The fake city stretches out around me, a maze of concrete and shattered windows. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear the telltale crunch of another examinee taking down one of the one-pointers. I'm standing in the middle of the street, alone, my score already displayed on the screen above.

Forty-two points. Fourth place. Not bad. Not great either.

I glance down at my hands, flexing my fingers. The threads are still there, coiled and waiting, a faint purple glow pulsing beneath my skin. I could push further. There's still time left. But my lungs are burning and there's a stitch in my side that's screaming at me to stop.

I can hear footsteps behind me, rapid and light. I turn, ready to defend, but it's just a girl with brown hair and round cheeks, her pink hero suit splattered with grime. She's grinning at me, breathless.