Part I: The Selection

***

Eight days before the Selection

The smoke from my previous shots clears, and I spot three new targets among the trees.

One of them is directly ahead—lucky me—crawling under a bush while getting their gun ready. The other two are farther, each hiding behind a tree. Their weapons are already prepped and aimed, so they're the bigger problems. I only have a few seconds to get rid of them before they shoot me.

My fingers rest on the trigger.

Exhale, aim, fire. Relax, inhale, and repeat.

Both targets collapse to the ground. The holographic words, 'Double Kill', flashes in the air above the virtual enemies before disappearing along with them.

I let out the breath I was holding. Time for the last target.

Shifting my glance back to them, I realize they are still setting up their weapon. I snort. Damn, they're slow. I don't have to aim properly to shoot them right in the head.

The words, 'Critical Hit', glisten above the fallen target. As they vanish like the others, the forest fades into whiteness as well. It's the end of the simulation. Just like that, I am back inside the training cube—a small metallic enclosure with just enough room for me to swing my weapon around.

As I wipe the sweat off my forehead, my scores appear on a screen in front of me.

'Lara Lorensky

Rank: Cadet

Accuracy: 94.6%

Speed: 99.7%

Effectiveness: 91.8%

Total: 96.7%

New personal record!'

"Yes!" I punch the air in front of me, almost hitting the wall of the training cube.

That was a very successful simulation. My aim was superb, and I didn't waste a single bullet. The forest arena is also one of my favorites. The trees that are meant to make it harder to spot targets make me feel so at peace—and actually help me focus instead.

Maybe I can finally clinch the highest score this round.

I place the practice rifle down and leave the training cube to allow the cube disinfection process to start. Tightening my ponytail, my eyes scan the scoreboard on the wall eagerly.

'First place: Morgan Sánchez

Second place: Lara Lorensky'

I'm second place.

Again.

Even after one of the best simulations. Even after beating my personal record.

"Argh, what on Earth?" I spin around and strike the door of my training cube with an angered kick.

"Warning," a robotic voice booms from my in-ear earpieces. "The destruction of any Tower property is a violation under Code 369-1-A."

"Right. Sorry, Rea."

I bend down to inspect the door. There is a minor scratch, but I manage to mostly wipe it away using the sleeve of my cadet uniform—slightly damped with sweat. I'm pretty sure the training cube is built to withstand more than just my kicks anyway, but I know Rea, my personal Rule-Enforcing AI, errs on the side of caution when warning me.

As I keep rubbing away at the mark and amending the errors of my ways, I hear a familiar laugh.

"Congrats on getting second place again, Lorensky."

I glare at the person next to me.

Morgan Sánchez is leaning against the door to their training cube—why on Ground Earth is it next to mine?—and wearing their usual annoying smirk. The smirk I see every single day—the same one I aim to erase every day. The long sleeves of their uniform are torn off, as if they want to flaunt their muscular ebony left arm and their red cyber right arm, even if it means breaking the Tower dress code.

No matter how well this sleeveless look suits them, are they not afraid of possibly getting a violation and jeopardizing their chances at winning the Selection? And their stupid hair is still a sleek and elegant side-swept undercut. How did they manage to keep that hair so neat, when my simple ponytail always needed adjusting after every simulation?

"What's wrong, Lorensky?" Sánchez raises their brows. "Can't take your eyes off me?"

"Shut up, Sánchez. I'm going to redo this simulation right now and beat your scores," I declare, turning to my training cube.

"Warning," Rea says into my ears again. "Under Code 1039-2-C, a ten-minute break is mandatory for cadets between each simulation to prevent over-exhaustion."

I spin back around. "Never mind. I'm going to rest and hydrate so I can have energy to beat you in the next simulation."

Sánchez's grin widens. "Is your little rule bot telling you to take a break instead? You should be a good girl and listen to it, Lorensky. In fact, maybe you should take a longer, permanent break. I mean, long-range weapons are not my forte and you can't even beat me at that. Might as well cut your losses and quit now."

Heat crawls up my cheeks. There's nothing more I wish to do than punch their annoying smile off their face. But the rest of the cadet class is trickling out of their training cubes, and I don't want a scene or—worse—a violation.

"I will beat you no matter what," I snap. "Both in long-range and close combat. Just you wait."

Sánchez chortles. "Close combat too?" They push themself off the door and saunter towards me. I hate how I have to lift my head to stare up at them. "Come on now, Lorensky, there's no way you can beat me at that."

A curious crowd of onlookers grows around us, and that seems to embolden Sánchez.

"Oh hey, we have an audience to settle this once and for all," they say, tilting their head. "Wanna go at it now, Lorensky? A close combat practice match, right here, right now?"

Before I can say anything, Rea's voice activates in my earpiece. "Warning: under Code 109-1-H, cadets are not allowed to participate in close combat practice matches between one another outside of designated close combat practice sessions."

I clench my fists. I won't risk a violation, but there's also no way I will publicly turn down Sánchez's challenge. So, I just glare at them.

They smirk. "Aw, is that rule bot telling you what to do again? You know, you don't have to listen to it. Nobody else in our class even has it, and we're all doing fine."

I can't risk even a blemish on my record because of my losing streaks against Sánchez, but I'm not going to admit that to them. So, once again, I just glare at them.

"Not fighting back? I guess I win by default." They lean forward until they are right next to my earpiece. "Thank you for your help, Lara's little bot," they whisper, sending a breath of shivers down my spine.

Alright, that's it.

"Get lost, Sánchez." I shove them away with my shoulders and stomp over to the drinking station.

Chatters erupt in the room, and I can hear Sánchez laughing loudly with a few other classmates. I bet they're trash-talking me, but I don't care. I need to focus.

A cup of water pops up for me at the drinking station, and I gulp it all down within a few seconds.

After this enforced break, I'll practice as much as Rea allows me, and I will get that first place. It's not impossible; I've beaten Sánchez before, many years ago, and I just have to do it again. And if I want to win the Selection, I must do it again.

I drop the empty cup into a small hole that opened up in the drinking station. Another full cup appears. This time, I sip on the water slowly as my gaze turns to the window next to me.

At this level of the Tower, there's nothing but clouds when I look down. If I squint, I can probably see faded bits of Ground Earth.

But I am more interested in looking up.

Among the stars in the galaxy, there are six bright spots clustered together. They are the space stations orbiting the Earth. The dimmest, blinking one is the USA-Hernandez Shuttle, the first-ever space station built for residential purposes. Next to it, with the tiniest radius of light, is the New Research Shuttle, the newest space station built. Despite being the smallest, it shines like a diamond.

But the biggest and brightest of them all sits in the middle of the other five space stations.

NovaTopia.

I cannot help but smile at the sight of it. NovaTopia—a utopia in the sky, a technology haven, a dream of mine for as long as I can remember.

Every year, during the Selection, each of the shuttle chooses one cadet from the graduating cadet class to grant its shuttle residency to. Passing the first round of the Selection will promote a cadet to a soldier, the noble protectors of the Tower. The top performers will advance to the second round, where they will compete to be in the top six—and the chance to live in one of the six space stations. Of course, NovaTopia is the number one choice, so the grand prize of the Selection is to become a NovaTopian resident. It is not only the entrance ticket to a utopia of a space station, it also comes with a Gift—a special nanoid technology that grants special body enhancements.

This year, I am finally eighteen and graduating. And I am so ready to claim my rightful place in NovaTopia and get a cool Gift of my own.

But first, I have to beat Morgan Sánchez.

"Ten-minute break is over," Rea says. "You may return for another simulation if you wish."

I slam the empty cup down and jog back to the training cube. Of course, Sánchez is peeling away from their friend group and marching in the same direction.

"Aw, you're not joining us for foosball, Morgan?" one of their friends asks.

"Yeah, Morgan, come on!" another cadet complains. "Take a longer break for once!"

"I'll join y'all later!" Sánchez yells. As we both reach our training cubes, they turn to me and wink. "Ready to be second place again, Lorensky?"

I ignore them and put on my headset.

Sometimes, I wish Sánchez would take on their friends' offers and slack off more. But I know they want to ascend to NovaTopia just as much as I do. I see the amount of work they've put in, and that's why I know I can't ever rest.

Because Morgan Sánchez never rests either.

As the cube activates, the world around me vanishes. A different world appears—a dilapidated building in the rain. Immediately, I spot a target attempting to hide behind the wall.

I lift the gun and shoot.

***

My feet sting as I trudge my way back to my living unit.

Today has been dog crap. The training cube had to be ultra-realistic for some reason, so the simulation drenched me in rain. I got most of my clothes dry during the ten-minute break, but my damp socks gave me blisters over the day. And to top it off, I am still in second place by the end of the day.

Why can't I ever beat Sánchez?

Their stupid smirk reappears in my mind, and I spend the next few seconds imagining myself punching the crap out of them.

"Warning: violation detected," alerts Rea.

Violation? I was just thinking of beating up Sánchez in my head. Surely that's not a violation, nor is it something that Rea can detect.

I groan when I realize what Rea was referring to.

Ryan.

He is slumped against the door to my unit, his short curly hair messier than ever. As I walk towards him, Rea's warnings increase.

"Warning: contraband items. Warning: alcohol. Warning: violation detected. Warning..."

I do not need the warnings to know that Ryan has been doused in alcohol and drugs. The smell is strong enough.

Scrunching my nose, I give him a small kick in the arm. No reaction. Yep, this thirty-or-so-year-old man—who is supposed to be my older brother and legal guardian—is fully passed out outside my unit.

Today is dog crap and cat vomit.

Despite the incessant alerts in my ears, I wrap my arms under Ryan and lift him from the ground. His general uniform is battered and damp—gross—and the stench makes me want to puke. I am drained after a full day of training, so dragging him into my living unit is more difficult than usual. He's lucky I'm here before an inspector bot finds him and writes him up.

I can't believe this man. He is a general now, but he was a cadet like me. He has been through this process before, so he should know how important it is for me to maintain a clean record right now. And yet, here he is, full of violations, outside my living unit, and reeking.

The door closes behind me as I throw Ryan against the wall. My living unit is already cramped enough without him taking up precious space, with just enough room for a bed, a bathroom, and a kitchen all within a single unit. I have to step over him to get to the kitchen.

Just as my pre-packaged meal finished microwaving, Rea alerts me once more.

"Warning."

"I know, I know, Ryan is full of violations—"

"Unit inspection. An inspector bot is outside your unit."

My heart drops. "What? Right now?"

Ryan, who was propped up against the wall, slides sideways and hit the ground with a thud.

I am unable to beat Morgan Sánchez, and now, I am going to lose my clean record too, aren't I?

Today is dog crap, cat vomit, and a load of horse diarrhea.