Juliet Sloane scanned the room.

  This was the first mission outside the Tutorial, and she couldn't believe she'd been stuck commanding local talent. It wasn't bad, exactly, but she'd been told that graduates usually landed in one of two places.

  Strike teams or leadership.

  Strike team had been her dream.

  Though charisma was her highest stat, to make full use of the Bard skill tree, it had to be. Unfortunately, that also meant being flagged as a support class. And support classes weren't selected by the Strike Teams.

  Her eyes drifted across the group.

  One kid was fumbling with his spatial bag, his hands shaking so badly he nearly dropped it. The fear was so obvious it bordered on embarrassing.

  Pathetic.

  Another man was praying, fingers tight around an outdated rosary, his knee bouncing nonstop. At least he understood the stakes.

  Better.

  Then she saw him.

  While the rest of the room buzzed with nervous energy, he was calm, like a gentle breeze rolling in from the beach. He sat off to the side, carving a spoon from a block of scrap wood. Each stroke of the knife was slow, precise, and deliberate.

  That could only mean two things. Either he was too stupid to understand what they were doing, or he was so far above it that he didn't care.

  Juliet stepped up onto the front platform and cleared her throat.

  "Hello. My name is Juliet Sloane. You will address me as Corporal Sloane."

  The room snapped to attention.

  "Some of you may have noticed that the ship has been provisioned for a three-month voyage. Our destination is the planet Vespera. I have reviewed every report and assigned you to your respective teams."

  She paused, letting the murmurs die back down before continuing.

  "Upon check-in, you were issued a chip with a number. Your team leads will brief you on your assignments. Please report to the leader matching your chip."

  Her eyes flicked back to the whittler.

  He set the spoon aside without urgency and retrieved his chip, scanning the room before moving toward Juan.

  The leader in charge of Support.

  Juliet frowned.

  Her instincts were rarely wrong. She'd pegged him for something else entirely. Maybe even Vanguard material.

  Why Support?

  She'd learned to trust her reads long before the Cataclysm. Still, the feeling wouldn't let go. She decided that a closer look was needed. Juliet triggered Identify.

  Name: Dane McAllister

  HP: ????

  MP: ????

  Level: ????

  Class: ????

  Her breath caught.

  That wasn't possible.

  Dane stopped mid-step. Slowly, he turned and looked back at her, a faint half-grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  Either he had one hell of a concealment skill…

  …or he was an entire tier above her.

  Neither answer sat well.

  Juliet lowered her hand.

  "Juan," she said, her voice carrying from a skill, without looking away from Dane. "After your briefing, send McAllister to my office."

  Juan nodded.

  Juliet watched Dane disappear into the Support group, curiosity burning.

  Alright, she thought. Let's see which one it is.

  Dane felt the prickle of someone trying to use Identify on him. He turned and saw the Corporal burning a hole in the back of his head. He gave her a small smile in acknowledgment, trying to be friendly, but the look he got in return was utterly puzzling.

  It was as if she'd taken it as a challenge.

  He knew this couldn't end well, so he decided it would be best to focus on reaching his group.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  He finally spotted the man standing beneath the large number four and had just settled into his place when he heard the woman speak again. Whatever public-speaking skill she was using, her voice carried like a megaphone.

  "Juan. After your briefing, send McAllister to my office."

  Great. On the first day, he was already being called to the principal's office.

  He looked down at his feet, admiring the piece of magitech he found himself standing on. It reminded him of ancient dungeon tech, and that small reminder was enough. He snapped his fingers.

  "Hello, everybody. My name is Juan. I will be your coordinator for this assignment," the man said. "You may believe that being assigned to support duty is a poor placement. It is not glamorous work, but it is vital to what we are doing here."

  On the ship, they would receive temporary jobs as custodians or cooks. It was their duty to ensure the crew was fed and their living quarters were maintained.

  The man paused, and Dane noticed he'd lost the attention of several people under his command.

  "Once we arrive on Vespera, it is our duty to set up camp, maintain it, and dig the latrines... unless you become a collector."

  That sounded awful, but with Dane expecting the combat to be boring, he really didn't care where he was placed.

  He collected his new work gear. He would have loved to cook, but he always burned the food. He had been getting better, but he'd left for the Crucible before he could make the perfect meal for Amelia.

  He snapped his fingers again.

  It earned him a few odd looks, but it was the only thing that kept him from spiraling these days.

  The mop felt heavy in his hands. It was made of thick metal, and an item description appeared in his vision.

  Mop of the Republic: It is a sacred duty to clean up after adults. This weapon grants +1 Attention to Detail.

  That wasn't even a real stat.

  The tone of mockery was familiar. A callback to when the Imperial System used to shit-talk him during achievements or skill selection. That level of snark reminded him that the Emperor was always around.

  If the Imperial System had known about him, he would already be dead.

  So he guessed he was mostly fine.

  For now.

  "Hey," someone said nearby. "You'd better go see the Corporal. She doesn't like to ask twice."

  Dane nodded and headed in the direction he'd seen her leave after the speech.

  Every corridor was the same silver metal tube. The only things that distinguished them were the neon signs labeling the ship's sections. He passed the mess hall and saw two clear classes of people: those in charge and the grunts.

  It was easy to forget that the ship housed over five thousand of Earth's citizens.

  Past the mess hall, he spotted a sign labeled MNGMT. It was a little ridiculous, considering most of the letters were already there, but he could tell this place liked its abbreviations.

  He scanned the nameplates until he found Cpl. Sloane.

  Dane gave the door a firm knock.

  It opened, revealing a woman who looked nothing like the officer who had given the entrance speech. She wore glasses now and seemed more thoughtful, more subdued, than the charismatic leader who had owned the stage.

  The office was bare except for a steel desk bolted to the floor and a viewport with stars smearing across the background.

  Dane went for the chair, but the Corporal shot him a look that told him he should probably be standing.

  "Who are you, Dane?"

  Dane paused for a moment, recounting the cover story he had told the recruiter.

  "My name is Dane McAllister. I was conscripted to the Forsaken Cavern Dungeon and spent my time as a mining laborer. After liberation day, I moved to Austin with my sister."

  Dane realized that name-dropping the dungeon might have been a step too far, and he saw her raise an eyebrow.

  "I'm sorry, which dungeon were you assigned to?"

  Dane thought for a second whether he should make something up, but decided that, given how perceptive she seemed to be, it was probably not a good idea.

  "The Forsaken Caverns..."

  She began to type on her tablet. She was reading intently, mumbling a basic summary she was skimming.

  "Hmm, high mortality rate.... I see it listed as a multiple incursion zone, which ultimately was claimed by the Red Rage Forrest... Wait, this can't be right."

  She looked up at him in disbelief.

  "It says that the Dungeon was lost in a spatial disaster and no survivors are listed."

  Dane met her gaze. He knew that he had to say something quickly.

  "Well, that is inaccurate. Because I know of at least one." He let the words hang in the air.

  Juliet stared at him.

  "You don't understand," she said quietly. "You shouldn't be alive."

  Dane didn't look away.

  "I know," he said.

  The word came out flat.

  Juliet waited.

  He could tell she expected an explanation dressed up as confusion or bravado. She didn't get either.

  "I tried to organize the others," Dane said. "The miners. The ones who were still alive."

  Her eyes narrowed slightly.

  "You led an uprising," she said.

  "I tried, but I mostly ended up clearing floors, and I only fought in one battle," Dane replied.

  He paused, then added, "I had a few good people who took care of reclaiming the lower floors."

  Juliet's fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.

  "You're telling me," she said slowly, "that you resisted an active incursion from inside a high-fatality dungeon."

  "Yes."

  "And succeeded."

  "Yes."

  Silence pressed down on the room.

  "We pushed the incursion out," Dane continued. "I cleared the dungeon. We were preparing when the Dungeon unsealed."

  Juliet blinked.

  "Preparing for what?"

  "An assault," Dane said. "Outside the dungeon. There were still incursions in the region."

  Her gaze sharpened.

  "And?"

  Dane exhaled through his nose.

  "And instead of emerging," he said, "I found myself halfway across the known star system."

  Juliet stared at him.

  "… That's not how spatial displacement works," she said.

  "I know."

  "You don't get relocated without a gate. Without..."

  "I know," Dane repeated.

  She searched his face for a crack. For exaggeration. For the telltale edge of someone spinning a story because the truth wasn't impressive enough.

  She didn't find one.

  "You were preparing to continue the fight," she said, "And instead you were removed."

  "That is one way to put it."

  Juliet leaned back against the desk, arms folding, not in defense but in recalculation.

  "That dungeon's collapse," she said slowly. "The timing. The missing personnel. Your metrics."

  She looked up at him again.

  "You didn't survive a disaster," she said.

  Dane met her eyes.

  "No," he agreed. "I was one."

  Juliet glanced down at the tablet again, then set it aside as if it were suddenly insufficient.

  "You understand what you're telling me," she said. "That if this is accurate, you're not a clerical error or a statistical outlier."

  She looked back up.

  "You're someone the system didn't want."

  Dane said nothing.

  Juliet exhaled slowly.

  "…That explains why you unsettle me," she said. "Even when you're not trying to."

  He gave a small, tired shrug.

  "I don't try very hard anymore."

  She studied him for another long moment.

  "Go back to Juan," she said at last. "Do your job. Don't repeat this story to anyone. You were released from the Blueline Pits."

  "Why would you help me?" Dane asked, shocked.

  "I don't know."