The announcement came in the mess hall, carried by an instructor with a voice like gravel.
"Tomorrow, you will be paired for your final evaluation: the Red Test. Each of you will face a live scenario. Your orders will be simple — neutralize the target. How you carry it out, and whether you succeed, will determine if you leave this place as an agent… or as a failure."
The room went silent. Every recruit knew what the Red Test meant. Rumors spread quickly in training: that it wasn't a simulation, that sometimes it was real, that the CIA would measure your worth in blood.
My fork hovered over my plate, but my pulse stayed steady. I'd known this moment was coming from the second I got on the bus.
When names were read, I caught mine: Bartowski — Walker.
Sarah Walker.
Our eyes met across the room. For a split second, there was a flicker — not fear, not nerves, but recognition. Neither of us looked away.
That evening, I stood in front of the mirror in my dorm room. Collins was out, giving me a rare moment of privacy.
I peeled off my sweat-soaked shirt, staring at my reflection.
The body staring back wasn't the same one that had first walked through the gates of The Farm. My shoulders had broadened, my chest and arms carved sharper with every mile run, every weight lifted, every bruise earned on the mat.
I wasn't Shazam-big — not some comic book hero — but I was built now. Lean muscle, strong lines, a physique that spoke of hours spent being torn down and rebuilt.
The nerd who once slouched behind computers was gone. In his place stood someone who looked — and moved — like an agent.
But the question wasn't just whether I looked the part. It was whether I was ready to make the choice the CIA demanded.
The Red Test.
Kill, or fail.
I flexed my fingers against the edge of the sink, my jaw tightening. My philosophy had never changed: bring them in alive if possible. Use brains before bullets. Guns were the last resort.
But if the test left me no choice…
I exhaled slowly, steadying myself. "If it's for the country," I whispered, "then I'll do it. But only then."
My reflection stared back at me, harder, sharper.
I wasn't just Chuck Bartowski anymore.
I was becoming the man who would survive the Red Test.