Tensile Testing

Link to article: Tensile Testing.

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[[module Rate]]

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[[span]] tiredsn0w [[/span]]
[[span]] 5 [[/span]]
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Tensile Testing
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“The rules of this test are simple,” the proctor explained, its voice clear and commanding through the speakers of my headset. “Your objective is to go through the maze, find the weighted package, and carry it to the pressure plate at the end. The first person to do so will get a pass and be removed from the next round, wherein all the other students will repeat the same procedure. This continues until only two are left; whoever loses that round will be given a fail. Does everyone understand?”

A confirmation box popped up on my visor, and I selected confirmation with a touch to the cover over my ear. I imagined all the other students doing the same, but they likely had much less anxiety than I did at that moment.

Despite being trained into the ground, the improper editing of my DNA meant that I physically didn’t have the capacity to be as big as the other members of my species. The only reason my legs could even hold my body up in the planet’s strong gravity was due to intense physical therapy, because I didn’t have any alternative. When it came to competing against the Twos whose genetic engineering had actually worked? It was hopeless.

Physical education was where it hit me the hardest; my brain was just as well-grown as the other Twos, and like other Twos, I was taught extreme subservience to the government. I always scored high in marksmanship, and could make split-second decisions in combat that wormed me out of many situations that would be fatal if they were real.

But pure strength was not something I had. Another Two, or even someone of the naturally grown species of Ones, could brute-force overpower me every single time they tried. And when it came to the frequent stress tests we were subjected to, my body literally didn’t have the pulmonary and cardiovascular capacity to go as hard and fast as everyone else in my class.

And nobody wanted to be gasping for breath on the gymnasium floor, especially not those who were supposed to be bioengineered into some kind of superior lifeform.

If I failed this exam, I would fail the class. If I failed the class, that meant another term of excruciating pain flare-ups, exhaustion, and public humiliation.

A countdown appeared on the display in front of my eyes.

[3]

[2]

[1]

[GO]

I dashed across the starting line, steps virtually soundless as my forefoot struck the ground. We’d been allowed to pick our desired footwear, and I’d gone for the soft running shoes that weren’t much more than socks with a pad for the digits. The others in my class opted for the heavier-duty shoes with hard, springy supports along the arch– great for more power in one’s strides, but they were also very loud on the indoor flooring.

As a kepler, the sensitivity of my ears allowed me to easily approximate the positions of my classmates as they thundered along their respective maze paths. I was sure that they were doing the same to each other, but they wouldn’t hear me.

Someone was approaching the intersection up ahead, maybe five seconds away– hostile 1. There was someone else passing through a corridor parallel to me, running almost exactly my speed, hostile 2, but I would need to be faster if I was going to get through the intersection before the approaching individual. Four seconds away, then three, then two.

I put on a burst of speed, coming into the corridor just in time to miss H1. I pivoted immediately right into the path of H2, slid past it, pushed off the ground, and started running again, momentum mostly preserved.

I kept running through the maze, making a mental map of the corridors as I did. There was no package in sight, but I hoped I’d find it soon– the matter of carrying it to the pressure plate was another problem, so I just hoped it was relatively light.

Unfortunately, hoping didn’t do much for my situation, and I realised that the sound of heavy footsteps had largely stopped. The other students likely hadn’t taken off their shoes in the middle of the exam, so that meant they had stopped running; if they had stopped running, they had found something.

Just as I slowed to a walk, ears pricked for any noise from the others, a large X popped up on my screen with a flat tone to accompany it.

“The first pass has been obtained. Please follow the augmented reality path on your headset to a new randomised starting point, you have two minutes to get there and reset.”

There were five students in the exam, including me, now four in play, so I had three tries left.

Three was enough.

[LINE BREAK]

[3]

[2]

[1]

[GO]

This time I stuck to one side, running close to the wall in hopes that it would eventually bring me to the centre, where I assumed the pressure plate would be. I would still need to find the package, but if I at least knew my ending point, the task would prove a lot easier.

The maze became more complex, and there were footsteps all around, so I knew I was getting close. It would make sense for the test to be hardest right before completing it, to test our perseverance; that was obviously the point of using positive elimination, or in other words, you earned a break if you succeeded. For every round we failed, we would have to continue the test, continue our exertion; for the last person to fail, all that work would be for nothing.

Approaching the intersection ahead were me, Unit 5a82, and hostile 3. Its steps were much heavier than the others, and slightly uneven, as if it were holding something it wasn’t used to– the package.

Because of its inconsistent movements, I didn’t get a proper gauge on the timing of its path, and I collided with the package-carrier before slamming into the floor. My inertia made me slide across the ground on my side before finally coming to stop in a large, open square.

Momentarily stunned, all I could do was watch the room spin as H3 placed the weighted package on the pressure plate I’d barely missed, another large X appearing on my screen that almost mocked my failure.

“The second pass has been obtained. Follow your paths back, you have another two minutes.”

I tried to push myself up, but I was awfully dizzy, and the ache in my already-tired muscles wasn’t helping. However, much to my surprise, H3 walked over to me and offered its hand.

After a moment of consideration, I took it, allowing it to pull me to my feet. It barely even had to brace to do so. If I had a stomach, it would have sunk– if //it// had struggled with the package, how was I supposed to carry it more than a step?

“Better luck next time. Do you need to go to the infirmary?”

“I would get an automatic fail,” I responded.

“You care about your grades more than I do.” It was a lighthearted remark, but just another indication that my classmates had no clue what kind of circumstances I was in.

Failure was not an option. To the Handler, anything less than perfect was not an option, and I had already come out of the lab imperfect. Defective.

I shuddered at the thought of what it would do once I reported to it after the exam, but I still had the possibility of passing. Not perfectly, and not first, but at least that would mitigate its… disapproval.

Two tries left.

[LINE BREAK]

[3]

[2]

[1]

[GO]

At least I had figured out the topography of the most important objective, the plate in the centre. This round, I would try to find the package; I hadn’t gotten a good look at it the previous round, so this time I would need to figure out a good way to move it. There was no way I’d be able to carry it like H3, but perhaps I would be able to push or drag it along next to me. The flooring was smooth enough to reflect the sterile lights overhead, so I didn’t anticipate much difficulty in either option.

With only two other students’ footsteps in play, it was easier to pinpoint their locations; one was halting, likely searching aimlessly just as I was. The other set stopped and changed directions occasionally, but was otherwise quite confident, and I presumed that the person making the noise– hostile 4– knew what it was looking for.

Just as I decided to try following it, I happened upon something out of place. A cube with rounded edges, scuff marks in its white paint showing metal underneath. The package!

I dashed over to where it rested on a platform in the wall near the corner, then gripped the sides and attempted to lift it. The proctor hadn’t been exaggerating when it’d called it a //weighted// package, the thing was far beyond what little load-bearing capacity my upper body possessed.

I listened around me; H4’s footsteps were nearby, so I’d need to be quick. I decided to put my back against one of the cube’s vertical faces and push off the nearby wall with my legs, which would at least get it onto the ground. And onto the ground it went, and so did I, falling off the side of the platform before tucking into a roll to mitigate harm to my body.

Once coming to a stop, I pushed myself up and listened again. I had maybe eight seconds, and struggling for the package would likely end up in serious injuries on my part, so instead I used the time to approach the cube and assess how difficult it was to push.

With some effort, I could. I slipped away as H4 rounded the corner, and set off to familiarise myself with the surroundings of where I’d found the cube; I was throwing away my chance at winning this round, but it wasn’t for nothing.

I had one try left. It would be the one, it had to be.

[LINE BREAK]

[3]

[2]

[1]

[GO]

I sprinted through the maze, quickly getting my bearings and beelining for where the package would be. The last remaining student was approaching from the opposite side, closing in on the same destination with fearsome accuracy. Where it had learned its location, I didn’t know, but I assumed that it had a plan as well.

Twos’ physical size and strength, while intended to be impressive, was still secondary to our tactical and strategic abilities. At least, in circumstances like this, but that was all that mattered during this exam. It was all that would matter during our lives in the military, the intended destination of our intelligent designs.

But as a blind individual experiences increased hearing, my lack of physical size had caused me to hone my mental faculties to a precise blade, and I had prepared for the possibility that it could get there faster than me.

I slowed down as it did, but instead of heading directly for the package, I diverted to the alternate path I’d mapped out. I paid close attention to its movements, noting that it had picked up the package due to the additional weight and instability they took on.

At this point it was likely wondering where I was; its question would be answered in T minus 30 seconds. I ran to the centre with the pressure plate, adrenaline making it feel more like a light jog than anything. My hearts pounded in my chest, and not just from exertion– I was genuinely afraid that I would throw my plan. But the more I overthought it, the more anxious I would get, and thus the lower chance of my success. So I bounced on my toes and shook out my hands as it approached the corridor that opened up into the square clearing, the pain in my muscles vaguely hovering, unattended, at the back of my mind.

Ten seconds. I took in a deep breath, held it, then exhaled. It was a good way to kill small amounts of time without agonising over one’s rapidly approaching objective.

Two. One. The other student, package in its arms, cleared the hallway; I dashed forwards, then fell into a short slide, planted my palm on the ground, and used my arm as an axis to slam my leg into the back of its knees.

It stumbled and dropped what it was holding, the cube sliding across the ground as it caught itself just in time. I scrambled upright and threw my weight against the package, pushing it towards the pressure plate, closer, closer, closer–

It got to its feet and grabbed my shoulder, twisting my body around and pinning me to the top of the cube by my side. We weren’t allowed to tangibly hurt each other, but the over-abundance of neurons throughout my body meant that things could be incredibly painful without causing any significant, lasting damage. This was one of those times.

“You are going to lose,” it hissed. “You do not have the capacity to succeed.”

“That’s what everyone tells me,” I rasped through gritted teeth. I used the pressure it was applying to my upper body as an anchor, curling my legs up before kicking it in the chest as hard as I could.

It was sent stumbling backwards, and the package and I went in the opposite direction. The cube’s rounded corner cleared the raised edge of the pressure plate, and with my added weight it slid right into the middle.

//Click.//

A light tone played through my headset, and I almost went limp with relief.

“The last pass has been obtained. Please follow the path to the exit.”

My legs complained greatly as I pushed myself upright, the adrenaline crash making me realise just how horrible I felt. Everything was sore, but I’d actually done it, I’d //done// it for once, even if it had been in the bad and stupid way that I always did things.

I just dearly hoped it would be enough for the Handler.

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