Vik finally tossed down his fork. “I’m done with lunch because I’m full. That’s why. I’m not stopping because of you three. You have not won this.”

Tom, Wyatt, and Yuri cackled, because they didn’t believe him.

IT TURNED OUT Tom and Vik were in the same simulation group, led by blond-haired, round-faced Combatant Snowden Gainey. Tom pulled up his profile from memory.

NAME: Snowden Gainey

RANK: USIF, Grade VI, Camelot Company, Napoleon Division

CALL SIGN: NewGuy

ORIGIN: North Westchester, Connecticut

ACHIEVEMENTS: Junior world squash champion, member of the Future Financial Innovators of America Society

IP: 2053:db7:lj71::224:ll3:6e8

SECURITY STATUS: Top Secret LANDLOCK-6

Within minutes, Tom realized that Snowden had a totally different leadership style than his previous simulation group leader, Elliot Ramirez.

Elliot had always waited at the edge of one of the cots, visibly a part of the group, yet he’d also greeted them as they came in, which reminded everyone who was the boss. Snowden sort of hung out in the back corner, dread glimmering over his pale features as the number of trainees sitting on the cots with EKG monitors grew and grew. Only once everyone was there did he finally perch himself on a cot.

“Well, as you newbies have probably heard,” Snowden ventured meekly, “Applied Scrimmages as a Middle involves scenarios similar to the ones you faced as plebes, but instead of facing simulated opponents, we directly face other groups of Middles, and we rotate every week. Today we’re fighting Yosef Saide’s group. So, do you guys want to start?” It was posed like a question, like he needed their permission.

Everyone dropped back to sprawl across their cots, and Tom twisted his head to the side to exchange an excited grin with Vik. “Got your back, Doctor.”

“You, too, Doctor.” Vik’s eyes gleamed crazily.

And then Tom hooked in his neural wire and his senses dimmed as he was sucked into the simulation.

He found himself surrounded by chaos, World War II–era sailors screaming and rushing past him, the ship they were on jolting violently, fires flaring, seawater gushing into cracks in the hull.

Tom shouted for Vik, and they met up on the rocking deck, gasping for air, seeing a German U-boat in the distance slinking away.

“We’re done for. Already,” Tom said, incredulous. They hadn’t gotten a chance to fight. The sim started this way.

“Life rafts!” Vik gestured toward a crush of frantic sailors, all eager to evacuate.

Tom gave a quick nod, realizing this must be the scenario: they’d get in those life rafts and fight Yosef’s group. Maybe the Nazis would double back and attack again? Or maybe they’d face off with pirates or something?

Tom and Vik grabbed their place in the last life raft that dropped from the ship. A powerful wave tossed them from the main vessel as it sank into the churning ocean.