Chapter 25: Chapter twenty-four

 

Thirteen years ago.

 

Oliver looked over the exam results. Final exams at the Program consisted of ten gruelling tests that evaluated the candidate’s ability at everything from hacking to resistance to torture. Each test was marked out of a hundred and a candidate needed a total score of at least eight hundred and fifty, and at least a ninety in hand-to-hand combat, to pass. Of the six candidates that had survived long enough at the Program to take the exams, two had already completed all ten tests. One of those candidates had passed with a modest score of eight hundred and fifty-two. The other had failed, and then been shot in the head from long range with a sniper rifle. Which left just four candidates left: Eleven, Five, Nine and Twelve.

Twelve had completed seven tests and had a score of six hundred and twenty-two, well on track to pass. Nine had completed four tests and had a combined score of two hundred and four, well on track for a bullet to the head.

Five had received the first perfect score.  Her marksmanship results sat open in front of Oliver. He was staring at the score and the note below it. It read:

 

Score: 100/100

 

Notes: If I lived a hundred years and had perfect vision, I would never shoot this well.

 

The examiners were experts in their field, and they were instructed that a score of a hundred meant that the candidate was completely perfect at the thing they were being tested on. A perfect score on marksmanship meant that when the examiner imagined how it would be done by a paragon of marksmanship, not just the best in the world but the best imaginable, it was the same as how the candidate performed. They were also under threat of being tortured to death if a review panel determined that the grade they gave was too high or too low. So it was unlikely that the examiner in question had bumped up the candidate’s score even if he had been sleeping with her, which all intel suggested he wasn’t. Which meant that this was likely a fair assessment of her skills with a firearm. She had also scored a ninety-nine on mental agility, which was marked by Kessington himself.

Oliver let out a low whistle. He had known in the abstract how skilled the candidates were becoming, but some of these test results were better than he had ever expected.

Eleven’s results on the other hand…

 

Eleven lay on the locker room floor, holding Five in his arms. He was sacrificing sleep for more time with her, but to him it seemed worth the trade. The floor was cold and hard even through the bedding they had scavenged, and the pair huddled together for warmth as much as for closeness.

“I had the infiltration test today,” Five said, her voice pitched low so she wouldn’t wake any sleeping candidates.

“How did it go?” Eleven asked, more because it seemed the thing to do than out of any genuine interest. Five was a strong candidate, he didn’t doubt she would pass the tests and graduate the Program.

“Well. I didn’t even bother with much disguise. I just hid myself away in my memory palace and made someone new to infiltrate the target.”

“That sounds… difficult.”

“That’s high praise coming from you. Have you had that test yet?”

“I took it a few days ago. I don’t think I did very well. I’ve been practicing simulating emotions, but I’m still not very good at it.”

Five pulled herself away from Eleven to look in his face. “You can’t afford to get poor results on these tests. You know what they’ll do to you if you don’t pass, unless you think Ten is living on a farm somewhere.”

“No, I expect they’ll kill me if I fail. But there’s no sense worrying about it.”

From someone else this might have been bravado, a boy showing off to his girlfriend. But from Eleven, it was a simple statement of fact. He didn’t want to die, and he felt a far-off twinge of fear at the notion, but it didn’t bog him down in worry. All he could do was try his best. That would either be good enough, or it wouldn’t. There was no use in worrying.

 

 

Oliver was worried about Eleven. He had started off well in the tests, with a score of four hundred and forty-eight after five tests, but then the disguise and infiltration results came back.

 

Score: 41/100

 

Notes: He knows what to do, but his performance is ultimately unconvincing. His expressions come a moment too late and he has to expend significant effort to stop his every movement betraying his fighting skills. Passable good for an amateur, but not up to our standards.

 

Forty-one was a very bad score. Infiltration and disguise wasn’t the most important skill, but a poor final score wouldn’t be overlooked just because it came from being bad at pretending not to be a superhero. It meant Eleven had to get an average over ninety on his last four tests. Not impossible, but difficult.

And then Eleven’s security and computing results came in:

 

Score: 62/100

 

Notes: Very good at disabling security systems, but his hacking abilities and general computer skills are mediocre.

 

That left Eleven with a score of five hundred and fifty-one from seven tests, which meant he needed two hundred and ninety-nine from only three tests; in hand-to-hand combat, mental agility and marksmanship. It was an almost impossible task.

Oliver didn’t want to have to kill Eleven. Not because he had grown somewhat fond of the boy, though he had, but because he saw in Eleven the potential to be best of all the candidates and Oliver was not a man who liked to waste talent.

So he waited for the results to come in and hoped against hope that Eleven could beat the odds.

 

“You’re not the least bit concerned?” Five asked.

“You know me,” Eleven said simply. It was true. It had shared more with Five than with anyone. She knew he didn’t feel things the way others did.

“I do,” Five said with a sigh. “But I still don’t want you to die.”

“I expect not. Then you’d have to do this with Four, and he’s not as good-looking.”

“Twelve has offered his services in that area.”

“Twelve’s a psychopath. You wouldn’t date a psychopath.”

“I’m dating you, aren’t I?”

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“I’m not psychopathic. I’m… something else.”

 Five ran a hand down Eleven’s chest. “Yes. You are something else. Just, don’t fail the tests and get yourself killed, okay?”

“Not sure how much I can effect it either way now.”

“You’re finished your tests?” she asked. The candidates weren’t told how many tests there were. But they also weren’t told to keep them a secret, and they were still teenagers. Everyone knew about every test moments after it happened.

“I’ve got one left. But it’s hand-to-hand combat.”

Five nodded, understanding. Neither of them knew exactly how the Program was scoring the tests, but they both knew Eleven would ace it without any difficulty.

They were both silent for a long moment, before Five said, “Eleven I feel like I should tell you something. You know, in case you die.”

“Yes?” Eleven said. He could sense a slight apprehension somewhere deep inside him but he didn’t pay it much attention.

“You don’t have to say it back or anything,” she said. “I know you’re… not like that. But I need to say it in case I don’t get another chance. I love you Eleven.”

Eleven wasn’t surprised by this. He understood the bonding processes involved in love and the factors that made it more likely. What surprised him was what happened next.

“I love you too.”

He wasn’t surprised he said it, obviously. It would have been horribly awkward to leave it unsaid. No, what surprised him was that he found that he meant it.

Five looked like it came as a surprise to her too. “Oh. Well, don’t die then, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.

 

 

Eleven’s mental agility results came in first:

 

Score: 99/100

 

Notes: He is as good as Five.

 

That was high praise indeed from Kessington, and ninety-nine was a score high enough to keep a foolish hope alive in Oliver’s chest. That hope was dashed when Eleven’s marksmanship results came in:

 

Score: 96/100

 

Notes: Excellent accuracy and precision. Very good at shooting while moving.

 

It felt not unlike a punch to the gut. Oliver thought himself a cold man, but he was not looking forward to what he knew he would have to do. Technically, Eleven hadn’t failed yet because not all the results were in, but even if he got a perfect score in hand-to-hand combat, which wasn’t unlikely given his mastery of unarmed fighting, he couldn’t get the score he needed to pass.

Oliver felt an uncharacteristic pang of sentimentality, and resolved not to kill Eleven until his exams were officially over. He may not be able to save him, but he could at least grant him a little more time before the end.

 

The next day, Eleven stood before a field full of martial arts masters and trained killers. Some stood unarmed, but others held combat knives, batons or shock sticks. One even had a baseball bat.

An examiner was explaining that he would be allowed a ten minute head start to enter the training area—a building designed to resemble an abandoned factory and full of tight corridors, hiding places, and potential improvised weapons—before they came in after him and tried to beat him into submission. The aim of the exercise was to take them all down, beating thirty expert fighters with only his surroundings to help even the playing field.

“Do you understand the rules?” the examiner asked.

Eleven nodded.

The examiner started a timer counting down ten minutes. Eleven walked into the midst of his opponents, closed his eyes, and counted down the time in his head.

Several of the fighters raised objections, but Eleven didn’t pay them any attention. He had held back for so long, pretending the other candidates had a chance so they didn’t turn to murder to sooth their wounded egos. Now he was finally getting a chance to show what he could really do.

He couldn’t wait.

As the timer ticked from one to zero, Eleven opened his eyes. The fighters attacked.

Eleven stopped holding back.

 

Oliver received Eleven’s final test result far too quickly for his liking. He had been hoping to give the boy a bit more time while the examiner watched through footage and determined a grade. He looked it over, knowing he was just delaying the inevitable. It read:

 

Score: 120/100

 

Notes: He is more than a savant, more than gifted. He fights better than I have ever seen anyone do anything, ever. If the best imaginable is 100, then this is the only score that is fair to give him.

 

Oliver read over the results again and again. It was unheard of; a candidate couldn’t score more than a hundred out of a hundred. Naturally, a review panel was asked to evaluate the grade, but after watching Eleven fight, they voted four to one that the grade should stay as it was, with the dissenting member arguing that it should be raised.

The grade stood and Eleven passed.

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