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[Wolf Lord+ | Draft] Volume 2 - Chapter 42 - UHF 101: Alpha Squad & Classes
🕑 Added 2025-07-25 20:51:33 +0000 UTC---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------- Start of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) -------------------
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Hello everyone, LunaWolve here!
Welcome to the draft release of Volume 2 - Chapter 42 - UHF 101: Alpha Squad & Classes for y'all.
As always, a quick reminder that this chapter is still in the process of being workshopped by me and that this is simply the first-draft.
And also: Please do not read the chapters here on Patreon, but go for the googledoc, .pdf or .epub instead. Patreon butchers all forms of formatting and you're missing out on easier and more enjoyable reading experiences.
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HEAVILY EXPERIMENTAL CHAPTER!
Trying to make the lectures not too dry and boring, so throwing in some humour, timeskips, excerpts, etc.
Let me know how this one feels!
Bit more of a frontal lecture included this time around, but we're back to timeskips and more practical stuff in the next one. Hope this one didn't feel too bad!
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I'm looking forward to hearing your first impressions and opinions on this chapter. \o/
I hope you will enjoy it!
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-------------------- End of Pre-Chapter Author Note (Patreon-only) ------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Here is the link to the chapter:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/142RpM30edGymhhbRZEOUcENtsfUxT4XePazGEbJy_HY/edit?usp=sharing
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Volume 2 - Chapter 42 - UHF 101: Alpha Squad & Classes
[OPINION] “Let Them Choose or Let Them Grow?”
You ever look at the way the UHF treats Class Selection and just think, ‘Really? This again?’
I know I’m not in Research & Doctrine. I don’t have a doctorate in Allbright mechanics.
I didn’t even finish the basic Marine Track, opting into the Civilian sector early after graduation.
But I’ve been watching first-time deployments for fifty-five years now, and I’ve seen far too many green Privates fall flat because they picked their Class way too late—never got a chance to grow into it at all.
The UHF’s standing policy is clear: No Recruit may select a Class until after graduation.
No matter how many Skills you’ve unlocked, how many Abilities you’ve maxed out, how many digital kills you’ve got notched on your rifle—you are locked out.
Why? The official answer’s simple enough. “To ensure optimal selection window, greater access to System knowledge, and maximum Class quality.”
And sure, I won’t argue that it can’t work out that way.
I’ve seen Recruits walk out of their graduation ceremony with freshly unlocked, beautifully synergized, top-end Classes thanks to the several extra months of grinding and unlocks.
You give a kid fifteen extra Accomplishments, a couple of maxed out and finished Ability Alterations, several maxed-out Tier 1 Skill tracks or two, and suddenly they’ve got options the early-pickers can only dream of.
Some of them even unlock never-before-seen Class-Branches or specific Class specializations the System doesn’t seem to offer unless you’ve “proven” you’re good enough for them.
I’ve seen it; seen the theoretical requirements lists that exist among some of the System Researchers. They’re very real.
But the cost? Hoo boy.
You’re locking people at Level 10 for months.
That’s thousands of Contribution Points that just… disappear. No growth.
You get locked out of Class Abilities, too—ones that could be giving you vital bonuses in training or early Digital Missions. Sure, you're still improving your base Attributes at times, and maxing out your other Abilities, but there’s a psychological cliff there.
You start to stagnate, in a way.
That false sense of readiness fades, and you begin to question whether you'll ever be as sharp with your eventual Class as you could’ve been had you picked it months earlier.
Meanwhile, the Stellar Republic and the Celestial Dominion? They let their people grab a Class the moment they meet the prerequisites.
No ceremony, no restrictions—just green lights across the board.
You hit the mark? Boom. Class unlocked.
Class passively levels alongside you as you learn the ropes of the System alongside it.
No time wasted. No wasted CP.
You grow with it, mold to it, make mistakes early while the safety of the DDS environments still covers for you.
Of course, their elite units do flip the script, we have to be clear on this.
They go even harsher than the UHF, in a way—hard-gating entire Class categories behind role assignments, genetics, social rank, and more.
You don’t choose. They assign.
It’s not “Class Selection,” it’s “Class Imposition.”
You’d better hope the officer checking boxes that day actually knows what you’re good at.
Spoiler: They usually don’t.
And so here’s the UHF, caught in between: No early selection, but no forced pick either. Just this long, purgatory-like crawl where you train, grind, earn more advancements, but lose out on Contribution Points throughout the entire time... and wait.
I get it.
I really do.
They want their future Marines to earn their Class, not just stumble into it, to get the best possible Classes out of their investments—maybe even learn something more about the Allbright System in the process.
The more raw potential you show, the more the System rewards you when the lock finally lifts. The philosophy here is clear: Prove yourself, then shape yourself.
But if you ask me? We could stand to meet in the middle.
Let the promising ones defer, sure.
But maybe let the sharp ones, or those without much talent—sorry, everyone, but the truth hurts sometimes!—lock in early if they want to, especially if they’ve hit a wall in their development.
Better to give a Recruit time to train with their tools, than leave them guessing until deployment day.
Because when the safety of the DDS is taken away after graduation and you’re sent planet-side for your first real Battlefield experience, it won’t be nicely worded philosophy that keeps you alive.
It’ll be experience.
And a higher rarity Class you’ve only had for five days won’t save you from a Dominion specialist who’s had their lower rarity one for eight months…
—G.T.
“Not a Professor. Just a guy who’s watched too many die with unlocked potential.”
[Written by: Gavin Tanas, former UHF Auxiliary Quartermaster-Sergeant and lifelong Class theory addict, PFC878]
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Thea was still dealing with the mental aftershocks of being called out mid-lecture by Professor Harrow—something she absolutely hadn’t prepared for—when yet another mind-numbing question echoed across the hall.
“So, uh… if a Battlefield Ace meets an Ace on a Battlefield… what do they call each other?”
She blinked. Once. Then again. Slowly.
Then she turned to Karania beside her and just stared.
Karania let out a long, exhausted sigh, perfectly mirroring the storm of secondhand embarrassment brewing in Thea’s chest.
“Are these people actually serious right now…?” Thea muttered under her breath, dragging a palm down her face in disbelief.
This wasn’t even the first nonsense question. Not by a long shot.
And from the looks of it, the floodgates were only just starting to creak open.
The amount of time already wasted on things Professor Harrow had literally just explained was stacking up by the minute.
“Well…” Karania replied with that signature mix of sarcasm and calm resignation in her tone, “we always have to remember that the average person is, by definition, average. And that means half of them… Are actually worse than that.”
Thea froze.
That idea hit her like a lightning bolt across the frontal cortex.
She’d read tons of GalNet articles back on Lumiosia about general intelligence, emotional intelligence, learning types, cognitive baselines—all of that.
But she’d never actually internalized what “average” really actually meant in practice.
Karania was absolutely right, as always.
If the average Recruit was sitting somewhere in the mental mid-tier... That meant a full half of the room was below that. Possibly way below.
Thea had never thought of herself as particularly smart before.
Especially not in the traditional, academic sense.
Not next to someone like Karania.
But after sitting in this room for thirty minutes and watching her fellow Recruits butcher even the most basic concepts of role classification during the Challenge discussion and simple Ace terminology—that, while slightly confusing, was simple enough to remember with even a modicum of effort—she was starting to reassess her own place in the intellectual food chain.
‘Maybe I’m not actually as stupid as I thought I was…’ she mused, eyebrows rising faintly.
In a sense, the dumb question had done her a favor—it had broken her out of the daze left behind by Harrow suddenly lobbing her into the spotlight earlier. She still wasn’t used to being the center of attention, but she hadn’t exactly hated it either.
As if reading her thoughts—like she always seemed to somehow do—Karania murmured, “Still… it was nice to get that kind of praise from someone like Harrow. I wasn’t expecting to get called out like that in a lecture. Especially not as a potential Battlefield Ace. Medics rarely get deployed as such, from what I’ve gathered.”
“Yeah, same,” Thea nodded, unable to stop a small grin from forming. “Can’t say I hated being lauded as a potential Battlefield Ace of the future. I mean, that’s the dream, right?”
She wouldn’t go as far as saying she liked the attention, but she hadn’t shrunk under it either for once. The pride and fire she’d felt at the Awards Ceremony had stirred again in her chest the moment Harrow’s words had echoed through the room.
‘The way he worded it… He knew exactly how to make that land, without spooking us,’ she thought, glancing at the Professor still pacing near the front. ‘I wonder how much of that wording was pre-planned? How much of a Diplomancer is this guy, really?’
“I’m not sure I’d want to be a Battlefield Ace, really,” Karania’s voice cut gently through Thea’s thoughts. “I mean, yeah, being able to move wherever I’m needed and patch up anyone, anywhere—that’d be amazing. It’d let me reach people who actually need help when they need it. But I don’t think I’d be all that suited for it.”
Thea glanced over, brows raising slightly.
“There’s only so many slots, you know?” Karania continued. “And there are probably plenty of others who could push the front line better than I ever could. People with more offensive power, more… forward momentum in general. Maybe I’d be useful on a defensive deployment. Holding the line, stabilizing the wounded, keeping people on their feet. But being one of the Aces?” She shook her head faintly. “That feels a bit beyond what I specialize in.”
Thea blinked, a little caught off guard.
She hadn’t really expected her offhand comment to get such a thoughtful, honest reply.
But she wasn’t about to let that go unappreciated.
“I think you’re underestimating yourself, Kara,” she said, nudging her with an elbow. “And a bit of what a Battlefield Ace, as a role on a Battlefield, would really entail. You’ve got better tactical instincts than almost anyone on the ship—you even beat Corvus at times! Just because you’re a Medic doesn’t mean you couldn’t use the raw authority that comes with the title. Battlefield Aces don’t have to be frontliners in the first place—that’s where Strategic Battlefield Aces come in like Legate Kuan from the Assessment, right? They ultimately just have to know what they’re doing and act when it matters.”
Karania hummed thoughtfully at that, the kind of hum she always made when she was processing something instead of brushing it off.
So Thea kept going.
“My da—uh, old man—once told me about a Marine like that,” she said, tapping a finger against her leg absently. “He never came right out and said it, but I’m pretty sure the guy was a Battlefield Ace. I wasn’t Integrated at the time, so he kept it vague, so can’t be one-hundred percent on it... But the way he described him... this Marine didn’t have some giant flashy power or anything. Nevertheless, he understood the fight. One op, he apparently took one look at the Battlefield and completely changed how his entire side deployed—just by speaking up and getting people to actually listen, because he was “the guy”, as my old man put it.”
She shrugged lightly. “Wasn’t even an official Strategic Ace. But people respected the sheer fact that he was a Battlefield Ace enough to follow his every word. That’s the kind of power a Battlefield Ace can have, right? It’s not just about strength—it’s about impact, I think.” She looked over and gave Karania a meaningful glance. “And you’d absolutely make a massive impact, Kara. No question. With that big brain of yours, you’d redeploy an entire Battlefield in no time, to best make use of everyone.”
Karania stayed quiet for a moment, just watching Thea with that unreadable look she sometimes got when her thoughts ran too deep to surface right away.
Then, slowly, a grin tugged at her lips.
“How is it that you’re somehow the dumbest person I’ve ever met and one of the smartest?” she asked, tilting her head. “Is that, like… a natural talent? Or did you practice being that fundamentally contradictory over time?”
Thea blinked at her, mouth halfway open, trying—and failing—to come up with any kind of rebuttal. Her brain spun the wheel, looking for something, anything, to throw back, but there was just… nothing.
No counter, no witty comeback, not even a half-decent “screw you.”
She just stared in confusion.
Karania’s grin widened like she could see the gears stalling behind Thea’s eyes, and before long she burst into a laugh, full and bright and completely unapologetic.
“You absolute menace,” Thea muttered, but the corners of her own mouth were already tugging upward in reluctant amusement. “So rude, too! You can’t just call me stupid like that when I try to be supportive!”
“I really can,” Karania said between giggles. “And I will. Forever.”
Eventually, she settled, though the smile never quite left her face.
“Thanks, by the way,” she added, tone softening. “For the story. I hadn’t really thought about the Battlefield Ace thing like that.”
Thea tilted her head, surprised. “Seriously?”
Karania, having missed something that simple? That didn’t sound right at all.
“Yeah,” Karania nodded, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I mean, in my head, I kept thinking of it as being a Medic Battlefield Ace. That was the framework. And in that context, I couldn’t see myself doing enough to really have the impact required for that role.”
She looked thoughtful again, her voice dipping more introspective.
“But the way you described it… It’s not just about being a Medic as a Battlefield Ace. It’s about being a Battlefield Ace with a Medic role. Starting with focus on the impact, not the role I have.” She glanced over. “That’s something you’re really good at, Thea, you know? Twisting things. Flipping them around. Easily finding angles that aren’t directly obvious to the rest of us and then just… Slipping into them like they were made for you.”
That made Thea stop.
“What?” she said, voice a little sharper than intended. “No, I—what are you even talking about? I’m not flexible, Kara. Like at all. I’m barely holding it together half the time. I panic when my schedule gets interrupted even slightly. I need, like, a two-day warning—at least!—just to even think about going somewhere that isn’t inside the Squad dorms.”
Karania chuckled under her breath and leaned forward, bumping her shoulder gently into Thea’s.
“Maybe. But when it counts, you definitely know how to shift. You adapt. You see the shape of what’s needed and somehow become the person that fits it. Just like you did in the Assessment, when we lost Corvus. You didn’t balk at him naming you Squad Lead, you didn’t cry or complain incessantly about it… You just became what you needed to be at the moment, like it was the most natural thing in the universe. I’m kind of envious of that, honestly.”
Thea just blinked at her again, this time more confused than speechless.
Envious? Of her? The Karania Faulkner, of all people?!
That wasn’t just absurd—it felt like the punchline to a joke she hadn’t been let in on. But the seriousness in Karania’s eyes, despite the smile still lingering on her face, told Thea it wasn’t a joke.
Karania was dead serious.
Before Thea could even begin to unpack the emotional hurricane of that statement, Karania abruptly switched tracks like she had flipped a mental lever mid-thought.
“So,” she said casually, “how do you feel about the whole Challenge system now that we’ve actually heard the breakdown?”
Thea blinked, momentarily caught off-guard by the sudden shift in topic.
But she adjusted quickly. She’d been around Kara long enough to know that trying to predict her conversational pacing was a losing game.
“I mean… honestly?” she started, leaning back in her seat a little, “I’m surprised how in-depth it actually is. Like, I figured it was gonna be more like those ladder matches I used to take part in back at the Arcade on Lumiosia. You know—ranked promos, that sort of thing. You challenge someone for their spot, you fight, winner takes the slot. Done.”
She waved a hand vaguely in front of her. “Didn’t matter what character you picked, what style you had, or if your role made any sense in the bigger picture. You just had to win. It was all raw execution and game sense.”
Thea’s brow furrowed slightly as she continued.
“But the UHF clearly isn’t playing by those rules. Roles and sub-roles? Mandatory versus optional qualifications? Not to mention the hoops you have to jump through just to get a Challenge approved in the first place…”
She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “And the format of the Challenge itself? That was a whole other level I didn’t see coming. A duel if the role allows for it—which is basically all of them at Recruits level, apparently?—and that’s just the start, too. Then you run a scenario simulation with your own squad, and another one with theirs. Four total encounters, between both people, and they’re scored across the board. Like—” she looked over at Kara, incredulous, “—that’s a lot.”
Karania nodded, clearly amused by Thea’s reaction, though also engaged in her own thoughts.
“I figured it was just a way to let people climb,” Thea added, quieter now. “But it’s way more… orchestrated. A bit dramatised, in a way? The UHF isn’t just looking for someone who can win—they’re looking for someone who truly fits, while also making a whole spectacle out of it, for everyone else to observe.”
She leaned forward, arms crossed on the desk, her eyes narrowing with thought. “Which means just being better isn’t enough. You have to prove it. In the right ways. To the right people. With the right metrics. All in one.”
“Yeah, it’s a lot,” Karania said, nodding slowly. “I think it’s pretty smart, overall. But it definitely has teeth. Like, I don’t think most people realize just how much pressure this puts on people like us. As in, Alpha and Beta members.”
She paused, tapping her fingers against the desk. “We might be fine, sure—based on our Assessment scores, we’re not likely to get Challenged anytime soon. But for the others?”
Her voice dropped slightly. “They’re going to be constantly looking over their shoulders.”
Thea’s brows drew together, frowning.
“Think about it,” Karania continued, eyes flicking sideways toward her. “No grace period between Challenges. If someone wins? Great. They keep the slot. But they don’t get to rest. They just stay in the hot seat. Lucas, Desmond, Isabella… They’re probably already on someone’s hit list. And even if they fight off the first Challenge, they’ll get another one. Then another. And another. Until they lose, or everyone else runs out of passes and nerve—until the next cycle, of course. At which point it repeats again.”
Thea swallowed, feeling the weight of that land.
She hadn’t really thought about it from that angle—not fully.
And it was true.
Lucas, Desmond, and Isabella were all eligible for Challenges during this cycle—depending on who qualified to issue them. But beyond that… every new Assessment would refresh the whole board.
Every cycle would shift things and renew all the Challenge passes.
And once the public leaderboards went up, everything would escalate.
Thea’s stomach twisted slightly. “It’s gonna get brutal,” she muttered.
Karania nodded grimly. “Yeah. And it won’t take long. Once those boards are up and people can see who’s falling behind in Digital Missions, or who’s coasting instead of grinding… It’s open season. Even a short break could dump someone right into Challenge range. And once you’re there?”
“You don’t get to stop swimming,” Thea said quietly. “Or you drown.”
“Exactly.”
A heavy silence settled between them, the kind that clung to the edges of thought.
Professor Harrow’s voice still carried through the lecture hall, answering questions and clarifying the nuances of the Challenge system, but neither of them were really listening anymore.
Not fully.
Their minds were somewhere else—caught in the weight of everything they’d just laid out.
After a long pause, Thea spoke again, her voice low but steady. “We have to help them.”
Karania turned slightly, eyes meeting hers.
“Help them prep for the Challenges. Make sure they pass—every single one. Keep their scores high during Assessments and Digital Missions. Not that I don’t think they’ll try their best, but… still.” Thea hesitated, fingers curling against her sleeves. “I don’t want any of them to get blindsided. Not if we can do something about it...”
She didn’t know where the feeling came from—this strange protective weight in her chest—but it was real.
Maybe it was because they’d all bled together during the Assessment.
Fought and died together.
Maybe it was because they were Alpha Squad now, and that label came with more than perks and titles. It came with a sort of connection that she couldn’t really place.
Alpha Squad… Was her squad. These were her people.
Even Desmond, who she’d nearly written off completely before the Assessment, had earned back a piece of her trust.
That meant something.
All of it did.
“We’ll figure something out,” Karania said, and she didn’t sound like she was guessing.
There was a quiet certainty in her voice—calm and absolute.
“First big hurdle’s going to be Masters,” she continued, brushing her thumb lightly along her datapad in thought. “She’s strong, probably one of the strongest in our entire generation, if I had to guess, and extremely motivated. But she’s also needlessly fixated. If she wasn’t so obsessed with Lucas, she could probably take Isabella’s role without breaking a sweat, the way things are right now.”
“Yeah…” Thea nodded slowly. “But she won’t. Not after what happened at the Awards. There’s no way she goes for anyone but him.”
“That gives us options,” Karania said. “Not many, but potentially enough. If we can get Lucas into shape before this all kicks off, we’ve got a shot.”
“Isabella will be fine,” Thea added, absolutely convinced of that fact. “By the time Masters figures out she went for the wrong target, Ela will have passed her like she’s standing still. Ela’s aptitude for learning in the midst of battle is just too great. And with us having access to the arcade on board now…? I’ll get her ready for anything that Masters might ever conceive of throwing at her, by the time the second Assessment comes around.”
“Exactly.” Karania smiled faintly. “So we get Lucas ready. As best we can. The rest is up to him…”
With that solemn promise between them—to keep the rest of Alpha from slipping—they finally turned their attention back to the front, just as Professor Harrow seemed to be wrapping up the long string of re-iterations he’d been wrestling with for the past twenty minutes.
“Now,” he said, spinning a stylus between his fingers with theatrical flair, “I’m going to take that question—whatever it originally was—and twist it just enough to drag us all out of the academic tar pit we’ve gotten stuck in.”
There was a ripple of half-hearted laughter. Harrow smiled brightly—dangerously.
“Because frankly, if I hear one more stupid question like that,” he continued with mock solemnity, “I might actually start throwing things.”
That earned a few chuckles and a couple wary glances from Recruits who didn’t know whether he was kidding or not.
He waved his free hand as if batting the concern away. “Just kidding, of course. Not about the quality of the questions—you guys have been absolutely nailing the low bar on those—but about the throwing stuff. I don’t throw things. I write scathing evaluations and send them directly to your squad leaders. Way more effective, right?”
The laughter that followed was louder this time, and even Thea cracked a smile.
“But,” he added, shifting his tone to something surprisingly genuine, “better a stupid question here than a fatal mistake out there. Ask the dumb stuff. Get it cleared up. That’s what these lectures are for—even if I do threaten violence as a coping mechanism.”
That earned a full ripple of laughter and agreement across the hall—though Thea could still pick out a few faces that looked less amused and more embarrassed.
“Now then,” Harrow continued, glancing down at his pad, “the actual question was: ‘What happens if a Battlefield Ace has the wrong Class for what the Battlefield needs?’”
He paused dramatically.
Then sighed.
“I’m not entirely sure how to begin untangling the sheer nonsense in that, so I just won’t. Instead, I’m using it as our neat little segue into the Class portion of today’s lecture. The short answer is this: There is no ‘wrong’ Class for a Battlefield Ace. If the brass decides someone’s earned the title, it’s not despite their Class—it’s because of it, right? If their Class was a massive issue, they wouldn’t be a Battlefield Ace. Simple as that.”
He gave a faint shrug. “So yes, thank you, dear Recruit. Keep asking questions like that if the sentences get too long for your still-soft little skulls. I’ll be the only one answering them for the rest of your careers anyway—because if you ask a Major that same quality of questions at any point in time, you’ll find yourself on a one-way trip to a forever-Battlefield until the Bubble pops.”
The projector behind him blinked to life again, the word “CLASSES” now emblazoned across the back wall in bold, capital letters.
“As for the topic itself—Classes—we’re not doing a deep dive today,” Harrow clarified. “That comes later, in your Allbright System coursework and the various Class-specific modules, right? What we will cover right now is how the UHF, specifically, handles Class acquisition. And why, as the ever-honourable Major Quinn mentioned during the Awards Ceremony, none of you are getting access to one until the graduation ceremony at the end of your first full year.”
That snapped Thea fully back to attention, her posture straightening as she listened more closely.
She had a suspicion about the reasons—Terra's games had also featured mechanics that didn’t necessarily lock, but reward people for waiting on their selections—but she hadn’t heard the UHF’s official justification. Not yet.
“The answer is surprisingly simple: It’s for your own benefit. Mostly,” Professor Harrow said, continuing with his usual mix of casual delivery and pointed edge. “The Allbright System is built to reward preparation, right? The more groundwork you lay down before choosing a Class—the right kind of groundwork—the better your choices will be when the time comes.”
He gestured behind him, where the projector blinked to a new slide: A clean, minimal list beginning to populate with bullet points.
“And this is exactly why the UHF locks you out of Class selection until the end of your first year. The System has specific markers it looks at to determine what Classes you qualify for. Here’s what you need to know.”
First on the list:
– Attributes
“Starting with Attributes,” Harrow said, pointing at the word. “And I don’t just mean your current Attributes, right? I mean both your Base values and your full totals after any Attribute Points you’ve invested through Leveling or other increases or additions.”
He gave the room a serious look now, his usual playfulness turned down to give way for the informative side. “There have been confirmed cases where Classes only unlocked for people because of specific high Base Attributes. Not boosted values. Not stacked bonuses. Just raw, unmodified statlines from the very beginning.”
A ripple of murmurs passed through the room. Thea didn’t bother joining in.
She simply nodded.
‘Just like in the games,’ she thought. ‘Some Classes were always locked behind Base stat requirements. If you didn’t build for them at character creation, you never had a shot. Nothing new there.’
“The same can, of course, also be said the other way around, but I’d hope that that part is implicit. Just figured I’d point it out for the people not really paying much attention to the whole ‘thinking about things’ part of the lecture.”
With those words, Professor Harrow clicked his pad, moving to the second point.
– Skills
“Next up: Skills. And please, I’m begging you, for all the love of the Emperor himself, don’t confuse them with Abilities. I swear, it happens every time I give this lecture.”
A few scattered chuckles.
Thea caught more than a handful of embarrassed faces ducking behind their datapads.
“Just to re-iterate this point: I do not—” he held up a finger—“mean Abilities. We will get to those momentarily, right? So let me be very clear on this next part.”
He stepped down from the podium slightly, voice dropping into a slower, sharper cadence.
“Skills are your structured, learned proficiencies. I’m talking Mathematics. Physics. Sniping. Medical Theory. History. Survival. The things you take actual classes for. The things you study. These are Skills that cost you time and Credits. And unless they show up in your [Skill Interface] as officially unlocked and registered, the System doesn’t count them. No matter how smart you think you are.”
A few groans sounded from different parts of the hall.
Harrow grinned.
“That’s right. You can’t just sit through a class, doze off, and hope the System gives you a cookie. It has to be properly learned. Verified. Marked. Otherwise, no credit.”
He let that sink in a moment longer, watching the subtle panic cross more than a few faces.
“Don’t worry. You’ve got time; more than you can even really fathom right now, with the whole time-dilation business. But keep in mind—when the day finally comes to pick your Class? You’ll only have what you’ve earned, so double-check that before you start worrying about your actual Class choices on graduation day and beyond.”
The Professor tapped his pad once again, causing the list to add another point.
– Abilities
“Now these,” Professor Harrow said with a wry grin, “are the Abilities you’ve all been frothing at the mouth to hear about. But not just any old Abilities, right? We’re talking fully-levelled, maxed out, and Alteration-capped Abilities. Only Abilities that have reached Level 20 and have a [Capstone Alteration] installed will count as valid unlock triggers for Classes. No half-measures. No rumors about hitting Level 7 and suddenly getting a secret unlock. It’s all nonsense. No Class has ever been unlocked from a partially-levelled Ability. Ever. So don’t believe anyone telling you otherwise.”
Another sharp tap brought the next term forward in bold:
– Accomplishments
“These,” he said, stepping down away from the podium slightly, “are arguably the most common Class unlock criteria we've been able to track across the UHF. Outside of Attributes, of course. Especially once you start aiming for Silver or rarer Class unlocks.”
His gaze swept the room, pausing briefly on a few of the Alpha and Beta members—including Thea, where it lingered for a second longer.
“If you want to walk away with a Rare Class, you’re going to need a stack of these. Not just basic ones, either. You’ll need the rare stuff. The good stuff. Later in the year, you’ll be given an updated catalogue of confirmed unlock patterns—how certain Accomplishments can help unlock certain Classes, right? Use that list. Target-farm what you can during your Assessments and Digital Missions.”
He gave a knowing grin.
“But more on that in your dedicated Class-Path lectures. For now, just remember: The rarer the Accomplishments you gather and the more of them you get, the rarer the Classes you can acquire.”
He tapped again, three times. New terms appeared on the board.
– PV
– Specialization
– Titles
Thea leaned forward slightly, her attention fully locked now.
‘Specialization and Titles…!’
She’d seen them mentioned in her [Profile] interface, every single time she went to look at her Attributes or her Focus value—but the UHF hadn’t said a word about what they were or how they worked so far.
“These three,” Professor Harrow said, “aren’t as immediately relevant, but still worth a mention. Just for completion’s sake.”
He gestured toward each term in turn.
“Specializations don’t unlock until Tier 2, so you don’t need to worry about those for now. PV—short for Point Value, in case you soft-brains have already forgotten—is a general metric the System uses to evaluate your effectiveness. If you’re doing your jobs right, it’ll rise naturally. Your goal is simple: Get it as high as possible; nothing really special about it.”
His eyes landed on “Titles” last.
“As for these… Well, Titles are extremely rare. Only a select few Marines ever earn one, and usually, it comes from doing something big. Like, war-changing big. There will be a lecture dedicated to them later on, so no need to deep-dive yet, right? Just know that while they can affect Class eligibility in rare cases, most of you won’t need to worry about them. So don’t go chasing spectres.”
The display flicked off with a final tap, leaving the hall in the dim ambient glow of the ceiling lights.
“Now, why does the UHF care about all this? Why do we encourage you to delay your Class selection up to the last possible second?”
He stepped back to the center of the stage, hands clasped behind his back again.
“Two reasons,” he said. “First? To give you the best shot. The System rewards preparation. The longer you wait, the more Skills you unlock, the more rare Accomplishments you rack up, the more Abilities you max out—the broader your pool of Class options becomes.”
He gave the room a sharp look.
“The UHF believes in quality, not just quantity. That’s the UHF difference. Other Factions? Not so much. But we’ll cover those differences later in your Systems lectures, right?”
A few heads nodded. Thea’s included.
“That, however, means giving Recruits time to grow—forcing them to grow. And the more data we gather like this, the more unique Classes we discover. Even if you never choose one of those new Classes, the UHF will still register its existence—and that intel is critical. Knowing that Class exists means we can prepare for it. If not for you, then for the possibility of fighting someone who does have it.”
His tone turned colder, sharper.
“The second reason is time.”
He began pacing again, hands still behind his back.
“We don’t have forever. We are in the middle of a Galactic War. A war that is coming to a close faster than we’d like. And as much as we’d love to wait for every single one of you to reach your full potential… We simply cannot. We will not. The longer you take, the more people die. We need boots on the ground. So while we give you ample time to prepare, that window will close. That’s why the deadline is hardcoded by us. You pick your Class at graduation. Not before. Not after.”
He stopped walking, fixing the crowd with a calm but deadly serious expression.
“You’re Marines, always remember that. And that means your personal growth is important—but not more important than your orders. Not more important than the war.”
The silence that followed wasn’t surprised or offended. Just heavy. Real.
Thea felt it settle into her bones like cold iron.
‘No pressure, eh?’ Thea thought grimly, dragging a hand through her hair.
But try as she might, she couldn’t really argue with Harrow’s—or rather, the UHF’s—points.
Everything he’d laid out made sense—uncomfortably so.
“Now—” the Professor snapped suddenly, cutting his monologue clean off, “—who has questions?”
A dozen hands shot up before he’d even finished the sentence.
“Yes, you there.” He pointed toward a row ahead of Thea’s line of sight, out of view.
“So, uh…” came the tentative voice of a male Recruit. “When it comes to Skills, what kind of Alterations are we looking for, exactly…? Like, do the specific types of Capstone Alterations matter, or is just any one good enough?”
There was a full beat of silence. Then another. Then—
Thea clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the giggle from escaping too loud. She peeked sideways and caught Karania next to her rolling her eyes so hard, she was half-worried they would never work the same way again.
Across the room, the reaction was about the same—a ripple of groans, chuckles, a few muttered “Fucking really?”s, and one particularly loud “Bruh…” from the back corner.
At the podium, Professor Harrow just stared at the Recruit for a moment, utterly dumbfounded. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again like he was struggling to process the sheer audacity of the question.
“You,” Harrow finally said, tone flat, “are a very specific kind of special, aren’t you?”
The snickers escalated.
He sighed, dragging a hand down his face, then grabbed his data-pad and lightly waved it in the air.
“Well, since you’ve already thoroughly humiliated yourself in front of all your peers, we might as well salvage some educational value from the wreckage—before I gently lob this pad in your direction, of course.”
More laughter now, the mood noticeably lighter after the brief serious bout about a Marine’s duties, though Thea could see a few Recruits shrinking in their seats, probably double-checking every question they’d been about to ask.
And with that, Harrow launched into his answer, voice still dry with exasperation but precise as ever…
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Comments
Lion3125
The median is a form of average. You're thinking of the mean. Intelligence (at least currently) is measured and defined via median (so that it is centered around 100 for the average). So it depends on what average you're looking at. Your point is obviously still correct, and since most understand average as mean it's definitely a valid one.
denver boyer
Love the chapter
NullPointer
Just a minor note on Karina’s point: the phrase “half of people are worse than the average” isn’t always accurate. Whether it’s true or not depends on the distribution. Technically, it would be more accurate to say that half of people are below the median, not necessarily the average.
