Reboot Read Free

Reboot than I’d ever been as a human.
    Rebooting itself was simply a different reaction to the KDH virus. KDH killed most people, but for some—the young, the strong—the virus worked differently. Even those who died of something other than KDH could Reboot, if they’d had the KDH virus even once in their lifetime. It Rebooted the body after death, bringing it back stronger, more powerful.
    But also colder, emotionless. An evil copy of what we used to be, the humans said. Most would rather die completely than be one of the “lucky” ones who Rebooted.
    The guards ordered the newbies to sit. They all did so quickly, already informed that they followed orders or got a bullet in the brain.
    The guards left, letting the doors slam as they hurried out. Not even our hardened guards liked to be in the presence of so many Reboots at once.
    The laughter and scuffling started right away, but I turned my attention back to my breakfast. The only newbie I had any interest in was my next trainee, but we wouldn’t be paired up until tomorrow. The Nineties liked to break ’em all in right away. Considering the speed at which we healed, I saw no problem with the newbies being roughed up a little. Might as well start toughening them up now.
    The Nineties were rowdier than usual today. I shoved the last piece of bacon in my mouth as the hollering rose to an annoying level. I dropped my tray on top of the trash can and headed for the exit.
    A flash of color streaked across the white floor, coming to a stop at my feet with a squeak. It was a newbie, shot down the slick tile like a toy. I just missed stepping on his head and planted my boot on the floor.
    Blood trickled from his nose and a bruise had formed under one eye. His long, lanky legs were sprawled across the floor, his thin white T-shirt clinging to the frame of an underfed former human.
    His close-cropped black hair matched his eyes, so dark I couldn’t find his pupils. They probably used to be brown. Brown eyes usually took on a golden sort of glow after death, but I liked his blackness. It was in stark contrast to the white of the cafeteria, to the glow of the other Reboots’ eyes.
    No one came near him now that he was in my space, but someone yelled, “Twenty-two!” and laughed.
    Twenty-two? That couldn’t be his number. I hadn’t seen anyone under forty in a few years. Well, there was a Thirty-seven last year, but she died within a month.
    I nudged at his arm with my boot so I could see his bar code. Callum Reyes. Twenty-two.
    I raised my eyebrows. He was only dead twenty-two minutes before he Rebooted. He was practically still human. My eyes shifted back to his face to see a smile spreading across his lips. Why was he smiling? This didn’t seem like an appropriate time to be smiling.
    “Hi,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows. “Apparently they call me Twenty-two.”
    “It’s your number,” I replied.
    He smiled bigger. I wanted to tell him to stop it.
    “I know. And yours?”
    I pulled up my sleeve and turned my arm to reveal the 178 . His eyes widened and I felt a surge of satisfaction when his grin faltered.
    “You’re One-seventy-eight?” he asked, hopping to his feet.
    Even humans had heard of me.
    “Yes,” I said.
    “Really?” His eyes flicked over me quickly. His smile had returned.
    I frowned at his doubt, and he laughed.
    “Sorry. I thought you’d be . . . I don’t know. Bigger?”
    “I can’t control my height,” I said, trying to pull myself up an extra inch or two. Not that it would help. He towered over me and I had to lift my chin to look him in the eye.
    He laughed, although I had no idea at what. Was my height funny? His laugh was big, genuine, echoing across the now-silent cafeteria. It didn’t belong here, that laugh. He didn’t belong here, with those full lips curving up with actual happiness.
    I sidestepped him to walk away, but he grabbed my wrist. A few Reboots gasped. No one touched me. They didn’t even come