Free The Battle Begins by Devon Hughes Page B

black-and-tan German shepherd–bald eagle mix. He was in the corner, stretching out his wings, and the images on the simulink definitely hadn’t done them justice—the span had to be at least nine feet! “Totally incredible.”
    â€œIs it really that much better than what you see when you warp?” Pete asked.
    â€œOh, no, they’re exactly the same. . . .” Marcus raised his eyebrows with mock seriousness. “Except for, youknow, warp nausea, static interference, and low-res-supposedly-4D visual, versus actually being able to feel the ground shuddering as they run, or watch them move without a fraction-of-a-second time delay, or smell the sweat in the room.”
    â€œMmm, mmm, the sweet stench of animal BO.” Pete closed his eyes and sniffed the air.
    But Marcus was serious. He peered through the holes of the chain-link fence, watching in awe as the grizzly crushed another basketball. “It’s weird that they smell at all—the lab team really went all out. I just can’t believe how real they seem.”
    Pete cocked his head. “Uh, they are real.”
    â€œNot, like, real real.” Marcus waved his hand. “They’re androids. Programmed. Their cells are grown in little Petri dishes in a lab by Bruce and his guys. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think they’re awesome! But they’re pretty much automopooches, right?”
    Pete crossed his arms and peered at him strangely. “Did Bruce tell you that?”
    â€œYeah. Forever ago, when he and Mom first started dating. Made me swear not to tell anyone that they were really virtual models, but I don’t get why it’s some big secret. I mean, they’re still pretty rad. Why are you looking at me like that?”
    Marcus’s older brother was one of the most mellow people he knew, but right then, Pete’s cheeks were flushed a blotchy red and his eyebrows were knotted together.
    â€œSo, all along you thought . . .” Pete ran a hand through his hair, searching for words. “Marcus, it’s not like that.”
    â€œNot like what?” he asked uneasily.
    â€œSome cells are farmed, yes, especially when they need to graft extra skin or build protein for horns. But the mutants aren’t just designed from scratch.” Pete stepped closer, and Marcus saw the pain in his brother’s magnified eyes. “They start off as regular animals, Marcus. And the shot of spliced DNA they receive comes from the bodies of other regular animals—there are donor animals above the housing block.”
    Marcus chewed his lip and shifted his feet. “What do you mean, ‘regular—’”
    â€œI mean real . Alive.” Pete’s voice was quiet but firm, and this time, there wasn’t any room for misinterpretation.
    Alive?
    Marcus fell back against the fence—he felt like he’d been socked in the stomach. He thought of all the blood he’d seen spilled over the years. He thought of how he’d cheered.
    Marcus couldn’t bear to meet Pete’s gaze, so hepeered through the fence at the Unnaturals again, his good hand gripping the chain links so hard his knuckles were white. He recognized the Mighty from last season, and remembered how cheated he’d felt that the zebra-bull didn’t fight in the Mash-up, since he was Team Scratch’s best shot against the Invincible.
    Remembering what had happened to the other animals in that final match, Marcus now saw the misery on the Mighty’s face. He saw the fear in the whites of the mutant rabbit’s eyes, and the grizzly’s anger.
    Real animals. Real pain, he thought, aware of the dull throbbing ache in his own arm. He thought of the words donor animals and remembered something Pete had said earlier—that the weird smell that hung around their stepdad was formaldehyde. Marcus hunched over his knees, worried he was going to be sick.
    â€œThat’s why you don’t