“Please, have a seat.”

 

The chair groaned as David sat. The woman across the desk smiled with polite efficiency, hands folded on a slim folder.

 

“Let’s begin,” she said. “Why do you want to work here?”

 

“Stability. Growth. I want to contribute—”

 

“Yes, yes. Everyone says that. Let’s skip ahead.” She opened the folder. “How do you plan to handle the fire on Seventh Street?”

 

David blinked. “The what?”

 

“The fire,” she repeated. “You’ll be there when it starts. Small blaze in a bakery. Do you save the child first, or the woman?”

 

He half-laughed. “Is this… some kind of ethics test?”

 

Her pen hovered. “Answer the question.”

 

“I… well, the child, I suppose.”

 

She nodded, jotting something. “And after you drag her out, the ceiling collapses. The woman dies. Do you regret your choice?”

 

David’s throat dried. “This isn’t funny.”

 

“It’s not meant to be.” She turned a page. “Next scenario: Two years from now, you’ll be offered a bribe. A tidy sum. Do you take it?”

 

“I don’t… how could you possibly—?”

 

“Please. Yes or no.”

 

“No.”

 

“Good.” She scribbled. “You resist temptation. But refusing costs you your position, your reputation.” She looked at him with a cold stare. “Worth it?”

His hands trembled on the armrest. “What is this? Who are you people?”

 

She closed the folder. “Final question. Five years from today, you’ll have a choice: betray someone you love, or see thousands die. Which do you choose?”

 

David shot to his feet. “I’m done. This isn’t the job for me.”

 

The woman stood too, offering her hand. “Congratulations, Mr. Lyle. You’ve passed.”

 

“Passed? Passed what?”

 

“The interview. You start tomorrow.”

 

Her smile lingered as security guided him out.

 

When the door shut, the woman opened her desk drawer and slid the folder inside. The surface of her monitor flickered to life.

 

Query complete.

Subject: David Lyle.

Probability of exposure if rejected: 94%.

Probability of exposure if hired: 0%.

 

She exhaled slowly. “So it is him,” she whispered.

 

The machine’s reply printed across the glass in a pale glow:

 

All variables resolve in our favor.