Training Facility 9 looks different this morning. The same outdated equipment and utilitarian space, but my enhanced perception picks up details I'd missed before. Micro-fractures in the reinforced walls from power discharges, worn-down training surfaces marking high-use areas, and faint energy residue lingering in corners where cleaning protocols don’t fully reach.

  Around twenty independents are spread across the facility, testing their abilities. Electrical discharges crackle in one corner, spatial distortions ripple in another, and various physical enhancements are being pushed to their limits. Security monitoring remains standard, tracking general activity without the hyper-focus that followed combat assessments.

  I find an unoccupied section near the strength equipment, primitive compared to sponsored training areas but functional enough. A few independents glance my way, clearly reassessing me after I survived Integration consideration.

  I start with basic strength tests, establishing a controlled demonstration. Wrapping my hand around a force-measuring bar, I apply about seventy percent of my actual strength. Enough to stand out, but not enough to draw unwanted attention. The metal groans under pressure, and the display registers force metrics far above my previous records.

  Vex notices. "Holding back before, were you? That’s nearly double your last numbers."

  "Focusing on different aspects now," I reply, heading toward the speed track.

  "Integration rejection changes priorities," Vex notes, following at a distance. "Physical development attracts less administrative attention than advanced telekinesis."

  At the starting line, I calibrate my approach. My previous speed tests were deliberately unremarkable, today, I need to be impressive but not alarming. The starting signal pulses, and I accelerate, not at full power, but enough to push sixty-five percent above my recorded speed. The numbers flash across the facility displays, drawing more attention than I’d planned.

  "Fuck," someone mutters. "Where was that during combat assessment?"

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  I move to the jump platform next, continuing my controlled demonstration. Strength, speed, reflexes, endurance, each test is carefully calibrated to show impressive but stable capabilities. The crowd of observers grows, some curious, others calculating.

  "Arena selection tomorrow," Vex mentions as I complete a lift that bends the reinforced bar. "With your performance you are almost certainly going to be picked. Perfect timing for a stats upgrade."

  So Iris was right, arena selections are imminent, with physical abilities taking priority. That makes today’s strategy even more important.

  Shatter approaches with two of her faction members, their presence clearing space around us. Her bone protrusions extend slightly, a casual display rather than a threat.

  "Impressive development curve," she observes, watching me finish another strength test. "Unusual to see such progress after plateaued telekinetic metrics."

  "Different pathways progress at different rates," I reply, keeping my focus on the training equipment.

  She steps closer, lowering her voice. "Strength gets you into the arena. Arena performance attracts sponsor interest. Sponsor interest provides advancement outside Independence."

  It’s clear now, her faction sees my shift toward physical enhancements as a calculated move for upward mobility. Not entirely wrong, but my goals are more layered than simple rank advancement.

  "Just developing what works for me," I say, moving to the reflex station.

  The system activates, sending out rapid targets that require precise reactions. My enhanced nervous system responds with millisecond accuracy, intercepting each projection perfectly. The displayed scores climb steadily, pushing past standard enhancement levels but stopping short of raising red flags.

  Throughout the session, I keep my demonstration calibrated, strong enough to establish myself in the combat hierarchy, but conventional enough to avoid heightened scrutiny. Physical enhancements are valued but common, a far safer focus than molecular manipulation.

  By the time I finish, nearly everyone in Training Facility 9 has seen at least part of my session. I can feel the recalculations happening, alliances shifting, threat levels being reassessed, my position in the hierarchy being adjusted in real time.

  "Combat Board will definitely select you for arena matches after these metrics," Vex says as I prepare to leave. "You’re exactly they’re looking for."

  Well, it was going to happen sooner or later.