The mess hall was quieter than it had ever been.
The same meal as every other day, the same process. Yet this time it was nearly silent; just the scrape of spoons on trays and the occasional cough.
A kid was in medical with a broken leg because two of his squadmates had shoved each other off a balance beam. Not because the drill demanded it. Not because Vance had ordered it. But, because a line of text in their interfaces had offered five stat points to whoever grabbed me first, and that had been enough to override everything.
A single level's worth of stats...
I sat alone, Tomas nowhere in sight. A pang of anxiety threatened my exterior as I wondered if he'd been washed out; if that were the case— I shoved the thought down deep and forced my mind to something else.
Vance, Vance and that nod.
Vance controlled everything about our lives: our sleep, our bodies, and our food. He decided when we would run, how far, and what would happen if we failed. For seven days, he had been the highest authority in our world.
And a single System quest had overridden all of it. It had reached into his carefully built machine and broken it. And Vance had simply accepted it. Though it was a normal occurrence. As if the System doing whatever it wanted, whenever it wanted, to whoever it wanted, was simply how things worked.
Maybe it was.
I let out a sigh as my mind wandered at a thousand thoughts a minute. My musings were interrupted by a glimmer in the periphery of my vision.
It started as a subtle warmth behind my eyes, like the start of a migraine. I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose, almost missing the flicker of text.
[REWARD ACTIVATION: COMPLETE]
I set my spoon down.
[DEVIATION ASSIGNED]
My heart kicked. I called up the full display, keeping my eyes on my tray so nobody would notice the slight unfocusing that came with reading the interface.
[DEVIATION: NULL]
[PUBLIC CLASSIFICATION: NONE]
[TRUE CLASSIFICATION: ■■■■■■]
I blinked.
Null? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN NULL?!
After a pause, additional information flared to life.
This thing is trying to mess with me, isn't it?
[ATTRIBUTES:]
— Cross-grade firmware compatibility. No permanent firmware lock-in.
— Non-linear skill acquisition. Skill trees unrestricted by category or grade ceiling.
— [LOCKED]
— [LOCKED]
— [LOCKED]
— [LOCKED]
[NOTE: This deviation exists outside Enlightened standard classifications. No equivalent exists in the current system registry.]
I read it three times, each pass slower than the last.
Holy shit, this is... This is amazing!
I fought to keep my expression steady in the mess hall, my heart began to race. I wouldn't be locked into firmware? The thing that locked pilots down to corporate entities and singular mech classes? I'd have free range to pilot what I want, when I want, and however I want?
This keeps getting better. But non-linear skill acquisition? What does that even mean?
Another ping and my interface lit up once more.
[EXPERIENCE: —LOCKED—] [LEVEL: —LOCKED—] [RANK PROGRESSION: —LOCKED—]
[CONNECTION THRESHOLD REQUIRED: 5.000%] [CURRENT CONNECTION: 0.034%]
There it was. The XP system, levels, rank progression—everything the other recruits were already using.
Maybe I'll start gaining access to skills once I complete the connection threshold. That's not so bad.
[14:00]
Vance marched us to the parade ground. Thirteen bodies, battered and stiff from the morning's Gauntlet. The afternoon sun was low, casting long shadows across the concrete.
Kael was waiting.
His presence here was unusual. He belonged in the cultivation room. Seeing him standing beside Vance, hands clasped behind his back with that quiet stillness—it signalled a shift.
"Sit," Kael said.
We dropped. Concrete, dirt, wherever we stood.
Kael remained standing. He surveyed us for a long moment.
"You've survived the first week. That is the minimum expectation, not an achievement." His voice was measured. "What comes next requires that you understand not just what you are, but what the system expects you to become."
He began to pace.
"Firmware. You've heard the word. Legacy kids learned about it in their academies. The rest of you picked it up from recruitment holos or gossip. Most of what you think you know is incomplete."
He stopped.
"Firmware is your class. Your permanent operational identity within the mech ecosystem. Think of it as the operating system that defines your combat role. Once you select a firmware, it is locked to you for life. You do not change it. You do not swap it. You do not upgrade to a different type."
He let the word 'permanent' settle.
"Firmware is graded, just like you. F through S. The public marketplace—the System store—offers firmware up to C-Grade. Anything above that is proprietary. Manufactured by corporations or the Enlightened themselves. Distributed through military contracts, corporate sponsorships, or family legacy."
I kept my face still. Inside, I was thinking about the line in my deviation: Cross-grade firmware compatibility. No permanent firmware lock-in required.
Every word out of Kael's mouth was describing a cage I didn't have to enter.
"Your firmware determines which mechs you can pilot, which weapons systems you can interface with, and which skills you can install. A pilot locked into Meridian Defence firmware can only operate Meridian-compatible chassis. A pilot running Chen Heavy Industries firmware is bound to the Chen ecosystem."
He paused.
"This is by design."
After the morning, after watching one incentive fracture a team—those two words carried a different weight. Everything was by design. The firmware lock-in. The corporate ecosystems. The System quests that overrode human authority. All of it, by design. Not broken. Not accidental. Functioning exactly as intended.
I thought about Wei. Chen Heavy Industries firmware. Fifty-three generations bound to a single corporate dynasty. S-Grade meant she'd get the best firmware the Chen family had to offer—and in exchange, she'd be theirs. Forever. The cage would be golden, but the lock would be the same.
"You will not be selecting firmware today," Kael continued. "That comes later, once your training profiles are complete and your options become clear. You may even get sponsorships."
Kael resumed pacing.
"Now. Deviations."
His tone shifted—warmer by a fraction.
"If firmware is your operating system, your deviation is your hardware signature. The thing that makes your particular machine different from every other machine running the same hardware."
He stopped in front of Miller.
"Some deviations are combat-oriented. Damage bonuses, defensive multipliers, speed enhancements. These are common and highly valued in frontline roles."
He moved to Priya.
"Some are supportive. Thermal management, structural reinforcement, logistical efficiency. Less glamorous. Equally essential. Screening elements with strong support deviations last longer on the field."
He moved to Ren.
"Some are situational. Environmental awareness, predictive calculations, and communication enhancements. Invaluable in specific contexts. Often invisible to those who don't understand what they're looking at."
Kael returned to the centre.
"You each have one. Exactly one. Assigned during your awakening—or for the legacy students, revealed at testing. Your deviation is not chosen. Not earned. It is read from your genetic and etheric profile by the System itself."
He swept his gaze across us.
"Your deviation cannot be changed. Though they can be upgraded, at each rank threshold, your deviation will evolve. Whether through a direct power boost or additional use cases, this is the only way your deviations will shift. The one piece of the system that is entirely, irrevocably, yours."
Yours. After a morning where the System had reached into their heads and turned them against each other for five stat points, the idea of something being irrevocably theirs carried a weight that might have been accidental.
"Deviations define what kind of soldier you become. Your training trajectory, your unit placement, your operational role—and in many cases, your life expectancy. Almost as important as your Grade."
The parade ground was silent.
"Which is why we log them formally. When your name is called, step forward and state your deviation with a brief description."
He looked at Vance, who readied his datapad. Then back at us.
"Now. Let's see what my students have."
Vance began calling names.
"Torres."
Torres stepped forward, straightening despite the exhaustion. "Kinetic absorption, Sergeant. Damage reduction under sustained fire."
Solid. Defensive. He'd last on a screening line.
Vance made a note.
"Priya."
"Thermal regulation. Reduced overheat rate in sustained engagements."
The girl who'd screamed through her awakening and come out the other side. Her deviation would keep her mech running longer than most.
"Briggs."
"Structural reinforcement. Enhanced frame integrity under stress."
The irony of a kid who'd shoved someone off a balance beam this morning getting a deviation about structural integrity wasn't lost on me.
"Miller."
Miller stepped forward. Even the way he moved had changed since his awakening—fluid, certain. Ether had sharpened everything about him.
"Close-quarters lethality. Melee damage bonus and enhanced reaction speed at close range."
Of course.
Those who Kael stood in front of before as he explained the details of the deviations had gotten what he mentioned, to the T. It was as if Kael had predicted each individual's deviation.
How in the world did he do that?
"Hsu."
"Burst acceleration. Short-duration speed enhancement for closing distance."
That explained why she'd been so hard to grapple with.
"Ren."
"Environmental awareness. Enhanced passive detection of terrain hazards and enemy positioning."
The list was getting shorter. My name hadn't been called. I could feel the remaining time shrinking like the quest timer counting down.
"Tiernan."
Thirteen pairs of eyes settled on me. The Rabbit. The F-Grade. The kid who couldn't cultivate while everyone around him sprinted ahead. The kid they'd spent the morning hunting across an obstacle course.
I opened my mouth.
"Null."
"Clarify," Vance said.
"My deviation reads as Null, Sergeant. No classification. But gives the description Firmware modularity, I can utilise any type of firmware."
"A shame you're not S-Grade, that would be a mighty useful deviation," Vance said. His voice was neutral.
A murmur rippled through the formation. Not just the Barracks 7 veterans—the sound moved through every face, every set of eyes. I could feel it—not hostility, not mockery. Something worse.
Pity.
My eyes found Kael's. His expression hadn't changed, holding that same controlled neutrality he always wore. Then he looked away, and the moment passed.
"Deviations are logged," Vance announced, tapping his datapad. "Training schedules will be adjusted accordingly starting tomorrow."
The parade was over. The squad began to stand, groaning, stretching battered limbs.
Miller walked past me without a glance. Briggs followed. Hsu. Torres. One by one, the squad filed off the parade ground, already discussing their deviations, already planning, already building identities around the labels the System had given them.
Nobody discussed mine.
I stood alone on the parade ground for a moment longer than I needed to. The sun was low. The shadows were long. The concrete was still warm beneath my boots.
Null.
The System saw nothing. The squad saw nothing. The Federation's entire architecture of power—firmware, deviations, grades, corporate ecosystems—looked at me and returned empty.
Good.
Let them see nothing. Let every last one of them look at the Rabbit and think empty, broken, waste. Let Miller dismiss me. Let Vance file me under expendable. Let the System mark me as unclassifiable and move on to the next recruit.
Because behind the nothing, the road was visible. 0.034% climbing toward five per cent.
A deviation with no ceiling.
A pilot without bounds.
A human who was free.