Chapter Text
Arvid couldn’t believe how far he had come. He had managed to rise through the ranks in a way that few people on Earth could ever hope to, and it felt surreal. He’d made it to the "Grid," as everyone called it. The Grid was the ultimate achievement for any pilot, it was the kind of achievement that fueled childhood dreams and blockbuster movies, and Arvid had actually made it.
It had been three months since he received that fate changing call, but he remembered it as if it were yesterday. He was sitting in his room after a grueling day of training, theoretical classes, and everything else the higher-ups assigned to keep the academy pilots busy. In the academy, "sitting still" was a synonym for "failure” for those high in the chain of command, so Arvid always made sure to keep himself occupied. On that day, he was cleaning his helmet. A ritual of his he had ever since he started his flight training, or more accurately, a habit he had ever since he'd been accepted into the army, this ritual was his way of showing the universe he was ready. His gear was perfect, which meant by extension he was ready for perfection, the top.
And on that day, the universe had finally agreed with him. He remembers being called into the commander’s office, he remembers the voice of authority that made him shake in his boots, maybe he’d forgotten something, but when he entered all he saw was a new badge and a ticket to the base that had been renamed the grid. He had been awarded the seat.
His first months at the base had been a blur of high-pressure oxygen and sleep deprivation. Arvid quickly learned that the status he had earned due to his fast rise to the top as a "prodigy" at the academy meant nothing here. In fact, it meant the opposite: most were simply waiting for him to fail. Thankfully, he hadn't. Yet.
The Grid was weird, well not in the way it was designed, but in the way it defied every expectation Arvid had carried with him through the years. He had spent years hearing the discreet echoes of academy rumors, stories that painted the elite pilots as something other than human. The whispers ranged from the absurd, like they "eat rookies for lunch", to the dark, legendary accounts of the "2016 saga" that still haunted the barracks like a ghost story. Back then, Arvid had stayed in his own head, keeping the world at arm's length to focus on his own evolution, barely staying in one place long enough to learn a face before being shipped to a new camp. But here, the constant climb had finally hit a ceiling; there was nowhere left to rise. He had reached the top, and for the first time, he was forced to actually look at the people standing there with him.
The transition was a shock to his system. He had spent years under strict academic rules and a "no time for fun" mindset that drove most people insane, hell it drove him insane at a few points. But now, he was plunged into the Grid’s chaotic, unpredictable and frankly almost lawless atmosphere. Instead of being graded on the shine of his boots or his simulator data, he was judged on his ability to navigate a world of unwritten rules, rules that were so different to the ones at the academy.
He also learned quickly that infringing on these unspoken laws put him at the mercy of the Grid’s whims. He still remembers the time he made the rookie mistake of leaving his helmet in the debrief room. At the academy, that would have meant a lecture on "gear accountability." Here, it was so much worse. He remembers walking into the bar after a grueling week only to be faced with the scene of his helmet at the center of the table and the "papaya boys," Lando and Oscar, taking turns chucking popcorn into the visor. Between the popcorn debris and the massive bar tab he had to pick up for the 21 other pilots, Arvid had learned his lesson the hard way.
That helmet incident had been Arvid's full induction. He'd spent hours picking salted butter out of the foam of his helmet, hell, he swears he was still picking out bits of salt to this day; it was one of the most humbling experiences he'd had in his career. But as he sat watching the papaya boys bickering over a bowl of snacks that weren't popcorn, he realized that those punishments were the Grid's way of saying "You've got your foot in the door". It was the first step into the acceptance ritual to the Grid; the next one was one he had yet to comprehend; the names.
"You're doing it again," a voice cut Arvid out of his thoughts.
He looked up to see Daniel leaning on the counter, cleaning a glass with a slow, practiced rhythm. Arvid knew Daniel's history; the man was a legend at the academy for initiating the cruel celebration known as the "shoey." Thankfully, Arvid hadn't had to do one yet, he wasn't going to complain, as no sane person wanted to drink out of a dirty boot, but Daniel was far from that now. Daniel didn’t fly anymore. Occasionally he intervened as a civilian consultant for the Navy, but nowadays, he was more focused on taking care of the bar near the Grid base lovingly called the Paddock. He had bought it after retiring, choosing to become the unofficial gatekeeper of the Grid's history, the bar allowed Daniel to see the new faces and old ones and talk with them, he loved to talk. If you had a question, you went to him. But Arvid was too stubborn to ask. Plus, a small part of him knew there was probably an unwritten rule about asking questions, and he didn't dare risk having to pay for another expensive round of drinks.
"You’ve got that 'Academy Stare,' kid," Daniel chuckled, sliding a drink down the polished wood toward Arvid. "Relax. My bar, my rules. And rule number one is that you aren't being graded on your posture anymore."
Arvid forced his shoulders to drop, finally sliding into the worn leather seat. "I'm just trying to make sense of the board, Daniel," he admitted, nodding toward the wall. "I know the names, obviously, but I have no idea why half of them exist. Like... why is George 'PowerPoint'?"
Daniel laughed, it was the kind of laugh that could light up a room, before calling out George's name.
"Hey, Georgie Boy! Permit over here wants to know your origin story!" Daniel shouted over the chatter of the bar.
“Tell him he can come ask me in person!” George yelled back, Arvid looked at Daniel with worried eyes, hoping for comfort, instead he was faced by a very much grinning Daniel.
“Go on… they wont bite” he winked “or actually yeah no. Some of them may.” he nudged Arvid towards the booth where Max, George, Charles and Alex could be seen bickering.