Reboot (3 page)

“One-seventy-eight!” Manny called, motioning me over.

I walked across the gym floor into the center of the circle the newbies had made on the ground. Most avoided eye contact.

“Volunteer?” Manny asked them.

Twenty-two’s hand shot up. The only one. I doubt he would have volunteered if he had known what was coming.

“Up,” Manny said.

Twenty-two bounced to his feet, a smile of ignorance plastered on his face.

“Your broken bones will take five to ten minutes to heal, depending on your personal recovery time,” Manny said. He nodded at me.

I grabbed Twenty-two’s arm, twisted it behind his back, and cracked it with one quick thrust. He let out a yell and jerked the arm away, cradling it against his chest. The newbies’ eyes were wide, watching me with a mixture of horror and fascination.

“Try and punch her,” Manny said.

Twenty-two looked up at him, the pain etched all over his face. “What?”

“Punch her,” Manny repeated.

Twenty-two took a hesitant step toward me. He swung at me weakly, and I leaned back to miss it. He doubled over in pain, a tiny whimper escaping from his throat.

“You’re not invincible,” Manny said. “I don’t care what you heard as a human. You feel pain; you can get hurt. And in the field five to ten minutes is too long to be incapacitated.” He gestured at the other trainers, and the newbies’ faces fell as they realized what was coming.

The cracks reverberated through the gym as the trainers broke each of their arms.

I never liked this exercise much. Too much screaming.

The point was to learn to push aside the pain and fight through it. Each broken bone hurt just as much as the last; the difference was how a Reboot learned to work through it. A human would lie on the ground sobbing. A Reboot didn’t acknowledge pain.

I looked down at Twenty-two, who had slumped to the ground, his face scrunched up in agony. He looked up at me and I thought he might yell. They usually yelled at me after I broke their arms.

“You’re not going to break anything else, are you?” he asked.

“No. Not right now.”

“Oh, so later, then? Great. I’ll look forward to that.” He winced as he looked down at his arm.

Manny pointed for the trainers to go back to the wall and gestured for the newbies to come to him.

“You should get up,” I said to Twenty-two.

Oblivious to Manny’s glare, Twenty-two slowly got to his feet, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Are we doing my leg next?” he asked. “Can I get some warning next time? A quick ‘Hey, I’m going to snap your bone with my bare hands right now. Brace yourself.’”

One of the trainers behind me snorted, and Manny snapped his fingers impatiently. “Get over here, Twenty-two, and sit. Quietly.”

I joined the trainers, taking a quick glance at Twenty-two as he plopped down in the circle. He was still watching me, his eyes sparkling, and I quickly looked away. What a strange newbie.

I SNUCK ANOTHER GLANCE AT THE END OF THE LINE AS I PICKED up my tray for lunch. Twenty-two was there, scanning the cafeteria. His eyes rested on me and I quickly turned away as he began to wave.

I focused my attention on the human behind the counter as she plunked the steak on my tray. There were three of them lined up behind the glass counter, two women and a man. Reboots used to do the service jobs at HARC as well, until the humans began to get restless about the lack of employment and HARC created a few more jobs to keep them happy. Still, they often looked less than enthused about serving Reboots.

I let them fill my tray, and then I headed across the cafeteria to take my usual seat next to Hugo. I stuck my fork into the perfectly cooked steak and popped a bite in my mouth. HARC gave a line to parents of Reboots about how we were so much better off in their care (not that the parents had a choice). We would be useful, they said. We could have something resembling a life. I didn’t know if we were better off, but we were certainly better fed. A Reboot could survive on less food, but we performed at our best when we were fed regularly, and well. We became weak and useless, like a human, if we were denied food.

“Can I sit here?”

I looked up to see Twenty-two standing in front of me, tray in hand. His white shirt was bloodied, probably from one of the Nineties taking a second opportunity to break him in. It would often go on for a couple days, until the guards got tired of the commotion.

“The Under-sixties are over there,” I said, pointing to Ever’s table. They were talking and laughing, one boy gesturing wildly with his arms.

He looked back at them. “Is that a rule?”

I paused. Was it? No, we started that one ourselves. “No,” I replied.

“Then can I sit here?”

I couldn’t think of a reason why not, although it still struck me as a bad idea.

“Okay,” I said hesitantly.

He plopped down in the seat across from me. Several of the One-twenties turned to me, a combination of confusion and annoyance on their faces. Marie One-thirty-five squinted, her head swinging from me to Twenty-two. I ignored it.

“Why do you do that if it’s not a rule?” he asked, gesturing around the cafeteria.

“The closer numbers have more in common,” I said, taking a bite of steak.

“That’s stupid.”

I frowned. It wasn’t stupid. It was the truth.

“I don’t see how the minutes you were dead affect your personality,” he said.

“That’s because you’re a Twenty-two.”

He raised an eyebrow before returning his attention to his meat. He poked it like he was afraid it might jump up and return the favor if he bit into it. He wrinkled his nose and watched as I popped a chunk in my mouth.

“Is it good?” he asked. “It looks funny.”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

He looked down at it doubtfully. “What is it?”

“Steak.”

“Cow, then?”

“Yes. Never had meat, huh?” All types of meat were hard to come by in the slums, unless a human took a job with HARC. They controlled the farms, and hunting was often a fruitless effort. Overhunting had stripped the land of most wild animals years ago. A rabbit or squirrel would pop up on occasion, but I didn’t see them often. Reboots ate better than most humans, which only made them hate us more.

“No,” Twenty-two replied. His expression suggested he had no interest in changing that.

“Try it; you’ll like it.”

He raised a bite to his lips and shoved it in quickly. He chewed slowly and swallowed with a grimace. He looked down at the hunk of steak left on his plate.

“I don’t know. It’s weird.”

“Just eat it and quit bitching about it,” Lissy snapped from a few seats down. She had little patience for her newbies. Twenty-two would be no exception.

He glanced over at her briefly, then back to me. Lissy frowned at his total disregard for her.

“She’s kinda grouchy, huh?” he said quietly to me.

Always
. I almost smiled when I looked over to see Lissy stabbing her meat like it was trying to get away. Hugo raised his knife over his steak with a grimace, imitating her. Ross One-forty-nine blinked twice at him, which I was pretty sure was his version of a smile.

“Everyone’s saying she’ll be my trainer,” Twenty-two said.

Lissy’s head popped up and she pointed her knife at him as she spoke. “Everyone is right. So shut it and eat that.”

Twenty-two’s defiant face was different from any other I’d seen. His smile didn’t disappear; it merely changed to a mocking, challenging grin. He dropped his fork and leaned back in his chair. He didn’t have to say
make me
. It was clear.

Lissy shoveled her remaining food in her mouth and jumped to her feet, muttering to herself. She shot a look at Twenty-two as she stomped past.

“I hope you get yourself killed quickly so I don’t have to put up with you for long,” she growled.

“I think that’s the strategy she takes with all her newbies,” Hugo said with a chuckle, watching as she pushed Fifty-one out of her way and flew through the exit doors.

“She’s supposed to make them good Reboots,” I said, the memory of pulling the knife out of Forty-five’s head flashing through my mind.

“Then maybe you should do it,” Twenty-two said, perking up. “You get to pick, don’t you?”

“Yes. And I don’t train such low numbers.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re no good.”

Marie One-thirty-five let out a short laugh, and Twenty-two cast an amused glance from her back to me.

“Maybe because they don’t have you. Also, I’m insulted.” His smile suggested he was not.

I poked at my plate with a fork. He could have a point. The lowest of the newbie groups never stood a chance. Was it because of their number? Or because of Lissy, who trained by screaming at them? I looked up at him, at a loss for what to say. I’d never thought about it.

His smile faded, clearly taking my silence as a rejection. It was not how I meant it, but I kept my mouth shut as he began eating.

I wandered down to the sixth floor after lunch. I was often bored in the days between training cycles, unsure what to do with myself. I couldn’t imagine being a lower-number Reboot, one of the many not cut out to be a trainer. They had little to fill their days, especially since HARC considered most forms of entertainment unnecessary for a Reboot.

I peeked into the indoor track room and saw several Reboots running, some racing or chasing after one another. I moved on to the next room, the shooting range, which was full, as usual. It was a favorite pastime. Reboots at every booth pointed their guns at the paper men lined up against the wall. Most hit the intended target—the head—every time. HARC didn’t trust us with real bullets, so the ones we used inside the shooting range were made of plastic.

I pushed my hands into the pockets of my black pants as I headed for the last door, the gym. I pulled it open and glanced at the groups of Reboots in various corners. Some were just talking; others were making halfhearted attempts at fighting to avoid yells from the guards.

Ever was in the corner, one of the paper men from the shooting range taped to the wall in front of her. She bounced from foot to foot as she gripped a knife in her hand, studying the target in front of her seriously. A tall girl stood next to her, Mindy Fifty-one, and she watched as the knife flew from Ever’s hand and landed in the wall, in the middle of the paper man’s head.

Ever stepped closer to Fifty-one and leaned in to talk to her as I headed toward them. Reboots used to play darts in this corner of the gym, but HARC had put a stop to that. The knife throwing was a game, too, just one that looked like practice. I didn’t participate, but a few Under-sixties kept a record of how many throws hit the head in a single session. Ever was in the top three, last I’d heard.

Ever started to run her hand down Fifty-one’s arm but caught sight of me and quickly stepped away from her, pasting a smile on her face as I approached. “Hey.”

“Hi,” I said, glancing at Fifty-one. She wiped her eyes with shaky fingers and I wished I hadn’t come over. Under-sixty emotion made me uncomfortable. I moved back, ready to make an excuse to leave, when she took a few steps away from us.

“I gotta go,” she said. “Ever’s at forty-two throws.”

I nodded and turned back to Ever, who was pulling the dull knife out of the cork wall. She held it out to me and I shook my head. She went back to her spot on the gym floor and squinted at the target as she turned the knife around in her hands.

“You let Callum sit with you today at lunch,” she said, raising an eyebrow at me just before she threw the knife. It landed right in the middle of the forehead.

“He can sit anywhere he wants,” I said, that defiant look he’d given Lissy today flashing in front of my eyes.

Ever laughed as she grabbed the knife out of the wall. “Right. Because you always eat with Under-sixties.”

I shrugged. “He asked. I couldn’t figure out a good reason to say no.”

She laughed again and took her spot a few feet in front of the paper man. “Fair enough.” Her eyes lit up as she glanced over at me. “Do you like him?”

“No.”

“Why not? He’s cute.”

“Everyone here is.”

It was true that all Reboots were attractive, in a way. After death, when the virus took hold and the body Rebooted, the skin cleared, the body sharpened, the eyes glowed. It was like pretty with a hint of deranged.

Although my hint was more like a generous serving.

Ever gave me a look like I was a cute puppy who had wandered over for attention. I never liked that look. “It’s okay to think he’s cute,” she said. “It’s natural.”

Natural for her. I didn’t have feelings like that. They didn’t exist.

I shrugged, avoiding her eyes. She often looked distressed when I told her I didn’t have the same emotions she did. I found it was better to say nothing at all.

She turned away and rocked from foot to foot, letting out a breath as she prepared to throw again. She stilled as she focused on the target, the knife poised in the air and ready to throw. As she let go one boot came off the ground, her body shifting forward with the effort. She smiled at the knife lodged in the wall.

She threw the knife several more times as I watched, until she hit an even fifty and turned to look at me.

“What did you talk about?” she asked. “I saw him trying to engage you in conversation, that brave soul.”

A smile tugged at the edges of my lips. “Food, mostly. He’d never had meat.”

“Ah.”

“And he asked me to train him.”

Ever snorted as she turned away from me. “Poor guy. I can’t imagine you training a Twenty-two. You’d probably break the guy in half.”

I nodded, watching as the knife sped through the air again. Ever was only a Fifty-six, and she was a good Reboot. Or an adequate one, at least. She’d kept herself alive four years, following orders and successfully completing her assignments.

“Who was your trainer?” I asked. I hadn’t paid much attention to Ever as a newbie, even though we lived in the same room. She’d come to HARC almost a year after me, and I hadn’t been a trainer myself yet.

“Marcus One-thirty,” she said.

I nodded. I vaguely remembered him. He’d died in the field several years ago.