NOVGO.NET Chapter 13: Shattering The Glass
Chapter 13: Shattering The Glass
The text message arrived on Fin’s cheap flip phone at seven in the morning, vibrating against his nightstand.
"Association auditors are checking delayed-awakening files," the text read from Vega-6’s secure contact code. "Report to Testing Center Four at 0900... or get red-flagged for an official audit."
He deleted the message, pulling on a clean gray athletic shirt and a pair of faded training pants.
Testing Center Four was a compound in District Two, flanked by high fences and armed Association guards.
Fifty rookie hunters milled about the lobby, stretching their hamstrings, comparing their bronze trainee badges with nervous laughter.
Most of them carried expensive branded weapons from corporate sponsors, showing off polished swords and composite bows.
Vega-6 stood near the registration desk in civilian clothing, wearing a dark trench coat over her tactical undershirt.
"Listen to me carefully," she whispered, stepping beside him as the automated doors opened. "The auditors want a baseline to confirm your file... aim for low E-tier... don’t show off."
"I’m a professional sandbagger," he whispered back, giving her a reassuring wink. "I’ll be as boring as cardboard."
The testing hall resembled an athletic gym crossed with an industrial laboratory, lined with hydraulic pistons and laser sensors.
A chief technician with silver hair called his registration number, pointing toward the hydraulic grip station.
"Subject Fin, delayed awakening classification," the technician read from a digital tablet. "Squeeze the brass cylinder with your dominant hand until the chime sounds."
He placed his right palm around the knurled metal cylinder, intending to deliver a gentle seventy-kilogram squeeze.
His hand closed around the metal, but his enhanced Strength stat miscalculated the mechanical resistance.
The hydraulic pressure gauge spiked instantly, the digital needle racing past two hundred, then three hundred, then four hundred kilograms.
With a sharp mechanical bang, the internal piston sheared clean through its housing, hydraulic fluid spraying across the rubber floor mats.
The digital readout flashed crimson: [ Error: sensor limit exceeded - 450kg maximum ].
"What did you do?" The technician gasped, dropping his stylus onto the floor. "This cylinder is rated for D-rank frontline brigade recruits!"
"I think your spring was rusty," he offered helpfully, stepping back with his hands raised in innocent apology. "I barely touched it."
"Move to the agility track," the technician ordered with a suspicious glare, jotting furious notes on his screen. "Step into the laser cage."
The agility testing grid consisted of twenty motion-tracking cameras aimed at an octagon of flashing light beams.
"Evade the red laser pulses as they appear," the automated speaker instructed from the ceiling. "Test begins in three... two... one."
Laser beams flickered across the enclosure in rapid, unpredictable patterns, accelerating with every passing second.
He tried to move slowly, but his enhanced Agility and Sense stats reacted before his conscious brain could intervene.
His body shifted with effortless micro-movements, weaving between the laser lines like a phantom drifting through smoke.
The high-speed cameras whirred loudly, their tracking lenses blurring as they failed to capture a single clean frame of his silhouette.
He sidestepped twenty high-frequency pulses in five seconds, finishing the obstacle sequence without touching a single sensor wire.
The main evaluation monitor in the center of the hall sparked once, spitting out a yellow diagnostic prompt. Limit-break yield dumped into his ledger for wrecking their toys.
[ Warning: tracking velocity exceeds sensor refresh rate ]
[ Physical output estimate: lower d range; rank unverified ]
[ EXP: 1,200 / 50,500 ]
A murmur of hushed whispers rippled through the observation gallery on the second floor.
In the VIP viewing lounge above, a young man with crimson-dyed hair and a gold flame earring leaned against the railing.
It was Gage, the sponsored B-rank captain of the Pyre Syndicate, holding a can of iced coffee.
Gage narrowed his eyes as Fin left the laser cage without breaking a sweat.
A divine warmth flickered in Gage’s chest, his patron deity stirring faintly at the presence of an unregistered spark.
"Interesting," Gage murmured, swirling the coffee in his cup. "A lower-city rat moving like a trained assassin... with zero mana resonance."
"Should we draft him, Captain?" A guild aide asked from behind Gage’s shoulder, holding a digital recruitment tablet.
"Keep a file on him," Gage replied with a cruel smirk. "If he survives next week’s corporate run, we’ll offer him a collar."
Down on the floor, Vega-6 grabbed him by his elbow, dragging him through the emergency exit into an empty stairwell.
She shoved him against the handrail, her dark eyes flashing with sharp annoyance.
"I told you to blend in, you idiot," she hissed under her breath, crossing her arms. "You just broke a four-million-credit hydraulic scanner!"
"I told you the spring was rusty," he defended himself with a dry grin, rubbing his neck. "Besides, the machine estimated physical output... it didn’t certify a new rank."
"The Pyre Syndicate scouts were watching from the balcony," she warned in a low tone, glancing toward the door. "Gage noticed you... that guy is a sponsored zealot who collects talented rookies for his patron."
"He can collect whoever he wants," he replied calmly, adjusting his collar. "I’m not looking for a landlord with divine wings."
She looked at him for a long moment, the irritation in her eyes softening into reluctant respect.
"The Association validated your E-rank credential on paper to cover their equipment failure," she said, handing him a silver identification card. "Next week, a high-rate corporate clearance contract opens at the rail depot... Gage’s secondary squad is running the frontline brigade."
"Are porters allowed?" He asked, his eyes brightening at the mention of money.
"They pay triple rates for support crew," she nodded, leading the way toward the parking lot gates. "Sign on as a logistics specialist... but stay in the rear... and don’t touch any more scanners."
He walked past the armed guards at the perimeter checkpoint, sliding the silver identification badge into his pocket.
The autumn wind whipped through the lower district streets, carrying the distant wail of sirens from the docks.
He stopped at a nearby electronics shop, checking the display prices for student study laptops in the storefront window.
The high-end model with dual processors cost four thousand credits, consuming the advertised payout of next week’s corporate raid.
He made a mental note of the serial number, picturing Jolly’s reaction when she unboxed the new machine.
He bought two meat buns from a street cart near the station, munching the warm pastry as the train approached.
He stepped onto the subway platform, his mind already calculating the supply budget for next week’s raid.
He checked the advertisement again before the train blocked his view.
’Advertised pay is not money in my pocket. Transport comes out first, then food, then whatever the briefing forgets to mention.’
He kept the model number without promising himself a purchase date.
’She gets a working machine. I get to arrive home in one piece to hand it over.’
He found a seat in the middle carriage, resting his head against the window as the subway entered the tunnel.
He touched the cool silver card in his pocket, feeling the embossed letters of his new classification beneath his thumb.
The journey home took twenty minutes, the rhythmic rumble of the subway tracks soothing his tired thoughts.
He smiled as the train crossed the district bridge, looking out over the sparkling lights of the river below.
’Triple rates at the rail depot,’ he thought, whistling as the train pulled into the station. ’That buys a new laptop for Jolly... plus two months of rent in advance.’