I lower myself into the hole with my boots flat against one side of the vent as if they're walking on a regular floor. I press my back and shoulders against the other side of the tunnel.

Once I have descended two feet down the vent, Kai replaces the grate and whispers, "Good luck, Lorn. See you at the meeting."

"See you there." From here, I can't even see his bruises. Only the radiant, white smile.

He disappears, and I am completely alone.

The farther I descend, the darker my surroundings become. I'm lost in this darkness. After another few tense moments, a white light shines below my feet. The glow emanates from perpendicular tunnels revealing a row of rooms for a new level.

This must be Level 2.

I pass by it easily enough. My arms are strong, my back is nubile, and, with the amount of adrenaline pumping through me, I bet I could descend with my bare hands.

Even Level 3 will pass over effortlessly at this pace.

The rope is the only line tethering me to freedom or a sudden and unceremonious death. I'm comforted by the tunnel grazing my back and the walls under my boots. The downward momentum continues and I bet I'll make it in time to be part of the pairings. I wonder if the aliens will be there today.

The light of Level 3 touches my boots. Halfway there.

Just as Level 3 passes and the light from the row of rooms fades into blackness above me, the frayed end of the rope tickles my elbow.

You have got to be kidding.

Panic washes over and recedes. I need to think fast. This minor setback can't be the catalyst that unravels me after the continuous cycle of times I've hit the bottom already. At this point, I have two options. Option A—a shameful return to the surface, or option B—a swift struggle to receive a glorious new life of opportunity, accompanied by the strong possibility of death.

Option B. Always option B.

After scanning my surroundings and creating a quality assessment of the shit ready to strike the fan, I press my hands against the walls around me. With a thrill, I realize I can stretch out and slink backward the rest of the way.

Slowly and carefully, but reasonably enough. It seems like a possible solution.

I'm not even going to question my own plan, because if I sit on it for one second too many, it will crumble. My panic will envelop me once again. I shake my limbs awake and steel myself for a long trip.

I mash my back against the tunnel and extend my legs to their limits. One arm reaches below me, and my fingers fan out. When my fingers, spine, and boots are in firm unison with the vent, I release the rope and take my first step backward without it. Despite being an adamantly irreligious person, I stop to thank the Lady I'm still alive for this one step. I thank Her again for the one after that. Levels 4 and 5 pass with agonizing precision.

I take another step and don't put enough pressure between my boot and wall of the tunnel.

My body lurches.

I slide but catch myself quickly.

My hands fan out to break my upper body's slip.

My legs extend. The toes of my boots touch the walls.

I'm taut in air. I beg my strength to last. My heart races as sweat and blood pool around my naked hand.

My PAHLM presses hard against the metal vent. It's not coming out of this experience without some sort of scratch.

The blisters burst painfully. My shoulders dislocate. Each fiber in my body screams in a full-fledged panic.

I see the small edges of light slicing the darkness from below. The tunnel of Level 6 is maybe fifteen more steps. It appears as a chasm, but in reality, the distance is minuscule.

Slowly, one foot at a time, I continue to lower my body again until the blood seeps between my mangled hands and the metal walls.

One more step.

Slipping.

Slipping lower on my blood lining the vent walls.

Slipping on shaking hands and skin that's torn apart.

Slipping.

This isn't how I end. I take another painful step.

I tremble through the agony.

My raw skin burns.

The pain is too hot.

No. Stop.

It's not pain. It's the price of freedom.

Just a little more to go.

A few rays of light illuminate my body, and I imagine, for nearly a full second, as if I've been saved.

The tunnel for Level 6 appears on my left.

I can jump into it if I can harness one last burst of energy.

Shaking with violent tremors, I move to the top of the Level 6's horizontal tunnel. I spin myself around to align with it. I inch into position. My hand slips farther.

I'm parallel. My feet hang over the edge of the opening. My toes are the only part still touching the vent as my heels dangle over the perpendicular vent.

With fat beads of sweat cascading over my eyes, I blink out the burning salt.

I rotate my knees to the side. Then my hips. Centimeters at a time, my feet and upper body twist. After half an agonizing revolution later, I face the blackness below.

My hands press flat against the wall, transferring strength from forearms to fingers.

I'm close. I have to try. If I die, at least Kai can tell them where to find my body.

I close my eyes and launch myself. I land on my stomach in the vent system leading to Combat Room 4.

No time for applause yet.

Pivoting around to face the right direction, I belly crawl toward the first vent.

I crawl faster, periodically peering through the slats, hoping to find a room full of eager militia men and women waiting for assignment. I hope I haven't missed it.

Finally, the right image greets me.

Hayomo directs the recruits. I study the pairs lined up against the wall and feel cheated. It's done. Dean stands bicep-to-shoulder with an older superior officer I have seen a handful of times before in my life. Kai to my sudden shock and disappointment, fidgets a few pairs away, looking distracted and uninterested in Hayomo's speech. He contrasts his twenty-something female partner, Major Kara Cambell, who couldn't look more attentive unless her face was being violently sucked in by each syllable coming from Hayomo's mouth.

I want to be her.

Listening to my mission.

Ready for action.

My blood surges through my muscles. In a last-ditch effort to nail this coffin I've whittled for myself, I kick the vent out and fall from the tunnel way with way less grace than I'd imagined. My body spills limb over limb until I become a gray puddle on the floor.

"Captain Lorn . . . " the harsh and dissatisfied voice from somewhere in the room comes.

I can't relax yet. On unsteady arms and bloody palms, I gain my bearings and rise to a semi-erect position.

"As the others have already been paired, it looks as if you and I will be commanding officers of the final ship, ARC10. Do you have your signed agreement?" Her low voice dares me to mess up one more time.

Pulling it from the back of my pants with little concern to how much blood stains the sheets, I hand the contract over.

Challenge me, Hayomo. I dare you. Tell me again how I'm incapable of fulfilling this mission.