A mysterious new substance was discovered on the remote planet, Rubicon 3. As an energy source, this substance was expected to dramatically advance humanity's technological and communication capabilities. Instead, it caused a catastrophe that submer...
"Welcome, AllMind is the Mercenary Support System,
All Armored Core Pilot Candidates are to undertake a 10-week training program prior to the Final Examination.
Passing the Final Examination will grant you the License and Credentials to register you as part of the Official Mercenary Ranks,
As well as access to all privileges, mission requests and resources available to AC Pilots.
Good Luck."
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"A TEN-week program!?"
"Could've been worse, heard astronauts go through years of training."
"Yes, but I'm not flying a spaceship here, it's just an AC! Just shove me into the cockpit and let me pull the triggers and done."
"And you're exactly why we have these tests for. It's not that simple."
"But it's not complicated either. Face it, this a waste of time when they could've easily stuck each one of us in ACs and screened out those who can adapt from the ones that don't."
"Is no one going to ask why they have mental tests on here?"
"It's to screen out trigger maniacs like this guy. I wouldn't count on him not to shoot me in the back just because his fingers are glued to the triggers."
It wasn't like no one expected the tests to be long and intensive, but Omar figured it's just the typical ranting prior to any training and tests, people just venting their frustrations and concerns in an overdramatic manner. But he had to agree that 10 weeks a long period of time just to be eligible to fly a combat mech. Then again, he could think of it as on-job training that most occupations go through, except this job is extremely fatal... for both pilot and whomever is unlucky to share the space the AC makes it appearance in.
His thoughts were interrupted when the background conversation started getting louder till a sickly fist-to-face contact echoed around the room. Everything went quiet for a second, one collective held breath. The two people in the exchange stared at each other, one with an obvious swelling on his cheek, but neither one moving for a follow up. Surprisingly enough, the one who delivered the blow extended his arm for a handshake with no malice in his face, and in turn the other guy took it and shook firmly. That's when the audience breathed easy and passed by the pair with a pat on their shoulders as they went they own ways.
Omar stared at the hanging monitor till the loop started again, taking one last look at the schedule. There definitely was a significant portion of mental tests, for something that was at first glance more dependent on physique, motor skills, coordination and reflex time. Maybe piloting an AC is far more complex than that, would explain why there aren't a lot of them, aside from the cost of building and maintaining the ACs themselves of course. For a brief moment, Omar had questioned his motivation to becoming an AC pilot but only for a brief moment. He had to scan the room for faces of completely strangers, wondering what other motives other people had to become one, and whether those motives alone are enough to carry them through. And every now and then, he'd spot the rare few females who are competing for the same opportunity as their male counterparts. Nothing against them of course, just that the hurdles ahead of them would be double that of the male seeing as he could already see some being persistently harassed or looking very uncomfortable being in the midst of a sausage fest. Fortunately for them, everyone would have the privacy of their own rooms to go to by the end of the day.
