The Academy's Combat Orientation was one of the few events that drew together all students, regardless of Rank. Held inside a high-ceilinged dome of shimmering glass and obsidian steel, the arena resembled a sacred place more than a battleground. Light filtered through tinted crystal skylights, casting long shafts across the polished floor. Rows of students formed around the outer ring, murmuring, shifting restlessly. Above, embedded drones hovered silently like waiting birds of prey.
Echo arrived early. He always did. Not for punctuality's sake, but to scan environmental layouts before crowd patterns became chaotic.
Dome dimensions: 122 meters diameter. Magnetic flooring compatible with high-frequency kinetic stabilizers. Shielding nodes in all corners. Surveillance frequency: quad-band spectrum. Pattern detectable. Can be mirrored.
He didn't move toward the center of the gathering. He didn't need to. Instead, he positioned himself at the edge, in the blind curve of the third observational pillar—one of three areas where the ceiling sensors had overlapping latency. It rendered him partially undetectable. Not fully invisible—but enough to ensure that if someone was looking for anomalies, they wouldn't start with him.
Names began flashing across the giant floating holoboards above the arena floor. The pairings were decided by Rank and recent performance metrics. Rank A students were placed strategically, often against weaker Rank B's to establish dominance early in the term. Rank C's were thrown together, used as filler. Rankless students?
Unlisted.
Echo's name never appeared. No one called him. No one looked for him. The board didn't glitch. The system simply didn't acknowledge he existed.
Exactly as planned.
An instructor in full black regulation gear walked through the crowd. "Names called, step forward. Combat orientation begins now. No hesitation. Your placement determines your survival."
Students stepped out confidently—some smirking, others stiff with nerves. Ira, the quiet Rankless girl Echo had met briefly, stood in the back, her eyes darting nervously. No one called her either. She looked down at her boots as if disappointed but unsurprised.
Echo observed every movement on the field. Two students stepped into the central ring. Their PAX nodes activated instantly. Electric pulses sparked across their skin as their combat gear synced. The match began with a flare of light—then a burst of momentum. One student struck first, an arcing spin-kick backed with enough force to dent steel.
Inadequate weight distribution. Pivot foot lags 0.12 seconds. Predictable combo. Feint detectable before activation.
He watched as the opponent blocked too slowly and staggered backward, shoulder slamming into the barrier wall. The crowd roared. Echo remained still.
Around him, students began to cheer, jeer, and bet on outcomes. The social ritual repeated across clusters. Ranks grouped together. Rank B students clapped with open pride, exchanging smirks about their own scheduled matches. Rank C's looked for openings to prove themselves. The Rankless? Few even spoke. Those who did whispered in corners.
"Guess we're just here to sweep the blood later," one muttered. "Maybe if we bleed enough, we get promoted to mop duty."
Echo said nothing. He stood within reach, but no one acknowledged him. He preferred it that way.
Another match began. A Rank C student, clearly outmatched, attempted to rush forward. His attack was clumsy—emotional rather than tactical. His opponent, a smug Rank B with a spiked gauntlet module, laughed before retaliating. The strike was excessive, unnecessary. The Rank C hit the ground hard, gasping. His PAX system flared red—signal of forced shutdown.
No one intervened.
The instructor overseeing the match didn't blink. "Next."
Echo observed it all—every motion, every breath, every fragment of reaction in the crowd.
Response latency to injustice: 0.7 seconds average. None intervened. Observed empathy patterns declining. Recalibrating social pressure metrics.
The instructor—Maren—stood near the control panel, scanning data as the matches progressed. Her gaze wandered across the crowd. She paused for a second, her eyes passing over Echo's location.
Then past it.
Line-of-sight not registering target. Visual ghosting protocol remains intact. Successful.
An upper-level instructor, Yel, tapped his screen in irritation. "Attendance mismatch. Someone named... Echo?" he said aloud, frowning. "No combat record. No pairing."
The holoboard flashed for a moment, then corrected itself. Echo's name disappeared entirely.
Yel blinked. "System must've logged a false positive. Move on."
Above, one surveillance drone jittered in midair—then corrected itself. The feed looped for four seconds.
Echo looked up, just for a moment.
Mirror signal successful. No trace rebound. Surveillance node blind to presence.
The next wave of matches began. Some students failed to activate their modules properly. Others overexerted and collapsed after one exchange. Echo's expression never changed, but internally, he was assembling layers upon layers of combat simulations.
Student ID #3421—low guard. Subject #2918—tunnel vision. Subject #1072—excessive aggression with poor recovery.
One match caught his attention: two Rank B students using divergent styles—fluid limb acceleration and reactive kinetic shielding. Echo traced the trajectory of every movement, calculating power output versus energy consumption.
He closed his eyes briefly.
Simulating...
In his mind, he replicated both students. Dozens of iterations played out. He inserted himself into the simulations, testing different counters.
Dominant tactic: passive absorb and redirect. Weakness in shielding arc from 4 o'clock angle. Countertime: 1.2 seconds. Neutralize target in 1.8 seconds.
One of the students stumbled. The other hesitated, unsure whether to land a critical blow. That pause cost him. An accidental elbow from the stumbling student cracked across his temple. The module shorted, and the match was stopped by force.
Echo logged the reactions.
Pattern: hesitation followed by vulnerability. Emotional unpredictability remains exploitable.
He opened his eyes.
Above him, a new observer entered the arena unnoticed by most—Inspector Vale. His dark coat flared as he moved to the upper balcony, face partially hidden. He stared down over the arena, his eyes narrowing as he scanned for inconsistencies.
Echo tilted his head slightly.
He saw Vale. Vale did not see him.
Elsewhere, three Rank B students were watching the matches unfold with obvious superiority. One of them, Lexar, pointed toward a struggling Rankless on the sideline and snickered. "Look at them. Can't even stand straight."
Another added, "They should be training as dummies. At least then they'd be useful."
Echo didn't react outwardly.
But in his internal processor, subroutines began mapping all three.
Lexar—gait irregular. Injury: untreated ACL. Subject Min—boosts confidence with vocal escalation. Weak under silent stress. Subject Sol—overcompensates on left. Prone to right blind spot.
He stored them.
Suddenly, a silence fell across the crowd. A Rank A had entered the arena. She was sleek, controlled, with a battle record known across the Academy. She was here to demonstrate an advanced bout.
As she activated her PAX system, she turned toward the crowd.
"Any challenger?" she called.
No one stepped forward.
Echo didn't move.
He calculated every trajectory from this moment. Every possible outcome. If he stepped forward now, he could end her in 0.7 seconds. No injury, minimal force. But the attention that would follow?
Unacceptable.
So he did nothing.
Instead, he lowered his head and watched.
She fought a dummy opponent—a Proxy unit—and dismantled it expertly. Cheers erupted. Ranks clapped. Rankless stared.
And still, Echo stood unseen.
As the session ended, students began filing out. Some limped. Others congratulated each other. Rankless moved silently, unnoticed. Echo waited until the room emptied. Then, alone, he walked to the center of the arena and stood where the Rank A had demonstrated her skill.
He crouched, pressed his hand to the floor.
Residual kinetic data. Trace acceleration patterns. Can reconstruct full combat logs.
He stood again.
Above, the surveillance drones continued their rounds—seeing nothing.
Below, on the arena floor, a ghost had come and gone.
No score.
No record.
No Rank.
But in the systems he touched and the lives he observed, something irreversible had begun.