Volume 2 - Chapter 43 - UHF 101 Finale: Digital Missions

The Blade Persists: Melee Combat in the Age of functionally Infinite Ammunition

“ It’s not that melee weapons came back. They were never really gone…
It’s more that the galaxy finally became strong enough to be able to use them again. ”

For a Galactic War supposedly ruled by long-range precision and ammo produced from System Printers faster than you can blink, it may seem baffling to outsiders why Chainswords, Vibroblades, and Resonance Hammers remain staple gear in the modern UHF Marine’s kit.

But the truth is far simpler than most think: The resurgence of melee isn’t a return to tradition or a vain attempt at making things personal—it’s a natural response to the very shape of war.

Boarding: The Eternal Domain of the Blade

Inside a ship, every shot fired is a risk.

Bulkheads, reactors, pressurized corridors—each one a catastrophic failure point just waiting for the wrong round. Even with SmartAmmo that carefully tracks its targets and hull-safe dispersal-charged tips, both defenders and attackers learned early in the war that  precision  was never going to be enough.

As ship-losses mounted, more resources were poured into developing ammo and firearms that would minimize internal damage during shipboard engagements. Specialized rounds were created, engineered to break apart on impact or disperse energy rather than pierce through walls and hit fragile systems.

But while those improvements made the ships safer for a short time, the Allbright System was busy rewriting the rules of combat entirely.

With Marines abruptly several times stronger, faster, and more durable than any human had a right to be, it became possible to strap thick, reinforced armor onto even the most mobile soldiers. And once System Materials entered the picture, you had combat suits capable of shrugging off hits that would’ve once torn holes through light vehicles.

Armour that could stand toe-to-toe with a ship’s own bulkhead—sometimes quite literally.

That left both sides in a bind.

You had weapons designed to be safe for the ship, but now they couldn’t actually punch through the armor worn by the people inside it.

So once again, the tactics had to evolve.

Boarding teams shifted back toward the fundamentals—blades, bludgeons, and blunt-force trauma. Simple Chainswords, Hammerheads, modified Lifter-Gauntlets.

Anything that let  you smash your way forward without lighting up a reactor core or venting half a hallway into space.

And as it turned out, the very same advancements the Allbright System had introduced—stronger bodies, higher Attributes, heavier armor—worked just as well for melee combat.

Maybe even better.

When you’re swinging something five times heavier than any soldier from the Old Era could’ve ever possibly imagined being able to lift, at speeds that would’ve once torn muscle from bone? Basic physics does the rest.

That kind of weight and velocity doesn’t just hit—it obliterates .

Naturally, as attackers brought out hammers, cleavers, and high-frequency blades, defenders followed suit.

What do you do when a threat appears that your doctrine can’t answer? You steal it.

If it works against  you, chances are it can also work for  you.

And it did.

Once both sides started fielding melee weaponry again, the equation shifted, drastically.

It wasn’t just about having the best gear anymore—it was about who could use  it.

Suddenly, techniques that had long been dismissed as obsolete or ceremonial—parries, ripostes, stances, disarms—were back in full force.

Swordplay schools that had desperately clung to last shreds of relevancy for centuries on the Core Worlds were now suddenly flooded with contracts from military instructors.

What used to be a noble’s pastime became essential battlefield training.

And now? It’s baked into doctrine.

Every Major Faction’s boarding kit includes melee equipment—custom-fitted to the user's size, strength, and combat role. Every Major Faction’s training curriculum includes melee combat classes.

The Allbright Factor: Attributes Made Flesh

‘ Now, boarding actions are one thing, ’ I hear you saying. ‘ But what about real Battlefields? Planet-side? Why would they have melee weapons there? ’

Here’s what outsiders forget: Marines aren’t just people with guns anymore.

They’re walking tanks .

The Allbright System takes every inch of training and multiplies it by raw, unfiltered power .

A Marine with 25 Strength and a movement-type Ability doesn’t just run—they accelerate like a damn missile. Who needs a firearm if you, yourself, are the bullet?

And when something that fast and that heavy closes 40-50 meters in less than a second?

You’re not aiming. You’re praying .

Firearms do  still dominate the Battlefields at range; no question.

It is unlikely to change either.

But in engagements where terrain, supply, or squad composition collapse those distances? Where ammo can’t be wasted, as printers are out of reach, or you’re facing a Super-Heavy, or Emperor-forbid, bona-fide Ultra-Heavy armour?

Unless you just so happen to be packing anti-armour specific weaponry, have it readily at hand and are ready to fire the moment they come into view?

You draw your blade. You hunker down.

And you meet the paintrain head-on .

The modern battlefield is diverse, nuanced and technologically advanced beyond comprehension of your average grunt on the ground.

But even now, at the edge of advancement and doctrine, there is one universal truth:

Blades don’t jam.
Hammers don’t miss.
And the ones who forget that, don’t get to forget it twice.

—Excerpt from The Practical Doctrine of Close-Quarters Supremacy , Vol. 7, by Commander Halish Cole (Ret.)

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Professor Harrow’s explanations and re-iterations had dragged on for nearly twenty minutes, and Thea had done her best to squeeze as much actual value from it as she could.

Painful as it was, the man had a habit of using even the dumbest questions from the less fortunate Recruits as excuses to deepen or expand on key topics.

It was just enough to keep her from banging her head against the desk.

A few of the details that stuck with her the most included:

Specific Ability Alterations didn’t matter for unlocking Classes. Even Capstone ones.

Combinations  of Accomplishments held more value than individual feats, especially for Silver-rarity and below. But there was a ceiling—after a certain point, around Platinum-rarity and above, individual Accomplishments would become more important for unlocking Classes, comparatively speaking.

Skills played a much bigger role than most expected. According to Harrow, every Marine should aim to complete at least five or six Skills by year’s end. The Allbright System heavily favored those who committed to actual education, not just raw combat.

Later in the year, UHF instructors would host dedicated Class lectures with step-by-step breakdowns on how to unlock popular and high-performing Classes—but not before everyone had a fair shot at uncovering their own unique options, which the Professor highly encouraged.

Class power was definitely no joke. He had tossed out a range between 40% to 500% effectiveness boosts, depending on the Class and its synergy with the user’s overall build. Most hovered around 40-70%, but that alone was already massive.

But the part that had really grabbed Thea’s attention came buried in one of the Professor’s casual responses to a question about Class rarity.

He’d mentioned, almost offhandedly, that anyone who met the criteria to unlock a completely unknown Class—something never-before catalogued within the UHF—would receive significant rewards from the UHF’s research divisions.

Not just recognition, but actual  compensation.

“They often come with unique Abilities or perks that are otherwise not available in the Allbright System, right? As such, the knowledge about their existence alone, is very valuable for the war as a whole,” he had said.

And, most interestingly, they didn’t actually have to pick  that new Class—just uncovering it, documenting the details through the Class Selection Interface, and submitting the report to their assigned research liaison was enough.

The UHF would be combing through everyone’s Class lists during graduation, so nobody had to guess whether what they found was actually rare or not.

“Just unlock it, have it get documented, and let the brass figure out how important it is,” the Professor had explained. “They’ll know.”

Considering her current trajectory, Thea was already kind of a research subject to begin with.

‘If I really am the first T0 Psyker the UHF’s ever trained… there’s no way I won’t end up unlocking at least one or two Classes they’ve never seen before,’  she mused. ‘ But then again… is all the support they’re throwing behind me right now part of that payout already? Or are they just chalking it up as investment and I’ll still get the bounty as well…?’

Questions for another day. Maybe something she could float past Major Quinn.

Or the Runepriest, if he ever stopped talking in riddles long enough to answer her straight.

Either way, it wasn’t something she’d solve while sitting here.

The lecture had finally reached a lull, the last wave of questions petering out before Professor Harrow stood and announced that, after a short break, they’d be diving into the final section of the lecture—and the reason it had been made mandatory in the first place: Digital Missions.

They were the next big milestone for every Recruit, and Thea was practically vibrating in place waiting for it to start. A few minutes into the break, her leg had started bouncing uncontrollably and her fingers had started tapping the desk with an intensity that earned her no less than three sideways glares from Karania.

“Listen, I get it,” Karania said, “I also want to get this over with and have a better grasp on stuff, but that doesn’t mean you have to make it even more unbearable for the both of us, Thea. You could just read some of the technical docs from your new purchases, instead of nervously waiting for the Professor to come back, you know?”

It was a thought that had crossed Thea’s mind before as well, but she hadn’t wanted to commit to breaking out the holy scriptures quite yet—they were meant for boredom emergencies, not for minor annoyances like this.

“They’re for actual emergencies, Kara,” she grumbled. “Besides, I was just thinking… if we knew how these Digital Missions actually work already, I could finally plan out the rest of my week.”

She sighed, leaning back in her chair, as she started counting off things on her fingers. “I still need to talk to Major Quinn about that Skill slip. Check in with the Runepriest. Actually take  the Skill classes. Do the Digital Missions. Break down the research on all the gear I bought. And—ugh—have that chat with Corvus I’ve been putting off for a while…”

Thea let her head thunk gently against the desk, ignoring the amused glance from Kara. She knew she sounded whiny, but she couldn’t help it—lectures really  weren’t her thing.

“I just wanna  do  things, Kara. Not sit here in lecture limbo and wait to be told I’m allowed to start…”

Before Karania could reply, Professor Harrow stepped back onto the podium like he’d been waiting for a dramatic cue. A sharp clearing of his throat echoed through the room, immediately snapping the scattered conversations and quiet fidgeting to a halt.

Every head turned toward the front.

“There you go, Thea,” Karania whispered with a smirk, brushing her hair back behind one ear. “Your knight in academic armor has returned.”

Thea gave a half-hearted glare, trying hard not to break character and laugh.

At least things were finally moving again.

“Now,” Professor Harrow began, clapping his hands together with far too much enthusiasm for the beginning of the tail end of a long lecture, “I do hope you all feel appropriately refreshed after that break. Because we’re going on a little excursion now.”

That got the room to stir again.

“So pack up your things, form up behind me, and try not to get lost along the way. Any stragglers will be chucked out of an airlock by our dear Sovereign—and don’t look at me like that! I ran it by our beloved Major Quinn, and she confirmed that’s her preferred method of classroom discipline as well. So I’m in the clear on this one!”

He didn’t wait for a reaction.

Just stepped down from the podium, walked straight to the exit, and disappeared into the corridor outside—non-chalant as ever.

For about half a second, the entire room sat in stunned silence.

Then chaos.

Chairs scraped, datapads clattered, and dozens of Recruits rushed to gather their things all at once. A few were muttering about the Sovereign’s airlocks with a nervous edge that suggested they weren’t entirely sure he was kidding  this  time.

Thea and Kara moved fast—far faster than almost anybody else in the room.

They were among the first out the door, despite sitting towards the rear-end of the hall, slipping into the corridor and finding Professor Harrow already waiting a few meters down, leaning casually against the wall like he hadn’t just sent the entire room into mild panic.

That smug, shit-eating grin on his face told Thea all she needed to know.

He definitely  enjoyed the chaos.

And, honestly, Thea couldn’t blame him.

‘ Lectures are probably even worse for him than for us… Good on him for finding a way to keep things interesting for himself, ’ she thought, watching the satisfied look on the Professor’s face.

This time, though, she wasn’t about to get caught off-guard.

She kept her gaze moving, scanning the hallway around them with deliberate care.

It was a habit she’d forced herself into after that chaotic shopping trip with Karania—a day that had made it painfully clear just  how easy  it was to miss things if you didn’t actively pay attention in non-combat environments.

Awareness wasn’t just a battlefield tool, it had to be constant .

Sure enough, the hallway was slowly filling with Recruits stumbling out of the lecture hall, only to freeze when they realized the entire student body had already lined up behind Professor Harrow.

A moment of panic, then the awkward shuffle into place.

It happened over and over again, like clockwork.

Thea didn’t pay it too much mind, but she still clocked each face, each movement.

Just in case.

And then her eyes caught someone else doing the exact same thing: Tiberius Soren.

He was watching, just like her. Not just scanning aimlessly—but reading people, cataloguing posture, attention, subtle shifts in behavior.

Their eyes met.

He flinched—just slightly—but clearly not from guilt. Instead of looking away, he forced himself to hold her gaze. Just long enough to make the point, before giving a small, respectful nod and shifting his focus back to the rest of the group.

Thea’s brows furrowed slightly.

‘ He’s dangerous, ’ the thought settled in without hesitation.

Not because of anything hostile. But because she could feel it—he was  far  ahead of her.

His awareness came naturally , almost lazily so , like it didn’t take effort anymore.

Like he didn’t have to think about checking his surroundings in non-combat environments, he just did. And that realization made her stomach twist.

‘ I need to get back there, too. And fast… ’

It was a weird sensation.

Thea hadn’t felt out of touch like this in a long time.

Back on Lumiosia, her situational awareness had always been razor-sharp—growing up in the undercity had made it a requirement  just to stay alive. But something about the relative safety of the past years—first during basic training and Integration at the UHF station, then during her time aboard the Sovereign—had dulled those instincts.

Not completely, but more than enough for her to notice it clearly.

Enough to seriously  bother her.

She doubled down, pushing the discomfort aside and resuming her scan of the crowd.

A few things stood out—one Marine seemed unusually close with Tiberius, likely someone from his squad, given the casual body language between them—but nothing truly strange.

That changed the moment Professor Harrow started walking again.

He said nothing, simply turned on his heel and moved down the corridor.

Instinctively, Thea and Karania were among the first to follow, both unconsciously slipping into the third row—not directly behind the Professor, but still leading the pack.

But something was off.

As they walked, Thea became acutely aware that the rest of the Recruits weren’t keeping pace. Instead of forming the expected tight column like they’d been trained to do, the others were hanging back. Not falling behind entirely—just far enough to leave a noticeable gap between the two of them and the rest of the crowd.

Frowning, Thea glanced over her shoulder after another minute of walking.

And, sure enough, the gap was still there.

Still wide enough to be deliberate rather than accidental.

“…Okay, this is weird,” she muttered under her breath towards Karania. “Do we smell bad or something?”

She tried to be subtle about it, leaning slightly forward to catch a sniff of her blouse. Nothing.

Fresh enough.

Karania didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at her. That  look.

Thea sighed deeply, because she knew that look  all too well in recent days.

It was the look Kara gave her every time she missed something obvious—half amusement, half disappointment, like watching someone try to open a sliding door by pushing.

“Don’t— don’t  say anything yet,” Thea said quickly, holding up a finger. “Let me figure it out. I got this.”

Karania tilted her head, clearly curious now. “Alright. By all means. Enlighten us, oh perceptive one.”

Thea crossed her arms, eyes narrowing slightly as she mulled over the situation.

Her first instinct was to check clothing again—maybe they were overdressed? But a quick glance around told her that wasn't it.

If anything, they were on the upper end of presentable, sure, but not dramatically so. Most Recruits had shown up wearing either neutral standard-issue gear or some decent variations of shopping casual.

She and Kara? Probably top twenty percent, tops.

Definitely not enough to warrant the awkward gap behind them.

Next option: Behavior during the lecture.

But neither of them had even asked any questions, let alone drawn unnecessary attention. They’d participated when it made sense and otherwise stayed quiet.

Nothing to really stir the pot there.

That only left one real explanation in her mind.

“…It’s probably the Alpha Squad thing,” she said slowly. “What Professor Harrow said during the lecture. The whole ‘ future Battlefield Aces ’ bit. That might’ve… I don’t know. Shifted how they look at us?”

Karania gave a soft snort. “That’s definitely part of it. But it’s also just you .”

Thea blinked. “ Me ?”

“Mhm.” Kara smiled, but her tone was matter-of-fact. “You’ve had your hood up or a helmet on basically every single time people saw you on the ship, right? Until the lecture today.”

Thea frowned, thinking about it.

That was… actually true.

Between training, combat sims, and just not wanting to deal with people, she hadn’t exactly made herself the most visually familiar person aboard the Sovereign.

“So?” she asked, a bit defensively.

“So,” Karania went on, “now they can actually match your face to what they saw on the stage at the Awards Ceremony. Repeatedly , I might add. “Most notably the last time being when you pretty much looked the entire drive in the eye and dared them to come for your spot. Publicly. On a stage. On camera. In front of the entire ship.”

“Okay, but that wasn’t—”

“You challenged hundreds  of people to social ritual suicide, Thea,” Kara said, smiling far too brightly for Thea’s comfort. “You thought that wouldn’t  leave an impression?”

Thea rubbed her temple. “It wasn’t meant to intimidate  everyone. I just wanted to shut down that ‘ Why is a Cyan in Alpha Squad ’ crap before it gained even more traction…”

Kara nodded sagely. “And you did. Very effectively. I’m just saying—you might have overcorrected  a little… While you’re not wearing your uniform right now, you’re also  not wearing a hoodie and your hair’s the same as back then, so they can actually pick you out at a glance now.”

Thea sighed again.

She hadn’t considered that angle at all. It wasn’t that she minded being respected—or even feared a little, if it helped—but she’d thought her speech was more of a... diplomatic strike.

Apparently, it had landed more like an orbital bombardment.

With that mystery cleared up, they fell silent again.

They continued in this silence behind Professor Harrow, footsteps echoing softly through the corridor for a few minutes. All the while, Thea kept her gaze mostly forward, doing her best to ignore the glances being thrown her way from various angles.

She could feel the stares now more clearly—could categorize them better.

Some were cautious, others calculating. A few wide-eyed ones, like someone watching a grenade roll across the floor and not knowing whether it would go off or not.

The occasional look of admiration still caught her off guard, though.

She tried not to dwell on it.

It wasn’t like she’d done anything that  outrageous. Right?

A few stairways later, the group emerged onto a new deck.

Bold white letters stenciled across the dark grey alloy walls spelled it out clearly: Deck L — Section 24 .

As they passed through a set of heavy, sealed bulkhead doors, Thea felt a shift in atmosphere—not just physically, but in mood.

The space they entered was massive. Like the commercial deck where all the shops had been, but this one was… different. Less consumer chaos, more organized  chaos.

The first thing she noticed were the terminals.

Dozens of massive data stations stretched along both flanks of the thoroughfare, each one outfitted with multiple angled screens and large holographic interfaces.

The entire space positively  buzzed  with activity.

Hundreds of Marines, clearly older than them, were posted up around the terminals—some standing at attention, others slouched across seats, a few arguing over screen readouts with exaggerated hand gestures. Loud voices filled the space, all revolving around combat, tactics, mission outcomes, and performance reports.

“Welcome,” Professor Harrow called, loud enough to cut through the low din. He waited as the last of the stragglers finally caught up and trickled onto the deck. “This, my dear Recruits, is Deck L-24. But you won’t hear many people calling it that. Around here, this is just called the Digital Mission Deck , Mission Deck  or DMD  for extra-short, if you’re super lazy.”

He swept a hand toward the hundreds of uniformed figures working and milling about the terminals.

“These fine folk are your senior brothers and sisters. The Privates currently stationed aboard the Sovereign. You’ve seen some of them around, probably—well, from now on you’ll be seeing a lot more of them. Roughly eighteen hundred of them are aboard right now, making up the majority of our ship’s personnel as of right now.”

Thea blinked at that.

She’d known there were active-duty Marines aboard, obviously, but she hadn’t realized the numbers were that  high. A wave of murmurs rippled through the Recruits behind her—clearly, she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t known.

“ But ,” Harrow continued, not missing a beat, “that will be changing soon. Over the next few months, we’ll be picking up more Recruits at designated ports. The Sovereign is a Recruit ship, first and foremost—and by this time next quarter, you  will be the majority on this vessel; by quite a lot. Make of that what you will.”

That little bombshell hit hard. Even Kara let out a quiet “huh” beside her.

Thea narrowed her eyes slightly, gears already turning.

More Recruits meant more competition. More people to either rise above—or fall behind.

And, more importantly, more eyes.

More people watching what Alpha Squad did and whether they deserved the slots instead.

‘ So much for any errant thoughts of maybe coasting a bit after the first Assessment, ’ she thought. ‘ This just means we’ve got more work to do. ’

“Now, for the Digital Missions themselves,” Professor Harrow called out as he casually broke from the group and began striding toward one of the many empty terminals.

No warning, no transition—just silently walked away at his usual, brisk pace.

The crowd of Recruits lurched after him, scrambling to keep up in order not to miss anything.

He reached one of the stations, tapped at the console a few times, and then looked up at the three large data-screens mounted overhead.

A list popped up with a sharp flicker of light.

“This is the general ruleset for Digital Missions,” he said, loud enough to cut through the muttering. “These rules apply to both Recruits and Privates, across the entire UHF, so if you’ve forgotten something, just ask one of your seniors. They were just as dumb as you are right now, not too long ago. Maybe even dumber . So they’ll sympathize. Or… Tell you to shove it. But that’s part of life too, so get used to it.”

He jabbed a finger up toward the first item on the list.

“First up—Digital Missions are mandatory . Every single one of you is required  to complete at least one per week . That’s every seven days. Doesn’t matter if you do one on Sunday and another on Monday; you just need to get one done within each weekly window. If you skip out, you’ll hear from someone. Probably me. Or if I’m lucky, Major Quinn, at which point I’ll have a free afternoon and will request the recordings of your crying and humiliated faces from the Sovereign.”

Some people's heads nodded, faces serious.

Others started tapping at their datapads, likely setting reminders.

Thea didn’t need one—she was raring to get a go at these missions since she had first heard of them existing.

“Second,” he went on, gesturing to the next point, “Digital Missions are not  Assessments. You’ll still get Contribution Points, Merit, Credits, and you can still unlock Accomplishments. But none of that comes in bulk. It’s throttled, right? You’ll earn about one-tenth of what you’d get during a real Assessment, and any Accomplishments you unlock are capped at Silver-rarity.”

There was a beat of hesitation in the crowd. The kind of reaction that reeked of skepticism.

“But,” he continued, raising a finger, “don’t be idiots. Digital Missions aren’t just about farming resources, which are still plentiful, given the number of these you will run in your career. They’re primarily about experience, right?  Actual, tactical, field-relevant  experience—far more valuable than whatever shiny number the System throws at you. Trust me when I say this: The people who grind these, who practice in these—they’re the ones still alive a few years down the line.”

Thea didn’t need convincing.

The way he talked about it—how the whole setup worked—it clicked instantly in her mind.

‘Just like the arcade. Test matches. Simulated runs. It’s literally experience grinding and testing stuff as much as you want, but without any risk. This is  perfect . ’

Professor Harrow’s smile grew wider as he pointed at the third line.

“Every Digital Mission comes with its own rules. Victory and failure conditions. Equipment selection. Mission objectives. Battlefield layouts. Squad composition requirements. You name it, it changes. You won’t get two runs that feel the same—except for one consistent rule across nearly all of them: Extremely limited respawns —oftentimes none at all.”

That got a stronger reaction. Recruits shifted on their feet.

Voices hummed with unease and confusion.

Some leaned in, others just froze.

“I know what you're thinking,” the Professor said, stepping slightly forward. “What’s the point of having a Faction Trait like ours, if we’re not using it?”

He let that sit for a second before answering his own question.

“Because we can’t afford for you to die over and over again in these simulations,” Professor Harrow said, voice steady, but cold as steel. “We can’t afford for you to get desensitized to it. If death has no weight—if there are no stakes—you stop fearing it, right? And the moment you stop fearing death, you stop respecting what it means to live.  You get sloppy. You get lazy. You start making mistakes that cost lives.”

His eyes swept the gathered Recruits, daring any of them to challenge him on it.

“And sloppy Marines?” he continued, voice dropping just slightly, “They’re Zero’d . Dead. Buried. Forgotten. The UHF Marine Corps doesn’t train corpses. It trains Marines .”

He paused, then jabbed a finger toward the assembled Recruits.

“And Marines fear death .”

A few people stirred uncomfortably.

Thea didn’t move, her full attention locked onto the man, taken by the sudden seriousness in his voice.

“Because that fear?” he said, now pacing slowly along the row of terminals, “It’s what keeps us sharp . Keeps us alive . That fear is why we fight harder. Kill faster. Push deeper than the enemy ever expects. Because we don’t  want to die, right? And if they want to kill us, we have  to want to kill them even more.”

His tone didn’t shift any further. But somehow, each word landed like a hammer blow.

“Fear is not a weakness. It’s not something to be discarded. It is the oldest survival instinct we have. It is what drives us when everything else  fails. As a Marine, you don’t learn to erase fear—you learn to  carry  it. To walk through  it. That’s what makes a Marine. Not being fearless. Being afraid... and pushing that entrenched position anyway, because if you don’t, you and your squad are going to die.”

He stopped walking.

Let the silence settle.

A few moments passed and nobody said anything.

But then Professor Harrow continued, his voice now back to the usual, more relaxed and instructional cadence, “So here’s the deal: Most Digital Missions? One-and-done. You mess up, you’re out. No retries. No checkpoint. No completion rewards. Just the bitter taste of failure and a wasted opportunity.”

He looked out over them like he was looking through them.

“Because out there, on a real   Battlefield ? That’s how it works. You either perform... or you die. And even with our Faction Trait, there’s no guarantee you’ll come back. Respawn Stations can get overrun, destroyed or otherwise hindered from getting you. Don’t, ever, assume that you will come back, simply because it worked once or twice before.”

The Professor’s gaze swept across the assembled Recruits, giving everyone a moment to process the weight of his last words.

No one spoke. No one even shifted.

When he finally raised a hand and pointed toward the fourth point on the projected list, the shift in tone was almost jarring.

“Now, something a bit more light-hearted and fun: Number four,” he announced, his voice noticeably brighter. “Digital Missions—being far less data-intensive than Assessments, thanks to lower reality-parity requirements—are Galaxy-wide .”

That made a few heads perk up.

“Meaning,” he continued, drawing the word out slightly, “you’ll be fighting alongside your fellow UHF Marines from across the entire galaxy. Wherever they are, if they get assigned the same Digital Mission at the same time, you’ll meet them inside the sim. A nice chance to rub elbows with some of your distant brothers and sisters in the Corps, right?”

Thea blinked at that, heart skipping slightly.

‘Wait... does that mean I could end up in a mission with Vi? Or Morin? Or even Kellerman and the others from the Cube Trial...?!’

It had been years since she’d last seen any of Kellerman’s crew. The thought of suddenly, potentially running into them mid-mission lit a strange warmth in her chest, however astronomically unlikely the chances.

‘Please let them be doing okay out there…’

“But—” the Professor added, raising a finger, “— asking for  or discussing any real operational information with fellow Marines you meet is strictly prohibited . The ship AI’s monitoring the missions will not miss anything . You do not  want to find out what happens if you start swapping intel you shouldn’t.”

A few scattered, instinctive “ Yes, sir ”s echoed back, though none too loudly.

“Finally,” the Professor continued, tapping to the last line of the list with a flourish, “point five. And hopefully the last you’ll have to listen to me drone on about in this endless lecture.”

That earned a small ripple of amusement from the group.

“Digital Missions come in Grades. You all start at Grade 0, right? From there, you work your way up. The higher the Grade, the more complex the mission—and the longer they tend to take. Grade 0s usually run for a few hours at most. A Grade 5 can last you damn near a full week, depending on the scenario.”

That got a few surprised murmurs.

“You unlock higher Grades by participating in missions and hitting certain performance milestones. With each Grade comes increased bonus payouts. But ,” he said, pausing for emphasis, “don’t fall into the trap of thinking low Grades  are useless once you’ve unlocked the higher ones. A lot of seasoned Marines still run Grade 0s and 1s on the regular, right? Faster runs, more chances to experiment with builds, and an easy way to stack rewards. So if you’re short on time or just want to try out new stuff? Stick with the low Grades. They’re very worthwhile.”

Thea nodded to herself. That part made perfect sense.

‘Shorter runs, more testing, less time wasted… That’s going to be very  useful.’

Professor Harrow clapped his hands once, sharply, snapping the attention of the Recruits back to him.

“That wraps up most of the meat of today’s UHF 101 lecture, actually. Digital Missions will go live for you lot in  about four hours. Until then, you’re free to roam, prep, panic—whatever it is you people do when you’re not asking questions I’ve already answered thrice.”

A few snickers rippled through the crowd, and a few pointed looks at specific individuals, but he held up a hand to keep them in line.

“Any final questions, now’s your time. I’ll take them one at a time. And if any of them are good, I might even answer them without threatening to have the Sovereign toss you out an airlock.”

Hands shot up.

Thea and Karania, meanwhile, drifted a little off to the side, just far enough to be out of the cluster of Recruits still angling for the Professor’s attention. They both kept half an ear on the answers, but Thea’s attention was already somewhere else entirely.

“Four hours,” she muttered under her breath, eyes gleaming faintly with anticipation. “Just four more hours…”

“ Oh no ,” Karania said instantly, voice flat. “I know  that tone. You  forgot , didn’t you?”

Thea blinked, then frowned. “Forgot what?”

Karania gave her a pointed look. “Your Blueprint , Thea. You still haven’t finalized your Attribute Allocation after the whole regrowing-your-limbs part, remember?”

Thea groaned and dropped her head back with a dramatic sigh. “Ugh, right… damn it .”

After the whole strange incident during the Assessment, which she still struggled to remember much of, aside from Zach’s injured hand—which she still needed to reach out and thank him for the help for—she had not felt safe to invest her Attribute points.

She’d intended to wait and go through it properly with the Runepriest.

Let him walk her through the process again, just to be absolutely certain nothing was going to go wrong again.

But he'd gone dark these last few days, caught up in something she hadn't been privy to.

She’d hoped he’d resurface before anything urgent came up.

But, clearly, that hadn’t worked out.

With another long breath, she pulled out her pad and began typing a message, her fingers pausing just before she hit send.

“Look this over for me?” she asked, tilting the pad towards Karania.

Karania read it quickly, then nodded. “Yeah, looks fine. It’s polite, but also clear you need help. Should get his attention if he’s even remotely free.”

“Thanks,” Thea muttered, and hit send.

Then, with a grumble, she stuffed the pad back into her bag. “So much for jumping into my first mission with a bang.”

Karania just shrugged. “Better to do it properly. You’re not exactly someone who can afford another near-death Soul detonation-problem- thing . Let’s make sure you’re still properly attached to everything when the sim ends, yeah?”

Thea winced. “Fair point.”

With the message sent, and the Digital Missions primed to launch in just around four hours, all that was left to do was wait and hope for the Runepriest to get back to her as soon as possible…