"Alpha and Beta Squads do not exist to elevate the few.

They exist to elevate the many.

Competition is not a threat to unity—it is its foundation." — Fleet Admiral Kaelin Tovarch, Founder of the Recruit Challenge Protocols

The Challenge System: Rivalry as Progress

The UHF Challenge System was never designed to reward ego, but to refine excellence.

On every Recruit vessel across the Galactic Bubble, the names Alpha and Beta Squad carry weight—and with it, responsibility. These Squads are not just mere designations; they are aspirational symbols, pillars meant to spur the entire Recruit body forward, with their very existence.

Alpha Squad, in particular, is held in the highest of regards.

Its members receive near-unrestricted access to the ship's AI, enhanced training environments, exclusive simulations, and personal quarters that far outclass the standard Marine dormitories. Beta, while slightly less privileged, still enjoys elevated access, better resources, and a level of autonomy unmatched by the general Recruit population.

The driving force behind this structure is not favoritism, but friction.

Friction that forges a need for improvement.

The Challenge System encourages—and demands—open competition.

At its heart, the system embodies the belief that competition—when structured, fair, and purpose-driven—creates this very excellence we strive for as a Faction.

At the heart of every Challenge, however, lies a simple truth: You don't challenge a person. You challenge a role.

Roles are functional positions within the Squad framework, each with clearly defined criteria. The system avoids personality-based confrontations by requiring Recruits to challenge what the role requires, not what the current holder happens to be good at.

It's not about beating someone in a straight-up fight—though combat prowess often plays a part—it's about proving you can fulfill the functions the Squad needs.

The Challenge Committee—typically composed of shipboard Command, AI analysts, and independent adjudicators—reviews each request and oversees every match.

The more complete your demonstration of a role's core responsibilities, the more likely you are to win.

Take, for example, the Offensive Heavy role—a cornerstone of any frontline-focused squad. The mandatory sub-roles for an Offensive Heavy are clear:

Durability: The capacity to take sustained punishment without immediate collapse. Focus Target: The ability to draw enemy aggression away from more vulnerable squadmates. Heavy Damage Potential: The damage output necessary to punish any lapse in the previously mentioned enemy focus.

A challenger must convincingly demonstrate their ability to fulfill all mandatory sub-roles in controlled simulations, squad evaluations, and assessment scenarios.

However, there are also optional sub-roles, which, while not strictly required for the squad to remain "functionally complete," are factored in as point bonuses during evaluation:

Suppression Capabilities – Ability to deny movement or lock down key areas. Breakthrough Power – Tools or tactics designed to crack entrenched enemy positions. Melee Prowess – Specialized skill in close-quarters dominance. Self-Recovery – On-the-fly healing or damage mitigation without Squad Medic support.

The Challenge Committee scores each challenge based on consistency, role coverage, tactical synergy with the rest of the Squad, and psychological fitness.

Rarely are challenges about pure strength. They are about overall function.

The ultimate aim is not humiliation or chaos—but forward motion.

Even unsuccessful challenges often end in recalibrated respect, increased personal growth, and clearer Squad cohesion. Every battle, every evaluation, every rising star shapes not only their path—but the paths of all those around them as well.

As the doctrine states:

"To challenge a name is petty. To challenge a role is purpose."

"Alpha is not a reward. It's a burden. You climb into the crucible, and if you burn brighter than all the others, you stay. If not—you melt. Simple as that." – Anonymous Alpha Squad veteran, Post-Challenge debrief, PFC 722

[Excerpt from "Excellence Through Design: The Philosophy of the Challenge System", UHF Recruit Training Codex, PFC 724]

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Waking up in her room aboard the Sovereign had become second nature to Thea by now.

The sterile lighting, the subtle hum of machinery in the walls, the familiar weight of the ship pressing gently through the floor—it had all settled into her routine.

But this morning was different. Today wasn't just another recovery day.

The break following the Assessment was officially over.

Lectures and classes were starting up again, kicking off with the much-anticipated UHF 101 session—mandatory for all new Recruits.

After that, the real highlight of the day would begin: The initial opening of the Digital Missions. Finally, she'd be able to jump back into combat sims, rack up some score, and maybe even test out some of the ideas she had been toying with over the past few days.

Despite the anticipation for that, however, the ending of the break was still something that made Thea a bit mournful that day.

'Why do breaks always feel like they pass in a heartbeat…?' was the first thought to float through her mind as she groggily rolled out of bed and headed for the shower.

Life inside the Sovereign's DDS had been pretty damn good this past week.

With most of her time spent recovering from the grueling Assessment, she'd had the rare luxury of doing—well, basically nothing.

For probably the first time in more than two years.

Nothing except hanging out with Alpha Squad—especially Karania—and spending her way through what felt like a small fortune in Credits. The shopping spree, the weapons, the schematics... it had all scratched an itch she hadn't been able to ever truly scratch back on Lumiosia.

Winning tournaments in the Golden Age Arcade had been great, sure, but they didn't exactly pay in cutting-edge tech, or enough Credits to acquire them. And even if they had, Lumiosia never had much of that to begin with for her to buy, even if she did somehow end up with the Credits. The few pieces of new-tech she'd ever gotten her hands on had mostly come from James, passed along through a quiet connection here or there.

But two days ago, all of that had changed.

That shopping trip—where she'd unexpectedly run into a kindred tech-spirit in the form of Peria, and walked out with a haul of weapons and research materials worthy of a small militia—had launched her into a state of tech-fueled bliss.

'So many technical documents to read through…!' That thought alone had been excitedly looping in the back of her head ever since.

Stepping out of the shower, still drying her hair, she made her way to the wardrobe—then paused. A familiar hesitation curled in her chest as she reached toward the handle.

Ever since the shopping trip with Karania, the wardrobe had become a bit... intimidating.

It wasn't the storage itself, of course, but what was inside it now.

The moment she was going to open it, she'd be greeted by an explosion of new outfits. It was a whole mess of unfamiliar fabrics, colors, and cuts—most of which she had no idea how to properly wear, much less put on in the first place.

Layers, straps, weird seams in weird places… nothing made any sense at all.

Karania had been absolutely thorough in her selections.

While Thea had successfully dodged the dress trap—thanks to borrowing a page from Corvus' and the UHF's playbook and spinning a slight half-truth about how dresses reminded her of the pleasure districts in the Undercity, where delicate fabrics would just get shredded while moving through broken-down ruins and rusted stairwells—that hadn't saved her from the rest of Kara's full-blown fashion campaign.

She'd said it with just enough weight to draw sympathy, and Karania had backed off after that.

She'd won the dress battle, but not the wardrobe war.

But the real reason?

Well, that was a little more complicated.

Thea had always kind of… wanted to try a dress.

Back during the Luminarus Festival that James had taken her to, she remembered seeing girls in flowing silks, laughing as lights shimmered off their clothes. The glowing fabrics, the way the lights played off them—it had left an undeniable impression. She and James had watched from a distance one year—just long enough for the envy to sink in and settle deep.

But that particular truth felt way too dangerous to hand over to Karania.

Not yet. Not without thorough preparation.

'If I ever admit to that,' she thought, slowly cracking open the wardrobe like it might bite her, 'I'm doing research first. I need to know how dresses even work.'

The concept still baffled her to her core.

'How do you jump through a broken window or climb a pipe with a whole sheet of fabric flapping around your legs? Isn't it just begging to get caught on something?'

The whole thing just seemed really impractical. She needed to be able to move, not just twirl.

Maybe one day she'd figure it out.

But for the foreseeable future… pants would do just fine…

Mid breakfast-pancake bite, Thea felt an ominous shiver run through her spine when Karania's footsteps stopped earlier than usual, still several steps away from the dining table.

'Oh no,' was all Thea could think before Karania's words drifted over.

"Excuse me, Miss McKay?" came her best friend's voice from behind, a dangerous edge of forced politeness slipping into her tone.

Thea pretended not to hear it. If she stayed still enough, maybe Kara would think she was part of the furniture.

Across the table, Corvus raised an eyebrow. Desmond didn't bother hiding his smirk. This wasn't the first time they'd witnessed this particular showdown.

"Hellooo? Kara to Thea? You in there?" Karania continued sweetly, her voice closer now, dripping with the kind of sugary menace reserved exclusively for fashion emergencies.

Thea slowly turned her head with a big, forced smile. "Ahh! Kara! What a surprise. Good morning! You're looking great today, by the way."

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Karania smiled right back—sharklike. "And I'd love to say the same, but please tell me: What, and I mean this with all the love and kindness in my heart, in the fuck are you wearing? Sure, the UHF 101 lecture primer said you could wear anything you want, but that?"

Her open-handed gesture somehow encompassed Thea's entire existence.

The snort from Desmond turned into full-blown chuckling.

Thea did her best to ignore it.

This was a high-stakes conversation. Distractions meant certain death.

"Well... I thought it's the first day back at lectures, so I should be comfortable, right?" Thea tried to reason meekly. "So… I grabbed the pullover."

She knew immediately that was the wrong answer.

Karania's eyes narrowed, a look of utter disappointment spreading across her face.

It wasn't that Thea didn't understand Kara's desire for her to develop an actual fashion sense—it was just that she genuinely had no idea how or where to start.

Karania had been tutoring her on things, slowly but surely, but she was nowhere near proficient enough yet to try it out in the real world.

Rather than risk embarrassment by trying something new and messing it up horribly, she'd retreated to the safety of the familiar old pullover.

Karania let out a heavy, dramatic sigh, shaking her head slowly. "You spent more than eight hundred Credits—eight hundred—on clothes, and yet, somehow, you turn around and wear the same thing every single day. Where, exactly, did I go wrong with you…?"

From across the table came the sound of sudden choking and sputtering as Desmond, mid-drink, started coughing violently. Corvus leaned forward quickly, pounding gently but firmly on Desmond's back to help clear his airways.

"What—?!" Desmond gasped between coughs, eyes wide with disbelief, "Eight… hundred Credits?! On clothes?!"

"Actually, I'd really like to hear more about this too," Corvus added with a wry grin, his eyebrows practically climbing into his hairline.

With a sigh, Thea slowly turned back to face Karania.

She'd spun around to make sure Desmond wasn't dying, only to now find her best friend staring at her with a look that somehow blended smug amusement, relentless patience, and quiet, wounded indignation—all rolled into one annoyingly expressive face.

Clearly, she was still waiting for Thea's explanation.

"Well, like I said… I just wanted to be comfortable for the first day back around the rest of the Recruits," Thea said, doing her best to sound confident. "And the pullover's the most comfortable thing I own. Everything else is… just different."

She stood her ground, shoulders squared.

She had lost this exact battle yesterday—spectacularly so.

That loss had resulted in a two-hour long crash course on "Intro to Looking Presentable," featuring far too many outfit changes and Kara lecturing her about silhouettes, layering, and how 'vibes' were apparently a thing that mattered.

Most of those outfits had been sorted into categories she barely understood—stuff for shopping trips, just hanging out, or 'relaxed high-fashion,' whatever that meant.

And none of them, she was certain, were suited for today.

Today was serious.

Today was lectures and Digital Missions and getting her score back on the board.

She needed to be sharp, focused, and comfortable.

So, no. Not again.

She was absolutely not budging on this one…

Sitting down in the lecture hall for the start of UHF 101, Thea tugged absently at the hem of her beige blouse.

She and Kara had been assigned to the same session—something Thea was half-convinced wasn't entirely pure chance, though she had zero proof and no idea how she'd even begin to check up on it.

Still, she appreciated it.

"Stop fiddling with it, Thea. No wonder you're never comfortable if you keep drawing attention to it," Karania said, shooting her a look from the seat beside her.

Thea grumbled under her breath and forced her hands to stay still, but it wasn't easy.

Her arms felt weirdly exposed, the sleeves stopping far too early for her liking, and the lower neckline wasn't helping either—the slight chill on her collarbones was just noticeable enough to keep reminding her that, yes, she was not wearing her trusty pullover today.

That said… it wasn't all terrible.

'Okay, the fabric is really soft,' she admitted, glancing down for a second. 'And the new pants are probably the best-fitting thing I've ever worn. Kara actually nailed that part. I'll give her that much. Still not sold on the blouse, though…'

Watching the other Recruits trickle into the lecture hall, Thea found herself focused on the clothes they were wearing. It wasn't like she cared, really—fashion still felt like a side quest she'd never picked up—but Kara had told her it helped to build a mental library.

Something about "outfit synergy" or "understanding silhouettes," whatever that meant.

Still, if she had to suffer through this whole wardrobe thing as a result of Karania's weird obsession with it, she was going to at least try to do it right.

Most of the guys wore simple t-shirts, jackets, or lightweight utility gear—practical stuff that leaned toward "casual" or "training casual," depending on how recently they'd been on a run.

A few of them had clearly tried a little harder, though, with layered outfits and some neat patterns Thea vaguely recognized as "trendy" from last night's GalNet article reading on the topic.

The girls were a more varied bunch.

She spotted a handful who clearly fit into Kara's idea of "relaxed high-fashion"—flowy cuts, expensive-looking fabrics, and accessories that looked like they came with instructions.

Most, though, landed somewhere in the "shopping casual" tier, with soft sweaters, smart boots, and jackets tied around the waist in that way that said, "yes, this outfit was intentional."

Thea narrowed her eyes, trying to categorize everyone into the little mental boxes she'd thrown together after yesterday's two-hour fashion ambush with Karania.

'Okay… casual, shopping casual, relaxed high-fash—what even is that guy wearing? Is that some kind of… silk? Absolutely no shot that's combat-rated…'

Then, suddenly, a thought slammed into her—sneaking in through the side door of her brain—triggered by a half-buried memory from her time back in the Golden Arcade.

She'd been sitting there for days-on-end, many times, sifting through a ridiculous number of armor pieces she'd unlocked through blood, sweat, and overly difficult boss fights.

Tweaking stats, rotating gear, trying on different cosmetic shaders and applying hard-earned dyes until she landed on the perfect combo: Something that looked insanely cool but still somehow hit all her defensive requirements to let her tank a hit or two when needed.

Her fingers froze mid-fidget on the edge of her blouse.

'Wait…! This… this is basically just Fashion-Hunting! Just like back then…! You pick pieces that fit together and look cool, but still fit with the overall theme of what you're going for and provide the amount of flexibility you require…!'

Her eyes slowly widened as the horrifying truth clicked into place.

'Fashion… is just real life transmogging?!'

She turned in her seat to stare at Karania with the kind of betrayed expression usually reserved for plot-twist betrayals in high-stakes dramas.

'People were just… Out here transmog flexing with their clothes this whole time… and I've been getting absolutely owned without even realizing it?!'

"You should've told me sooner, Kara! Fuck!" she blurted, voice way too loud for the mostly quiet lecture hall, drawing eyes from a lot of the Recruit body inside the room.

Karania jumped. "Wha—what?! Told you what? What happened?!"

Her eyes darted around, like she expected someone to have died behind her.

Thea just stared at her, utterly betrayed. "You knew. You knew this was a thing…!"

"I... I don't… What are you talking about, Thea? What happened?" Karania asked, confusion and concern flashing across her face like she genuinely expected some sort of catastrophe had just taken place.

"You're coming to my room later tonight," Thea declared, voice low but intense, "and you're giving me a full rundown of every single piece of clothing I own. No skipping, no brushing past stuff. I need the full, detailed breakdown. I can't believe you let me walk around like I did without informing me I was getting absolutely mogged out here the entire time!"

Karania's brows furrowed, eyes narrowing in sheer confusion before widening again in some kind of helpless cycle. "Ehh… Sure. Yeah, we can do that…?" she offered, slowly nodding along like she wasn't entirely sure whether Thea was joking or not.

But Thea wasn't joking.

She gave a firm nod back, like they had just signed a blood contract, and turned her attention back to the incoming Recruits. A bunch of them were glancing her way now, probably confused about the outburst—but she didn't care.

That wasn't important anymore.

Her mind was too busy scanning clothes, silhouettes, and color coordination combos like her life depended on it.

'Just you wait, fellow hunters… I'll show you what a true fashion hunter looks like in the flesh...'

One of the last people to enter the room caught Thea's attention immediately—someone she actually recognized.

'Tiberius Soren… That heavy sniper guy from the Awards,' she remembered, glancing him over from top to bottom. His outfit was purely practical and entirely black—exactly the kind of thing she'd have worn herself just yesterday.

A smug little smile tugged at her lips, 'He doesn't even realize he's getting absolutely owned right now, does he…?'

Feeling a newfound sense of confidence, she straightened herself up in her seat, letting the blouse fall more naturally around her shoulders.

She was surprised to find that simply adjusting her posture like that, abruptly made the lightweight fabric feel softer and more comfortable, flowing gently along the curves of her body instead of clinging to them awkwardly like they had before.

Thea still didn't fully understand how that worked, but it was undeniable.

As much as she hated to admit it, she was also beginning to grasp why Kara had insisted on pairing this blouse with these particular pants.

They weren't just random picks—they were both part of a full set.

The cut allowed for decent maneuverability, the materials complemented each other, and the colors balanced out in a way that felt… intentional.

Understated, sure, but purposeful.

Clean lines, soft contrast, and nothing that screamed for attention.

'It's a smart set,' she admitted, almost reluctantly. 'Quiet style points. Solid maneuverability. Nothing too flashy—but just enough contrast to count as actual fashion hunting. Definitely counts as a solid-ass set for showing up for casual runs.'

Finally, though, the waiting came to an end a few minutes later as the side door next to the podium hissed open—and in walked the professor for today's lecture.

Thea didn't recognize him, but the moment he stepped into the room, her brain hit pause.

The man was tall, somewhere in his mid-thirties maybe, with sharp features softened slightly by the light stubble along his jawline.

His hair was deep brown, short at the sides and styled back with just enough messy volume on top to look artfully undone—intentionally unkempt, in that maddening way that probably took a good twenty minutes of effort every time you tried to leave your home.

But it was his outfit that hit hardest by far, Thea now began to understand.

Her high levels of Perception were only intensifying the level of scrutiny she could manage to muster at the professor's outfit, and the details… They were impeccable.

He wore a deep navy long coat, left open to reveal a tailored black turtleneck underneath, paired with subtly textured charcoal slacks.

The coat had a muted trim along the inside edges—barely noticeable unless you were looking. The sleeves were rolled back just enough to show off a high-end, just somehow antique-looking watch and a few sleek bands on one wrist, without it seeming flashy.

Everything about him was thoroughly polished, yet utterly relaxed.

Nothing looked forced, nothing looked loud.

It was confident and effortless at the same time.

Annoyingly perfect in a way that Thea couldn't even properly place.

Thea stared for several seconds too long.

'He knew exactly what he was doing when he told us to come in casual clothes,' she thought, narrowing her eyes slightly in suspicion. 'What even is that—relaxed high-fashion academic? Battle-professor chic? How the hell do you even categorize that…?'

She wasn't sure whether she respected him or wanted to fight him, but either way, he had her full attention now.

The professor reached the center of the podium with a few unhurried steps, let his gaze drift calmly across the room, and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Morning, Recruits," he said, voice smooth and calm, like he had all the time in the galaxy and no intention of wasting any of it. "My name's Professor Cael Harrow. I'll be running your UHF 101 lecture today and the follow-ups for the rest of the year—assuming none of you run screaming to Major Quinn or Captain Cross by the end of the first ten minutes."

There was the faintest curve of a smirk on his lips as a few chuckles scattered through the hall.

He gave the room a small nod, then continued. "Now, normally, this lecture would've happened before the Assessment. You know—when you were still confused, utterly terrified, and blissfully unaware of how deep in the void you were all about to get tossed."

His eyes scanned the room again, this time with a little more sharpness behind the casual tone. "Unfortunately, the Sovereign's timetable for this cycle was… Let's just say compressed. And apparently no one listens to me about scheduling. Figures, right?"

He shrugged one shoulder in a deliberately lazy way, the kind of movement that made it clear he wasn't apologizing. "Point is, I think pushing this lecture until after the Assessment was a mistake. But, well—'nother battle for another day, right?"

He stepped forward, resting one hand on the edge of the podium.

"Let's get a few things outta the way first: This class is not about the history of the UHF. I'm not here to give you a sermon about its founding principles, and I'm definitely not going to bore you with any tenets unless they're directly relevant to the Allbright System. UHF 101 is not philosophy. It's practical. It's about how the UHF interfaces with the Allbright System. How policy meets practice. How Marines like you get built, managed, evaluated—and sometimes thrown under a bus made of data, if it becomes necessary for the Faction to survive."

A few Recruits shifted in their seats.

Thea just tilted her head, intrigued by the brutally blunt openness.

"You're going to hear some things that might not be in the official documentation," Harrow continued. "Because I don't do lectures the same way as most folks around here. Mine are free-form. Guided chaos, if you will. I'll cover what I need to cover, but the shape this takes?"

He tapped a finger lightly against the podium, tap-tap, "It depends on what you ask. So speak up. If you're confused, curious, or just little nosy fuckers—ask. Because if there's one thing I've learned about the UHF, it's this, and that'll be your first thing to note down on those cute data-pads you all brought: The stuff they don't go out of their way to tell you is usually the part that matters most."

He paused, looking around again.

"Oh, and one more thing." His brow lifted slightly, voice dipping into that more relaxed cadence from the start again. "I tend to repeat the word 'right' a lot when I'm warming up a point. Just… something to get used to. Doesn't mean I'm asking for agreement—just means my brain's shifting gears. You'll live."

With that, he cracked his neck once, then leaned back against the edge of the podium, arms crossed.

"So… Let's get started, right? First order of call: The Challenge System. What's it all about, how does it work, why was it such a big deal at the Awards Ceremony…"

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