Crossing Orb: Newtype Commander

In April CE67, an unusual order was issued within the Obu Defense Forces.

The order was simple: each unit was to recommend soldiers with excellent physical and mental qualities to participate in a "special selection." The details of the selection process, its location, and even the consequences afterward were not specified. The only information was that participation was voluntary, and successful candidates would be tasked with "changing the fate of Orb."

One thousand people signed up.

These men came from various branches of the Orb Defense Forces—air force pilots, marines, armored vehicle commanders, and even a few security personnel from the Dawn Society. They didn't know what they were about to face, but the words "change the fate of Orb" were enough to ignite a flame in the hearts of the young soldiers.

The selection process took place in an underground facility deep within the Dawn Society's campus. All candidates signed a confidentiality agreement before entering—anyone who leaked information would be prosecuted for treason.

The first round of selection lasted three days.

The content appears simple: psychological tests, physical examinations, and basic physical fitness assessments. However, the questions are so tricky that even many soldiers who consider themselves "mentally strong" find them challenging.

The psychological test is not an ordinary questionnaire. Some of the questions were designed by VEDA based on the framework provided by Char, specifically to assess a person's decision-making patterns under extreme pressure, teamwork tendencies, and psychological resilience to "killing".

"Question 37: If your comrade is captured by the enemy, and the enemy threatens to kill you to force you to lay down your weapons, what would you do?" Noah Reyes frowned as he read the question on the screen. He thought for a moment and chose "Try to rescue him, but do not accept the threat."

The physical examination was more rigorous. In addition to routine medical checkups, it included genetic testing, neurological evaluation, and a Minovsky particle tolerance test—the latter being a special requirement of Char. Although Minovsky particles are considered safe, prolonged exposure to high concentrations of these particles is still a burden on the pilot's body.

Out of a thousand people, one hundred passed the first round.

The elimination rate is 90%.

1.3 Round Two: Simulator

The second round of selection took place at the Dawn Society's secret simulator center.

Thirty MS simulators are displayed here—their exteriors are exactly the same as the cockpits of real Zakus, and they are equipped with complete operating systems and panoramic displays. These simulators were developed by Char's team over the past year, with the hardware based on existing flight simulators from Dawn Corporation, and the software written from scratch by Christina.

"What is this?" Noah Reyes asked, looking at the huge spherical pods as he walked into the simulator center, his eyes full of confusion.

"You'll be driving these things," the instructor said coldly. "Get in and complete the mission."

The missions varied – some involved dodging obstacles in cosmic debris fields, others involved chasing enemy aircraft in simulated gravity environments, and still others involved completing a series of high-precision maneuvers within a limited time.

Noah sat in the simulator and gripped the joystick.

The moment his fingers touched the joystick, a strange feeling washed over him. He was a Coordinator, a former Orb Air Force ace pilot, who had flown all sorts of aircraft. But this simulator felt different—it was more direct, more…instinctive.

The mission begins.

He weaved through the debris field, the aircraft maneuvering like a nimble bird, precisely avoiding every piece of debris. During pursuit missions, he locked onto all targets with zero errors. In high-precision maneuver tests, his movement error was controlled to within one percent.

As he stepped out of the simulator, he saw the instructor recording something on the tablet, and a slight smile appeared on his lips.

Thirty people passed the second round.

Noah was one of them.

Three days after the selection process ended, the thirty successful candidates were gathered in a huge hangar.

When the hangar lights came on, everyone gasped.

Before them stood thirty mobile suits—25 Zaku and 5 GMs. Their silver armor gleamed coldly under the lights, their massive bodies casting oppressive shadows. These steel giants stood there silently, as if awaiting their master's arrival.

"Welcome to the Orb Space MS Force," a voice came from behind, "codename 'Griffin'."

Thirty people turned around at the same time.

Char Langlad Ashar stood at the entrance of the hangar, dressed in a dark blue military uniform with the insignia of the Commander-in-Chief of the Orb Defense Forces pinned to his chest. Behind him stood Erika Simmons, Ron Mitchell, and several technical officers.

The 21-year-old commander's gaze swept over the thirty faces before him.

"You are the first MS pilots in Orb." Char's voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear and powerful. "The land beneath your feet, the mobile suits before you, the responsibility you are about to assume—these are all Orb's top secrets. If anyone leaks them, not only will you yourselves be in danger, but your families, your comrades, and the entire Orb will be at risk."

The hangar was so quiet you could hear someone breathing.

"If any of you don't want to take this responsibility, you can quit now. There will be no punishment, it won't be recorded in your file, you just need to forget everything you saw today and go back to your original unit to continue serving."

No one moved.

Char waited three seconds, then nodded.

"Very good. From now on, you are members of the 'Griffin'."

Thirty drivers lined up in front of the MS.

Noah Reyes stood in the third position of the first row. To his left was a girl who looked a few years younger than him—Lina Hopkins, nineteen years old, a Coordinator, a technician transferred from Dawn Corporation. She was petite, appearing particularly small standing at the feet of the tall MS, but her eyes shone with a focused light.

To Noah's right was Ken Albert, a 24-year-old natural man, a veteran selected from the Army Special Forces. He had an old scar on his face, a steady gaze, and stood ramrod straight.

Char stood at the front of the line and raised his right hand.

"Repeat after me."

Thirty people raised their right hands at the same time.

"I swear in the name of the people of Orb—"

"I swear in the name of the people of Orb—"

"To protect this country, to protect the ideals of this country."

"To protect this country, to protect the ideals of this country."

"No aggression, no surrender, no betrayal."

"No aggression, no surrender, no betrayal."

"The wings of the griffin are spread out to protect."

"The wings of the griffin are spread out to protect."

The sound of vows echoed through the hangar, as the steel giants silently witnessed this moment under the lights.

After the oath was taken, Char led thirty pilots into a classroom.

The classroom was small, the blackboard was a traditional dark green, and a few white chalks sat in the chalk tray. Xia stood on the platform, while thirty students sat behind their desks, notebooks open in front of them.

"Lesson One," Char turned around and wrote a line on the blackboard, "MS Combat Theory."

The chalk scribbled powerfully across the blackboard, leaving neat and clear characters.

"MS is not a tank, not an airplane, it's an extension of your body. Feel it, feel it like you feel your own hands and feet."

He put down the chalk and faced the students.

"Some of you are air force pilots, some are army soldiers, and some are technicians. You are used to different ways of fighting—pilots are used to long-range strikes, soldiers are used to ground advances, and technicians are used to sitting behind a screen. But in MS, none of these distinctions exist."

He pressed a button on the remote control, and the screen behind the blackboard lit up, displaying a diagram of the MS's skeletal structure.

"Because its core is the Minovsky nuclear reactor. It provides the energy to power the joints, weapons, and thrusters. But more importantly, it allows you to operate independently for extended periods—without fuel limitations or resupply constraints. A single mobile suit can theoretically operate continuously in space for more than a week."

"The joints of a MS are anthropomorphic, but it is not human. Its rotation angle, power output, and reaction speed far exceed those of humans. What you need to learn is not 'moving like a human,' but 'moving like a MS.' This takes time, practice, and requires you to forget the physical instincts you've developed over decades."

Noah raised his hand.

"Lord Char, you said that a mobile suit is an extension of the body. But the body's reactions are subconscious, while a mobile suit requires the brain to actively issue commands. How do we overcome this delay?"

Xia glanced at him, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"Good question. The answer is—training. Through repeated training, every movement becomes muscle memory. After you've completed 10,000 turns, 10,000 shots, and 10,000 dodges in the simulator, your brain will no longer need to 'think' about how to operate—it will directly 'tell' the body what to do."

He paused.

"Furthermore, MS's learning computer will record your operating habits and gradually optimize the machine's response parameters. In other words, a kind of 'tacit understanding' will form between you and MS. The longer the time, the better the machine understands you."

Lena Hopkins raised her hand, her voice a little timid: "Lord Char, can I participate in the optimization of the OS (operating system)? My previous major was artificial intelligence and control systems."

Xia looked at her and nodded.

"Sure. The OS of each MS needs to be fine-tuned based on the pilot's characteristics. Warrant Officer Hopkins, you are responsible for collecting all the operational data and building an optimization model."

Lina's eyes lit up, and she nodded vigorously.

A week after the selection process, the thirty drivers underwent real-world testing.

Char's evaluation was only four words: "barely passing".

Noah was the top performer. His performance in the simulator was near perfect, and his gameplay in real games was also quite smooth. But Char pointed out his problem: "You rely too much on talent. Talent can give you an edge in training, but on the battlefield, talent won't save you. Discipline and teamwork are essential."

Ken Albert is the candidate for captain of the Zaku team. His piloting skills are not the best, but his command ability, battlefield judgment, and calmness under pressure impressed Char.

"Ken Albert, you are appointed captain of the Zaku squad," Char announced after the assessment. "Your mission is to ensure that your team members return alive from the battlefield."

Ken stood at attention and saluted: "Yes, Commander-in-Chief!"

Lena Hopkins' performance was adequate. Her piloting skills weren't as good as Noah's, and her command abilities weren't as good as Ken's, but she displayed an amazing talent for OS optimization. She fine-tuned the operating parameters for each mobile suit in just three days, improving overall response speed by fifteen percent.

"Lina Hopkins, you are appointed as Technical Support Officer," Char said. "Your battlefield is not in the cockpit, but in the command center."

Lina was somewhat disappointed, but she nodded nonetheless.