The year Kaelen turned fifteen began not with a sunrise, but with a screen. It hung suspended three inches from his face, bathed in an eerie, ethereal glow. The stark white text seared itself into his retinas:
[WELCOME, HOST. THE NEXUS SYSTEM IS NOW ONLINE.]
Panic seized him, cold and swift. He swatted at the screen, his hand passing harmlessly through the holographic projection. It remained, unyielding, a constant, intrusive presence. The room around him, the spartan confines of his shared dormitory in the Iron Dominion's Sector 12, faded into a blur as he focused on the words.
The Nexus System. What was it? Some kind of elaborate joke? A hallucination brought on by the stale nutrient paste they served for breakfast? He squeezed his eyes shut, willing it to disappear, but the screen persisted, mocking him with its silent, unwavering message.
A tremor of something else, something akin to excitement, rippled through his unease. This couldn't be real. It defied everything he knew about the Iron Dominion, about the rigid structure of their society, about the cold, hard logic of metal and war.
But… what if it was real?
The implication sent a jolt of adrenaline through him. He remembered his previous life, the one that now felt like a faded, distant dream: the endless spreadsheets, the soul-crushing commute, the nagging sense that he was wasting his potential. Thirty-something years spent chasing a mirage of success, only to be left with a hollow ache of unfulfillment.
This… this was different. This felt urgent, dangerous, real. And it came with a cheat code.
He cautiously reached out a finger and tapped the screen. A new menu appeared:
[SYSTEM LOG: LAST BOOT - UNKNOWN. CURRENT OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE. RECOMMENDATION: FAMILIARIZE SELF WITH SYSTEM FUNCTIONS.]
Below that, a series of icons: Inventory, Skills, Map, Frame Data. The words were simple, the interface clean and intuitive. It was almost…too easy. A wave of suspicion washed over him. Was this some elaborate test? Some twisted game orchestrated by the Dominion's elite?
He shoved the doubts aside. He couldn't afford to second-guess. The Mecha Awakening was today. His future, his very life, depended on what happened in the Chamber of Gears.
He opened the Inventory. Empty. Skills: [HUNT: Active. Automatically harvests materials from slain hostiles.] A passive skill, but potentially invaluable. Frame Data: Unavailable. He didn't have a Frame yet.
He spent the next hour exploring the System, memorizing its functions, testing its limits. He discovered he could dismiss the screen with a mental command, though it remained readily accessible. He learned that the System responded to his thoughts, interpreting his intentions with uncanny accuracy.
As the time for the Awakening drew near, Kaelen forced himself to appear calm, blending in with the other nervous teenagers preparing for the most important day of their lives. He ate his tasteless breakfast, listened to the droning propaganda spewing from the wall-mounted speakers, and pretended to share in the collective anxiety.
But inside, he was buzzing with a secret energy. The System was his ace in the hole, his hidden advantage in a world where power was everything.
He left the dormitory and joined the throng of teenagers making their way to the Chamber of Gears, the air thick with anticipation and dread. The Chamber was a colossal structure, a testament to the Dominion's obsession with metal and might. Massive hydraulic arms moved along ceiling tracks, preparing to lower the sterile, grey summoning pillars. The air thrummed with barely suppressed energy.
Fifty trembling teenagers stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces pale with fear and hope. Kaelen felt the familiar dread creeping in, the fear that had nothing to do with the mecha and everything to do with his secret. What if the System malfunctioned? What if it drew unwanted attention? What if he awakened a weak Frame, and his System couldn't compensate quickly enough?
"Quiet!" The Proctor's voice, amplified by his own heavy, bronze-plated Mecha – the Sentinel – boomed through the chamber, silencing the nervous chatter. The Sentinel was an imposing figure, a walking tank bristling with cannons and sensors. It represented everything Kaelen both admired and feared about the Dominion.
"You are the future of the Dominion," the Proctor declared, his voice echoing off the metal walls. "Today, you will be judged by the Iron Cradle itself. Step forward and touch the Pillar. Let it know your worth."
One by one, the teenagers stepped forward, their hands trembling as they placed them on the chilled metal pillar. A brilliant flash of light – green, blue, silver – would erupt, manifesting a mech of various sizes and power levels. The stronger the light, the more powerful the Frame.
A boy with nervous, sweating hands touched the metal. FLASH! A nimble, five-foot-tall scouting unit, painted silver. A strong manifestation. The boy gasped in tearful relief, his face lighting up with pride.
Another teenager stepped forward. FLASH! A bulky, bronze-plated assault unit. Another success.
The tension in the chamber was palpable, a suffocating blanket of hope and fear. Kaelen's heart pounded against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence. He was next.
He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. This was it. The moment of truth. He stepped up to the pillar, his hand outstretched.
He didn't need the flash of light. He just needed the System to confirm. He pressed his palm against the cold metal.
[ALERT: CONFLICT DETECTED. PERSONAL DATA OVERWRITE PENDING.]
[AWAKENING FRAME: Unnamed Unit (Tier 1, Common)]
[SYSTEM INTERFERENCE: Initiate data fusion? Y/N]
Kaelen mentally screamed the only answer possible. Yes!
[FUSION INITIATED. UNNAMED UNIT DATA INJECTED INTO HOST INVENTORY.]
[MECHA AWAKENING COMPLETE. BASE FRAME MODEL: IRON CRADLE. TIER 0.01 (UNIQUE).]
There was a light, of course, but it was nothing like the others. It was a faint, bruised purple, small and sputtering, like a dying pilot light. It flickered and died, leaving a lingering smell of ozone in the air.
And then, there was the mecha.
It wasn't silver or bronze or a scouting unit. It wasn't sleek or powerful or intimidating.
It was a mess.
It stood maybe four feet tall, a pathetic, asymmetrical collection of rusted plates and mismatched limbs that looked like it had been salvaged from a scrap heap. One arm was noticeably shorter than the other. A single, oversized shoulder pauldron, dented and blackened, dominated its silhouette. It rattled and wheezed, and a faint plume of black smoke drifted from its single exhaust port.
A collective snicker rippled through the chamber. The Sentinel Proctor sighed, a deep, metal-on-metal groan that seemed to express his utter disappointment. "Tier one, Common… and a poorly manifested one at that. Kaelen, is it? You are assigned to Sector 7 maintenance, boy. Get to work."
Sector 7. The fringe zone. Monster-infested and forgotten. The dumping ground for failures.
Kaelen stared at the pathetic, rattling husk of metal. He could feel the connection – the Frame was utterly, embarrassingly weak. But he could also see the System's unique interface hovering over the cockpit, a constant reminder of his secret power:
[IRON CRADLE (Unique)]
DURABILITY: 15/15
POWER CORE: 5/10 (DRAINED)
UPGRADE SLOTS: 5 (OPEN)
It's a blank slate, Kaelen thought, a cold, focused joy washing over the initial shame. A Tier 0.01 Unique. And with my System, Tier 0.01 won't last the week.
He had a purpose, a system, and a piece of junk mecha. It was time to start leveling up.