Free Reboot by Amy Tintera

with his spoon. His hand rested against his cheek and his eyes drooped. His head was practically on the cafeteria table.
    Ever and I sat down across from him, and she gave me a worried glance when she caught sight of his sullen expression. She looked somewhat better today. No growling last night. I actually slept.
    “You all right?” Ever asked Twenty-two. I wished she hadn’t. He obviously wasn’t all right. The newbies rarely were after their first assignment.
    “There’s no point,” he mumbled.
    “What do you mean?” Ever asked.
    Twenty-two looked up at me. “You’re wasting your time with me. You should have picked One-twenty-one. I’ll never be able to do this.”
    Ever glanced from me to him, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “It gets better,” she said. I could tell she was lying.
    Twenty-two saw the lie as well. He frowned at her, then turned his head away, his dark eyes hard and angry.
    “That guy shot you four times,” he said. “You didn’t even blink. It’s like it didn’t register with you.”
    “I’ve been shot a lot. You adjust,” I said.
    “ You adjust. I can’t do that.”
    “Her trainer shot her over and over,” Ever said quietly, and I stiffened. “She was scared, too, so he and the guards shot her until she wasn’t scared anymore.”
    It was true, but I frowned at Ever for sharing. Bullets paralyzed me at first, reminded me of my human death, and my trainer found that unacceptable. He instructed the guards to shoot me until I became desensitized to it.
    Some of the anger had fallen off Twenty-two’s face as he turned to me. “Who was your trainer?” he asked, disgust in every word. He shouldn’t have been disgusted. The only reason I was alive today was because I had a good trainer.
    “One-fifty-seven. He died in the field a few months ago.” That was what Leb had told me, anyway. He’d been close to twenty years old.
    “Shame I couldn’t meet that guy,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.
    “The point is, it got better for her,” Ever said, ignoring my frown. “It’ll get better for you.”
    “I don’t want it to get better. I don’t want to do it at all.” He reminded me of a three-year-old with his arms folded and his lips in a bit of a pout. It was almost cute.
    “You don’t get a choice,” I said.
    “I should. None of this is my fault. I didn’t ask to die and rise from the dead.”
    My eyes darted around the room. I hoped the humans weren’t listening. That was the sort of thing they eliminated Reboots for.
    “Pull it together,” I said, lowering my voice. “The first time is the hardest. You’ll adapt.”
    “I won’t adapt. I don’t want to turn into some monster who enjoys hunting people.”
    And then he gestured at me.
    A knife sliced through my chest. I blinked, not sure what to make of the pain. His words echoed in my ears and it was suddenly hard to breathe.
    Some monster who enjoys hunting people . I didn’t like the words, didn’t want him to think of me that way.
    Since when did I care what my newbies thought of me?
    “Why don’t you just piss off?” Ever’s voice, harsh and icy, made me look up. She glared at Twenty-two, gripping her fork like she was considering using it as a weapon.
    He grabbed his tray and got to his feet. I stole a glance at him and saw confusion and surprise written all over his face. I wasn’t sure where either emotion came from. He opened his mouth, looked at Ever, and seemed to think better of it. He spun around and slunk away.
    Ever exhaled, relaxing her grip on her fork. “That was crap. You know that, right? Utter crap.”
    “What?” I was still having trouble gathering air into my lungs. His words kept spinning around my brain, taunting me.
    “You’re not a monster who enjoys hunting people.”
    I frowned. That assessment seemed fair. I could see his point.
    “Hey. Wren.”
    I looked up at Ever and she put her hand over mine. “He’s wrong. Okay?”
    I nodded, slipping my hand