not taken the same notice of me, and for that, I am glad. My reaction has shocked and embarrassed me. “Can we go now? I am suddenly very anxious to begin.”
CHAPTER 8
L eigh slaps a small gun in my hand. “HK pistol with single plasma-pulse rounds. Don’t let the small size fool you. She’s a serious bitch.”
I grip the weapon and slide my thumb over a tiny switch on the side. The handle hums almost imperceptibly as it powers up in preparation for use, which startles me. My muscles twitch from nerves, and I have to be careful not to inadvertently pull the trigger.
I look into the long concrete room behind protective glass. On either side, deep insets in the wall face each other hiding God knows what inside their shadowed spaces. “What do I do?”
Leigh scoops her hair off her neck into a low ponytail. “You’ll see. Miles and I will go first.”
She slides her HK into the back of her black pants and tucks her black tank top in deeper than necessary, which accentuates her large breasts. Miles does not take his eyes from them, nor does he seem to care if she catches him looking.
When she does, she rolls her eyes, then smacks him in the forehead with the heel of her palm. “Get a good, long look so you don’t shoot them out there.”
Miles grins. “Try not to let them get in the way. Oh, wait . . .”
Foster chuckles and knocks me with his elbow as if we are sharing in our own private joke, only I do not know what it is. Emma would have known, and this only makes me feel like more of an outsider.
Leigh and Miles enter the concrete room. Foster opens a wall panel and keys in a code. The overhead lights dim and sounds of gunfire blasts fill the space.
Foster leans down near my ear. “They’re running through a program that simulates a warlike atmosphere. This is
not
for amateurs.”
Then I am in the wrong room.
I look through the bulletproof glass at the simulation in progress. Leigh and Miles spin back-to-back in a slow circle, HKs raised. Every few seconds, one of them shoots into the dark insets.
“What are they looking at?” I ask.
“Simulations of the enemy.”
Just then the simulation of a man appears beside Leigh. She ducks to avoid the butt of the man’s rifle and, poised on one knee for balance, aims up to administer a kill shot to the head. He disappears, but two more of the same man reanimate in his stead.
“The program I’ve given them doubles each enemy killed,” Foster says, folding his arms.
“But they cannot possibly win against those odds. They will be outnumbered.”
“It isn’t designed to beat. Just to see how far you get.”
Both Miles and Leigh are “killed” less than a minute later, but they are panting and laughing and giving each other high fives. A fine coating of sweat covers both of them.
They are barely in our protected space when Miles asks, “What are the stats? I know I got more kills.”
Foster presses a button near the panel, and the protective glass comes alive with statistics. To the left of the numbers, a video play-by-play runs through what we just watched live. In the stats list are numbers for each head, torso, and limb shot as well as the percentage of accuracy of each shot fired. Their total death count puts Leigh ahead by two.
Miles’s jaw drops. “What the fuck? Program is jacked.”
Leigh smacks him in the shoulder. “Stop crying.” To me, she says, “Your turn, 2.0. Whatcha got?”
• • •
The HK feels hot in my palm, though the air is cool enough to raise goose bumps along my exposed arms.
“Nervous?” Foster asks.
I peer into the nearest set of concrete insets, where soon the simulations of my enemy will appear. They are not very deep and vary in width. “Little bit.”
“It’ll come back to you.”
“I will never understand why you have such confidence in me.”
He tugs my ponytail and grins. “Just breathe and follow your natural instincts, Wade.”
My natural instincts tell me to hand over the
CHAPTER 8
L eigh slaps a small gun in my hand. “HK pistol with single plasma-pulse rounds. Don’t let the small size fool you. She’s a serious bitch.”
I grip the weapon and slide my thumb over a tiny switch on the side. The handle hums almost imperceptibly as it powers up in preparation for use, which startles me. My muscles twitch from nerves, and I have to be careful not to inadvertently pull the trigger.
I look into the long concrete room behind protective glass. On either side, deep insets in the wall face each other hiding God knows what inside their shadowed spaces. “What do I do?”
Leigh scoops her hair off her neck into a low ponytail. “You’ll see. Miles and I will go first.”
She slides her HK into the back of her black pants and tucks her black tank top in deeper than necessary, which accentuates her large breasts. Miles does not take his eyes from them, nor does he seem to care if she catches him looking.
When she does, she rolls her eyes, then smacks him in the forehead with the heel of her palm. “Get a good, long look so you don’t shoot them out there.”
Miles grins. “Try not to let them get in the way. Oh, wait . . .”
Foster chuckles and knocks me with his elbow as if we are sharing in our own private joke, only I do not know what it is. Emma would have known, and this only makes me feel like more of an outsider.
Leigh and Miles enter the concrete room. Foster opens a wall panel and keys in a code. The overhead lights dim and sounds of gunfire blasts fill the space.
Foster leans down near my ear. “They’re running through a program that simulates a warlike atmosphere. This is
not
for amateurs.”
Then I am in the wrong room.
I look through the bulletproof glass at the simulation in progress. Leigh and Miles spin back-to-back in a slow circle, HKs raised. Every few seconds, one of them shoots into the dark insets.
“What are they looking at?” I ask.
“Simulations of the enemy.”
Just then the simulation of a man appears beside Leigh. She ducks to avoid the butt of the man’s rifle and, poised on one knee for balance, aims up to administer a kill shot to the head. He disappears, but two more of the same man reanimate in his stead.
“The program I’ve given them doubles each enemy killed,” Foster says, folding his arms.
“But they cannot possibly win against those odds. They will be outnumbered.”
“It isn’t designed to beat. Just to see how far you get.”
Both Miles and Leigh are “killed” less than a minute later, but they are panting and laughing and giving each other high fives. A fine coating of sweat covers both of them.
They are barely in our protected space when Miles asks, “What are the stats? I know I got more kills.”
Foster presses a button near the panel, and the protective glass comes alive with statistics. To the left of the numbers, a video play-by-play runs through what we just watched live. In the stats list are numbers for each head, torso, and limb shot as well as the percentage of accuracy of each shot fired. Their total death count puts Leigh ahead by two.
Miles’s jaw drops. “What the fuck? Program is jacked.”
Leigh smacks him in the shoulder. “Stop crying.” To me, she says, “Your turn, 2.0. Whatcha got?”
• • •
The HK feels hot in my palm, though the air is cool enough to raise goose bumps along my exposed arms.
“Nervous?” Foster asks.
I peer into the nearest set of concrete insets, where soon the simulations of my enemy will appear. They are not very deep and vary in width. “Little bit.”
“It’ll come back to you.”
“I will never understand why you have such confidence in me.”
He tugs my ponytail and grins. “Just breathe and follow your natural instincts, Wade.”
My natural instincts tell me to hand over the
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