MMPS Ch. 26

Chapter 26: The Exam Begins

Zhao Ran replayed the voice message twice, his brows slightly furrowed. Where did Yu An get this unshakable confidence from? Had he not noticed the skills of the other interns yet?

Before Zhao Ran could reply, another message popped up.

Yu An: What rank do you want me to get?

He blinked, caught off guard. Letting out a faint laugh, Zhao Ran responded casually: “Well, of course, I’d want you to come in first…” It wasn’t that he didn’t want Yu An to succeed—it was just that these things weren’t a matter of wanting. Still, the boy’s confidence wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, and Zhao Ran didn’t have the heart to dampen his spirits.

Yu An: That’ll be tricky. Let’s talk about rewards.

It was as if Zhao Ran were bargaining with a child before finals. Amused, he humored him: 

Zhao Ran: Alright, what do you want?

The answer came swiftly. One word. One promise.
“You.”

Zhao Ran’s chest tightened, his thoughts abruptly cut off by two sharp knocks on his office door. The door creaked open, and Xiao Qi walked in, arms full of documents. He paused, noticing the faint curve of his team leader’s lips as Zhao Ran stared at his phone.

Recently, Zhao Ran had been in an unusually good mood. It had been a while since anyone had seen him burning the midnight oil in the office, stewing over work.

“Team Leader, the big boss wants you in the conference room.” Xiao Qi busied himself with tidying Zhao Ran’s perpetually cluttered desk. Just as he set a folder straight, a pair of severed hands leapt from his shoulder. One wore a pair of tiny black sunglasses, the other silver-and-black punk rings. They landed clumsily on the desk, curling their fingers with what could only be described as guilt.

The sight of them instantly soured Zhao Ran’s expression. He leaned back in his chair and swiveled with a frosty laugh: “So, you two still know how to come back, huh? Grown bold, have we?”

Xiao Qi lowered his head, smoothing out the stack of documents. “They stowed away in Yu An’s backpack. They couldn’t get past the security check at the exam venue, or they wouldn’t have come back at all. They got caught alongside three firearms.”

“Firearms?” Zhao Ran’s voice was sharp.

“This morning, there was trouble in the southern district. Some gang from the Car Syndicate was caught trying to smuggle soil from an area where experimental waste had been dumped. Our patrol team intercepted them, and it turned into a standoff—some of them were armed. Yu An was there.”

The Car Syndicate. A notorious underground organization in Hongli City, known for taking any job too risky for regular courier services. They were infamous for their boldness, their motto a brazen boast: Pay enough, and they’d deliver the Statue of Liberty to your doorstep overnight.

“Was he hurt?” Zhao Ran asked immediately.

“No. He… uh, confiscated their guns and bullets, stuffed them all in his bag, and ran off. The gang leader hasn’t responded yet.”

“Sounds like a lackey taking on private jobs without permission.” Zhao Ran muttered. “I’ll handle it later. For now, I need to see what the big boss wants.”

Adjusting his tie, Zhao Ran stood. The two hands scrambled to follow him. One climbed up his leg, sluggish and dejected, while the other wiped imaginary tears with its thumb as it trailed after him. By the time Zhao Ran reached the conference room, the hands had vanished into his pale hair, blending with the strands.

The conference room was a portrait of wealth and power, its grand design both imposing and suffocating. Plush leather sofas lined the space, paired with trays of champagne, coffee, and artfully arranged fruit platters. Curved screens surrounded the room, ready to display anything deemed important by those who ruled from the shadows.

Zhao Ran arrived last, surprised to see the room packed. Almost every high-ranking leader of the Underground Metro was present, their laughter and idle chatter filling the air. He hesitated in the doorway, a sinking feeling stirring in his chest.

“Ah, there you are,” the boss greeted, his voice warm but laced with authority. Dressed in his signature vintage long robe, he had added a modern touch today: gold-rimmed glasses with delicate chains. He clapped Zhao Ran on the back. “It’s been ages since the company held a proper annual party. We’re using this intern evaluation as an excuse to have a little fun.”

Zhao Ran barely had time to process the statement before a man sitting on a nearby sofa turned toward him. Dark-skinned, broad-shouldered, and radiating a rugged confidence, the man smirked at Zhao Ran, his glass of wine tilted casually in his hand. His badge, denoting him as the leader of the Metro’s Rapid Response Unit, gleamed under the light: Duan Ke.

Zhao Ran tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Well, well, I hear you’ve got a genius technician under your wing,” Team Leader Duan taunted, his short goatee shifting as he grinned. “With your level of education, can you even communicate with him?”

“Hardly.” Zhao Ran replied coldly, leaning against the sofa’s armrest. He picked up a glass of juice from a tray. “Not like talking to you is much of a challenge, Duan-ge”

“The technicians have it easy, don’t they? Unlike us, who’re out there in the wind and rain, living on the edge,” Team Leader Duan, the mock in his tone for techies evident. “We’re all in the same game, yet the technicians just sit back and make money without any risk. The Rapid Response Unit, on the other hand, handles citizens’ emergency calls to clear illusion chambers—our fieldwork casualties are off the charts.”

“Not everyone is as lucky as you, Team Leader Duan. You go on a field mission to a crematorium and somehow come back with an intern.” Zhao Ran remarked, half-joking.

Duan Ke took a sip of his drink, satisfaction written all over his face. “Hmph… That kid looked pitiful. I couldn’t just leave him there.”

“Pull a few more strings.” Zhao Ran said, patting his shoulder. “You even helped him out when the Eagle Bureau had him locked up as an arsonist.”

Duan Ke’s smug expression faltered, darkening.

The two had a long-standing rivalry, fueled by their overlapping responsibilities within the organization. Though they cooperated during external missions, back at the office, they clashed constantly. The big boss often sent one of them away on assignments just to keep the peace.

“Enough bickering, you two.” The banter was interrupted by a woman lounging nearby, her thick braided hair draped over the armrest of her chair. She toyed with an emery board, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “If I were you, I’d swing by the medical team now and give them a heads-up. Wouldn’t want your precious intern ending up maimed—or worse. Not our problem if something happens. Don’t come crying to us then.”

This was Yuan Xiaoying, leader of the City Patrol and resident agent of chaos. If there was trouble brewing, she was the spark. Her reputation as a matchmaker of mayhem was well-earned, often leaving others to clean up the mess her sharp tongue created.

The boss, meanwhile, had seated himself comfortably, fanning himself with an antique folding fan. “I’ve made a decision.” he announced. His tone was nonchalant, but it carried the weight of finality. “This time, the intern evaluations won’t follow the old formula. I’ve combined the written exam with the practical test. The moment they finish their papers, they’ll step straight into the survival challenge.”

The room buzzed with murmurs. Leaders who didn’t oversee interns sipped their drinks, amused and detached, while those responsible for the evaluations looked visibly unsettled.

“Great idea.” Zhao Ran said through gritted teeth, his forced smile barely holding. “Do the interns know?”

“They’ll find out soon enough,” the boss replied, his fingers steepled as though in prayer. “It’s important they get a taste of our corporate culture early on. After all, you never know which will come first—tomorrow or disaster.”

The moment the surrounding screens flickered to life, the conference hall transformed. Each intern’s every movement was projected in 360 degrees, their actions scrutinized from every angle. Added to this were mobile cameras, poised to zoom in on any candidate whose performance demanded special attention.

The written exam was already underway. Each contestant was confined to a small, windowless room, with two doors: one on the right to enter the test, and one on the left for their departure once finished. There were no distractions—just the cold, sterile environment of the exam room.

All eyes, however, were not on the walls around them but on the massive screens that dominated the hall, feeding every detail into the gathered audience.

The three team leaders, each harboring their own silent rivalry, began scanning the rooms for their designated interns.

Midway through his exam, Huo Yangui sneezed, and in that instant, half of his paper was set alight by a stray spark.

“…”

Team Leader Duan, visibly unruffled, ran a hand through his hair, thoughtfully rubbing his chin before turning away, as if to dismiss the chaos.

“It’s just a written test; it shouldn’t account for too many points.” Team Leader Yuan said lightly, applying lipstick in front of a small mirror, though her gaze kept sneaking towards Ni Lan’s camera.

Ni Lan, her legs elegantly crossed, her heel dangling precariously from her toes, plucked one of her dice-shaped earrings. She held it up to the light for a moment, then dropped it into her palm and gave it a shake. With a nonchalant flick, she tossed it onto her paper, where it landed on three. She quickly filled in her answer, marking a “C.”

“That’s a fill-in-the-blank question,” Team Leader Yuan muttered, her lipstick smearing across her face as her attention remained fixed on Ni Lan.

Zhao Ran, leaning casually against his desk, couldn’t suppress the laugh creeping at the corners of his mouth. He fought it, but it was no use—his outburst earned him a few withering glares from the other two leaders.

But he knew better than to care about such things. The written test had always been the domain of the technicians, a chance for them to pad their final scores, ensuring they didn’t stand out too much. What mattered now was Yu An—if Yu An could manage to score high enough, he might just be able to tilt the balance in his favor.

Taking a slow sip of juice, Zhao Ran’s gaze rested on the large screen. Yu An sat calmly before his exam paper, the carbon pen spinning effortlessly between his fingers.

The multiple-choice and true/false questions barely required a second glance. The short-answer sections—simple, innocuous, almost laughable. A few minor programming tasks, vague questions that could be answered without breaking a sweat. The test posed little challenge.

“Describe the growth stages of an Aberration.“

Yu An spun his carbon pen twice, the rhythmic motion almost hypnotic, before he began writing with a fluid grace that suggested he was merely passing the time.

“Infancy, Growth, Cocooning, and Emergence. These stages mirror the butterfly’s own: egg, larva, pupa, adult. The Aberration’s growth follows this inevitable path. During the cocooning stage, the deformity retreats to a secluded place, becoming violent, losing its awareness and sanity. If left undisturbed, it will successfully emergence. After emergence, its power increases exponentially, but it will perish within six hours.”

It was the standard, textbook answer, but something about it never sat right with Yu An. The metamorphosis seemed like nothing more than a desperate, self-destructive act—an explosion of energy in a moment of peril. But what if someone were to disturb it? What if the process were interrupted? That thought gnawed at him, though he had no answers.

Finishing the exam early, Yu An leaned back in his chair, letting his mind wander. Half an hour remained before the test ended. His fingers drummed against the desk absently, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

The interviewer’s photos resurfaced in his mind—ten interns in total. One of them, a plant from a rival company, was there to be neutralized during the skill test. The goal was to remove this threat quietly, without drawing attention.

But Yu An had no intention of taking immediate action. The target moved among the candidates, and taking out a few others might be a more profitable use of his time. To blend in, he would need to keep his profile low. Fewer marks, less conspicuous behavior. Eliminate a couple of interns to reduce the competition, then vanish into the background.

Bored, he grabbed his shoulder bag, tossed his exam paper against the door: “I’m done.”

A bodyguard in black opened the door, took the paper from his hand, and gestured toward the left door.

Yu An hesitated for a moment but, sensing no reason to protest, followed the silent instructions.

As he stepped through the left door, he was greeted by an underground passage. The sign ahead read: “Skill Test.”

“Skill test…? Wasn’t that scheduled for tomorrow?” Yu An’s brow furrowed slightly, a chill crawling up his spine.

Something was off.

His pace quickened as the pieces began to fall into place. The skill test was tied directly to the written exam, and that meant the candidates who handed in their papers early had a clear advantage—time to stake out other exits and trap their competitors. Those who handed in their papers late? They would be at a severe disadvantage.

He had wasted time, lost in his thoughts. But now, with every second counting, he could only rush forward, his body surging with renewed urgency. He pulled a bat from his bag, gripping it tightly as he sprinted toward the tunnel’s end.

The security check at the entrance had only removed his gun—anything else, any weapon, had been allowed through. This wasn’t just a test of knowledge; it was a test of survival. And if he was going to make it through, he had to be prepared for anything.

The rules were simple: all ten candidates would enter the same space, fighting until only one remained. Each exam room served as a “safe house,” a temporary refuge. But entering someone else’s safe house meant elimination.

The technicians had been given a bit of an edge—damaged elimination pits dotted the arena. Candidates would need to repair circuits and perform simple tasks, but fall into a pit, and they were out.

Yu An’s heart was steady. A technician who didn’t flinch under pressure could thrive in this environment, but only if they remained focused.

Of the ten interns, three were technicians, and seven were investigators. 

Looking at the exam questions, it was clear that the written test leaned heavily towards the realm of technicians. For the investigators, most of the questions were baffling, and they likely wouldn’t spend the entire time limit before turning in blank sheets. Ultimately, it was mostly the technicians who would be submitting their answers.

He would have to move carefully, with precision. Gripping his bat tightly, Yu An set off toward the other exam rooms, preparing for whatever lay ahead.