17. The First Null

The mess hall was quieter than it had ever been.

The same meal as every other day, the same process. Yet this time it was nearly silent; just the scrape of spoons on trays and the occasional cough.

A kid was in medical with a broken leg because two of his squadmates had shoved each other off a balance beam. Not because the drill demanded it. Not because Vance had ordered it. But, because a line of text in their interfaces had offered five stat points to whoever grabbed me first, and that had been enough to override everything.

A single level’s worth of stats…

I sat alone, Tomas nowhere in sight. A pang of anxiety threatened my exterior as I wondered if he’d been washed out; if that were the case— I shoved the thought down deep and forced my mind to something else.

Vance, Vance and that nod.

Vance controlled everything about our lives: our sleep, our bodies, and our food. He decided when we would run, how far, and what would happen if we failed. For seven days, he had been the highest authority in our world.

And a single System quest had overridden all of it. It had reached into his carefully built machine and broken it. And Vance had simply accepted it. Though it was a normal occurrence. As if the System doing whatever it wanted, whenever it wanted, to whoever it wanted, was simply how things worked.

Maybe it was.

I let out a sigh as my mind wandered at a thousand thoughts a minute. My musings were interrupted by a glimmer in the periphery of my vision.

It started as a subtle warmth behind my eyes, like the start of a migraine. I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose, almost missing the flicker of text.

[REWARD ACTIVATION: COMPLETE]

I set my spoon down.

[DEVIATION ASSIGNED]

My heart kicked. I called up the full display, keeping my eyes on my tray so nobody would notice the slight unfocusing that came with reading the interface.

I blinked.

Null? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN NULL?!

After a pause, additional information flared to life.

This thing is trying to mess with me, isn’t it?

I read it three times, each pass slower than the last.

Holy shit, this is… This is amazing!

I fought to keep my expression steady in the mess hall, my heart began to race. I wouldn’t be locked into firmware? The thing that locked pilots down to corporate entities and singular mech classes? I’d have free range to pilot what I want, when I want, and however I want?

This keeps getting better. But non-linear skill acquisition? What does that even mean?

Another ping and my interface lit up once more.

There it was. The XP system, levels, rank progression—everything the other recruits were already using.

Maybe I’ll start gaining access to skills once I complete the connection threshold. That’s not so bad.

[14:00]

Vance marched us to the parade ground. Thirteen bodies, battered and stiff from the morning’s Gauntlet. The afternoon sun was low, casting long shadows across the concrete.

Kael was waiting.

His presence here was unusual. He belonged in the cultivation room. Seeing him standing beside Vance, hands clasped behind his back with that quiet stillness—it signalled a shift.

“Sit,” Kael said.

We dropped. Concrete, dirt, wherever we stood.

Kael remained standing. He surveyed us for a long moment.

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“You’ve survived the first week. That is the minimum expectation, not an achievement.” His voice was measured. “What comes next requires that you understand not just what you are, but what the system expects you to become.”

He began to pace.

“Firmware. You’ve heard the word. Legacy kids learned about it in their academies. The rest of you picked it up from recruitment holos or gossip. Most of what you think you know is incomplete.”

He stopped.

“Firmware is your class. Your permanent operational identity within the mech ecosystem. Think of it as the operating system that defines your combat role. Once you select a firmware, it is locked to you for life. You do not change it. You do not swap it. You do not upgrade to a different type.”

He let the word ‘permanent’ settle.

“Firmware is graded, just like you. F through S. The public marketplace—the System store—offers firmware up to C-Grade. Anything above that is proprietary. Manufactured by corporations or the Enlightened themselves. Distributed through military contracts, corporate sponsorships, or family legacy.”

I kept my face still. Inside, I was thinking about the line in my deviation: Cross-grade firmware compatibility. No permanent firmware lock-in required.

Every word out of Kael’s mouth was describing a cage I didn’t have to enter.

“Your firmware determines which mechs you can pilot, which weapons systems you can interface with, and which skills you can install. A pilot locked into Meridian Defence firmware can only operate Meridian-compatible chassis. A pilot running Chen Heavy Industries firmware is bound to the Chen ecosystem.”

He paused.

“This is by design.”

After the morning, after watching one incentive fracture a team—those two words carried a different weight. Everything was by design. The firmware lock-in. The corporate ecosystems. The System quests that overrode human authority. All of it, by design. Not broken. Not accidental. Functioning exactly as intended.

I thought about Wei. Chen Heavy Industries firmware. Fifty-three generations bound to a single corporate dynasty. S-Grade meant she’d get the best firmware the Chen family had to offer—and in exchange, she’d be theirs. Forever. The cage would be golden, but the lock would be the same.

“You will not be selecting firmware today,” Kael continued. “That comes later, once your training profiles are complete and your options become clear. You may even get sponsorships.”