The lights transitioned from red LED to a more standard colored brightness, signalling the timer had begun. The commando moved without hesitating, FLM Shotgun shouldered and eyes keened. The course was littered with high rise obstacles, walkways, and dead ends, shifting through every iteration so the subject could not memorize a way to complete it. His feet moving in short, brisk steps, he stopped on a dime when a blackmoon mercenary stepped out of the next turn, holding a lasword. Two shells infused with plasma and fired by the FLM's in-built particle accelorator cartridge ripped through the mercenary before he could fire, ruining its holo image and revealing the grey training android even as it crumpled into a scrap heap. 

Suddenly two mines sprung up from the floor, red lights flashing. The shooter somersaulted into another curve of the course just before they detonated, spraying lasers that would have failed him if they touched any vital areas on his person. He was on his feet, the cracks of his weapon erupting, punching through two more illusionary mercs as they turned the corner to aim at him. Another stepped off a high rise and leaped at him, staff in hand. He raised his gun to block the strike, taking the merc's feet out from under it before it even landed with a well-placed kick. It hit the ground, but couldn't complete a roll. The commando's foot planted on its chest and another slug was discharged, shattering the android's head. 

A turret sprang up, its lasgun swiveled into his direction. He unhooked a small magni-charge from his belt, pressing his thumb on the release and tossed it. The explosive, now activated, spun in mid-air to stick into the turret's side even as he rolled out of its vantage point. A loud, incessant beep rang out before it exploded, shattering the turret and leaving it in two solid chunks of junk. The shooter started to sprint, noticing he was in a dead end. The walls were perfectly smooth and without handholds, but he kicked off the left wall and used it to boost him up high enough to grab the lip of the back wall, hauling himself up onto the platform at the end of the course. 

A ring sprang up, indicating the course had been completed. 

"Second best time on record." A monotonous female voice declared over the comm. "23.739 seconds. Placing the name Badrek Mal'Draigg in the system." 

He reloaded the weapon, ignoring the annoying use of his full name with a small expulsion of air from his nostrils. If they were insistent, he guessed he did not care enough to argue. He racked the weapon with a satisfying clack, and stepped down the decline he was likely supposed to rush up in order to complete the run. He glanced up where Neb was awaiting him, and saw a taller figure with him, standing patiently. He was familiar, taking Bad over a second to remember who it was. He sighed, not in the mood to talk to solicitors. 

The blue line that stretched across the floor lit up as Bad stepped over it, and the course reverted to red LED lights as smaller droids were dispensed to clean up the courseway. Bad placed the FLM shotgun on the stand, not even deigning to look the recruiter's way. 

"Not bad, Neb. But it needs a bit more stopping power. I think I'll keep my RW, though I do need a few more cartridges." He said. 

"You could have been gentler with it." Neb said, his mustache curling with the sarcasm. 

"Sorry," Bad said, unzipping his pack and fishing around for his wallet. "Four florins for the run and the mags?" 

Neb was an old friend. A soldier in his youth, he had been retired for twenty years, and he looked it. Bad had a difficult time seeing him as a field man, but he knew weaponry, and had a nack for supplying any mercenary that came his way. He had come here for seven years, and Neb hadn't led him wrong yet, though like now, Bad did test runs for new equipment Neb had received from foreign markets, making sure he hadn't lost on any investment. If things went well, Bad might get a discount on the weapon in question, but he wasn't in it for this run. 

"I'll let you keep the florins if you listen to our friend here." Neb said, a glint in his eye. Bad raised an eyebrow, then regarded the recruiter, who had an implacable look of neutrality on his face. He had his hair cropped short, and wore a smart suit, with black spectacles that hid his eyes even under the light.

"You're with the league?" Bad asked, stripping the FLM into its various components so Neb could clean its entirety after hours. Unscrewing the cap beneath the barrel, checking the selector at the butt was at its center, unlatching the grip beneath the selector and stripping the butt on the table before he popped his hand against the grip, bisecting the weapon. 

"I am. And I am well aware of your answer the last time we attempted to recruit you." He explained. 

"And you're still here? Ok, what do you think might change my mind?" Bad asked. 

"Well, we have remade the contract, and would like to offer you a temporary, freelance position. And I think you'll find the assignment more to your liking..."  He remarked, producing a dataslate. 
[@Penny]