"Write your name and badge number in the space provided. You may not turn over the exam paper until I say so."
Kung obediently picked up his pen, and wrote "Fury, K." in the first box and "4637" in the second.
He tried to breathe deeply and focus his qi, but the serenity he needed would not come. This was his last chance. He lived a bare, monastic existence and could live happily on a Detective's pay himself, but Bubbie Zosia's medical treatment got more expensive every month. She'd survived Hitler, and he was damned if he'd let her die from neglect. But he'd made some serious mistakes as a rookie which had blown his chances of promotion by the management track. That left only this track: heavily oversubscribed, and with a very low acceptance ratio. But at least the hours he'd spent in the dojo would now count in his favour.
A thought struck him. This was a test. Well, obviously this was a test. But maybe it was a test within a test?
Kung breathed deeply, stole a quick look at the proctor, and flicked over the exam paper.
MIAMI POLICE DEPARTMENT
WRITTEN EXAMINATION FOR PROMOTION TO THE RANK OF
RENEGADE KUNG-FU OFFICER
Question 1.
Turn over the paper before the proctor has told you to do so. (10 marks)
Kung Fury breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't played by the rules, and he had gotten results.