A/N: This story takes place in the late 80s/early 90s when Harry Hart and Merlin are in their early 20s. They're both nominees to join Kingsman. They shall be slightly OOC as their character haven't fully evolved to the point seen in the film, years later. Hope you enjoy!

"Your uncle Chester has nominated you to join Kingsman, I expect you do him proud." It was one of the few times Lady Hart spoke to her only child. Harry could practically feel her straightened posture through the telephone line.

"I shall, mother." Harry said, running a hand through his hair, holding back a sigh. He was sitting in the back of a car, dressed in a grey tweed suit, only halfway listening to his mother through the car phone. He was on his way to the mansion to begin his testing. Uncle Chester, not really his uncle at all but rather a family friend, had informed his parents that the previous Galahad had died while trying to overthrow some political regime. Being one of the few competent young men in the family, Chester had decided to nominate Harry. His parents had been ecstatic, Kingsman was a secret to most in the world - but to the British aristocracy, it was just another addition social status.

The Kingsman mansion came into view, sticking out in the English countryside. Harry decided that he would rather sit in silence for the rest of the ride than 'enjoy' small talk with his mother. "It looks like we have arrived. Do treat yourself well, mother."

"Yes. And, ah, good luck, Harry." It was a somewhat surprising moment of sincerity from Lady Hart, but the warm feeling quickly left as the sound of a dial tone fill his ear. She had hung up.

Harry leaned toward the partition in the car: "Martin, think you could drive any faster?"

: : : : : :

Martin Milligan shifted his weight forward and back, his horn-rimmed glasses slipping ever further down his nose. He had made a miscalculation. Upon arriving at the Kingsman mansion, he intended to wait until another nominee stood alone and then he would approach. It was his usual plan of attack when dealing with social situations. What he hadn't accounted for was that the 10 other men in the room already knew each other and seemed satisfied within their own group. They wore tailored suits, he had a kind-of-nice sweater over a dress shirt. They looked like star cricket players, he was the striking image of a nerd – receding hairline and all.

'Of course they'd all know each other. Lancelot told me that most nominees were upper class… Did expect all of them to be. Shit.' Martin cursed himself. While all the others were born with a silver spoon in their mouth, Martin was born to a single father in the working class. He worked his ass off for a scholarship, got himself into Oxford, and was a rising star in computer science. He opened his bedroom door one day to find Lancelot shuffling through his papers. He tried to attack but was swiftly disabled, then Lancelot invited him to Kingsman testing.

Just them, the door swung open, and with all the confidence of a descendent of a peerage, a man strode in. He fell into the average age of the others in the room, early 20s. He had on a grey suit, just as nice as the others. His brown hair was coiffed to the side. The others must have realized that he was one of them, for they stopped talking and stared.

"Hart!" A tall one with an elongated face yelled like a true socialite, a tone of familiarity yet his knowledge probably stopped at some names. Martin could tell that the tall one was making himself the leader of the group. It would've been impressive if not for the fact that he looked like a giant prick.

"Andrews." The new one, Hart, said with a small nod. He did not seem very fond of Andrews.

Martin watched at Hart scanned the room. It wasn't much anything impressive. A dormitory style room with 12 metal cots, washroom on one end, the only exit on the other.

Martin expected Hart to join his peers but instead he walked to the bed furthest from them and took a seat.

'Perfect!' Martin subtly clenched his fist with victory. 'Time to get to know the competition'. He made his way over to Hart.

"Martin," Martin extended his hand confidently toward Hart.

"Actually, my name's Harry." Hart said, shaking his hand. Martin froze, unsure if he was making a joke or misunderstood the greeting. Before he could clarify, Harry chuckled.

"It was a joke. Have a seat." Harry patted a space beside him on the bed. Martin breathed a sigh of relief.

"May I ask why you aren't socializing with your… friends?" Martin asked, he was always one to be candid.

"May I ask how you got in here?" Harry shot back with a sneer.

Martin tapped his head and said, "I'm a bit of a genius. Now answer the question."

Harry looked mildly surprised that Martin hadn't been offended by the snobbish insinuation. "Well you should loan that lot some brain cells, bunch of tossers. Andrews is probably the worst of them. Surprised his nose hasn't fallen off with the amount of asses he's been kissing."

Martin laughed. He was about to continue when the door opened again. He immediately stood. 12 beds, 12 men in the room, the test was about to begin. He glanced to his side to see Harry still sitting.

A man in his early 40s stepped into the room. He was dressed in a suit and Martin began wondering if he missed some dress code memo. The man held a clipboard and had a cold look in his eyes.

"Hello you lot, you can call me Percival. You all know why you're here. But in case you forgot: a position has just opened up in Kingsman and somebody thought you were worthy enough for the job. I'm here to test that." Although he looked similar to the younger men in the room, there was something rougher about Percival – like he had seen things people were never meant to see.

"On the table beside your bed, you will see a paper and pen. Write the contact information of someone you love and a message. This will be sent to them in case of your death. Return these to me tomorrow morning, 6 AM sharp. Until then, rest." Percival left the room, the door locking with a click behind him.

Everyone went to a bed and began to write. Martin settled on the bed beside Harry's. He picked up the pen and wrote a message to his dad saying that he loved him and that he hoped he was proud and sorry that he had died in such mysterious conditions (being of the lower classes meant that he wasn't allowed to divulge any information).

As he set down the pen, he realized that Harry hadn't written anything. Harry must've seen him staring because he said, "No one to miss me when I'm gone."

Martin didn't really know what to say, so he simply nodded.

: : : : : :

Harry was glad he didn't need to socialize with Andrews during the length of the trial. The moment the prick was nominated, he began to brag about it. Harry remembered the conversation at Aunt Susan's high tea:

"Yes, so Uncle Alistair, I can't tell you his codename because it's highly classified, asked me to join Kingsman. It's ranked above MI6, you know. Uncle says I would be an amazing asset for the team with my intelligence and athletic history. It helps that I'm one of the top shooters in our year." Andrews chuckled.

Harry believed that there were very few, truly horrible people in this world.

Andrews was one of them.

The only thing that Harry considered worthwhile of this whole Kingsman affair was the look on Andrews' face when he heard the news.

"Oh, really?" He spoke through clenched teeth. "May the best man win."

Harry lay in bed, replaying the memory with a bittersweet fondness. He didn't want to be here. Instead of the comfort of his own bed, instead he had a thin cotton blanket and a dense pillow. He wasn't quite sure what he'd rather be doing, but it certainly wasn't taking a life-endangering test for a job he didn't want. The other recruits were asleep, preparing for tomorrow. He figured he should join them but as he closed his eyes, he realized that his blanket was heavier than it should be. He tugged at it, leaning over the edge to check if it was tucked under the mattress. What he found was his glassy reflection in knee high water.

'Shit.'

The water was rapidly rising and he flicked on his light. The man bin the bed next to him, Marty or something, began to wake.

"Wake up! Test's started!" Harry yelled, one-by-one lights flicked on. The water was now waist high and Harry wasn't sure was to do. He looked around the room, considering his options. The door was locked, likely impossible to open. There were no windows to break through… But there was a suspiciously large mirror that ran almost entirely along the end of the room. It wasn't in front of anything in particular, making it appear rather pointless. Odd.

Marty yelling, "Shower hose!" was the last thing Harry heard before the water hit the ceiling. Harry took his final gasp before diving down in search for a way out. The group had split into two. A majority pulling at the door to no avail. The rest gathered around Marty who had torn the hose from the shower and was shoving one end into the toilet while the other was in his mouth.

'Brilliant. Push the hose to the main pipe and have a pathway to unlimited air. He wasn't joking about being a genius.'

Harry was a strong swimmer and moved above and past the growing group of people who were mimicking Marty. He reached the window and put his face up close, staring in. The water made the dorm darker than usual, making it easy to look through the two way mirror. He could see a light inside that couldn't be a reflection.

He grabbed the upper ledge of the mirror, planted one foot on the glass and stuck hard with his other. Cracks splintered across the glass on his second strike. And as his air supply began to give out, he finally pierce through – water pressure did the rest, carrying everyone roughly out of the room.

They were a coughing, exhausted mess clumped on the ground when Percival coughed. They looked up. The man was carrying a stack of towels, making him look like a very unhappy beach resort worker.

"Congratulations, you have all passed the first test. Good job, Milligan, for recognizing the hose and pipe, and Hart, for seeing the two-way mirror. The rest of you, step-up your game. Other ways out was the door. It was a simple lock. Disassemble your pen and you should've had all you needed to break out. Remember that Kingsman have finesse, and brute force like pulling hard on a door handle won't get you through everything."

As he finished the sentence, Percival's eyes fell on Harry. It was an odd feeling. He had almost died, his lungs felt like they contained water, his muscles were exhausted from the strain… yet he felt alive. The search for an escape sent his mind racing like a drug. Harry shook his head. He was only here for his uncle and parents. He would fail the exam and be free to live the rest of his life doing something he actually enjoyed like… The thought escaped him.

A towel landed in his lap. Percival was handing them out. "The beds will dry soon enough. Goodnight, boys."

With that, Percival left and the nominees stared at each other.

Andrews spoke up, his tone disgruntled, "Well what did that test prove? I highly doubt any mission will be placing us in a fish tank." He was the one who lead the charge on the door.

Harry and Martin shared a look, shaking their heads at each other.

Martin was the first to stand and climb through the hole where the mirror once was. "They better fix this by tomorrow, I'll need to fix my hair." He ran a hand through his nearly non-existent locks. When one began to bald in one's early teens, one quickly gained a sense of humour.

Other boys climbed through, Harry recognized Stevens, Daniels, and Robertson. Finally, it was just him and Andrews in the room.

"Best man win, eh?" Harry smiled then stood up to return to bed, leaving Andrews on the floor - seething with self-pitying anger.

A/N: Hey all. I hope you like it so far. I'm playing between a short fun story of having Harry evolved from a broody young man into the badass gentleman we see in the film. Also if you haven't already figured it out, Martin Milligan is Merlin, my favourite nerd.

If you want to read more, be sure to leave a review.