QCE · Internal Assessment 3
Internal Assessment 3: You are to create an imaginative…
QCE Internal Assessment 3 essay scoring 100%: Clean Construction “The Horizon Sanctuary” The words hung in the pristine air of the glass presentation…
Clean Construction
“The Horizon Sanctuary”
The words hung in the pristine air of the glass presentation room. They bounced off the gallery of sleek ties, tailored suits and polished shoes, each one a stiff entity that seemed to wear the men inside them. My collar, dipped in beady sweat and young ambition, chafed against my neck.
“This brand new mega resort is utilizing the green technology of tomorrow,” I told the board, gesturing towards the screen. “A new sustainable-multi-million-dollar-ultra-luxury-eco-resort. A flagship project. Including the firm’s signature sustainable modernism design practices, pioneering a greater carbon-negative future.”
The suits and their silent nods rippled through the room, in subtle, calculated glances, occasionally muttering to the adjacent member.
I looked past them, out the east wall. Through the glass that stood above the grandiose metropolitan skyline, below our suits, the city they built from nothing. It stretched out like an immaculate living blueprint, not dissimilar to my own. Sleek spires, the clean infrastructure, the tiny human ants advancing like clockwork in our perfect city.
I felt a quiet surge of pride, intoxicating my body, an imperceptible grin tugging the corners of my mouth.
With time, the firm would let me build something like this, something of perfect design for all. Architecture that could heal the planet.
*
In the solitude of my cramped office space, the low hum of a constant AC permeated my silent concentration, intermittently disturbed by keyboard clacks. My pearlescent desk reflected the blue glow from my computer screen, enveloped in the comprehensive material audit for the resort’s rare earth structural elements and specialized solar grid.
An intensive list provided by Elena, my deadpan supervisor: neodymium, dysprosium, carbon fibre composites, graphene, aerogel insulation and thin film cadmium telluride. Slumped over, I meticulously pored over the supply chain ledgers, reconciling the physical demands with origin logs.
After hours, spreadsheets blurred together into a kaleidoscope of companies and shipping logs. But my eyes caught something. A discrepancy in a column, missing crucial information. Strange.
The unit price for our dysprosium turbine magnets was forty per cent below market rate, a financial impossibility by any measure.
I needed to trace to the source; I bypassed the marketing summaries and customs clearance logs. I opened a vendor attachment titled:
“Standard risk allocation,” I muttered in the darkness, zooming in on an unredacted section. “Appendix C, section 4.2. Operational partners indemnify the parent firm against third-party labour grievances in unmetered extraction zones.”
I scrolled.
“Incidence of chronic pulmonary distress and heavy metal toxicity among non-salaried handling personnel remains within accepted regional baseline variance.”
I just stared. The computer reciprocating my intense gaze with its callous glow.
*
“Elena, just look at this!”
QCE · Internal Assessment 3
Internal Assessment 3: You are to create an imaginative…
QCE Internal Assessment 3 essay scoring 97.5%: Clean Construction “The Horizon Sanctuary” The words hung in the pristine air of the glass presentation…
Clean Construction
“The Horizon Sanctuary”
The words hung in the pristine air of the glass presentation room. They bounced off the gallery of sleek ties, tailored suits and polished shoes, each one a stiff entity that seemed to wear the men inside them. My collar, dipped in beady sweat and young ambition, chafed against my neck.
“This brand new mega resort is utilizing the green technology of tomorrow,” I told the board, gesturing towards the screen. “A new sustainable-multi-million-dollar-ultra-luxury-eco-resort. A flagship project. Including the firm’s signature sustainable modernism design practices, pioneering a greater carbon-negative future.”
The suits and their silent nods rippled through the room, in subtle, calculated glances, occasionally muttering to the adjacent member.
I looked past them, out the east wall. Through the glass that stood above the grandiose metropolitan skyline, below our suits, the city they built from nothing. It stretched out like an immaculate living blueprint, not dissimilar to my own. Sleek spires, the clean infrastructure, the tiny human ants advancing like clockwork in our perfect city.
I felt a quiet surge of pride, intoxicating my body, an imperceptible grin tugging the corners of my mouth.
With time, the firm would let me build something like this, something of perfect design for all. Architecture that could heal the planet.
*
In the solitude of my cramped office space, the low hum of a constant AC permeated my silent concentration, intermittently disturbed by keyboard clacks. My pearlescent desk reflected the blue glow from my computer screen, enveloped in the comprehensive material audit for the resort’s rare earth structural elements and specialized solar grid.
An intensive list provided by Elena, my deadpan supervisor: neodymium, dysprosium, carbon fibre composites, graphene, aerogel insulation and thin film cadmium telluride. Slumped over, I meticulously pored over the supply chain ledgers, reconciling the physical demands with origin logs.
After hours, spreadsheets blurred together into a kaleidoscope of companies and shipping logs. But my eyes caught something. A discrepancy in a column, missing crucial information. Strange.
The unit price for our dysprosium turbine magnets was forty per cent below market rate, a financial impossibility by any measure.
I needed to trace to the source; I bypassed the marketing summaries and customs clearance logs. I opened a vendor attachment titled:
“Standard risk allocation,” I muttered in the darkness, zooming in on an unredacted section. “Appendix C, section 4.2. Operational partners indemnify the parent firm against third-party labour grievances in unmetered extraction zones.”
I scrolled.
“Incidence of chronic pulmonary distress and heavy metal toxicity among non-salaried handling personnel remains within accepted regional baseline variance.”
I just stared. The computer reciprocating my intense gaze with its callous glow.
*
“Elena, just look at this!”
QCE · Internal Assessment 3
Internal Assessment 3: You are to create an imaginative…
QCE Internal Assessment 3 essay scoring 95%: Clean Construction “The Horizon Sanctuary” The words hung in the pristine air of the glass presentation…
Clean Construction
“The Horizon Sanctuary”
The words hung in the pristine air of the glass presentation room. They bounced off the gallery of sleek ties, tailored suits and polished shoes, each one a stiff entity that seemed to wear the men inside them. My collar, dipped in beady sweat and young ambition, chafed against my neck.
“This brand new mega resort is utilizing the green technology of tomorrow,” I told the board, gesturing towards the screen. “A new sustainable-multi-million-dollar-ultra-luxury-eco-resort. A flagship project. Including the firm’s signature sustainable modernism design practices, pioneering a greater carbon-negative future.”
The suits and their silent nods rippled through the room, in subtle, calculated glances, occasionally muttering to the adjacent member.
I looked past them, out the east wall. Through the floor to ceiling glass hanging above the grandiose metropolitan skyline. Below us, below our suits, the city they built from nothing stretched out like an immaculate living blueprint, not dissimilar to my own. Sleek spires, the clean infrastructure, the tiny human ants advancing like clockwork in our perfect city.
I felt a quiet surge of pride, intoxicating my body, an imperceptible grin tugging the corners of my mouth.
With time, the firm would let me build something like this, something of perfect design for all. Architecture that could heal the planet.
*
In the solitude of my cramped office space, the low hum of a constant AC permeated my silent concentration, intermittently disturbed by keyboard clacks. My pearlescent desk reflected the blue glow from my computer screen, enveloped in the comprehensive material audit for the resort’s rare earth structural elements and specialized solar grid.
An intensive list provided by Elena, my deadpan supervisor: neodymium, dysprosium, carbon fibre composites, graphene, aerogel insulation and thin film cadmium telluride.
Slumped over, I meticulously pored over the supply chain ledgers, reconciling the physical demands with origin logs. I’m sure my chair was suffocating from days on end of gruelling work, unable to breathe under the pressure of a flagship project.
After hours, spreadsheets blurred together into a kaleidoscope of companies and shipping logs. But my eyes caught something. A discrepancy in a column, missing crucial information. Strange.
The unit price for our dysprosium turbine magnets was forty per cent below market rate, a financial impossibility by any measure.
I needed to trace to the source; I bypassed the marketing summaries and customs clearance logs. I opened a vendor attachment titled:
“Standard risk allocation,” I muttered in the darkness, zooming in on an unredacted section. “Appendix C, section 4.2. Operational partners indemnify the parent firm against third-party labour grievances in unmetered extraction zones.”
I scrolled.
“Incidence of chronic pulmonary distress and heavy metal toxicity among non-salaried handling personnel remains within accepted regional baseline variance.”
I just stared. The computer reciprocating my intense gaze with its callous glow.
*
“Elena, just look at this!”
QCE · Internal Assessment 3
Internal Assessment 3: You are to create an imaginative…
QCE Internal Assessment 3 essay scoring 92.5%: Clean Construction “The Horizon Sanctuary” The words hung in the pristine air of the glass presentation…
Clean Construction
“The Horizon Sanctuary”
The words hung in the pristine air of the glass presentation room. They bounced off the gallery of sleek ties, tailored suits and polished shoes, each one a stiff entity that seemed to wear the men inside them. My collar, dipped in beady sweat and young ambition, chafed against my neck.
“This brand new mega resort is utilizing the green technology of tomorrow,” I told the board, gesturing towards the screen. “A new sustainable-multi-million-dollar-ultra-luxury-eco-resort. A flagship project. Including the firm’s signature sustainable modernism design practices, pioneering a greater carbon-negative future.”
The suits and their silent nods rippled through the room, in subtle, calculated glances, occasionally muttering to the adjacent member.
I looked past them, out the east wall. Through the floor to ceiling glass hanging above the grandiose metropolitan skyline. Below us, below our suits, the city they built from nothing, stretched out like an immaculate living blueprint, not dissimilar to my own. Sleek spires, the clean infrastructure, the tiny human ants advancing like clockwork in our perfect city.
I felt a quiet surge of pride, intoxicating my body, an imperceptible grin tugging the corners of my mouth.
With time, the firm would let me build something like this, something of perfect design for all. Architecture that could heal the planet.
*
In the solitude of my cramped office space, the low hum of a constant AC permeated my silent concentration, intermittently disturbed by keyboard clacks. My pearlescent desk reflected the blue glow from my computer screen, enveloped in the comprehensive material audit for the resort’s rare earth structural elements and specialized solar grid.
An intensive list provided by Elena, my deadpan supervisor: neodymium, dysprosium, carbon fibre composites, graphene, aerogel insulation and thin film cadmium telluride.
Slumped over, I meticulously pored over the supply chain ledgers, reconciling the physical demands with origin logs. I’m sure my chair was suffocating from days on end of gruelling work, unable to breathe under the pressure of a flagship project.
After hours, spreadsheets blurred together into a kaleidoscope of companies and shipping logs. But my eyes caught something. A discrepancy in a column, missing crucial information. Strange.
The unit price for our dysprosium turbine magnets was forty per cent below market rate, a financial impossibility by any measure.
I needed to trace to the source; so, I bypassed the marketing summaries and customs clearance logs. I opened a vendor attachment titled:
“Standard risk allocation,” I muttered in the darkness, zooming in on an unredacted section. “Appendix C, section 4.2. Operational partners indemnify the parent firm against third-party labour grievances in unmetered extraction zones.”
I scrolled.
“Incidence of chronic pulmonary distress and heavy metal toxicity among non-salaried handling personnel remains within accepted regional baseline variance.”
I just stared. The computer reciprocating my intense gaze with its callous glow.
*
“Elena, just look at this!”
QCE · Internal Assessment 3
Internal Assessment 3: You are to create an imaginative…
QCE Internal Assessment 3 essay scoring 90%: Clean Construction “The Horizon Sanctuary” The words hung in the pristine air of the glass presentation…
Clean Construction
“The Horizon Sanctuary”
The words hung in the pristine air of the glass presentation room. They bounced off the gallery of sleek ties, tailored suits and polished shoes, each one a stiff entity that seemed to wear the men inside them. My collar, dipped in beady sweat and young ambition, chafed against my neck.
“This brand new mega resort is utilizing the green technology of tomorrow,” I told the board, gesturing towards the screen. “A new sustainable-multi-million-dollar-ultra-luxury-eco-resort. A flagship project. Including the firm’s signature sustainable modernism design practices, pioneering a greater carbon-negative future.”
The suits and their silent nods rippled through the room, in subtle, calculated glances, occasionally muttering to the adjacent member.
I looked past them, out the east wall. Through the floor to ceiling glass hanging above the grandiose metropolitan skyline. Below us, below our suits, the city they built from nothing, stretched out like an immaculate living blueprint, not dissimilar to my own. Sleek spires, the clean infrastructure, the tiny human ants advancing like clockwork in our perfect city.
I felt a quiet surge of pride, intoxicating my body, an imperceptible grin tugging the corners of my mouth.
With time, the firm would let me build something like this, something of perfect design for all. Architecture that could heal the planet.
*
In the solitude of my cramped office space, the low hum of a constant AC permeated my silent concentration, intermittently disturbed by keyboard clacks. My pearlescent desk reflected the blue glow from my computer screen, enveloped in the comprehensive material audit for the resort’s rare earth structural elements and specialized solar grid.
An intensive list provided by Elena, my deadpan supervisor: neodymium, dysprosium, carbon fibre composites, graphene, aerogel insulation and thin film cadmium telluride.
Slumped over, I meticulously pored over the supply chain ledgers, reconciling the physical demands with origin logs. I’m sure my chair was suffocating from days on end of gruelling work, unable to breathe under the pressure of a flagship project.
After hours, spreadsheets blurred together into a kaleidoscope of companies and shipping logs. But my eyes caught something. A discrepancy in a column, missing crucial information. Strange.
The unit price for our dysprosium turbine magnets was forty per cent below market rate, a financial impossibility by any measure.
I needed to trace to the source; so, I bypassed the marketing summaries and customs clearance logs. I opened a vendor attachment titled:
“Standard risk allocation,” I muttered in the darkness, zooming in on an unredacted section. “Appendix C, section 4.2. Operational partners indemnify the parent firm against third-party labour grievances in unmetered extraction zones.”
I scrolled.
“Incidence of chronic pulmonary distress and heavy metal toxicity among non-salaried handling personnel remains within accepted regional baseline variance.”
I just stared. The computer reciprocating my intense gaze with its callous glow.
*
“Elena, just look at this!”
QCE · Internal Assessment 3
Internal Assessment 3: You are to create an imaginative…
QCE Internal Assessment 3 essay scoring 85%: Clean Construction “The Horizon Sanctuary” The words hung in the pristine air of the glass presentation…
Clean Construction
“The Horizon Sanctuary”
The words hung in the pristine air of the glass presentation room. They bounced off the gallery of sleek ties, tailored suits and polished shoes, each one a stiff entity that seemed to wear the men inside them. My collar, dipped in beady sweat and the raw pulse of young ambition.
“This brand new mega resort is utilizing the green technology of tomorrow,” I told the board, gesturing towards the screen. “A new sustainable-multi-million-dollar-ultra-luxury-eco-resort. A flagship project. Including the firm’s signature sustainable modernism design practices, pioneering a greater carbon-negative future.”
The suits and their silent nods rippled through the room, in subtle, calculated glances, occasionally muttering to the adjacent member.
I looked past them, out the east wall. Through the floor to ceiling glass hanging above the grandiose metropolitan skyline. Below us, below our suits, the city they built from nothing, stretched out like an immaculate living blueprint, not dissimilar to my own. Sleek spires, the clean infrastructure, the tiny human ants advancing like clockwork in our perfect city.
I felt a quiet surge of pride, intoxicating my body, an imperceptible grin tugging the corners of my mouth.
With time, the firm would let me build something like this, something of perfect design for all. Architecture that could heal the planet.
*
In the solitude of my cramped office space, the low hum of a constant AC permeated my silent concentration, intermittently disturbed by keyboard clacks. My pearlescent desk reflected the blue glow from my computer screen, enveloped in the comprehensive material audit for the resort’s rare earth structural elements and specialized solar grid.
An intensive list provided by Elena, my deadpan supervisor: neodymium, dysprosium, carbon fibre composites, graphene, aerogel insulation and thin film cadmium telluride.
Slumped over, I meticulously pored over the supply chain ledgers, reconciling the physical demands with origin logs. I’m sure my chair was suffocating from days on end of gruelling work, unable to breathe under the pressure of a flagship project.
After hours, spreadsheets blurred together into a kaleidoscope of companies and shipping logs. But my eyes caught something. A discrepancy in a column, missing crucial information. Strange.
The unit price for our dysprosium turbine magnets, forty percent below market rate. The cost was literally a financial impossibility.
I needed to trace to the source; so, I bypassed the marketing summaries and customs clearance logs. I opened a vendor attachment titled:
“Standard risk allocation,” I muttered in the darkness, zooming in on an unredacted section. “Appendix C, section 4.2. Operational partners indemnify the parent firm against third-party labour grievances in unmetered extraction zones.”
I scrolled.
“Incidence of chronic pulmonary distress and heavy metal toxicity among non-salaried handling personnel remains within accepted regional baseline variance.”
I just stared. The computer reciprocating my intense gaze with its callous glow.
*
“Elena, just look at this!”
QCE · Internal Assessment 3
Internal Assessment 3: You are to create an imaginative…
QCE Internal Assessment 3 essay scoring 80%: Clean Construction “The Horizon Sanctuary” The words hung in the pristine air of the glass presentation…
Clean Construction
“The Horizon Sanctuary”
The words hung in the pristine air of the glass presentation room. It bounced off the gallery of sleek ties, tailored suits and polished shoes, each one a stiff entity that seemed to wear the men inside them. My collar, dipped in beady sweat and the raw pulse of young ambition, stood.
“This brand new mega resort is utilizing the green technology of tomorrow,” I told the board, gesturing towards the screen. “A new sustainable-multi-million-dollar-ultra-luxury-eco-resort. A flagship project. And the firms signature sustainable modernism design practices, pioneering a greater carbon-negative future.”
The suits and their silent nods rippled through the room, in subtle, calculated glances, occasionally muttering to the adjacent member.
I looked past them, out the east wall. Through the floor to ceiling glass hanging above the grandiose metropolitan skyline. Below us, below our suits, the city they built from nothing, stretched out like an immaculate living blueprint, not dissimilar to my own. Sleek spires, the clean infrastructure, the tiny human ants advancing like clockwork in our perfect city.
I felt a quiet surge of pride, intoxicating my body, an imperceptible grin tugging the corners of my mouth.
With time, the firm would let me build something like this, something of perfect design for all. Architecture that could heal the planet.
*
In the solitude of my cramped office space, the low hum of a constant AC permeated my silent concentration, intermittently disturbed by keyboard clacks. My pearlescent desk reflected the blue glow from my computer screen, enveloped in the comprehensive material audit for the resort’s rare earth structural elements and specialized solar grid.
An intensive list provided by Elena, my deadpan supervisor: neodymium, dysprosium, carbon fibre composites, graphene, aerogel insulation and thin film cadmium telluride.
Slumped over, I meticulously pored over the supply chain ledgers, reconciling the physical demands with origin logs. I’m sure my chair was suffocating from days on end of gruelling work, unable to breathe under the pressure of a flagship project.
After hours, spreadsheets blurred together into a kaleidoscope of companies and shipping logs. But my eyes caught something. A discrepancy in a column, missing crucial information. Strange.
The unit price for our dysprosium turbine magnets, forty percent below market rate. The cost was literally a financial impossibility.
I needed to trace to the source; so, I bypassed the marketing summaries and customs clearance logs. I opened a vendor attachment titled:
“Standard risk allocation,” I muttered in the darkness, zooming in on an unredacted section. “Appendix C, section 4.2. Operational partners indemnify the parent firm against third-party labour grievances in unmetered extraction zones.”
I scrolled.
“Incidence of chronic pulmonary distress and heavy metal toxicity among non-salaried handling personnel remains within accepted regional baseline variance.”
I just stared. The computer reciprocating my intense gaze with its callous glow.
*
“Elena, just look at this!”
QCE · Internal Assessment 3
Internal Assessment 3: You are to create an imaginative…
QCE Internal Assessment 3 essay scoring 72.5%: Clean Construction “The Horizon Sanctuary” The words hung in the pristine air of the glass presentation…
Clean Construction
“The Horizon Sanctuary”
The words hung in the pristine air of the glass presentation room. It bounced off the gallery of sleek ties, tailored suits and polished shoes, each one a stiff entity that seemed to wear the men inside them. My collar, dipped in beady sweat and the raw pulse of young ambition, stood.
“This brand new mega resort is utilizing the green technology of tomorrow,” I told the board, gesturing towards the screen. “A new sustainable-multi-million-dollar-ultra-luxury-eco-resort. A flagship project. And the firms signature sustainable modernism design practices, pioneering a greater carbon-negative future.”
The suits and their silent nods rippled through the room, in subtle, calculated glances, occasionally muttering to the adjacent member.
I looked past them, out the east wall. Through the floor to ceiling glass hanging above the grandiose metropolitan skyline. Below us, below our suits, the city they built from nothing, stretched out like an immaculate living blueprint, not dissimilar to my own. Sleek spires, the clean infrastructure, the tiny human ants advancing like clockwork in our perfect city.
I felt a quiet surge of pride, intoxicating my body, an imperceptible grin tugging the corners of my mouth.
With time, the firm would let my build something like this, something of perfect design for all. Architecture that could heal the planet.
*
In the solitude of my cramped office space, the low hum of a constant AC permeated my silent concentration, intermittently disturbed by keyboard clacks. My pearlescent desk reflected the blue glow from my computer screen, enveloped in the comprehensive material audit for the resort’s rare earth structural elements and specialized solar grid.
An intensive list provided by Elena, my deadpan supervisor: neodymium, dysprosium, carbon fibre composites, graphene, aerogel insulation and thin film cadmium telluride.
Slumped over, I meticulously pored over the supply chain ledgers, reconciling the physical demands with origin logs. I’m sure my chair was suffocating from days on end of gruelling work, unable to breathe under the pressure of a flagship project.
After hours, spreadsheets blurred together into a kaleidoscope of companies and shipping logs. But my eyes caught something. A discrepancy in a column, missing crucial information. Strange.
The unit price for our dysprosium turbine magnets, forty percent below market rate. The cost was literally a financial impossibility.
I needed to trace to the source; so, I bypass the marketing summaries and customs clearance logs. I opened a vendor attachment titled:
“Standard risk allocation,” I muttered in the darkness, zooming in on an unredacted section. “Appendix C, section 4.2. Operational partners indemnify the parent firm against third-party labour grievances in unmetered extraction zones.”
I scrolled.
“Incidence of chronic pulmonary distress and heavy metal toxicity among non-salaried handling personnel remains within accepted regional baseline variance.”
I just stared. The computer reciprocating my intense gaze with its callous glow.
*
“Elena, just look at this!”
QCE · Internal Assessment 3
Internal Assessment 3: You are to create an imaginative…
QCE Internal Assessment 3 essay scoring 72.5%: Clean Construction “The Horizon Sanctuary” The words rang out through the glass presentation room,…
Clean Construction
“The Horizon Sanctuary”
The words rang out through the glass presentation room, bouncing off each sleek, ironed tie and polished shoe of the board, carrying the purity of bright, young ambition. The square faces, automatonlike posture and stone cold response didn’t reciprocate the excitement of a new sustainable-multi-million-dollar-ultra-luxury-eco-resort. This flagship project was a big jump from the smart-homes and corporate wellness pod projects that reflected the mindful living that Leo prided himself on.
“This brand new mega resort is utilizing the technology of tomorrow, and the firms signature sustainable modernism design practices to achieve a greater carbon-negative luxury spot for all of our high-end clients,” He spoke hurriedly, anxious to impress the powerful higher-ups, “with my design and the companies funding, not only can we bring a positive impact to our local environment but we can bring immensely positive feedback from our clients and public news.”
The suits spoke to each other in silent nods and shared glances, occasionally muttering to the adjacent member. While they discussed his brilliant idea, Leo couldn’t help but glance out the window covering the whole of the east wall, hanging above the grandiose design of the major metropolitan city they themselves built from scratch. He saw each tiny ant living their happy lives in the perfect city, it’s architecture and infrastructure brilliantly concocted with the residents in mind.
With an unnoticeable grin on his face, Leo thought that, given time, the firm could allow him to achieve something of this scale. Something of perfect design for all to live in.
His architecture could heal the planet.
*
Nfiusb ufnbdiosn jsnsosb
The low hum of a constantly working air conditioner permeated the silent concentration from Leo’s cramped office space, intermittently interrupted by the aggressive taps of keys, his pearlescent desk reflecting the sole light of his computer screen. The Horizon Sanctuary was promising, yet daunting.
Elena, a close supervisor for the project, had assigned him with finalizing the comprehensive material audit for the resort’s rare earth structural elements and specialized solar panels. Slumped over, Leo meticulously searched the supply chains database for any standout discrepancies, urgent to reconcile the project’s intensive physical demands. His chair suffocated under the days on end of prep, unable to breathe regardless of the firms provided ergonomic design and memory foam linings.
The all-new facilities and particular construction needed all the best materials; neodymium, dysprosium and terbium for high strength industrial motors to carbon fibre composites, graphene, aerogel insulation and thin film cadmium telluride. Pouring his attention over documentation, cross referencing requirements and the structural system parts, Leo searched for any hidden inconsistencies between the polished corporate organisation.
The spreadsheets blurred together into a kaleidoscope of companies and shipping logs. Hours had passed until Leo had finally found a fault. One of the offshore shell companies, that provided some of the rarer minerals, was missing crucial information. Strange. The dysprosium needed, the figures on the spreadsheet couldn’t have been right either. After hundreds of different sets of providers, Leo knew that it was nearly 40% below market price per kilogram. The cost was physically impossible for it to be real.
Leo needed to be getting the best, this was his breakthrough chance with the firm, to establish his name. He needed to trace to the source; double check that the team thought Global Mineral Logistics Holdings was the right company. Bypassing the marketing summaries and customs clearance logs, he opened the unedited vendor attachments, leading to an unlisted third-party intermediary. No name, just an unlisted offshore subsidiary handling the extraction.
QCE · Internal Assessment 3
Internal Assessment 3: JOJO abbit monoluge
QCE Internal Assessment 3 essay scoring 95%: [Allied artillery shakes the ruined pavement under a bruised sky. A haze of plaster dust hangs in the air…
[Allied artillery shakes the ruined pavement under a bruised sky. A haze of plaster dust hangs in the air like a poorly managed smoke machine. CAPTAIN K stands amidst the rubble, a tragic anomaly in an absurd, feathered uniform. His cape billows in the wind, and his epaulets drip with hand-stitched sequins.]
Finkel… Finkel! Look at this. Be honest—the sequins on the epaulets? Don’t they give a sort of… tragic elegance to my silhouette? A bit of "end-of-the-world" chic? And look at the way the muzzle flashes glide along the stitching like a piano, the light dancing into the ground. It’s the best lighting we’ve had all season, wouldn't you say?
[He pulls a crumpled list out of his lapel, squinting at it through the grit.]
C’mon Finkel. Up you get. No sitting on the job, we haven’t finished our list. Still three more things to do before the curtain drops and the critics tear us apart. Whaddaya say? One last dignified hurrah for two morons. Finkel and K: The Seelenverwandters. Two stars of a show cancelled by popular demand.
[K turns around, hand extended to pull Finkel up. His smile freezes. His shoulders collapse; the persona evaporates.]
Finkel?
No. No, no… It’s going to be okay. It’s ju-just a nick, Finkel. Just a bit of a costume malfunction. A loose thread. We can… we can stitch it back together.
[K looks down at his trembling hands, now slick with blood. He looks at the sequins, stained dark. Tears swell in his eyes, carving tracks through the dust on his face. He drags himself along the wall, sliding down to sit heavily beside Finkel’s body.]
Right.
[He takes a jagged gulp from his flask.]
Look at this feathered, sequined rubbish we wore to the end of the world. Fancy wrapping on a crushed, empty cardboard box, isn't it? We spent hours on this thing. You nearly punched me because I sewed the sleeve on crooked. Remember? Three bloody hours you made me unpick the entire thing and start again because you thought it "lacked artistic integrity."
Artistic integrity. In a world of concrete and hatred. We spent the last weeks of our lives on these costumes because we thought that if we died looking ridiculous enough, we could forget what we did. In Poland. In Stalingrad. We wore their uniform then. The grey one. The one that didn't have room for feathers. The one that made us look like part of the scenery.
QCE · Internal Assessment 3
Internal Assessment 3: JOJO abbit monoluge
QCE Internal Assessment 3 essay scoring 95%: Going Out in Style Character: Captain K Setting: The ruins of Berlin, 1945. [Allied artillery shakes the…
Going Out in Style
Character: Captain K Setting: The ruins of Berlin, 1945.
[Allied artillery shakes the ruined pavement under a bruised, violet sky. A haze of plaster dust hangs in the air like a poorly managed smoke machine. CAPTAIN K stands amidst the rubble, a tragic anomaly in an absurd, feathered uniform. His cape billows in the wind of a nearby explosion, and his epaulets drip with hand-stitched sequins.]
Finkel… Finkel! Look at this. Be honest—the sequins on the epaulets? Don’t they give a sort of… tragic elegance to my silhouette? A bit of "end-of-the-world" chic? And look at the way the muzzle flashes glide along the stitching like a piano, the light dancing into the ground. It’s the best lighting we’ve had all season, wouldn't you say? Much better than that damp basement in the Ministry.
[He pulls a crumpled list out of his lapel, squinting at it through the grit.]
C’mon Finkel. Up you get. No sitting on the job, we haven’t finished our list. Still three more things to do before the curtain drops and the critics tear us apart. Whaddaya say? One last dignified hurrah for two morons. Finkel and K: The Seelenverwandters. Two stars of a show that’s been cancelled by popular demand.
[K turns around, hand extended to pull Finkel up. His smile freezes. The theatrical mask doesn't just slip—it shatters. K’s shoulders collapse; the persona evaporates.]
Finkel?
No. No, no… It’s going to be okay. It’s ju-just a nick, Finkel. Just a bit of a costume malfunction. A loose thread. We can… we can stitch it back together. I’ve got the needle in my kit, I just…
[K looks down at his trembling hands, now slick with blood. He looks at the sequins, stained dark. Tears swell in his eyes, carving tracks through the dust on his face. He drags himself along the wall, sliding down to sit heavily beside Finkel’s body.]
Right.
[He takes a jagged gulp from his flask, the liquid burning his throat.]
Look at this feathered, sequined rubbish we wore to the end of the world. Fancy wrapping on a crushed, empty cardboard box, isn't it? We spent hours on this thing. You nearly punched me because I sewed the sleeve on crooked. Remember? Three bloody hours you made me unpick the entire thing and start again because you thought it "lacked artistic integrity."
Artistic integrity. In a world of concrete and hatred. We spent the last weeks of our lives on these costumes because we thought that if we died looking ridiculous enough, we could forget what we did. In Poland. In Stalingrad. We wore their uniform then. The grey one. The one that didn't have room for feathers. The one that made us look like part of the scenery while the world screamed.
If we made the end of the war look like some… some fucking cabaret, could we avoid staring at the bloodstains on our boots? We weren’t perfect, Finkel. We got very good at not looking. Very good at stepping over broken glass and pretending it was just diamonds on the road. Very good at hearing screams as background noise, part of the soundtrack. All in the name of a Director who didn’t even value the actors.
QCE · Internal Assessment 3
Internal Assessment 3: Take a Concept/Theme/Idea from the…
QCE Internal Assessment 3 essay scoring 90%: The Glitter Never Washes Off The hotel sink glittered beneath the fluorescent light. Silver particulate…
The Glitter Never Washes Off
The hotel sink glittered beneath the fluorescent light.
Silver particulate clung stubbornly to the porcelain basin in wet constellations, gathering around the drain where water spiralled endlessly in shimmering ribbons. More remained scattered across Celeste’s hands, embedded in the fissures of reddened knuckles, trapped beneath bitten fingernails and caught along the blue veins beneath her wrists like something that had been there long before she noticed.
She scrubbed harder.
The water scalded but her hands kept moving. Steam climbed the mirror in translucent sheets until only fragments remained.
The glitter stayed.
As if it belonged there more than she did.
“Shit,” she mumbled, breathless more than angry.
Outside the bathroom, the hotel suite lay exactly as success was supposed to look. A purple sequined bodysuit had collapsed behind the bed like shed skin, still glittering faintly beneath the amber lamplight. A white rose, left by some executive whose name she had never been given, drooped from a crystal vase beside unopened champagne and melting ice.
She braced herself against the marble counter and finally looked up.
The girl in the mirror looked exhausted in an expensive way. Mascara feathered beneath her eyes and glitter still clung to her cheekbone despite the raw patches where she had scrubbed.
For a moment, she just stared.
The reflection stared back.
Then slowly, mechanically, the girl in the mirror smiled.
The expression arrived with practised precision, before she had decided to make it, her teeth perfect in the anaemic light.
A small breath escaped her throat. Almost a laugh. Almost not.
“God,” she gritted, slamming her fist against the counter.
Under the fluorescent light, the glitter no longer looked celebratory; it looked metallic, sedimentary – something that had been accumulating long before she thought to look.
Water struck the porcelain in sharp, splintering bursts.
Celeste closed her eyes and let the sound of the water fill the silence.
* * * * *
A few hours prior
Backstage was sweltering.
Heat clung to everything – the curtains dividing dressing rooms, the people moving shoulder-to-shoulder, the air thick with hairspray, sweat and overheated lighting rigs. Glitter crowded backstage, dusting countertops and stitched into jackets.
Backstage was a different world entirely – one I had not yet learned to move through without giving myself away.
Dana appeared beside me without warning, still staring down at the tablet in her hands.
“You need bigger energy than Melbourne.”
I nodded automatically.
“Smile more this time,” she added. “You looked nervous.”
She was swallowed back into the noise before I could blink.
I glanced around backstage.
Then I saw her.
Lyra smiled at the room the way someone smiles at something they no longer believe in.
Up close, she was stunning in a way that almost looked exhausting. Glitter still clung so completely to her eyes it looked less like makeup and more like a second skin.
She caught me staring.
“You’re Celeste right?”
I nodded.
“Thought so.”
She leaned on the counter beside me, champagne in one hand.
“First tour?”
“Yeah.”
A small laugh left her as she shook her head.
Lyra slipped a hand into the pocket of her blazer. When she opened her palm something small caught the light.
The capsule shimmered softly beneath the dressing room bulbs – silver dust pressed inside a clear casing like crushed glitter suspended in glass.
“It’s tiny,” Lyra said gently. “It just… takes the edge off. Makes everything quieter.”
For just a moment, Lyra’s expression softened into something that looked almost like guilt. The kind that lives in someone who knows what they’re doing, but decided the alternative is worse.
I swallowed hard, my hand coming up instinctively.
“I don’t really- “
“Come on, take it.”
She pressed her open palm to my chest, turning stricter.
Around us the room continued normally. Makeup brushes against skin, equipment checks, champagne fizzling softly.
Routine.
This was routine.
“Take it,” she ordered, her tone freezing over.
Then she placed the capsule carefully into my hand, like something precious rather than poisoned.
QCE · Internal Assessment 3
Internal Assessment 3: imaginiatie short story from a…
QCE Internal Assessment 3 essay scoring 75%: A single, icy weaved its way through the canopy to strike viciously at my cheek, its path following the…
A single, icy weaved its way through the canopy to strike viciously at my cheek, its path following the contours of my features as it added to the ever-present mire below. Only a few drops now, but I had learned never to think too optimistically. The trench carved by suffering more than shovels. 8 feet of earth held back by mildewed timber, stretching through the horizon, like a lacerated wound, festering with the stench of decay. the floor shifting underfoot, mud threaded with spent cartridges and things I couldn’t describe, the opposite of what was told back home, the exciting scene described a stark contrast to what is was witnessing.
It was here I decided we would not die.
Our choice had overrun us, the way the rot had. A letter to Robert’s wife, thrown back at him for including ‘negative propaganda’. apparently, dislike for the conditions was not allowed.
The plan had been Roberts, desert under the cover of darkness, move through the craters in no man’s land to the gulley 300 meters west, then slip behind the lines. If challenged, we had gone out to recover a wounded man. A story that would hold long enough.
Across from me, Robert stirred, his mud caked khaki-stained brown, corrupted beyond recognition, absorbed into the trench itself. His weary features not from starvation but a longing for home so constant, not even he knew its influence. I had known his face for 3 years, I no longer thought I would recognise it. Hunched in the slowly melting mud sat Grady and will, bent over a tin of rations, sweaty, callused hands prying at the remaining morsels. Three years of war hadn’t broken them, but it had changed its meaning, the last person I would not lie to.
“Alright,” Robert said, rising with agonising slowness, the relentless work of time grinding deep into his bones. “Get up”.
We gathered close, the precipitation of our breath gathered, intertwining our treacherous words tighter.
He said some things but I wasn’t listening, my mind wandering, obscuring his message until his final words.
If they ask what kind of men we are, gaze sinking into the mud, quietening his thoughts. We went back for our own. That’s all they need to know. He paused, that’s all we need to know. the occasional drop had become a steady patter, occupying the trench floor with more authority. The words filtered through my mind like the rain, the realisation permeating into my consciousness. How easily the lie had taken shape, not driven by cowardness, but sheer survival. And that, I thought was the more frightening thing, how quickly survival resembled virtue.
The ground out there is still warm, Robert said, almost to himself. From the ones who went before, the ones who didn’t know. We know that we have to carry that.
No one answered. The betrayal was etched within the silence. This wasn’t honourable, but it was needed, the lie we were told only known by a few. (
Robert took the gripped the rung of the ladder first, palms grasped around mud and bloodstains, boring the handprints of men who never came back. He pulled himself up and over, feet dangling before the darkness enshrouding him, the rain masking his movements as its steady trickle concealed him. I followed.
The world beyond the parapet felt disorienting after months in the trench, the cold rain lashed against my cheek in sharp, relentless needles, each drop striking like ice as it streaked down my neck, the night air thick with the smell of iron and the distant rumble of thunder, rolling through the darkness above, indistinguishable from the artillery. I pressed flat and crawled.
Robert was already in the first crater, crouched low, eyes squinted from the rain.
“Keep your bloody head down,” he hissed. “You’re the brightest thing out here.”
QCE · Internal Assessment 3
Internal Assessment 3: Take an element/concept or theme…
QCE Internal Assessment 3 essay scoring 80%: The Glitter Never Washes Off The hotel sink glittered beneath the fluorescent light. Silver particulate…
The Glitter Never Washes Off
The hotel sink glittered beneath the fluorescent light.
Silver particulate clung stubbornly to the porcelain basin in wet constellations, gathering around the drain where water spiralled endlessly in shimmering ribbons. More remained scattered across Celeste’s hands, embedded in the fissures of reddened knuckles, trapped beneath bitten fingernails and caught along the blue veins beneath her wrists like something that had been there long before she noticed.
She scrubbed harder.
The water scalded but her hands kept moving. Steam climbed the mirror in translucent sheets until only fragments remained.
The glitter stayed.
As if it belonged there more than she did.
“Shit,” she mumbled, breathless more than angry.
Outside the bathroom, the hotel suite lay exactly as success was supposed to look. A purple sequined bodysuit had collapsed behind the bed like shed skin, still glittering faintly beneath the amber lamplight. A white rose, left by some executive whose name she had never been given, drooped from a crystal vase beside unopened champagne and melting ice.
She braced herself against the marble counter and finally looked up.
The girl in the mirror looked exhausted in an expensive way. Mascara feathered beneath her eyes and glitter still clung to her cheekbone despite the raw patches where she had scrubbed.
For a moment, she just stared.
The reflection stared back.
Then slowly, mechanically, the girl in the mirror smiled.
The expression arrived with practised precision, before she had decided to make it, her teeth perfect in the anaemic light.
A small breath escaped her throat. Almost a laugh. Almost not.
“God,” she gritted, slamming her fist against the counter.
Under the fluorescent light, the glitter no longer looked celebratory; it looked metallic, sedimentary – something that had been accumulating long before she thought to look.
Water struck the porcelain in sharp, splintering bursts.
Celeste closed her eyes and let the sound of the water fill the silence.
* * * * *
A few hours prior
Backstage was sweltering.
Heat clung to everything – the curtains dividing dressing rooms, the people moving shoulder-to-shoulder, the air thick with hairspray, sweat and overheated lighting rigs. Glitter crowded backstage, dusting countertops and stitched into jackets.
Backstage was a different world entirely – one I had not yet learned to move through without giving myself away.
Dana appeared beside me without warning, still staring down at the tablet in her hands.
“You need bigger energy than Melbourne.”
I nodded automatically.
“Smile more this time,” she added. “You looked nervous.”
She was swallowed back into the noise before I could blink.
I glanced around backstage.
Then I saw her.
Lyra smiled at the room the way someone smiles at something they no longer believe in.
Up close, she was stunning in a way that almost looked exhausting. Glitter still clung so completely to her eyes it looked less like makeup and more like a second skin.
She caught me staring.
“You’re Celeste right?”
I nodded.
“Thought so.”
She leaned on the counter beside me, champagne in one hand.
“First tour?”
“Yeah.”
A small laugh left her as she shook her head.
Lyra slipped a hand into the pocket of her blazer. When she opened her palm something small caught the light.
The capsule shimmered softly beneath the dressing room bulbs – silver dust pressed inside a clear casing like crushed glitter suspended in glass.
“It’s tiny,” Lyra said gently. “It just… takes the edge off. Makes everything quieter.”
For just a moment, Lyra’s expression softened into something that looked almost like guilt. The kind that lives in someone who knows what they’re doing, but decided the alternative is worse.
I swallowed hard, my hand coming up instinctively.
“I don’t really- “
“Come on, take it.”
She pressed her open palm to my chest, turning stricter.
Around us the room continued normally. Makeup brushes against skin, equipment checks, champagne fizzling softly.
Routine.
This was routine.
“Take it,” she ordered, her tone freezing over.
Then she placed the capsule carefully into my hand, like something precious rather than poisoned.