Tom didn’t point out that they had the same physical builds in this sim that they did in real life, so it wasn’t like he had an advantage here. “No, I like sims because I can actually kill you here.”

Karl gave an ugly grin. And then he vanished.

Tom frowned. Wait. He couldn’t possibly be wimping out. . . .

And then his eyes snapped open in the training room as Karl’s fist slammed into his real, nonsimulated stomach, doubling him over on the cot and driving the breath from him, shooting acid up through his torso.

“Let’s see how real life compares,” Karl snarled, his fist slamming Tom’s ribs over and over as Tom struggled to draw breath. Karl seized his collar and hurled him off the cot, tumbling him to the floor, his head slamming the base of a nearby cot, stars dancing before his eyes—along with some text.

Error: Connection lost. Download paused. 98% complete.

Huh? Air burst into his lungs in a great gush, and Tom’s brain was torn between the urgent focus on Karl and the other part of him that registered that text, which was not supposed to be there. What was . . . what the . . .

Karl ducked to get him, and in a split second, Tom’s neural processor presented the best move: drive his palm up into Karl’s nose, knocking the cartilage back into his brain.

No, he couldn’t do that. He’d kill him.

Instead, he slammed his foot into Karl’s face, then lanced up and snared his arms around Karl’s neck, pivoting all his weight to unbalance him, knock him down. Tom drove a knee into his neck, pinning him there, and raised a fist to slam into Karl’s face, but he’d been stupid to count on his weight keeping Karl down—Karl hooked his hands under Tom’s legs, and lifted him straight into the air, then threw him with a frightening strength. Tom landed in a heap at the foot of Emefa’s cot, then yanked himself upright as Karl advanced again. He backed up, trying to think of some advantage here, then dodged Karl’s next swing and shoved him while he was unbalanced, looping his leg around Karl’s, sending Karl stumbling against his empty cot. Unthinkingly, Tom seized his stray neural wire and whipped it around Karl’s throat. He tightened it, pressing his back against Karl’s so his full weight would hang from it as Karl tried to buck him off.