Push by Eve Silver

the prestige badge next to his name—a bronze star with a smaller star at the center—because he was team leader. There’s a badge next to my name now. It’s a simple bronze circle. Guess I haven’t graduated to stars.
    After Luka is Tyrone, then Kendra, then Lien. Even though Tyrone’s been in the game longer than Luka, he purposely kept his score low because for the longest time, he didn’t want out because the game was his chance to see Richelle. And his chance to do research. He was planning on creating a video game based on his experiences and getting rich off it.
    After Richelle died, I think his plans changed.
    I hate this. The pictures. The scores. They trivialize us, what we do, the risks we take. Our lives are at stake on every mission. The Committee claims they set everything up as a game because they needed something accessible, something teens could relate to. I sort of bought their explanation at the time, but it just doesn’t sit right with me anymore.
    This isn’t a game. They shouldn’t treat it as one.
    That’s what Jackson’s been saying all along.
    I study the numbers, trying to figure out what’s bugging me. Something’s off, but I can’t figure out what it is.
    Jump in thirty. That’s the Committee, mainlining thoughts directly to my brain whether I want them there or not.
    We respawn in a room—big, dim, smooth gray walls. Metal? I touch the closest one, then tap my fingernail against the surface. Yeah, metal.
    In front of us is a huge corrugated door, the black rectangle centered above it lit with glowing red bars. No, not bars . . . an LED number: seven. Beside the door is a keypad with a slot for an ID card.
    “Where are we?” Lien whispers.
    I hold a finger to my lips. I want complete silence until we know if it’s safe to speak. I point over her shoulder so she’ll see what I see. There are two black sedans parked against the far wall. The license plates have three kanji—Japanese letters—followed by a number and, below that, larger numbers. So either we’re in Japan, or these cars were imported with license plates intact. I’m not sure it matters, but I store the info away in case I need it later.
    Catching Luka’s eye, I nod toward the corrugated door as I pull my weapon cylinder. It’s smooth and cool and instantly contorts its shape, conforming to the contours of my grasp. He gets the message and pulls his weapon cylinder. The others take the hint and do the same, backs to one another, alert for any threat. I walk over and rest my hand on the hood of the first car. Cold. Same with the second. So they haven’t been driven in at least forty-five minutes or an hour. Again, I don’t know if that info is relevant, but I gather what I can.
    I check my con. There’s a rim of green around the outside to measure my health, but most of the screen is taken up with a live feed of our surroundings. In the left corner is a small rectangle—a map of the room—and within it, a clump of five green triangles. Us. I hold up my wrist and gesture for everyone else to show me theirs—all green, no maps or live feeds. That means I’m the only one getting instructions. The Committee wants us to stick together. For now.
    I move to the keypad by the door and stare at the numbers.
    “Safe to talk?” Luka says against my ear, so soft I feel the words more than hear them.
    I listen for any sound, anything at all. Nothing. If we can’t hear the Drau, I’m going to work with the idea that they can’t hear us, either. Actually, it isn’t just an idea; it’s a certainty. Perks of being the leader. The Committee dumps knowledge in my head: no threat. Not yet. But they’re out there, and they’re close.
    “Safe to talk,” I say.
    Lien looks around, frowning. “This place gives me the creeps.”
    “Yeah.” Tyrone nods, and his agreement’s enough to snag my attention.
    “Why?” I ask.
    “There’s something familiar about it. Something weird,” Lien says.
    “Familiar like