Chapter 1

Rayne decided she hated elevators. Sure, they were convenient, but they were terrible for anxiety. At least with stairs, you ended up working out some of the energy on the climb up. By the time you arrived, you were out of breath and resigned to whatever fate awaited you. But in an elevator, all you could do was pace and stare out the window pretending to be interested in the skyline for the eighth time. She tried not to look at it again, eyes fixed on the patterned tile floor. It was of course beautiful – everything at Anchorage’s headquarters was positively lavish by normal standards. Despite seeing hundreds of pairs of feet a day, the stainless steel showed no signs of wear or use, its engravings still immaculate. The company in charge of the city of Eventide’s protection had spared no expense. Her own nervous expression reflected up at her on the polished surface. It made her wonder if, like herself, the headquarters only gave off the appearance of being put-together and was really a mess underneath. Her reflection could not be escaped, even the doors of her slowly ascending prison showing Rayne herself. So she took the time to study herself, backlit by the splashes of color from the Bay and sprawling city beyond. Rayne was…average, which should have been good enough for anyone, particularly of her circumstances. She stood a few centimeters above average at 165 centimeters, on a good day at least. Her plain brown eyes stared back at her, framed by thin-rimmed glasses and exhaustion in equal measure. Straight, unremarkable black hair was bound in a high ponytail atop her head, though she’d always fancied it the color of a raven’s wings. Her sweater and plain skirt screamed ‘wallflower secretary’ despite how untrue it was. She hoped earning her lab coat would help her feel like she looked the part of the scientist she was. Her thoughts turned over in her head, too anxious about the upcoming meeting to be quieted. So Rayne set about pacing again, clutching the small tablet to her chest as if it were the stuffed Kaiju back on her bed for comfort. After a few too many laps of the spacious cage, she couldn’t take it anymore. Seeking whatever source of distraction she could, Rayne’s eyes squinted as she turned to face the brilliant lights of the city's splendor beyond. The city of Eventide clung to the shoreline across a shallow bay. Buildings of all sizes crowded up against the coastline like children huddled close together, and the looming figures of skyscrapers kept their vigil beyond like watchful guardians. The skyline was iconic – so iconic Rayne had known it well before ever setting eyes on the city herself. Though Anchorage was her guardian, the company’s headquarters dominated a small island just off the coast of the city proper. Rayne remembered walking through an upscale mall directly across from it when she’d first arrived. At the time, it had felt like she didn’t have enough money to even pass through the posh collection of outdoor shops. She kept meaning to visit again – V said it was one of her favorite spots in the city and it had the best karaoke bar. They’d get around to it when work slowed down – she was still a fresh face at Anchorage, after all. It hadn’t even been a year yet. She’d have time to explore the city eventually. There were far more important things to do right now. Always a sample to study, provided she could convince a coworker to retrieve one for her. She was still technically in a mandatory ‘hands-off’ probationary period, but Rayne had hardly let that stop her. She had at least stopped working so late and was now finally taking some time for herself. The nights and weekends still barely felt like enough to recover for the next work week despite that. Until recently she’d spent most of her time playing one online game or another with her friends, but she had taken to spending more time on a completely different ‘game’. She planned to go again tonight, her strategy well-prepared to overcome the challenge this time. Rayne was so caught up in her thoughts that when the elevator finally dinged the end of her torturous confinement, she jumped in shock. She straightened her lanyard ID to serve as a distraction from her quickly darkening cheeks and strode out of the elevator with as much dignity as she could muster. The executive floor looked surprisingly very similar to every other in the facility: simply carpeted floors, white walls decorated with large pieces of art, and a large Anchorage logo above the reception desk. The height of the vaulted ceiling was certainly different, giving the whole space a sense of grandeur that settled like a weight upon her shoulders, stifling her gait. The whole space had a too-clean feeling, like it had started the same way and received the same janitorial attention but had far fewer visitors. This was a place where few had the authority or the audacity to tread, despite what the company culture training videos would have you believe. Attempting to free herself from the claws of adrenaline, Rayne took a deep breath and approached the desk. Behind it sat a far-too-neat man typing away on a computer. At her approach, he looked up from his workstation to regard her with eyes the color of a sandy-bottomed sea. “Afternoon. How may I help you?” he greeted her with an unsettlingly broad smile. Rayne did her best to mask her anxiety as she replied, “Hello there. I was called for a meeting with Cyrus…Williams.” The culture at Anchorage dictated a first-name basis for coworkers no matter their level. Though the branch of Kaiju Studies was in a grey area, she’d always felt there was a tangible difference between those deemed ‘support team’ members and the upper echelons of the business. The smile never left his face, reaching his eyes as he gave a nod. “Alrighty, I’m just going to need to see your badge right there please,” he said, motioning to a small scanner just before the desk, which Rayne pressed her badge to. The light around the border turned green, and after a few tense moments, the man spoke again. “Let’s see…Petty Officer Rayne Ryder, Department of Ingenofauna, Kaiju Studies Branch. Do I have that correct?” Doing her best to not betray her trembling hands, she replied, “How do you do?” by way of affirmation. He returned his attention to the computer, giving Rayne’s eyes time to wander. Her feet rocked back and forth as she went from the expansive windows letting in the orange light of late afternoon to the paintings stretching almost floor-to-ceiling. Most were of Machina, standing tall and proud against some landscape or nestled in the darkness of a stormy night. The towering weapons had all been constructed in the shape of man wrought in metal, though each was entirely different from the next: Massive shoulder cannons, heavy defensive plates, and even staggeringly large blades all gleamed deadly and beautiful in the artistic depictions. Yet other pieces depicted the very things those machines were built to fight. Massive creatures of all body plans and layouts. Some were familiar, with shapes similar to those found in nature, and others far too alien for conventional logic or description. Rayne found the latter far more beautiful. One in particular caught her eye, if for nothing else than how different it was from the rest. A small portrait hung by a door beside the desk that depicted a simple but striking study of a Kaiju in a bold, dark palette. It was so strange compared to the rest of the decor that Rayne thought it may have been hung here by mistake – that or perhaps for lack of any other suitable location. Perhaps this one patch of wall had been the last remaining space for so small and humble a piece. The figure was familiar to her. If she wasn’t mistaken, that had to be… She shook her head, returning her attention to the present. Rayne didn’t even know what she was here for, exactly – it wasn’t every day that a low-level employee received a meeting invitation from the COO himself. Her eyes returned to the man behind the desk, waiting for some kind of signal or direction. After a few tense moments, she had had enough. “Should I wait here or come back later?” The presumable secretary didn’t look away from his screen, nor did he stop smiling with that perfect little grin. “He’ll come and get you when he’s ready. He had to squeeze everything in to accommodate this–” His eyes flicked back to her for just a moment, eyes sharp and appraising. “Emergent meeting.” His tone was anything but warm. “Did I do something wrong? Or do you know what this is about?” she asked, feeling her voice wobble as anxiety welled within her again. Heat rose in her face and cheeks – Rayne was sure her forehead would be damp any second now. “Who can say?” he said nonchalantly, the corners of his mouth tugging up. “But just a word of advice: He prefers to be called Admiral.” His eyes fixed on hers, Rayne’s anxiety blossoming into pure panic. Just as Rayne opened her mouth to apologize, the door beside that painting opened abruptly. Out stepped a man in a sharply tailored suit worn sloppily. His coat was open, a wine-red tie hanging askew around his neck. ‘Admiral’ Cyrus Williams, COO of Anchorage Protectorate Inc. was a tall man, dwarfing Rayne by at least a good 20 centimeters. His skin, a warm umber, was bathed in the light of golden hour filtering the window. A closely cropped order of dark hair just beginning to grey like winter’s first frost sat neatly atop his head. He took her in with stunningly grey eyes, the late afternoon sun betraying hints of gold and tan within. “That’s just fine – I knew we could count on you” he said, Rayne intuiting he was on the phone with someone using the small device that sat behind his right ear conducting the sound inaudibly through bone. The Admiral’s voice was one of the most resonant Rayne had ever heard, deep and thrumming with all the velvety texture of the most soulful jazz musician. “Yes, ma’am,” he continued, “see you then.” Rayne could feel his attention fully settle upon her as he drew up to his full height. “Ms. Ryder, I presume?” “Y-yes Mr. Admiral,” she replied tersely, immediately chiding herself for botching another first impression. Really? Mr. Admiral? Instead of scorn, she was met with a booming laugh. “Mr. Admiral? I haven’t gotten a Mr. Admiral in a long time. Please, just Cyrus will do, or Mr. Williams if you have to.” He nodded to the man at the desk. “Cornelius put you up to this, didn’t he? Don’t mind him – he’s harmless. Just never take his advice, particularly not when it concerns me.” For the first time, Rayne swore the smile on the man’s face was genuine. Cyrus returned it and spun on his heel. “Come, Ms. Ryder, let’s have a chat.” She hurried after the taller man, feeling as though she was entering the lion’s den. His tone, however, didn’t betray any hint of his intentions. At least, she imagined that if she was about to be fired, he would have sounded more grave. She took some measure of comfort in that as they closed the distance to his office, her eyes again finding that painting. He held the door open for her, noticing where her eyes were drawn. “Do you recognize it?” “Aijinra…” “Aye, the Mistress of Monsters herself. This one is a personal favorite of mine,” he said, turning to admire it with a hand on his chin. “It’s so different from everything else,” Rayne said, glancing back at the shining surface of the largest metal Machina poster. The Admiral nodded. “I find it helps keep me grounded. Reminds me what exactly it is we’re fighting against. The way she peers out of the gloom, the intensity and hate in those yellow eyes…I find it sobering to this day, despite how many times I’ve seen it.” He tore his eyes from the painting and returned them to Rayne with a smile. “I could stand here all day and talk about my taste in art, Ms. Ryder, but we have more important matters to discuss.” He beckoned her into the office, opening the door for her. The space beyond was spartan and neat as a pin. A large sturdy desk of polished dark wood dominated the space, sitting atop a simple carpet the color of pine. The far wall contained a bookshelf, boasting a large amount of black and brown leather spines. Not a single volume appeared askew, as if they had never been used or had simply been cared for with a meticulous hand. Rayne entered and made her way to one of the two seats on this side of the desk. She settled quickly and smoothed her skirt, more out of nervous habit than need. “Can I get you anything to drink?” Cyrus called from behind her as he rounded the desk. She didn’t know how to answer – would it be rude to not accept his offer? “Not just alcohol. Anything you like. Something with fizz? Pop, sparkling water, tea?” he offered again. “I’m fine. Thank you, sir,” Rayne said, barely managing to find her voice. “Not a problem. I hope you don’t mind if I do, though. It’s the end of a particularly long day, and something to take the edge off is just what I need.” He returned with a crystal glass, a few fingers full of a dark liquid and floating a perfectly clear cube of ice within. When he set the glass down, Rayne’s eyes finally parted from her lap and bouncing legs. She spied a simple unmarked manilla folder before Cyrus on the desk. He tracked her eyes with his own, gently sweeping the object of her attention into his hands. “Let’s see,” he began casually, papers flipping as he slid on a pair of spectacles. “Rayne Ann Ryder, 29 years old. A Bachelor’s and Master’s of Science in Biology, as well as four years of relevant industry experience.” He rattled off a list of her previous positions and education, as well as her now relatively infamous dissertation paper. “Yes, sir, that’s me,” she said, trying to sound cheery. Hearing a list of her accomplishments like that made her feel like she was interviewing again. He peered at her from atop the rim of his glasses, and Rayne felt like she was going to crack. She couldn’t take it anymore. “Am I– in some kind of trouble…?” “Trouble? No.” A weight lifted from her shoulders. But his tone made it sound like there would be a– “But there are a few things I’m curious about. Curious enough at least to throw a last-minute meeting on the calendar and put a face to the name.” Rayne tried to sit back in her chair, to at least appear relaxed and maybe coax some of the tension to lessen. It didn’t work. “Why don’t you tell me about how your time with Anchorage has been so far, as well as your thoughts on your current projects?” he asked, exchanging his documents for his glass as he leaned back in his chair. Okay, she could do that…no problem. “It's been– nice, sir.” “Cyrus, please,” he interjected. “Come now, there has to be more than that. Be as brutally honest as you can. No repercussions or judgments.” “Cyrus,” Rayne corrected herself. He said brutal honesty, right? She sighed, finding it easier not to meet his eyes as she began again. “To be honest, I’m a little…bored? I’ve been at Anchorage for nearly eight months and still haven’t been given something of my own. I haven’t even been allowed to officially touch samples, only observe procedures and studies. I occasionally get to assist, but it’s all moving so slowly.” She raised a hand to fend off what she presumed his next comment would be. “I know, I know that it's to make sure I’m not overwhelmed or anything, and so that I understand the company culture and how we work. I get that, but…I’ve been waiting to get here for so long. Now I’m finally at the company I’ve dreamed of ever since I graduated. This is the place where real research happens. Where my skills and my passion can finally shine! I just want to get going already!” There was a gleam in his eyes and a small grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth, framed in salt-and-pepper stubble. The executive observed her for a time before replying. “Your passion does you credit, Rayne, and I presume these procedures and samples are…” “Samples of monsters, yes.” She felt a slight flush on her cheeks at the praise, and at her excitement. Rayne knew she got like this, too excited, which caused some of her true self to bleed through the professional facade. Some people said her excitement made her interesting or cute. Most simply found it strange, particularly when her excitement stemmed from a fascination with colossal creatures. Colossal creatures they knew virtually nothing about, that threatened to level cities in a single afternoon. “I see. My apologies – I don’t know the Department of Ingenofauna as well as I should,” Cyrus said. “My expertise and interest lie in other places within the company. But I do know enough to recognize the title of your research paper.” It was her greatest accomplishment, her one claim to fame that she was certain had landed her this job. Rayne had spent most of her postgraduate life theorizing, testing, and compiling a new system that ordered threats to humanity with a logical, origin-based taxonomy. It was a toolset that allowed for assumptions and common logic to be applied to the creatures, even upon first contact. She had hoped it would become standard practice for those both within the scientific community and without. Of course, it hadn’t worked out like that. Shortly after it had been published, an influencer who fancied himself a ‘Kaiju Hunter’ came across her paper. He had taken her theories and gutted them, claiming their mangled corpses as his own. All anyone knew today was his ‘category’ system – a simple number-classification system that represented the amount of danger an individual creature posed to a single city. Category 1 was the weakest, able to work its way through a city in a week if left unchecked, and Category 5 was the strongest, able to reduce even a city the size of Eventide to rubble in hours. Rayne had always chalked up the difference to what made better headlines. Worst of all, the influencer had called everything a Kaiju, regardless of origin or even biology. Now the term was so synonymous with ‘monster’ that most people used them both interchangeably. Despite his blatant disregard for the scientific method, his popularity made sure her legacy was confined to the dusty annals of niche scientific discourse. That should have been good enough for anyone, or so she told herself. “So I can understand why you’d be chomping at the bit to get started,” Cyrus continued. “A lack of work and a surplus of time would shed some light on your simulator usage…the major question I had when I scheduled this meeting.” Rayne’s blood ran cold, her heart threatening to leap right out of her throat. “Th-there’s no rule against someone requesting simulator access.” She knew – she had checked all 187 pages of the employee handbook herself. “Correct. There is no such rule. There is, however, a rigorous vetting process before access is granted to anyone. Even those within the Machina Branch itself need to go through the proper channels.” She had known about that process too – she needed to in order to understand how she’d sidestepped it months ago. “I promise, it wasn’t anything I did maliciously. It was just a clerical error in the database. It listed me as a Commander,” she admitted. The rank was significantly above her current station. “And you didn’t think to tell anyone? Or did you not want to?” he asked, sounding like a disappointed parent. “I thought it was harmless!” Rayne exclaimed. “My pay stubs were correct, so there wasn’t any real difference besides my level of badge access.” Anchorage used an odd system for its employee titles, that of a proper military, despite being a private company. They technically constituted a chain of command, but nobody ever used it in daily work. In reality, it was simply a payscale – a way to compare relative seniority and compensation levels across a company whose departments varied so much from one another that to compare directly without such would be an exercise in futility. Cyrus peered down the bridge of his nose at her. “And how long did it take you to take advantage of that access?” Rayne remembered that night. Another nerve-frying elevator ride, hoping that nobody would question her presence so late in the evening. “I-I just had to try,” she confessed, deflating in her seat. “I have been playing Machina games ever since I was little. I just – I wanted to see how it compared to the real thing, or…closer to the real thing.” If there was one thing humanity was good at, it was deriving entertainment from tragedy. The first Machina game was pure government propaganda. The heroic framing of Machina Jockeys had bolstered public opinion of the costly machines for decades. It also sparked a cultural revolution, Machina and their Jockeys became celebrities practically overnight. They became so integrated into the popular zeitgeist that Rayne had known her favorite Machina ever since she could talk. But even then, she had always loved the monsters they faced even more. “I think we both know it goes well beyond just dabbling. Do you know just how many hours you’ve logged in there the past five months?” Cyrus asked. Rayne shook her head. “257-and-a-half. That’s a lot of time spent in the sim, girl.” Fangs, it couldn’t have been that long, could it? She had only been in there a few nights a week, hadn’t she? Rayne could admit that once she had tasted the sim, there was no going back to her simple VR console. The full-body haptic feedback, the historical scenarios, the lack of gimmicky mechanics to pull her out of the experience...it was like a drug. A drug she happened to be very good at. It made sense that the skillset would translate well with all the time she had spent playing those games growing up. But each situation she challenged and conquered made her feel strong. But beyond that, it made her as giddy as a schoolgirl to be so up-close-and-personal with the monsters. Virtually, of course. She looked back up at Cyrus, their eyes connecting through two pairs of lenses. Words escaped her; what could she say that would justify the liberties she had taken? “I-I’m sorry, I just...I promise I’ll stop. I’m sorry.” Cyrus sat up in his seat, steepling his fingers before him. “Stop? Why on Earth would you stop?” “Because – I’m definitely fired for this?” Rayne asked. Cyrus replied with a booming laugh, the sound so unexpected that Rayne jumped in her seat. “No, no – you’re not going to be let go for using the sim. Though we will have to make you go through proper channels for access, but I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” “I’m sorry – I don’t understand. I’m not fired for exploiting a system error to play with equipment I had no business case or realistic reason to use for months in a row?” “Do you know what I’d give to have some of our actual Machina Crews in the Sim that much, on their own with no prompting?” Cyrus sat back in his chair and chuckled. “I think a lot of my problems would be solved if that were the case.” Rayne leaned closer, brow knit. “If you knew how many hours I spent in the Sim already, why did you call me here? Just – curiosity?” she asked. “In part. I’ve been keeping an eye on you for the past few months since it was brought to my attention.” Rayne’s gut sank as she contemplated just how long she had been discovered. Cyrus flashed her a rueful grin and continued, “Come now. Surely you noticed the more advanced courses suddenly available on the machine? Didn’t you wonder where they came from?” She hadn’t. Rayne had just assumed that someone more advanced had used it before her and forgotten to log off. Or perhaps new material had been added to the machine in a patch or update. She had only thought to challenge them herself, and they had certainly been more difficult than those that had come before. “On the Category 5 Jockey challenges, you had a success rate of 58%. Do you know what the minimum score needed to be considered for Crew assignment is?” Jockeys were the only Crew members at Anchorage who actually fought inside the giant mechanical titans themselves. They felt the machine’s pain as their own on the battlefield and had a massive impact on any given Crew’s success. It was the position that Rayne had been simming all this time, as it was most like the games and it let her get closest to the monsters. It was also the most dangerous spot on a Crew by far, and that reputation had given the position another name. “We average around a 50.42% success rate across our field operations,” Cyrus said bluntly, the gravity of those words filling the room. “The Cat 5 challenges have the same success rate. They are meant to teach you how to think in tight spots and unwinnable scenarios. They also teach that sometimes the correct move is to back off and live to fight another day.” “I had no idea,” Rayne replied, disturbed. “Anchorage’s one of the best with Machina, but we’re still that low?” “Like all statistics, it is slightly misleading,” he replied, “That’s for a single Crew, and a retreat in this case is considered a failure. Not all of that 50% are losses, but they are retreats. That is why we deploy Machina in teams – to cover each other and wear down a threat together. We set the example, and it's been two decades since any threat has reached the shores of Eventide proper under our watch. Now most companies around the world have adopted our operating model, keeping casualties to a minimum and squad success rate high.” Rayne felt like she was finally glimpsing the COO of one of the most successful defense companies in the world. His confidence and use of statistics made it sound like a sales pitch. “Your 58% in the Sim is remarkably high. It’s in line with some of our best Jockeys historically, particularly for a solo run. So I feel the need to ask, Ms. Ryder.” Cyrus’ greys pierced her through, the intensity of his gaze transfixing. “Why did you want to use the simulator?” What could she say? That anything giant monster-related fascinated her to no end? That she wished to be close to them rather than as far away as humanly possible? A man who’d dedicated his life to destroying those very creatures would not see it her way. He would just think she was insane. It wasn’t like she just wanted to let them destroy cities or kill innocents or anything. But she did feel that something was missing. In the end, she took the middle road. “It's just a hobby. I’m good at the games, so I figured why not try it? It also let me see a more accurate representation of the monsters themselves, so I could study them.” It was a half-truth, and a weak one at that. “Is that all it is?” he asked, calling her bluff and leaning forward on his elbows. “Just a hobby for observation of the beasts? If you wanted to do that, why not use our internal records or listen to first-hand accounts? No – there’s more to this, Ms. Ryder. Why did you want to get up-close and personal?” Those eyes…underneath that gaze as hard as iron, she cracked. “Because I want to understand them.” He blinked. “Understand?” “The monsters…” she said, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks. It was too late – if she stopped herself now, they would never let her in the building again. There was no choice but to press on and hope he didn’t have her committed. “Nobody gets closer to the monsters when they’re alive but the Jockey. No one else has a chance to interact with them, to see eye-to-eye with them on an equal playing field. I just feel like something is missing from our understanding. As researchers, we work closely with the Machina Crews, but how much is missing because those in the fight are either ignorant or uninformed? Behavioral patterns, body language, intelligence…how much more would we know about them if the person in the Machina cared about them? Give someone a chance to interact with them, really interact with them. Think about what we could learn.” Rayne finally looked up again, wrapping her arms around herself. If the Sim usage didn’t get her fired, this certainly would. This was the same idea that had gotten her laughed out of her last job. Nobody in the business of exterminating monsters wanted to harbor a confessed sympathizer in their ranks, regardless of the assurances that Rayne wanted to use the information to help keep people safe. A long pause followed. A long pause during which she waited for the hammer to drop and shatter her again. But it didn’t come. Cyrus simply stared at her thoughtfully, a hand on his chin. “It has always been the domain of soldiers to do the fighting, and the greater people, the thinkers, to be held apart from it. But perhaps you have a point.” Rayne perked up; she couldn’t help herself. Nobody had even heard her out before. She hadn’t held much back, far less than some of the previous times she had spoken about this particular dream. “So-. You want to become a Jockey?” he deadpanned. Her eyes went wide. “Wait, me? No, not me. I’m no fighter.” “The Sim scores say differently,” Cyrus bit back matter-of-factly. “The sims are all based on previous encounters. Matters of historical record,” she said. “I-I knew most of them beforehand, and my knowledge of the monsters in particular helped. That and extensive practice in…” she cut off, feeling another flush of embarrassment radiate over her as she mumbled. “Games.” “With the technology in modern Machina, there isn’t too much of a difference between the two,” Cyrus offered. Rayne rolled her eyes despite herself. “Fighting well in virtual reality does not mean you’ll be a good fighter in the real world.” “True,” he said, “but don’t you want to know for certain?” Rayne blinked, caught off-guard by the mischievous glint she saw in Cyrus’s grey eyes. For the ex-military COO of one of the largest companies in the world, he certainly was willing to be cavalier with this idea. “The only real question,” he continued, “is if you have what it takes to kill them. To kill the very creatures you find so special, so worthy of your attention.” “My attention isn’t worth that much,” Rayne said, immediately chiding herself. There was something about this man that put her off-balance. When they spoke, he just seemed to have a way to coax out the parts of her she kept locked away. “But I do want to keep people safe, even if that means needing to kill…if there’s no other way.” That seemed to satisfy him, but his gaze still sat upon her like a weight. “And what of your own life?” “What of it, sir?” she asked, confused. “Jockeys take on the most dangerous role in the Crew. They have the highest injury and mortality rates of any position in the company, now that the Air Force is spun down. If you get in that Cocoon, you risk your life. Are the answers you hope to find worth the risk?” Cyrus asked. Rayne hadn’t really thought about it before. In virtual reality, failure had no real consequence beyond needing to reload and try again. When there was no going back, no save file, no redos – could she still stand tall? “I...I’m not sure, honestly.” “Well, why don’t we find out?” Cyrus replied in his velvety thrum. “Congratulations, Commander Ryder. You’ve just been promoted.”