Chapter 7

Sixty-eight hours remained on the proving ground clock when the citywide broadcast lit up the Salvage Hawk’s cockpit.

Kai Ren gripped the controls, sweat cutting tracks through the coolant haze on his visor. The left arm actuator trailed live sparks down scorched plating, every twitch costing precious milliseconds. The prototype mobility compensator sat at a razor-thin 3% heat margin, its kill-switch authority now public and humming under Director Vale’s remote thumb. The single stabilization kit was gone—burned to ash on Floor Four. One more spike and the frame would lock or die on live feed.

The main screen flared. Director Lena Vale appeared, uniform sharp as a blade, voice clipped for every citizen watching.

“Following Pilot Ren’s Floor Four clearance under doubled Shadowbind interference and full audit telemetry, Floor Five parameters are now live. Resistance coefficients doubled. Adaptive hazards active. This floor will broadcast citywide without delay.”

Behind her, the public ranking board updated in real time. Kai Ren: +37. Jax Korr: +38. The gap had narrowed to a single point, and the city had already begun to murmur.

Vale’s eyes flicked toward the camera, the barest hesitation before she added, “Any unapproved modules will trigger immediate review and possible recall. The academy expects measurable proof, not mechanical miracles.”

The feed cut to the proving ground entrance. Shadowbind operatives moved openly now, their sabotage rigs glinting under floodlights. The crowd noise swelled—bets, cheers, jeers—feeding straight into the arena’s overhead speakers.

Kai’s comm crackled with Jax Korr’s voice, broadcast to millions.

“Nice scramble on Four, Ren. One point behind and running on a prototype that nearly cooked itself live. Floor Five isn’t a climb—it’s a cull. Try not to embarrass the academy when your arm falls off on camera.”

Jax’s polished smile filled the secondary screen, but the edge in his tone was new. The narrowed gap had bitten deeper than any taunt he’d thrown before.

Kai didn’t answer. He throttled forward, Salvage Hawk’s damaged gait carrying him through the gate. The moment his frame crossed the threshold, the floor recalibrated. Walls shimmered, new energy traps unfolded, and two Shadowbind kill-switch drones dropped from the ceiling in perfect sync.

The first drone fired. Kai rolled, plasma blade flashing, but the left actuator lagged half a beat. The blade clipped the drone’s edge instead of coreing it. Sparks showered the corridor. The second drone latched onto his shoulder plating and began pumping override code straight into the prototype compensator.

Heat margin plunged to 1%. Red warnings flooded the HUD.

Kai slammed the manual override, teeth gritted, and drove the frame straight into the nearest wall. Armor screeched. The drone crushed between plating and concrete. The compensator screamed but held at 0.8% for three desperate seconds before climbing back to 2%.

He pushed on, hidden battle data streaming faint tactical overlays across his visor—weak points in the new hazard layout, Shadowbind coordination patterns. Each successful dodge or slash bought centimeters of progress and seconds of reputation. The public board ticked upward in microscopic increments visible to every spectator.

Another kill-switch pulse hammered through the neural link. The left arm went dead for a full second, dragging behind him like dead weight. Kai compensated with torso thrusters, over-rotating to keep momentum. Coolant and blood mixed on the cockpit glass where a feedback burn had split his palm open.

The crowd roar spiked as the board flickered: +37.4.

Jax’s voice cut in again, no longer just taunting—urgent now. “That’s it? One lucky scrape and you think you’re closing the gap? The city’s watching, Ren. Show them what a salvage frame really earns.”

Kai’s breath came short. The prototype’s unapproved status hung over him like a second blade. One public failure and Vale could shut him down mid-floor. Yet every meter clawed forward tightened the ladder another notch. The academy would have to raise the ceiling again before this win even cooled.

A final Shadowbind ambush waited at the extraction beacon—four drones in tight formation, kill-switch arrays glowing. Kai feinted left, actuator sparking wildly, then cut hard right and drove the plasma blade through the formation’s center. Two drones detonated. The remaining pair latched on, flooding the system with shutdown commands.

Heat margin hit zero.

For one frozen heartbeat the frame locked.

Kai screamed through the neural link and forced a full manual purge, dumping every non-essential system. The compensator flickered, then surged back to 1.2%. The drones died in a shower of molten scrap.

The extraction beacon flared green.

Floor Five cleared.

The public board updated instantly: Kai Ren +38. Jax Korr +38. Tie.

Citywide cheers crashed through the arena speakers. Director Vale’s face reappeared on every screen, expression carefully neutral yet edged with something sharper than before—wary calculation.

“Pilot Ren has met the recalibrated Floor Five. Reputation now tied at +38. Parameters for Floor Six will be adjusted accordingly within the hour. The proving ground does not rest.”

Kai slumped in the cockpit, left arm trailing sparks, frame listing hard to one side. The cost was written in every warning light and every drop of coolant on the glass. But the gap was gone. The ladder had widened again, and the city had seen it happen live.

As the broadcast faded, a private channel blinked once—low priority, encrypted through salvage lottery routing. Mira Sol’s voice, quiet and edged with dry humor.

“Ren. Don’t acknowledge. I’m feeding you coordinates for a restricted maintenance alcove. There’s a prototype module that might buy you more than sparks and prayers. Use it before the next audit sweep and we both might survive the week. Don’t make me regret this.”

The channel cut.

Kai stared at the flickering message, the timer now reading sixty-seven hours remaining. The tie on the board stared back at him like fresh blood on the ranking display.

Jax’s final broadcast laugh still echoed in the arena behind him—sharper, hungrier.

Floor Six was already recalibrating somewhere beyond the gate, and the city’s eyes had not blinked.