Bryn

It’s been two days since Rayburn introduced us to his crew and things have fallen into a strange routine. After I wake, I check in with the Snatchers on duty during the night shift to see if my brother has arrived and I check again just before I go to sleep. Most of the crews, moving with a military precision I admire, are used to me now and I usually get a “Sorry Bryn, not today” before I even have to ask.

My favourite part of the day has got to be just after lunch. Today is no different. Flynn and Col are rough housing in a way I’ve only seen in the virtual. They haven’t even bothered to clear away the tables, using the benches and the crew still polishing off the last of lunch as obstacles. Col is strong and fast despite his size, but Flynn has a slipperiness to him, dodging and ducking beneath Col’s massive arms, and sneaking in close enough to land solid blows to Col’s vulnerable spots. The throat and the diaphragm mostly. There’s an unspoken rule that anything below the belt’s off limits. Neither are pulling their blows. They’re panting, grinning wide, and within less than a minute it’s mostly degraded into a strange game of catch.

“Can you teach me how to do that?” The words are out of my mouth and ringing in the air before I’ve really thought it through. I’m leaning back on my elbows against the table, Greyson next to me. He’s more intent on his lunch than the mock-fighting.

“Teach you to do what?” It’s Rayburn who answers. He’s sitting on the other side of Greyson, finishing off the last of his own food.

“To fight. In the real.”

Rayburn gives me a once over and I bristle, straightening my spine and scowling at him, daring him to find me lacking.

“Okay then.” Rayburn shovels the last of his meal into his mouth and stands, gesturing to his lingering team. “Go on you lot, clear out. You all got work to do and this ain’t going to be a show.”

Butterflies flutter up a storm in my stomach, but I keep my lips tightly pressed, as if I’ll throw up butterflies or lunch, refusing to let anyone know I’m starting to regret ever opening my mouth. Greyson nudges my shoulder, and when I glance over, his eyebrow is high, clearly wondering what in sky I’m thinking. I shrug back at him helplessly, but I do want to do this. I’m a warrior in the Cyberinth. I want to be a warrior in the real, too.

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“I can stay,” he offers, but I can tell he’s itching to return to his father’s lab.

“Nah, go on. This’ll be embarrassing enough without you watching.”

Greyson hops up from the table, wiping his fingers on his trousers, and his hand hovers over my shoulder before dropping to his side. Hanging out with Rayburn’s crew and his mother have made him especially touchy, but I like that he still remembers I find it uncomfortable. He’s big on giving me the choice where all the others have no consideration for my boundaries. Another split second decision and I reach out to brush my knuckles against his arm.

“I’ll be fine. We’ll catch up later.”

Greyson nods, ducking his head to hide his shy smile, and then joins the rest as Rayburn shoos them out of the mess hall.

“Flynn, hang back,” Rayburn calls and snags Flynn from the headlock Col has him in. Col sends Flynn a mocking hand gesture and me a cheeky wink before he leaves. Juni props herself up against the table, refusing to budge, and flicks her long, neat braid over her shoulder, the remnants of lunch scattered behind her. I’d gotten to know the mousy young woman a little over the last few days. She has a stern kindness beneath scathing words. Knowing she’s here is reassuring.

“Are you sure?” Juni asks as Flynn and Rayburn clear more space between tables. I nod, refusing to back down. I pull off my breather and settle it on the table, along with my air-tank. “It’s just you don’t seem all that keen on touch.”

“It’s fine if it’s my choice,” I reply, and Juni’s gaze is warm with approval, giving me the extra push to meet Flynn and Rayburn when the latter gestures me to join them.

“You’ve experience in the virtual?” Rayburn asks, gesturing for Flynn and me to face each other, one step from striking distance.

“Some,” I say, my nerves returning in a flurry and I blush. Flynn is by no means ugly and he’s removed his shirt. So much gleaming flesh.

“You’ve foundation at least then. What kind of games?”

I list a few, mostly fantasy role playing. Rayburn doesn’t recognise any of them – he’s been in Undercamp too long – but he gets the gist.

“Now to translate the skills you learnt there into the real. First, let’s see how you move.”

Flynn’s grin turns feral as he raises up his arms, and it’s like a switch flips in my head. The combative mindset present whenever I fought in the virtual engages and my focus is absolute. Calmness washes through my system as I lift my fists in preparation to strike, but my right hand feels empty without my sword and it leaves me a little off balance.

When Flynn leaps forward, I meet him without a second thought and for one single pure moment, I feel the electric thrill I always get at the start of battle. That’s until I’m starring up at the ceiling, the air punched from my lungs and the pain from slamming into the ground knocking me from my battle mindset. Rayburn’s face swings into view. The jerk’s grinning.

“Good. Again,” he says and levers me to my feet. I glance over at Juni and she offers me two thumbs up. Is it too late for me to change my mind? But I’m already moving into position. My only real regret is doing this on a full stomach.

“Again,” I confirm.