magia moved to the center of the group. With a gesture, faint light rippled across the floor like circuitry waking up.
"This year's scenario," she said, "is a recreation."
The air shimmered.
"Twenty years ago, New Haven came under attack by the supervillain known as Arcania King."
Jackie stiffened slightly. He knew the name. Everyone did.
"A humanoid spider entity," Magia continued, "who deployed legions of giant arachnids across the city. Infrastructure collapse. Mass civilian endangerment. Near-total devastation."
The void began to change. Shapes rose from the floor. Buildings formed in segments, snapping into place like assembling code. Streets unfolded. Sirens echoed faintly in the distance.
"This simulation recreates that day," Magia said. "Enemies, civilians, terrain damage, and escalation patterns have all been calibrated to historical data."
The city finished forming around them. Skyscrapers loomed. Smoke curled from distant blocks. Jackie's chest tightened, not with fear, but anticipation.
"There are cameras everywhere," Magia said. "Every choice you make will be recorded. You will be judged on multiple criteria. The primary metrics are enemy suppression and civilian rescue."
Her gaze swept the group. "Power without judgment fails here."
She stepped back. Her form began to distort, edges breaking into glowing fragments.
"Good luck."
Magia dissolved into light and vanished.
The ground trembled.
A distant roar echoed through the simulated streets. Shadows moved across building faces. The air filled with the sound of skittering legs and panicked screams. It's do or die time.