The tactical simulation at ten was a distraction I welcomed.
Olympus Rising's simulation suite occupied the entire fourth floor. Holographic projectors. Adaptive terrain generators. The kind of equipment that cost more than most people's lifetime earnings. Commander Reyes ran the session with military efficiency, putting me through scenarios designed to test decision-making under pressure.
I performed adequately. Not brilliantly. Not poorly. The same careful performance I'd maintained throughout every assessment. Good enough to justify my ranking. Not good enough to raise questions.
The media training at two was torture.
A woman named Victoria spent three hours teaching me how to smile for cameras. How to deliver soundbites that meant nothing. How to deflect questions without appearing evasive. The kind of corporate grooming that turned people into products.
"You have natural charisma," she said toward the end. "Raw but genuine. The camera loves faces like yours."
"Thanks."
