A trio of officers gathered around a holographic display in a dimly lit room deep within the heart of the Defense Forces’ command center. The air was thick with the scent of coffee and the quiet hum of machinery. The screen before them flickered, displaying a recent combat simulation, the digital representation of a battlefield still alive with the echoes of destruction.

At the center of the display was a single name: Jackie Stewart. Her call sign, Stewart, hovered beside the image of her mech, the Epona, its sleek form rendered in a cool blue hue.

“She’s got potential,” one of the officers remarked, his tone thoughtful. He was a grizzled veteran, his face lined with the experience of countless battles. His eyes, sharp and calculating, were fixed on the replay of Stewart’s last engagement.

“No doubt about it,” the second officer agreed. He was younger, his uniform crisp, and his demeanor contrasted with the older man’s weariness. “But she’s still green. She’s learning fast, though. Her instincts are good, better than most at this stage.”

The third officer, a woman with an air of authority and a gaze that could pierce steel, remained silent momentarily, watching as Stewart’s Epona darted across the screen, striking down enemy mechs with precision and efficiency. Finally, she spoke, her voice measured.

“She’s a natural hunter,” she observed. “That’s rare. Most rookies rely too heavily on their training, on what they’ve been told to do. Stewart is different. She adapts and improvises. She’s not just following orders—she’s thinking ahead, anticipating the enemy’s moves. That’s the kind of pilot we need in the Corps.”

The veteran nodded his expression one of grudging respect. “I’ve seen pilots like her before. The ones who make it out of the simulations with more than just a passing grade. The ones who have that… edge. It’s what keeps them alive on the battlefield.”

The younger officer leaned forward, his interest piqued. “Do you think she’s ready? For the Corps, I mean. It’s early, but…”

The woman raised a hand, cutting him off. “It’s too soon to make that call. She’s still untested in real combat. Simulations can only tell us so much. But we need to keep an eye on her. If she continues to improve at this rate, we’ll have to consider bringing her in early.”

There was a pause as they all watched the holographic Stewart finish off the last of the enemy scouts. Her movements were fluid and deliberate, the mark of a pilot who was beginning to understand not just how to operate her mech but also how to wield it as a weapon.

“She’s got the talent,” the veteran murmured, almost to himself. “But talent isn’t enough. She’ll need to prove she has the discipline and the focus. It’s a different game when lives are on the line.”

The woman nodded in agreement, her expression unreadable. “True. But I’ve seen enough to know she’s worth the investment. Let’s keep her on our radar and monitor her progress closely. If she continues to display this level of promise, we’ll revisit the question of early recruitment.”

The younger officer seemed eager, his mind already racing with the possibilities. “Imagine what she could do with the right training and resources. The Corps could use someone like her.”

The veteran chuckled softly, a sound devoid of humor. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, son. Let’s see how she handles the next few simulations before we start drafting her into the Corps.”

The woman deactivated the display, the room plunging into relative darkness. “For now, we watch. If Stewart continues on this path, she might be the pilot we’re looking for. But until then, let’s not tip our hand. We need to see how she handles pressure and reacts when things don’t go according to plan.”

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They all stood, the decision made. Jackie Stewart's fate, for the moment, would remain in her own hands. But the seed had been planted, the possibility of something greater hanging in the air like a whispered promise.

As they left the room, the image of Stewart’s Epona faded from the screen, but it lingered in their minds. They would watch, wait, and decide when the time was right whether to bring her into the fold.

But for now, the future of Jackie Stewart, and perhaps of the Corps itself, remained unwritten.

***

Kovacs sat in his dimly lit apartment, the soft hum of the city outside barely audible through the thin walls. He stared at the contact card, the black text stark against the off-white paper. His mind raced with possibilities, each more ominous than the last. The upcoming meeting with the crime lord loomed large in his thoughts, a shadow that refused to dissipate no matter how hard he tried to focus on something—anything—else.

He knew he had to go and that avoiding it would only worsen things. But what he didn’t know was what the crime lord would want. The thought gnawed at him, a constant pressure at the back of his mind. Kovacs had learned early on that the criminal underworld thrived on debt, and in their eyes, he owed them for displacing their plant in the mecha design program. How could he leverage what little he had to keep himself safe?

The pain in his hip flared again, a sharp reminder of the physical limitations he couldn’t escape. With a groan, he stood and limped to the small table in the corner of the room. He pulled out a battered notebook, flipping it open to a blank page. He needed a plan, something to negotiate with. The crime lord wouldn’t care about his grades or struggles in class; they’d want something tangible and valuable.

Kovacs began to jot down a list, his mind racing through what he could offer. His first thought was the plasteel armor license. It was one of the few assets he had of any real value, but the license was hundreds of years old. But the thought of giving it up gnawed at him—he’d need it to complete the Devil’s Mantis. Yet, he could part with it if it came down to it. The Mantis was his dream, but dreams meant nothing if you were dead or too crippled to walk.

Next on his list was his access to the university’s resources. He could offer to do some design work or share some of his research. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a card he could play. He knew he was talented—one of the reasons the crime lord’s proxy had been pushed out of the program. He could offer his services if they needed a designer or an engineer, though the thought made him sick. Selling his skills to someone like that felt like a betrayal of everything he was working toward.

Kovacs tapped the pen against the page, considering his options. He could also offer money, though he didn’t have much. A few credits here and there, maybe enough to appease them for a while. But he knew it wouldn’t be sufficient in the long run. The crime lord would see right through him if he tried to buy his way out cheaply.

He closed the notebook, and the list was unfinished. There was no perfect solution, no way out that didn’t involve sacrifice. But Kovacs knew one thing: he wasn’t going down without a fight. He’d walk into that meeting with his head held high, ready to bargain and give up what he could afford—but not an ounce more.

He grabbed his coat, the worn fabric rough against his fingers, and shrugged it on. The weight of the upcoming confrontation settled heavily on his shoulders. As he stepped out into the light, the chill of the air bit at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the cold dread that had taken root in his chest.

His steps were slow and deliberate, each one a reminder of the pain that followed him like a shadow. But he forced himself to keep moving, to push through it. He had to be strong and keep his wits about him. The crime lord would smell fear a mile away, and Kovacs couldn’t afford to show any.

He walked the streets purposefully, every step bringing him closer to the meeting that could change everything. The city around him blurred into a haze of neon lights and distant noise; his mind focused solely on the task ahead. He ran through his mental checklist, weighing the pros and cons of each item he could offer. He couldn’t afford to appear weak but couldn’t afford to be reckless.

Finally, he arrived at the location, a nondescript building tucked away in a part of the city most people avoided—the kind of place where deals were made and lives were ruined. Kovacs took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. His hand rested briefly on the bottle of pain pills in his pocket, a reminder of the cost of weakness.

“This is it,” he muttered, the words lost in the cold night air. “Time to see what I’m worth.”

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, the darkness swallowing him whole.