Feet kicked up on the dashboard, hands tucked behind his head, Three glanced at the man in the pilot’s seat. He licked his lips, and then a slow smirk crawled over his face. “Careful. You’ll get addicted to Chunk’s body if you keep popping down like that.”

Chunk’s metal face couldn’t express any emotion, and somehow, he still managed to frown. “Do you have to put it like that?”

Three grinned smugly. “Knew you were in there.”

The voice sighed.

“Do you even know how to fly a helicopter? I mean, damn, I know they don’t let your type get your hands dirty, so—”

“Do you have a point?” Chunk asked.

Three shifted. He stretched and turned toward the window. In the distance, the scrapyard was barely visible, a low-slung chaos among the orderly buildings and tanks of the old industrial sector. “Why did we retreat? We could have destroyed them.”

“Incurred losses. If a second force opposes our—”

“Losses? Like you give a shit about our lives. I don’t want to hear the bullshit you’re going to tell your boss, I want to know why you didn’t let me fight.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The voice paused. Chunk shrugged. “My latest candidates need real-world experience.”

Three laughed. “More bullshit. C’mon, out with it. You just want to see a dogfight, don’t you? Your favorite Seven against Four.”

A chuckle. “Maybe.”

Three looked at him. “Ten credits on Sasha—Four.”

“You don’t have any credits.”

“Then what about another year for me? One long, long year where you can’t off me, no matter how annoying I get.”

Chunk looked at him. Lenses reflected Three’s own dead glass eyes. There was a note of ice in the voice, sharp, cold, dangerous. “Do you really think he’ll win?”

Three shrugged. “I like to root for the underdog.”

Chunk turned back to the city, hands steady on the throttle. “What if you lose?”

“Huh?”

“The bet. What do I get if you lose?”

“If I lose, then… you can kill me whenever.”

“I can already do that.”

Three twisted his lips. “Fair enough. How about this: if I lose, I’ll do something so incredibly dumb you’ll be able to kill me whenever you like, no questions asked, no paperwork filed.”

Chunk tipped his head thoughtfully. “A Justified Termination? Don’t you have to do something insane to proc that? Attack someone in admin, or at least, I don’t know, massacre a whole floor of scientists?”

Three spread his hands. “Have any suggestions? I’ve got a few names on my list. If I’m going out, trust you me, I’m going out with a bang.”

Chunk laughed. “If I didn’t like you so damn much, I’d report you to admin right now.”

“Well? Do we have a deal?” Three held out his hand.

Chunk took it. “Deal.”