Chapter 7: Live Ammunition Confirmed

  The confirmation came after we were already moving.

  Not during briefing. Not during deployment. Not at any moment where it could be processed, debated, or refused.

  It arrived mid-motion, buried inside a status update like an afterthought.

  We were advancing through another controlled structure—different layout, same philosophy. Concrete corridors. Exposed piping. Lights that hummed like they were tired of staying on. The floor guidance strips were absent here. No leash this time.

  “Spacing,” 501 said quietly. “You cluster, you die together.”

  We adjusted without argument.

  My hands were slick inside the gloves. I kept flexing my fingers, trying to convince myself I still had control over them. The equipment strapped to my chest felt heavier than before, as if the system had decided I could handle more weight.

  Or more responsibility.

  A soft vibration pulsed through my wristband.

  I glanced down.

  LOADOUT UPDATE — CONFIRMED

  Below it, smaller text scrolled once and disappeared.

  LIVE AMMUNITION ENABLED

  I stopped walking.

  The people ahead of me didn’t.

  I had just enough time to realize that stopping was a choice before 501’s hand slammed into my chest, shoving me sideways into cover.

  A round cracked down the corridor, close enough that I felt it in my teeth.

  “Move or get sorted out,” she hissed.

  Sorted out.

  I didn’t ask what that meant.

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  We pressed against the wall as another burst echoed through the space. This time it wasn’t wild. It was controlled. Measured.

  Someone on the other end knew what they were doing.

  219 was breathing too fast. I could hear it through the comms, shallow and panicked. 312 had gone quiet entirely, which somehow felt worse.

  A new overlay flickered briefly across my vision. A thin targeting reticle I hadn’t noticed before.

  I hadn’t been told how to use it.

  I hadn’t been asked if I was willing.

  The system had already decided.

  Another vibration.

  ENGAGEMENT AUTHORIZATION — CONDITIONAL

  My stomach twisted.

  “Conditional on what?” I whispered, not sure who I was asking.

  No one answered.

  A figure leaned out at the far end of the corridor. Armored. Helmeted. Indistinct. Not faceless—depersonalized. Just like us.

  They fired again.

  The round struck the wall inches above 312’s head, showering him with fragments. He flinched back with a sharp cry, losing his footing and slamming into the floor.

  “312’s down,” 219 shouted. “He’s not hit—he’s just—”

  “Doesn’t matter,” 501 said. “He’s exposed.”

  The figure advanced.

  The distance between us shrank in measurable increments. I could feel the system tracking it. Timing. Angles. Probabilities.

  My reticle locked.

  I hadn’t moved it.

  My finger rested against the trigger without conscious input.

  This wasn’t training.

  This wasn’t reflex.

  This was alignment.

  A warning flashed at the edge of my vision.

  HESITATION DETECTED

  The figure raised their weapon again.

  I thought of the Metrics Board. Of designations sliding downward. Of lines that ended early.

  I thought of my name—how long it had been since I’d heard it.

  I fired.

  The sound was wrong. Louder than anything before it. It punched through the corridor and into my chest at the same time.

  The figure jerked backward, staggering. They didn’t fall immediately. They dropped to one knee, trying to stabilize.

  Another prompt flashed.

  OUTCOME OPTIMIZATION SUGGESTED

  501 didn’t wait.

  She fired twice—clean, controlled. The figure collapsed fully this time, armor scraping against concrete as they went down.

  Silence followed.

  Not the empty kind.

  The kind that waits to see what comes next.

  312 was shaking, curled in on himself. 219 stared at the fallen body, eyes wide, jaw slack.

  I stared at my hands.

  They weren’t shaking.

  That terrified me.

  A chime sounded. Deeper than the others.

  LIVE ENGAGEMENT CONFIRMED

  Below it, another line appeared briefly.

  ACTION RECORDED — CONTRIBUTION REGISTERED

  I hadn’t aimed for anything specific. I hadn’t made a tactical choice.

  And yet, the system had credited me.

  “Get up,” 501 said to 312. “You’re still breathing.”

  He nodded weakly, forcing himself upright.

  As we moved past the body, I caught a glimpse of the helmet. Scratched. Dented. Familiar in the wrong way.

  They’d been wearing something similar to ours.

  No insignia. No name.

  Just a designation I didn’t get close enough to read.

  My wristband vibrated again.

  This time, the message lingered.

  KILL AUTHORIZATION — UNDER REVIEW

  Under review.

  Not denied.

  Not questioned.

  Just… pending.

  We moved on. We always moved on.

  But something had shifted.

  Not in the corridor.

  In me.

  The system hadn’t forced my hand.

  It hadn’t needed to.

  It had simply made every other option worse.