HATE IS OUR ENERGY — PART 1

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yydNF8tuVmU

The room was spacious, white, and illuminated by large glass windows overlooking the circuit. The desks were arranged like spacious bleachers, each one equipped with notebooks secured to clipboards, neatly aligned pens, and a cup with a bottle of water. The atmosphere carried a ceremonial, almost clinical silence, broken only by the sound of the projectors.

At the back, an enormous image was displayed: Michà in her cold and ruthless posture, beside the team's slogan: “Our energy comes from the challenge!” On the screen, highlights from her races played repeatedly. Among them was the famous incident in which she spat out a sponsor's sugary doughnut live on air — a moment that drew discreet laughter, even though it was a reminder of how much Michà hated being reduced to marketing.

At the center, below the bleachers, stood Ron. He wore a light-colored dress shirt with the AVEX INFINITY TEAM logo embroidered on the chest, sleeves rolled up to reveal his regenerated arm — still undergoing aesthetic development, but already fully functional. Black dress pants, polished shoes, firm posture. He didn't look merely like a team manager: at that moment, he was the conductor of a spectacle.

Scattered around the desks were the 12 selected drivers: arrogant faces, calculating eyes. They had come from every corner of Ceres, each carrying their own burden of glory and scars. One of them, from the Republic of Fiume — a neighboring country and key sponsor providing abundant fuel — was there as part of an exchange program, representing interests beyond the racetrack. Only two women were among them, both from Ceres.

But they all shared the same destiny: competing for the position of second driver, the shadow of a legend who already had a nickname carved into history — “The Iron Maiden.”

Ron opened his arms.

— Welcome to Ceres. Welcome to the AVEX INFINITY TEAM! Our energy comes from the challenge!

The auditorium echoed with applause.

— You're here because you've been chosen to compete for the most difficult seat on the grid: racing alongside our first driver! — he said, his voice firm, almost military. — In front of you is a manual covering the complex, its code of conduct, and the laws that govern this place.

Ron raised his own manual, weighing it in his hand.

— I'm Ron, head of the AVEX INFINITY TEAM. And my job is to make you break your limits. We're here to separate men... — he paused, looking at the two women — ...and women... from children!

The room shifted uncomfortably. Some laughed, others clenched their teeth.

— Now, get in line. — Ron slammed the manual shut. — I'm not going desk by desk handing these out like teachers do with students. Here, we demand communication. We demand interaction.

There was a moment of hesitation, exchanged glances. Then the movement began. Some drivers went straight to the front of the line, pushing past those in the middle. The friction was almost physical, but no one dared refuse.

Ron smiled, satisfied.

— That's what I want to see! A winner's mentality. Competition even in line. But remember... — his voice dropped to an almost whispered tone — ...the psychological battle starts today.

Ron.

Everyone took their manuals.

— READ THEM! IT'S MANDATORY! YOU KNOW HOW TO READ AS WELL AS YOU KNOW HOW TO DRIVE!

The harsh tone echoed against the white walls. Some drivers frowned, others lowered their eyes, but everyone obeyed.

— Now, follow me. I'll show you the heart of the Complex.

The group followed him, still stunned. Along the corridor, their eyes were drawn to the posters hanging on the walls: old machines, legendary races, and, at the center of it all, an image of Ron, world champion before the accident. He was young, smiling as he raised the trophy. It was impossible not to compare the man in the posters with the one walking ahead of them now — firm, cold, but still carrying the aura of someone who had made history.

The silent reverence soon turned into tension. At the end of the corridor, the doors of the enormous elevator opened. Everyone stepped inside.

The enclosed space seemed to shrink as more bodies occupied every corner. The sound of boots against the metal floor ceased, leaving only the deep hum of the motor as the doors closed.

One driver kept cracking his fingers, the dry snap repeating like a nervous tic. Another stood with his arms crossed over his chest, chin raised, glancing sideways at another driver. When some returned his stare, firm as steel, he quickly looked away, clearing his throat to disguise it.

From the back, Ron watched everything. The forced silence, the short breaths, the weight of rivalry in the air. He smiled inwardly. Before they had even set foot on the GFG, the psychological battle had already begun.

The elevator doors opened with a metallic sound. On the floor below, an entire team was already waiting for them: Dan, the track engineer; performance engineers; strategists; mechanics; physiotherapists. Everyone wore the same institutional uniform as Ron, with confident smiles and impeccable posture.

Ron raised his voice:

— Gentlemen, meet the people who will turn every detail into results. Everything you need to know is with them. From the steering wheel to the car's materials, from strategy to mechanical adjustments... they take your feedback and turn it into reality.

With a quick gesture, he arranged the drivers into a circle. The atmosphere took on the feel of military instruction.

— I want you to think like drivers.

Silence fell. No one moved, no one asked anything. Ron narrowed his eyes.

— Guys... communication! If you don't know, ask! I would rather have too much communication than too little.

A young man hesitated, then raised his hand.

— Sir... what does thinking like a driver mean?

Ron walked over to him and looked at the badge hanging from his chest.

— Very good... Ayr. Is that really your name?

— Yes, sir!

Ron turned back toward the circle, his voice firm:

— Pay attention. Thinking like a driver means eliminating formalities. On the track, there's no time for “please” or “thank you.” Communication needs to be fast, clear, and objective. A “good morning” at the beginning is enough; after that, get straight to the point. This team isn't here for social etiquette. It's here to solve problems. The fewer words, the more solutions.

He paused, looking at each person present.

— Manners? You can use them in the cafeteria or the common room. Here, every second matters. Your lives depend on it.

Some drivers exchanged quick glances, startled by the intensity. Others, still proud and arrogant, kept their chests out, convinced they didn't need instruction.

Ayr took a deep breath, realizing that raising his hand had not been merely curiosity; it had been a test. He watched the others, some frowning, others giving slight nods.

One of the few women there sighed, clearly bothered by the heavy atmosphere. She felt she needed to prove something to everyone, but the weight of expectations was greater than the physical challenge itself.

Ron slowly walked around the circle, observing every expression, every reaction.

— Some of you are already thinking of excuses. Others are thinking of justifications. There is none of that here. Only action. Results. You'll learn quickly, or you'll learn the hard way.

He stopped in the center and slammed his fist onto the table in front of him.

— Today you start being measured, and not just in the simulator. Every look, every gesture, every question will be recorded. Ceres doesn't forgive mistakes. I don't forgive mistakes.

A chill ran through the group. The tension was almost palpable. Some already felt their hearts racing, others felt their stomachs turning. But they all knew they would leave stronger — or broken.

Ayr looked at his colleagues, realizing that no one there was going to make things easy for anyone else. Each person was alone with their own abilities and fears. The game had finally begun.

Ron stopped, letting the silence breathe, watching the drivers absorb every word. Some shifted in their seats, others leaned slightly forward, adjusted their badges, took deep breaths. The tension was almost physical: the sound of footsteps, the clinking of pens against clipboards, the faint smell of metal and coffee hanging in the air — everything contributed to the atmosphere of extreme discipline.

— Now, get to work. You'll get to know every corner of this complex. Every detail, every cubic meter, every machine has a purpose. If you don't understand something, ask, but don't interrupt the flow of training. Here, everything is a test — psychological, physical, and reflexive. Stay alert.

Everyone moved down the wide, minimalist white corridor, where every detail conveyed rigor and discipline. Ahead, a floor-to-ceiling glass wall revealed the entire exercise room, providing a complete view from top to bottom. There, among treadmills, weight machines, and reflex equipment, was her: “The Iron Maiden,” wearing a training mask and running beside her physical trainer. Every movement was precise, focused, without distraction. She ignored everyone, oblivious to the stares, because there, absolute focus and a driver's mindset were superior to any formality.

Ron, at the front of the group, spoke firmly:

— This is the exercise room. Each of you will be able to use it when called. Rule number one: no one talks to Michà. You are not team drivers yet. Observe. Learn. Respect her space.

Everyone looked at one another, absorbing every word. Some sighed, others kept their eyes fixed ahead, knowing that more than skill is built here: legend is built here. Michà, besides being beautiful, demonstrated endurance, discipline, and courage. She was the living, untouchable benchmark against which everyone would be measured.

As she maintained her pace, the team felt the weight of the institution surrounding them: immaculate corridors, state-of-the-art equipment, respectful silence, and an atmosphere of maximum expectation. Every detail, every shadow cast by the glass, every aligned machine reinforced that they were in a complex where talent and discipline meet, and that nothing there happened by chance. Michà's aura was not merely physical: it was psychological, inspiring, ruthless.

Ron watched from a distance, satisfied: everyone saw, everyone learned, but only she demonstrated the true essence of speed and control.

Farther down the corridor, a group of engineers and mechanics worked on replacing parts, logistics, and distribution. Every movement seemed rehearsed: boxes stacked with precision, reports passed from hand to hand, tools checked twice before being sent to storage. The drivers, still in line, watched in admiration at the harmony of that machine. The AVEX INFINITY TEAM functioned like a living organism.

Ron opened his arms proudly:

— Here, as you can see, is the logistics and mechanics center. Every part we need passes through this floor. This is where we build the cars.

At the back, a large black cloth hanging like curtains concealed the silhouette of the new supercar. The shape hidden beneath the fabric awakened something almost sacred. The drivers looked at one another, some with tears in their eyes. It was like contemplating a steel womb carrying an imminent birth — the machine Michà would drive and, in the future, perhaps one of them.

Ron stopped before the cloth and spoke solemnly:

— It looks like the supercar is breathing, doesn't it? Even better is getting inside it, feeling the difference between a headache that lasts six hours and the rush of a nearly three-hour GP. This isn't just speed: it's a simulacrum of freedom, an orgasm that lasts six to eight seconds. If sex were that good, nobody would leave the bedroom. But in these machines... in these machines, we're free for entire seasons.

The drivers, almost in a trance, repeated the mantra:

— Mãe Ceres que nos alimenta, educa e devora!

Everyone except the driver from the Republic of Fiume, who let the words slip out in his own tone:

— Mãe Ceres que nos alimenta, educa e devora.

Silence cut through the air. Ron did not get angry or raise his voice. He simply smiled to one side, as if he had expected it.

— Interesting... — he said, looking directly at the young man. — Every country creates its own gods. But here, at AVEX, there is only one: the machine. The machine doesn't educate, doesn't devour, doesn't forgive. It only demands. Whoever doesn't understand that... won't make it past the GFG.

The Fiume driver swallowed hard. The others took deep breaths, relieved that they were not the target. The black cloth in the background seemed to pulse, as if confirming Ron's verdict.

The drivers stopped before the black curtains. The hidden car was not merely a machine — it was an altar. The collective breathing stopped, and for a moment, it seemed as though the fabric moved like lungs.

Ron raised his voice solemnly:

— There is more than engineering here. This is the faith of Ceres. The steel womb that welcomes and devours.

The engineers, in ritual silence, seemed like monks at work. Every tool gleamed like metallic incense, every fitted part was a prayer.

The car was a sleeping god. Ron was the high priest. Michà, the untouchable saint. And the newcomers, faithful awaiting baptism.

Everyone repeated the mantra as if it were a final prayer:

— Mãe Ceres que nos alimenta, educa e devora!

Everyone reacted differently, but there was no denying it: before the silhouette hidden beneath the black curtains, they all stared as though standing before the first toy of their lives. The difference, however, was the weight. As Mother Ceres used to say: “the difference between men, women, and children is the price of their toys.” And there stood the most expensive of them all. The church of steel. The steel womb. Molded by the Mother's doctrine, by the logic of the Lead Womb and Ceresianism: survival above freedom, the perfect dream realized according to Mother Ceres's will. The supercar was the concrete fantasy of that creed — and, at the same time, its ultimate temptation. Being inside it, feeling the speed, meant being greater than Mother for a few moments, even if only for a few hours.

Ron led them through the complex for hours, showing them every wing, every mechanism of that colossal structure. He made sure to show them that nobody there was “playing around.” But, paradoxically, it was precisely through play — this serious game of being fast, flirting with death and calling it freedom — that the AVEX INFINITY TEAM rose as an institution. Children know nothing, but through play they know everything. And it was this paradox that fed the machine and the faith. A sweet dream, but also a heavy one for those who would someday have to wake from it.

At night, confined to their individual rooms, the twelve drivers tried to rest. Twelve different dreams, twelve inflated ambitions, twelve arrogant souls full of hatred as they competed for the same second-driver position. But deep down, they all knew: being approved was only the first step. The real nightmare would come afterward, when each of them had to face their greatest rival, not the teammate beside them, but the living legend standing before them. Michà, the Iron Maiden. And on the AVEX grid, there was room for only one lead driver.

The next morning, all twelve drivers gathered again in the auditorium, still spread out in their positions for the briefing before entering the virtual simulators. There were eight simulators available, but only four would be used during that session; the other four would run simulations later. Although they were warmed up after the physical training at the gym the previous afternoon, some seemed slightly disappointed: Michà, the Iron Maiden, was not there.

Dan, the track engineer, took the front and explained in detail what she expected from the session.

— Session objective — she said, looking each driver in the eye —: Today the focus is working on tire warm-up and behavior through low-speed corners.

She continued with clarity and precision, leaving no room for doubt:

— Technical parameters: the car is configured with medium aerodynamic downforce, fuel level X, and tires simulating used soft compounds.

— What to observe — she emphasized —: we want feedback on traction on corner exit, braking stability, and front-end sensitivity.

The drivers took mental notes, absorbing every detail.

— Procedures — Dan continued —: at the beginning, do two adaptation laps. Then, get into your rhythm. We'll ask for several consistent laps for data collection.

Finally, she emphasized the importance of mindset during training:

— Mental approach: don't worry about lap times right now. The focus is consistency and clarity in your feedback.

The auditorium remained silent, each driver absorbing the responsibility and weight of the session. Those who had not yet crossed paths with Michà felt her absence as a reminder: in the world of the AVEX INFINITY TEAM, nobody received special treatment. And there, on that closed Ceresian circuit, every corner and every braking point would test not only their technical skills, but also their ability to become more than human, on the threshold between absolute control and pure adrenaline.

Ron entered the room with a clipboard in his hand, his expression serious and firm, and called the eight selected drivers to begin the simulator tests.

— Good morning, everyone — he said firmly. — I'm calling Rix, Ara, Dio, Joa, Doca, Lans, Ray, and Pace... follow me, please!

The drivers exchanged glances, some taking deep breaths, others already with a gleam in their eyes. Stunned and curious, they followed Ron down the corridor. Along the walls, posters of past champions alternated with LED screens projecting animations of speed, corners, and perfect overtakes. In the background, a heavy beat filled the air: Daft Punk — Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger.

The music pulsed in sync with the light animations, and the pressure in the environment was almost tangible — a sensory stimulus that made every heart beat faster, every mind become more focused. Every repetition, every animated curve on the LEDs, made their senses leap, sharp as blades.

It was a call to those who wanted more than simply to drive; it was the steel womb, the space where metal and flesh merged, where each driver would begin to test the limits of their endurance and ability. There was no room for hesitation. The simulation would be rigorous, merciless, and absolute, and the eight chosen drivers felt it pulsing in the air, as if every note of the music and every flash of light were a reminder of what awaited them: speed, precision, and survival.

The eight drivers followed Ron to the simulator hall, a spacious room illuminated by intense white light, minimalist but with an almost ritualistic atmosphere. Each machine was aligned like an altar of steel and carbon fiber, with LED panels and steering wheels that seemed to belong to another world, ready to become an extension of the human body.

Rix was the first to climb in, a tall, muscular young man with a serious expression. He sat down, gripped the steering wheel, and took a deep breath, as if trying to absorb the energy of the room. Ara, on the other hand, frowned, clearly measuring every detail, every angle of the cockpit before settling in. Dio seemed oblivious to everything around him, focused only on the steering wheel, his hands already trembling with anxiety and excitement.

Joa and Doca exchanged glances, a mixture of challenge and camaraderie. Both knew they would be internal rivals, but they also knew that the simulator was the first trial by fire — making a mistake here would not merely be a lesson, but a silent warning. Lans, Ray, and Pace watched in silence until Ron gave the final signal.

— Adjust the seat, pedals, and steering wheel. Get into racing position. Take a deep breath and feel the machine — said Ron, walking among them, evaluating every movement, every expression. — The Ceres circuit is treacherous, even in the simulators. What you do here will be reflected in the GFG.

A metallic click echoed as the simulators came to life with the virtual roar of engines. Lights flashed, screens simulating the entire circuit lit up, and each driver felt their heart race. Rix pressed the ignition button on the panel, and the simulator immediately responded with precise, almost realistic vibrations. Ara frowned: the virtual car behaved differently than expected, but it was an opportunity to feel every detail of the steering wheel, every centimeter of the cockpit.

Dio gave a nervous smile, feeling the adrenaline rise. He knew he could get lost under the pressure, but at the same time, it was the fuel he wanted. Joa and Doca were already finding their rhythm, adjusting racing lines and braking points as if they had been born for it. Lans, Ray, and Pace breathed deeply, absorbing every detail of the screen and every vibration reaching their hands.

Ron watched from his feet, arms crossed. Every small movement, every expression of tension or confidence was recorded by him. There was no distraction, no favoritism. It was a test, a performance, preparation for what only a few would survive: the real race, the GFG, where metal would meet flesh and only the best would endure.

In the room remained Ayr, Adual Ikin from the Republic of Fiume — a foreigner, communicative, with a strong but easy-to-understand accent — Lidi, a woman from Ceres, and Ickx, also from Ceres. Dan explained that they would wait to use the virtual simulators in the afternoon. They could go to their rooms or even walk around the complex, but they had to remain in uniform and wear their badges at all times.

Ayr sat in the first row of the auditorium, hands clasped behind his neck, bored. Beside him, Adual seemed far too excited for someone who was merely waiting.

— Can you listen to music now? — Adual asked, almost with childlike curiosity.

Ayr found the question strange. Music? It had been so long since that sounded like something forbidden. Even so, he answered with a half-smile.

— Yes. Mother Ceres allowed it years ago. Of course, there's still censorship, but they seek musical quality.

In his mind, Ayr remembered when he was younger: pirate radio stations, hidden beats in basements, and the absurd accusations of “rebellion” he had received. He almost laughed inwardly — if he had been born a few years earlier, he would be dead.

— But why ask? — he added.

Adual adjusted himself in his chair, with the air of someone carrying heavy stories in his baggage.

— Well, I remember that in my country, you weren't allowed to listen to music. Or practice anything that showed rebellion.

Ayr nodded. The discomfort grew, but he tried to turn it into pride, repeating the speech he had learned.

— Ah, yes... it really was like that before. But Mother Ceres realized it. She embraced music, supported musicians, as long as there was purpose and quality. Our Mother's sense of freedom is... divine. It's difficult to say anything bad about her.

He hesitated for a second before confessing:

— I, for example, was very rebellious when I was young. I was accused of things I didn't do. If it had been years ago, I would have been burned in Square A. Today... today we even have a trade and crafts fair there.

The foreigner smiled, fascinated.

— Your Mother absorbed you in a way that simulates freedom itself. Incredible.

Ayr blinked suspiciously. “Simulates?” The tone sounded strange, but he let it go.

— But tell me the truth. Isn't it better than the freedom you have in your country?

— Indeed. She is relentless. Her logic wins before the debate even begins.

Ayr let out a short laugh.

— In the end, she's like our real mother. They're always right.

— Yes. Mother Ceres is considered a saint by the citizens of Fiume.

Ayr leaned forward, remembering Ron.

— Did you see his arm? Really... Mother Ceres did what the gods don't do. Faith rewarded.

Adual lowered his eyes.

— It's difficult to overcome her logic with my faith. I'd better stay quiet, or I'll end up getting myself into trouble.

Ayr smiled more lightly this time.

— Oh, come on. What's your name again?

— Adual Ikin.

— Wow, that's different. You have a surname! How cool! Mine is just Ayr.

Ayr stood up from his chair. He was tired of the stuffy air in the auditorium and of Lidi's gaze, which seemed like pure mockery toward Adual. Ickx wasn't bothering to hide his indifference either. The silent tension between the Ceresians and the foreigner was obvious, almost palpable.

— Want to go outside? — Ayr said, breaking the atmosphere.

Adual followed him through the bright corridors, curiosity alive in his eyes. They walked side by side in silence for a few meters until he couldn't hold it in anymore.

— Why do you hate each other like this? Even among yourselves, in Ceres? — he asked bluntly.

Ayr took a deep breath. It was the right question, but the answer was never simple.

— It's complicated... we all want Mother's attention, but we don't want internal interference. Among ourselves, we can admit defeat. But losing to someone from outside... that's personal.

Adual raised an eyebrow, teasing without malice:

— Like children gathered around their mother. Doesn't that make her sadistic?

Ayr gave a short, dry laugh.

— No. It makes us strong. Welcome to Ceres.

He paused for a moment, looking at the foreigner before continuing:

— Recognizing the hatred in the other person is part of it. It's cultural. You can criticize our Mother, and that's fine... if it were years ago, your neck would already be broken. But you're here. Mother's logic is to deny reality.

Ayr narrowed his eyes, as if trying to measure how much Adual could take.

— And you definitely paid millions to be here. I didn't. I'm here because I have results. I'm not looking down on you... well, maybe a little. But that's reality.

Adual smiled calmly.

— That's okay. In my country, Annes is a national hero. They even made a statue of him.

Ayr fell silent for a few seconds. The memory of Annes still hurt like a red-hot iron.

— I understand... here, he's a traitor. But that's the paradox: he was also a five-time champion in the category we're in. The best of us betrayed us for fame and “freedom.”

— He's really good — Adual admitted. — We're proud of him. But I'm here to learn from you, without hiding anything.

Ayr glanced sideways, as if testing the foreigner's sincerity.

— Mother Ceres isn't afraid of secrets leaking. It almost seems that when she reveals something, she evolves. She absolves the absurd.

— Can you give me some advice for the other drivers? — Adual asked.

— Use hatred to your advantage. Get used to it.

Adual thought for a moment before replying:

— But... why don't you hate me?

Ayr raised an eyebrow, letting a half-smile escape.

— Huh... I think you're a spy, aren't you? — The silence that followed was broken by both of them laughing.

Then Ayr added, dryly, without mockery:

— I don't see you as a threat.

Adual understood that there was no irony in it, only transparency. They laughed again, this time with relief.

— Explaining to a citizen of Ceres what it's like to be from Ceres is a waste of time and energy — Ayr concluded. — But explaining it to a foreigner... is unnecessary.

While Ayr and Adual were talking in the corridor, Lidi appeared farther down, arms crossed and expression hard. It didn't seem accidental: she had followed them.

— So that's it? — she said, her voice loaded with irony. — The foreigner already has a friend inside the house.

Ayr slowly turned, staring at her.

— What do you want, Lidi?

— I want to understand why you're opening up to him. This kind of conversation isn't for outsiders.

Adual remained silent, but his eyes betrayed some discomfort. He didn't want to make the situation worse. Ayr, on the other hand, didn't back down.

— The obvious, Lidi. — His voice was firm, almost solemn. — If Adual is here, it's because Mother Ceres wants him here. If she didn't, he wouldn't even be breathing this air.

Lidi narrowed her eyes, as if trying to force an answer out of him, but then looked upward, noticing the cameras along the corridor. The memory of constant surveillance made the weight of the accusation retreat down her throat.

— You trust this foreigner too much... — she murmured, giving in slightly, but without letting go of the suspicion burning in her eyes.

Ayr stepped forward, making it clear that he would not retreat.

— I don't need to trust him, Lidi. I simply follow logic. And Mother's logic is perfect.

For several seconds, only silence reigned. The white lights reflected off the corridor, impersonal, while the cameras blinked like watchful eyes, recording everything. Lidi took a deep breath, stepped back half a pace, and leaned against the wall again.

— Be careful, Ayr. Logic can also swallow those who challenge it — she said before turning her back.

Adual looked at Ayr, somewhat uneasy.

— Always like this?

Ayr took a deep breath without losing the firmness in his gaze.

— Always. Welcome to surveillance. Here, even silence speaks.

Ayr's words still echoed through the corridor as Lidi walked away, swallowing her suspicion beneath the cameras. The silence between Ayr and Adual became heavy again, but they were not as alone as they imagined.

In the control room above the corridors, dozens of screens displayed every angle of the complex. Dan, wearing an immaculate uniform, watched everything with the calm of someone who knew how to separate emotion from data. She adjusted one of the monitors, enlarging the frame of the corridor where the three drivers had met.

She didn't smile or sigh. She simply picked up her digital clipboard and typed a few quick notes:

[Observation — 07:54]

• Driver Ayr demonstrates natural leadership and complete confidence in Ceresian logic. Resilient in the face of provocation.

• Driver Adual Ikin maintains a diplomatic posture, avoids conflict, but does not conceal his discomfort.

• Driver Lidi displays direct hostility and recurring suspicion. She backs down only when reminded of the surveillance.

Dan saved the file and tagged it with a numerical code. She didn't need value judgments, only facts. Psychological screening was an essential part of the process, and every reaction mattered just as much as a fast lap in the simulator.

As Ayr and Adual resumed walking down the white corridor, Dan kept her eyes fixed on the screen for a few more seconds. Then, without saying a word, she turned to another monitor, where the simulators were already displaying the first tests under Ron's command.

Everything was being recorded.

Everything had value.

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