My mother noticed from across the gym.
Without looking directly at me, she gave a tiny downward motion with two fingers.
Stand down.
Titan relaxed.
So did I.
Barely.
Chief Ramirez stepped forward.
“Lieutenant,” he said quietly, “I suggest you stop.”
Carter snapped his head toward him.
“Chief, are you telling me to stop clarifying official Navy history?”
Chief Ramirez’s jaw hardened.
“I’m telling you that you’re speaking on things above your access.”
The words landed hard.
Above your access.
Lieutenant Carter’s expression changed again.
Not embarrassment this time.
Fear.
My mother walked toward the Navy simulator. It was set up like a compact tactical challenge: a mock corridor projected on screen, target recognition panels, timed response controls, and a physical obstacle station with weighted dummies, rope grips, and balance beams.
The kind of thing designed to impress teenagers.
Not test operators.
She studied it for three seconds.
Then looked at Carter.
“What would you like demonstrated?”
The lieutenant’s mouth tightened.
He gestured toward the simulator.
“This system measures tactical decision-making under stress. Civilian-friendly, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And the obstacle component tests agility, strength, and reaction time.”
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