Janine let her hair flop forward on the left, decided against it, and threw her hair up in a clip. It was a well earned scar. No one would care— should care— about a little character, right? This wasn’t a modelling job. It was war and she earned her stripes. She was good, real good. Screw those bastards anyway. ‘Old Boy’s Club, my ass.’ This is one Blackhat they should be afraid of not hiring. Janine walked into the interview room and set her laptop on the table confidently. Let’s do this.
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