“It’s too risky. If anyone finds a cell with my number in it, what’s that going to look like?”

He went over and over the maze-like path from the apartment to the exit doors.

“Right down the hallway, out one set of double doors and into the parking lot,” Jeremiah said. “I know.”

“Two sets of doors, Jeremiah. The second set of doors gets you outside.”

After lunch, Brent paced the floors of the apartment, his brow knitted in worried concentration, and muttered to himself under his breath. It was a far cry from the carefree, whiskey-fueled confidence of the night before.

“If this is going to work,” he told Jeremiah. “It has to be exact, down to detail. Nothing gets left to chance. We need to go over it again. What time do we start arguing?”

“At two-thirty in the goddamn morning. And I’m going to need some sleep before that. Or a few pots of coffee.”

“And where do you aim the knife?”

“Right shoulder. Away from the neck.”

“Jesus, Jeremiah! Left shoulder! I’m right-handed!”

“Right,” Jeremiah said. “I mean, correct. Your left shoulder. Got it.”

“Let’s play IF.”

Jeremiah sighed and looked at the ceiling. “Can’t we just keep the blender going?”

“I’d rather play the game,” he insisted, and had his headset on before Jeremiah even sat down on the couch.

“This is ridiculous,” Jeremiah told him.

“We can practice our moves,” Brent insisted, handing over a headset and glaring at him.

Jeremiah sat down on the couch and put his gear on. “Fine,” he acquiesced. “We’ll practice.”

If Scott were watching, he’d see only two men nursing massive hangovers and playing an inexplicably long video game. They were meticulous about keeping their eyes to the screen so as not to give anything away with their faces.

You know what to do when Mel takes you to your house? Brent typed.

I wait in bushes until clone opens garage door in the morning. About 7 when door opens, I go in. Hit kill switch to bring door down. Kill clone. Call you.

Camera!

Sorry. Hit camera above my right shoulder. Then door. Got it.

That’s important!

I know!

Hit ViMed camera!

I know! Okay! Shut up already!

Okay. You ready for it?

Sort of...except stabbing you. That’s tough.

Don’t worry. That’s why we’re in here. Let’s practice.

Fucking stupid, Jeremiah typed. It wasn’t the practicing he was worried about.

Humor me. Let’s go.

For an hour or more, their avatars battled in hand-to-hand combat amid the scream of AI grenades and mortar blasts. Jeremiah was expert, by now, at manipulating Clyde’s movements and deftly had him overpowering Brent’s man with high karate kicks and undercut punches that nearly knocked his head off. He couldn’t, of course, add any such ninja-style flourishes in real life, but it felt cathartic to do it in-game. He could wield the virtual knife pretty well, too, after a while, unsheathing it from a halter at his side and twirling it, baton-style, in one fluid move. But the first few times he stabbed it, he killed Brent’s avatar, once actually severing the entire arm, and the simulation would pause and start all over again.