The dead man's switch trembled in his hand. His thumb lifted.
Hiroko stood on the rooftop, her tactical visor streaming data. "Four hostiles. Six hostages. Optimal solution: sniper suppression at 78% probability." Ayaka Oishi Perfect G Hiroko
The simulation began. Hiroko moved with surgical precision, taking down two sentries with silent darts. Oishi flowed like a ghost, her empathy disorienting a third gunman into dropping his weapon, convinced he was being watched by his dead mother. The dead man's switch trembled in his hand
Where Hiroko was logic, Oishi was chaos. Where Hiroko was the scalpel, Oishi was the earthquake. They were two halves of the same loaded gun. Oishi, with her wild auburn hair and a smile that always seemed to know a joke you didn't, was a "G-Class Anomaly"—a raw, untamed empath who could feel the emotional shrapnel of an entire city block. "Four hostiles
The head proctor cleared his throat. "Agent Hiroko. Agent Oishi. Your final designation is authorized."