Rhys adjusted the scope of his rifle and wriggled back into place between the turret’s brick walls.

“Okay, I’ve got another one for you.”

Milo groaned.

“Dude, please, I’m begging you. I can’t afford to lose that many brain cells.”

Rhys pressed his eye to the scope. The narrow stream remained empty, its barbed wire border intact and shining in the moonlight.

“Why did the Ferrans cross the road?”

Milo sighed. “So that dumbasses like you could kill their friends with terrible jokes?”

“Because they’re all chickens.”

“Wow. Think of that one yourself, did you?”

Rhys made a quick sweep of the tall grass on either side of the stream.

“No, Eddie told it to me.”

“That’s a relief. I thought maybe all that staring at Zara finally rotted your brain.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“Sorry, I meant ogling.”

“Shut up. I wasn’t staring or ogling. I just.” He shifted back to the stream, scanned from the horizon all the way back to the tower. “She’s really smart and pretty.”

“And stupid strong and better at hand-to-hand than you’ll ever be. She’s outta your league, dude.”

Rhys found Milo’s leg sprawled a few inches from his and kicked it.

“Shows what you know. Steen says she likes quiet, sensitive guys.”

Milo kicked him back.

“Steen only told you that because she thought it would be nicer than telling you that you had a better chance of defeating the entire Ferran national army than getting a date with Zara.”

“Hey, I’m sensitive.”

Milo snorted. “If you’re talking about that pimply stuff covering your face, then sure. The rest of you is as dense as your boots and twice as loud.”

He kicked Milo again and did another check of the barbed wire.

“At least I’ve got a sense of humor. That joke was funny even if you have a stick shoved too far up your ass to notice.”

“Better a stick up my ass than pebbles in my head. Wasn’t your family Ferran?”

Rhys’s stomach twinged.

“Only on my dad’s side. And I haven’t seen him since I was, like, two. I’ve signed all the pledges and loyalty contracts.”

“For fuck’s sake, Rhys, who do you think I am? Trenton with his little notebook? I just meant, you know, doesn’t it bother you when people say stuff like that?”

He frowned. He’d known Milo since before he could tie his shoes. They’d gone through training together, been the second at each other’s allegiance test. Had shared a bunk until they’d literally gotten too big to fit. And they’d always made fun of Trenton and his endless quests to catch someone using a non-company toenail clipper.

But Milo was Optimum, his family line going all the way back to when they were still an online wholesaler.

“No,” Rhys said.

“Not at all?”

Movement in the grass pulled his attention north.

Wobble, wobble, wobble.

He relaxed his grip on the trigger. It was just one of those little brown birds.

“Ferran values are all fucked up,” he said. “I mean, they go on and on about the importance of hard work, but don’t let people have any possessions. No homes, no beds. Even their clothes belong to ‘the group.’ And they have to be connected to that weird hub all the time. Like, do you really want everyone to know when you take a shit?”

“Or jerk off while imagining Zara in her underwear?”

Rhys kicked him with the hard toe of his boot.

“But, really, is what we do any better? All those algorithms and trackers are a pain in the ass. Because yeah, sure, the size twenty-eight black skinnys I’ve gotten for the last two years fit me great and everything, but what if I want to try something different, like those wild red shreds Captain Phelps has? Or that sick motorcycle jacket with the bleach stains? Man, I would kill for something like that.”

This time Rhys’s stomach twisted with a full-blown cramp. Sure, they were alone. And, yeah, they were wearing scramblers because they were on duty. But you didn’t say shit like that. Milo had the scars all over his back to prove it – and he had gotten off easy since he’d been eight and his uncle hadn’t lost his seat on the security council yet.

“Of course it’s better,” he said. “The system takes care of us. Tells us what we need, what we should do. It understands what’s best for us better than we ever could.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just.” Milo sighed. “Maybe if I looked like that people wouldn’t treat me like a wannabe bag boy.”