Pop! Pop, pop, my neck had complained. An uncontrollable heat had boiled my blood, as a vicious glint of green danced across my memories. My rifle rattled in my hands as the deep breaths I took had done nothing for me. I had clenched my jaw, then balled a fist— all to deny her this control over me. Her laughter had haunted the edges of my mind. If I hadn’t been careful, I would have died that day thinking about how to take revenge on her.

The command specialization had replicated a commander's personal augmentations in their symbiont ship. Many specializations existed, each performing distinct tasks. Specializations had five skills, with an additional one unlocking at every rank up. We could categorize specializations extensively.

The most common were jobs like specializations such as Medical, Exploration, Colonial development, etc. These had practical skills and abilities. Next, we had the combat specializations. These had provided a skill that usually boosted combat effectiveness from accuracy to damage mitigation on the Symbiont ship and provided some other personal benefits.

The most popular were tactical, which was its own subcategory, as there were several types of offensive specializations like Assault, Strategist, Operator, and Sentinel.

Thinking about this had allowed me to calm down. The technology slots or augmentations were what I needed to be most careful about. Right now, I had required power, but I could not remove it. Unlike ship modules, augmentations were permanent.

If I was to clear these trials, I needed at least three augmentations. However, when I got my specialization, it would cripple non-compatible augmentations, and that could be a different kind of deadly. Normal people earned their specialization years after they integrated augmentations. So, when it broke past abilities, some people died because the skill they had relied upon was not available.

I checked my gun again, this time with my system. It had soothed the gaping wound that had been my wound.

[Torch Industries Weapon]

Name: Gauss Rifle 4000 (GR-4000)

Rank: Mundane

Rarity: Undefined

Information: The Torch Industries space marine gauss rifle was the epitome of cheap, reliable, and sustainable. It was the perfect all-around weapon.

I smiled. To others, the description might have made my weapon seem weak. However, all I saw was a weapon able to do damage. Mundane weapons only worked at the rank of cadet. Finding a better system-recognized weapon and a new suit had been my priority. I had known it was possible, as I had watched a documentary about the people outside the Human Hegemony sending their kids to die on uncontrolled Founder Forge worlds. These kids had gone there with nothing and could come out with new suits, tech blueprints, rare tech modules, and so much more.

"Okay, Anasazi, this is a shit show..." I had tried to remember what the Sergeant had said about what to do in this situation. Well, not my exact situation.

"Assess, Adjust, Achieve," his voice had echoed in my mind. Start at the beginning and work from there. I was stronger than a security drone, but not a guardian. I needed to clear as many drones as possible to gain more loot and experience points. A suit would be good, but the chances of coming across a suit chamber or even a full armory or a tech lab were rare.

Even in a shipyard with many rooms, it was unlikely to have such rooms. It was more likely to drop from a guardian. My fear had been that the pricks had cleared the most valuable Guardian, leaving me with just mundane and simple items. Nobody knew the rate of item drops; as far as we could tell, they were all random, and also structured. Some people had found augmentations, ship modules, and variant symbiont types that all matched.

I tried to remember the last one of these publicized. Six years ago had marked the start of the war for the Interstellar Federal Republic of Laos. The Republic was a totalitarian state. All Potents had a thirteen-year mandatory term of military service.

When Cadet-Commander Jojo Diamond had pulled a Station-type variant Symbiont with a research specialization and a full suite of compatible augmentations and modules, it had shaken the galaxy. Variants were rare Symbionts unavailable within the Human Hegemony. Station-types, in particular, were like auxiliary ships, often relegated to non-combat roles—not due to inherent limitations, but because of a lack of imagination and the right modules. The Station had prioritized size above all else, sacrificing agility and firepower.

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Jojo’s incredible luck had allowed him to recruit a few private military contractors. With their help, he had amassed levels and resources. Eventually, they had stumbled upon a piece of technology he could research and unlock. The specifics of this technology had been classified by the Hegemony Home Ministry, but it had granted him an overwhelming advantage against the Tier 3 power that had been Laos.

In the end, Laos had to retreat, but their leaders had disseminated Jojo's general information to every major news network, hoping local powers would attempt to capture him. Afterward, Jojo had disappeared, and his fate had remained a mystery.

I had initially planned to work with those bastards, but since that plan had fallen apart, I had resolved to clear as many drones as possible. I needed to gather loot, build a semi-decent setup, and prepare for the trials ahead. At most, I would sacrifice half my slots to create flexibility.

We could change specializations at rank-ups, so if I found something better, I would adapt. I also planned to scavenge the rooms they had already cleared. There had been a chance they had overlooked a secret chamber or left behind less valuable items. Luck could favor me yet.

I had pulled at the embarrassing excuse for a beard I had. It had been barely a goatee, but the pain had helped ground me. I wasn’t as raw as before. When Batz had kicked me earlier, the pain had radiated through my entire body. Now, I had felt ready to test myself further. Physically, I was good to go.

"Achieve!" I had shouted, breaking into a run—not out of fear of enemies, but because I knew hesitation would paralyze me. I needed to push forward. If there were enemies on the other side of the door, I would have to react quickly.

My heart had pounded in my throat, and my knees had tingled with the memory of pain. A shiver had run through me, nearly halting my steps. It had felt too soon, but I hadn’t had forever. The shipyard would have purged me after twenty-four hours.

The door had opened with a whisper as I had slid into the threshold.

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Woosh!

The door had been like a gate to hell that I had to cross willingly. With anxiety that had made me feel like a newborn fawn, I had stepped into the room. Three steps in, the door had sealed behind me.

I had lifted my rifle, shaking, and aimed it at the door, bracing for an ambush.

"Come on, man, get it together," I had muttered. My breathing had been erratic.

This first trial area had been like a lab with long, exposed hallways offering no real cover. The walls, tiled in yellow and blue, had been distractingly bright. The lights had flickered on silently. I had moved cautiously, checking every corner.

The main hallway had led to four rooms, one at the end of each branch. I had turned to the nearest door on my right. Rifle at the ready, I had peeked inside.

Ten drones had laid destroyed. Guardians had often come with a variety of drones, but these had been familiar from training manuals—bipedal, humanoid in appearance, with two ears, eyes, arms, and a nose.

I had approached their battered, purple bodies and had issued the command: "Auto-loot."

This general command had allowed me to collect experience points, technology blueprints, components, and credits. Each drone, however, had been empty.

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Frustration had boiled as I had cursed the rich bastards' thoroughness. I had scoured the room for anything out of place—a crack, a seam, something that hinted at a hidden compartment. Hidden rooms often held treasures, but this space had been a complete bust. Spartan and bare, save for a single workbench in the center. Even its drawers had been empty.

Returning to the main hallway, I had checked my corners again. Many Potents had met their end due to carelessness.

I had moved to the door opposite the entrance. As it had opened, the scent of burnt lavender had hit me—a bizarre approximation of charred flesh. Inside, mutilated and burnt bodies had laid scattered.

The sight hadn’t fazed me; I had seen worse. Sergeant Rodriguez had drilled such scenes into us through endless simulations, ensuring we had understood the brutal realities of combat.

The factory floor beyond had been enormous, and clearing it had taken me two grueling hours. It had been picked clean. The others had even destroyed notes, piling and burning them.

I had searched under every panel and behind every corner, triple-checking every nook and cranny. Missing a single overlooked switch could have cost me an opportunity.

Back in the main hallway, I had peeked around the corner. Silence. I had turned toward the final door. It had had a large, one-way mirror. My reflection had stared back at me.

I had stopped to check for hidden switches. Sometimes, even armor could be concealed behind deceptive paneling.