Deadlock by Robert Liparulo

game. None of this data was available to other players. Only to Outis recruiters.
    â€œSeventeen,” Colonel Bryson said, referring to the player’s age. “Perfect. You played him?”
    â€œOh yeah,” Ben said. “Kicked his butt.”
    â€œWasn’t easy,” Anton said. “Kid knows how to move.”
    Colonel Bryson nodded. “Okay. Watch him a couple more weeks. If he looks right for us, let me know. We’ll insert our AI avatars into a few of his games, get a reading on how he handles special situations.”
    Julian knew “special situations” meant more than tough opponents. The Outis system would have the player face old women planting IEDs-improvised explosive devices-on the sides of roads, little kids who whip machine guns out of their soccer bags, civilians clambering to board a military vehicle. The player would be expected to shoot them.
    â€œShows a willingness to do what’s necessary,” Ben had told him.
    â€œAll right, guys,” Colonel Bryson continued. “You’ve already been debriefed about the other night’s fiasco.”
    â€œSir, with all due respect, sir,” Ben said, “I think you mean Michael’s screwup.”
    Colonel Bryson gave Ben an I’ll-eat-you-for-breakfast look-with his bushy eyebrows and all-terrain features, he didn’t need to change his expression much to accomplish it. “I just said we’ve already been there. No need beating that horse, got it?”
    â€œYes, sir,” Ben said dutifully.
    Colonel Bryson scanned the team. “I’m here to inform you that you’re going to have a chance to redeem yourselves.”
    â€œAnother mission, sir?” Anton said.
    â€œAnother mission, yes.”
    Michael paled visibly. Julian thought he was going to collapse back onto the couch, but he only wavered.
    â€œThis one’s like eating your grandma’s apple pie, nothing to it,” Colonel Bryson said. “Recon, that’s all.”
    Ben rolled his head. “Sir, how is that going to make up for-”
    â€œIt’s Priority One,” Colonel Bryson interrupted. “Straight from the top.”
    Julian thought his eyes flicked his way for a half second.
    â€œMOOTW, gentlemen. Military Operations Other Than War. You’ve studied it. You know it can be as crucial to U.S. security as combat. Though perhaps not as much fun.” He winked at Ben. “We head out at 1200 tomorrow, so no morning drills.”
    â€œYeah,” Emile said, tugging the air with his fist.
    â€œBen, make sure your team is ready. Get a good night’s sleep. Gentlemen.” He strode out of the room.
    Anton held his palm up, and Ben slapped it. “I thought they were going to ground us,” Anton said.
    â€œUs?” Ben said. “Not us. We’re goooood.” He made like he was shooting a machine gun. His aim came around to Michael, and he continued shooting. He pretended to raise the barrel and blow at the smoke. “Don’t make me do that for real, man. I mean it.”
    Michael limped toward his bedroom.
    â€œHey,” Ben said. “Where do you think you’re going?”
    â€œYou heard him,” Michael said at the door. “I’m going to bed.”
    â€œJust be ready in the morning, dude,” Ben said. “No sudden bouts of stomach flu. You’ll come with us anyway.”
    â€œNighty night,” Anton said.
    Michael disappeared into his room and shut the door.
    â€œMan,” Anton said, “that kid’s going to ruin it for all of us.”
    â€œHe’ll be all right,” Emile said.
    â€œBetter be,” Anton snapped. “Else we can take Julian. Huh, Julie?”
    â€œLeave me out of it,” Julian said, letting the chair settle back to the floor. He stood up and headed for the door. “And stop calling me that.”
    â€œOooh,” Ben said. “Watch out, Anton. You’ll make him