I had always been a man who moved forward.
No hesitation. No second-guessing.
So, after that morning in the hotel café—after shaking Mark's hand and sealing my fate—I did exactly that.
I moved forward.
Week One: The First Steps
Preparation came in waves, each more demanding than the last. My schedule was relentless—physical conditioning, survival training, mission briefings, and technical simulations designed to break lesser men.
I adapted.
By the end of the first week, I had already surpassed most of the official astronaut candidates in the physical assessments. The weightlifting drills were laughable. The endurance tests, even in simulated low-oxygen environments, felt familiar. My time as a firefighter had forged a body that could endure stress beyond most people's limits.
The instructors took notice.
And Elliot—Elliot followed.
He wasn't required to be in half the training sessions I attended. But he showed up anyway.
