Extra! Extra! Yesterday, Hong Kong, Tokyo, and Sydney were all attacked by monsters at the same time! The invaders this time were unprecedented Level-3 monsters, and the Mecha Hunters stationed in all three cities suffered heavy losses! Extra! Extra!
These monsters possess city-level destructive power, threatening water, electricity, and the internet with massive damage. That's why newspapers have made a comeback, becoming the main channel for spreading information. Early in the morning, crowds surrounded the newsstands, sellers shouting themselves hoarse, buyers gnashing their teeth. Some passersby hurriedly bought a copy, glanced at the headlines, and couldn't help but yell out loud.
What? The Striver in Sydney was completely destroyed, and both pilots died? Tokyo's fourth-generation main Mecha Hunter, M76, was torn to pieces by the monster, and M79 only managed to drive it away—not kill it, just drive it away!
This shout drew a commotion from the crowd. Someone else grabbed the newspaper and stared at it, finally breathing a sigh of relief: "Thank goodness, Hong Kong is safe. Look here, last night they used a lure tactic to draw the monster outside the city, and The Assault executed the kill. But the result? The Assault... was completely destroyed. At 3 AM, the monster codenamed 'Iron Claw' attacked again. Hero Mark Long faced it with the second-generation Mecha Hunter, The Roar, fighting solo for an hour and finally killed Iron Claw in the street!"
Upon hearing this, the crowd burst into cheers, but someone quickly asked, "What about The Assault's pilots? What happened to Susan Liu and Wendy Wang?" Susan Liu and Wendy Wang were among the rare female Mecha Hunter pilots. For three years, they had defended Hong Kong with countless victories, beloved by all. So when the question was raised, everyone perked up their ears.
"Susan Liu and Wendy Wang, the sisters..." The reader paused here, then let out a weary sigh: "Killed in action." Those two words weighed like a mountain.
The crowd fell silent. A suffocating sense of oppression spread, making it hard for anyone to breathe. After a long moment, someone quietly said, "Look, it says here: The Hunter Academy is starting to recruit its fifth batch of trainees. Anyone who passes the test can enter Hunter training and become a Mecha Hunter pilot."
The voice wasn't very loud, but it quickly spread, and countless people stifled by grief shouted, "Yeah, let's go be Hunters!" "Even if I can't be a Hunter, I can build bridges, pave roads, forge iron—I can do my part!" "Come on, let's sign up and smash those damn monsters!"
Excited crowds surged toward a specific location: the Hong Kong Branch of the Global Anti-Monster Command, Mecha Hunter Program, Public Liaison Office. This was the public-facing arm of the organization, responsible for recruitment and publicity, and, when things went badly, for taking the blame. Everyone in Hong Kong knew the place well, so it didn’t take long for a huge crowd to gather.
People lined up in a long queue at the registration window. Everyone wore angry expressions, but the orderliness was remarkable. It was more crowded than a Spring Festival train station, but more disciplined than airport security. Maybe years of war had taught ordinary citizens discipline. In that long line, two inconspicuous men blended in—one in his twenties, one pushing forty. Both tried to act normal, but their sharp eyes and precise movements betrayed their professional training.
"Captain, do you think we can sneak in?" The younger man sounded a bit nervous as he whispered to the older one, "We don't have any ID cards or household registration. It's wartime—if they find out we're undocumented, do you think they'll shoot us on the spot?"
"Probably not." The older man shook his head. "In a 'Pacific Rim'-type world, it’s a war of humanity versus monsters and aliens. Even though it’s wartime, people shouldn’t be too suspicious of fellow humans. This isn’t 'Starship Troopers'—the monsters attack head-on, no sneaky infiltration or parasitic nonsense. And with monsters wrecking cities like this, losing population records must be pretty common."
"Got it." The younger man nodded, then asked, "By the way, where did Leon Lee and the others go? Should we keep an eye on them?"
"Relax, King Kong and Swallow are already watching those two—they're at another registration spot. Leon Lee’s just a hotheaded kid, nothing to worry about, but Jasper Xiao is worth keeping an eye on. Who’d have thought—the top young master of Beijing, eldest son of the Xiao family, is actually a Chosen One. He should follow orders, but if not, things could get tricky. Also, pay attention to that woman who escaped the shelter first—she might be a Chosen One too."
The line moved quickly, and while they talked, the two men reached the front. It was like an amusement park ride—someone stood at the entrance, didn’t ask anything, didn’t say anything, just counted people and let them in at set intervals. The younger man put on a smile and asked, "Bro, there’s gotta be a selection process inside, right? What do they check for?"
The gatekeeper glanced at him, face expressionless: "No idea. Go see for yourself."
Rebuffed, the younger man looked disgruntled as he followed the crowd into the passage. The hallway was long and sloped upward. After several hundred meters, suddenly it opened up onto a platform. Well, 'platform' wasn’t quite right—it was more like a half-built skyscraper, with steel beams in place but no concrete. The platform was thirty or forty stories high, and ahead, a steel beam about a foot wide stretched out toward another platform dozens of meters away. Clearly, they were supposed to walk across.
A loudspeaker on the platform blared: "If you want to be a Mecha Hunter pilot, the first requirement is no fear of heights. Mecha Hunters are generally eighty to ninety meters tall—if you’re afraid of heights, you’ll never control one. Walk across the beam to move on to the next round. Warning: There are no safety measures here. If you fall, you’re dead. Consider this your official warning—know your limits."
Hearing this, many candidates hesitated. The beam was thick, but it was long and swayed in midair, with no handrails at all. Peeking over the edge, sure enough—no safety nets, just a dizzying drop.
Some people shook their heads and backed out, others tried and sighed in defeat, but the two men walked right across. The younger man was a bit nervous; the older one strolled as if it were nothing. Half the candidates dropped out at this stage—the rest moved on to round two.
Following the passage, it wasn’t long before everyone reached a round hall. As soon as they arrived, the floor suddenly started shaking violently, like an earthquake. The ground rippled and jolted with surprising force. Many people were tossed around like dumplings in boiling water, unable to stay upright, rolling everywhere. Some looked carsick, started vomiting, and then got covered in their own mess—absolutely disgusting.
But the two men managed to stay on their feet. Soon, the shaking stopped and the loudspeaker announced: "This round tests your resistance to sudden tremors. Pilots fighting giant monsters face these shocks all the time—it's a challenge you must overcome. Anyone still standing moves on to the next round."
This test came out of nowhere, with no mental preparation. To be honest, even if you were prepared, most people couldn’t handle this level of shaking. In the end, only about one-sixth moved on, while five-sixths left in disappointment.
As this group continued, speculating about the next test, they arrived in a large hall. Here, for the first time, there were actual staff members. But what caught the eye most was a row of ten machines, each equipped with a helmet-like device. Someone exclaimed, "Neural Connection Device?" The others whispered, clearly eager for a chance to try it.
The two men exchanged a deep look. The Neural Connection Device was one of the highest-tech gadgets in 'Pacific Rim'—who’d have thought it’d show up so easily here.
"Congratulations to all candidates who’ve made it this far. If you’re here, it means you’ve got good innate qualities." A staff member stepped forward, clearly ex-military: "Strength, skill, and experience can all be trained, but some things are inborn—courage, balance, stability, and resistance to shock aren’t just about muscle. If you’ve made it this far, you’ve got the potential and determination to be a hero. But whether you can be a pilot depends on one last test—neural compatibility."
The crowd grew restless; everyone knew this was a key metric.
"To be a pilot, you must be 'neural-connectable.' Forget about how high your compatibility is—just being connectable puts you in a rare group. These helmets aren’t the real thing, just simple testers to see if you can connect at all."
Everyone tensed up, then followed the staff’s instructions for the test. One by one, they put on the helmet, and each time the switch was flipped, a red light came on. The candidates looked hopefully at the staff, but all they got was a regretful shake of the head. The proportion of people who can connect is tiny—even with today’s huge turnout, finding three to five connectable candidates would be lucky.
Suddenly, with a beep, everyone turned to see the younger man's device glowing blue.
"Oh!" The staff member immediately got excited. "Your brain can connect! Come with me!"
The young man instinctively glanced at the older man. The older man gave a barely noticeable nod, then approached another staff member and asked, "Sir, besides being a pilot, are there other ways to contribute to the Mecha Hunters?" He didn’t say 'fight monsters,' just 'help the Mecha Hunters,' clearly hinting at something.
But the staff member didn’t seem to care, and answered honestly, "Of course—there are lots of ways. We need all kinds of talent. Do you have any special skills?"
"I used to be a mercenary," the older man said, something hidden in his eyes. "I’m good at battlefield command."