My mother nodded once.
“Run it.”
A recruiter tapped the control panel.
The screen flashed.
SIMULATION READY.
Carter stepped back, clearly relieved to be dealing with equipment again.
“This is designed for students,” he announced. “The record today is one minute and forty-eight seconds.”
A few students glanced at each other.
That record belonged to Dylan Price, captain of the football team, who had strutted around afterward like he had personally invaded enemy territory.
My mother removed her field jacket and handed it to Master Sergeant Vale.
Underneath, she wore a fitted black training shirt. The scars on her arms were visible now.
Thin white lines.
Jagged marks.
One burn scar near her left shoulder.
The gym’s silence deepened.
People noticed.
People always noticed scars when the person wearing them stopped hiding.
Carter noticed too.
His eyes lingered a moment too long.
My mother saw it.
“Begin,” she said.
The buzzer sounded.
She moved.
Not fast like an athlete trying to show off.
Fast like wasted movement had been trained out of her body.
The first screen flashed: civilian, weapon, civilian, hostile.
Her hand struck the response controls in a blur.
Correct.
Correct.
Correct.
Correct.
The mock corridor changed.
She adjusted before most people understood what they were seeing.
A weighted dummy blocked the obstacle lane. It was supposed to take two students to drag it. My mother seized the straps, shifted her weight, and moved it aside with ruthless efficiency.
No strain.
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