"Let's get started," Grant said. Around him, the staff meeting came to order. X and Zero, the senior squad leaders, sat to his right; Alia and Douglas, senior members of the Hunters' support staff, sat to his left; other leaders in the Hunters filled the rest of the table, or (for those too junior or too non-humanoid to merit a chair) stood around the outside of the room.

Iris did not attend. Even when the staff meetings were emotionally sterile, being pressed in with so many people overclocked her empathy. Most of the Hunters were privately happy to let her skip. Her low rank gave both sides the cover they wanted on the issue.

Crowded as it was, a few hangers-on had to be shooed away at the last minute. "But I can learn a lot by being here!" Double protested.

"You don't need to be here," Magma Dragoon replied, aiming him for the exit.

"This is an important meeting, isn't it?"

"Maybe, but you don't need to be here."

Double opened his mouth to protest further. No sound escaped. Instead, he took in the look on Dragoon's face. "Ah," he said with sudden realization. "You have it covered, then."

"Go do something useful," Dragoon said. Double gave him a smile that was entirely too cutting for what had been said, and went out without further protest.

As the door went shut, Grant took command of the room. "Bring up the docket for today… there we go. Okay, first things first: we have reports of rumors of Sigma being active again."

"Reports of rumors?" repeated one of the Hunters.

Grant grinned weakly. "That's an upgrade. Last week it was rumors of reports of rumors." Polite but listless laughter. Office humor. "After the last war, we reported Sigma's destruction because he was, you know, destroyed. But, with how important Sigma is, any possibility of him being alive gets lots of attention. The powers-that-be want us to keep our ears open."

"Where were the rumors… reports of rumors… reported?" Alia asked. Her expression showed her distaste for the vague.

"Here in Abel City, of course," Grant replied.

Alia shook her head. "I don't understand. Why does he focus so much effort here? The major actions of all three Wars were fought within three hundred kilometers of Abel City. The Mavericks exert more effort here than anywhere else. It doesn't have to be like that. There are reploids everywhere, so there are potential Mavericks everywhere. Why is Abel City so important to Sigma?"

"X knows our enemies better than anyone," Grant said, with venom that surprised most of the staff. "Tell them, X. Why does Sigma focus on Abel City?"

"Pride," X said, uncomfortably. "Part of his pitch is inevitability: the triumph of the Maverick revolution is the only possible outcome. As far as he's concerned, he is the Maverick revolution. That means he can't lose. Even the idea of losing is intolerable. He has to reverse his defeats before he can move on. We stopped him before, so we have to be wiped out before he can think about anything else."

He looked like he wanted to stop, but didn't. "He also probably thinks of us as the biggest threat to him. If he ever does destroy the Maverick Hunters here, he doesn't think anything else can stop him."

A couple of the Hunters exchanged glances, as if to say, "He might be right about that."

"What about Repliforce?" Grant objected. "Would they merit the same sort of attention?"

"Not the same sort," X said. "The Hunters existed before Sigma, but Repliforce was made specifically to kill him. He'd see that as a challenge, or an insult. That's enough for him to want to destroy them. But it would be for those reasons, not because he feels threatened. They've never beaten him, either, so there's not the same animus."

"Hm," said Grant meaningfully. "Thank you, X. You are the best in the Hunters at predicting our enemies. Oh, that reminds me. On a completely unrelated note, there's been a significant Maverick incident in Alexandria. The Hunter-equivalents there have requested aid."

He stopped speaking, leaving a vacuum. Nature abhors a vacuum.

"Then what are we waiting for?" said X, moving in his seat as if about to surge out of it.

"At maximum speed and ignoring traffic, we can get there in under five hours," Zero said.

"I can have three Squads ready in half an hour," Alia said, putting a hand to her headset, "and I can line up the heavy transports to be ready…"

"We're not going."

Silence reigned once more.

"What?" X said, on behalf of all.

"The Hunters will investigate the rumors of Sigma's return," Grant said, poorly disguising his disgust. "Alexandria is outside of Abel City, so it is out of Hunter jurisdiction."

"That's never stopped us before," Zero pointed out. "Like with the Laguz Island incident or the..."

Grant waved his hand to silence everyone. "My superiors in ORR have made it crystal clear to me: those ad hoc deployments are over for the Hunters. The role of bailing out other cities has been reassigned. To Repliforce."

One of the squad leaders, disbelieving, repeated, "Repliforce?"

"That's right," said Grant. "They're already mobilizing. Look, we always knew this day was coming. This is why Repliforce is so much bigger than the Hunters, and why they have so much more equipment. Now, it begins. "

"But they have no experience at all."

"What better time to get some than the present?" Grant said, rhetorically and unconvincingly. "Really, the main reason they're getting this mission, now, is that ORR wants to measure their performance. ORR wants to establish a baseline for how effective Repliforce is. They'll compare that to the Hunter baseline in order to… draw conclusions. Conclusions about where to assign future resources.

"To be clear," Grant went on, voice becoming even more acidic, "they'll be using our most recent baselines. The ones after I revised the Hunting guidelines." His gaze swiveled around the room, fixing on specific squad leaders—Klaxon Crab, Vertos, many others—before landing on X, who drew the most concentrated glare.

Everyone picked up on the subtext immediately. Those were the leaders of the squads who had ignored the new, more ruthless, more deadly Hunting guidelines. Most squad leaders had seen the revised guidelines as a way, not to safeguard humans, but to increase the number of reported Mavericks killed. The Hunters would appear more effective to the uncritical eye at the cost of needless reploid deaths. That was not a trade X was willing to make, and most of the Hunters had followed his lead.

So they had evaded the guidelines. No loyal reploid could outright disobey a human's order; obedience to the Second Law was a design feature of their brains. But reploids who survived for long could usually figure out ways to avoid obeying orders they didn't want to obey.

It was a dynamic that would have both delighted and appalled Dr. Light—not that any reploid really thought about it like that.

X, who was not a reploid, sometimes did. For his part, he met Grant's accusing stare only for a moment before looking elsewhere. He wasn't hiding, he told himself, he just had nothing to say.

"Which brings us to the next item," Grant said, after watching the android wilt in the spotlight. "Magma Dragoon, step forward."

The large Squad Leader stepped away from the wall. Grant stood and drew a small case from his pocket. Approaching Dragoon, Grant took a medal out of the case. "You squad scored highest during this past month. In recognition of your efforts, I award you the Honorarium."

Someone whistled. The Honorarium was the third highest award a Hunter could receive, after the Paschal Cross and the Order of Enoch.

Dragoon's expression didn't change; it remained utterly inscrutable as Grant affixed the medal to Dragoon's chest with a short-lived adhesive. All eyes were on Dragoon. He met none of them, staring at an open spot on the wall. Grant, unnoticing, rambled on. "If we don't lose more budget to Repliforce during the next set of budget drills, we'll have you to thank for it. Well done."

Dragoon still didn't respond, except with a stiff nod. After an awkward moment, Grant retreated to his chair and sank into it. "Douglas," he said. "Report equipment status."

The green-skinned reploid took over the presentation. While he spoke, various Hunters snuck glances at Grant. To the more empathetic of them, he seemed tired—as if he was suddenly feeling his age, as if these constant bureaucratic battles were getting to him. Like he wished he could re-retire, or somehow just make it stop.

It vanished in a flash, and soon he was decrying the procurement department and vowing to take Douglas' equipment concerns to a higher level of government. Before long, most of the Hunters who'd seen it forgot it, or changed their conclusions about what they had seen.

Only X remembered, and tucked that moment away for safekeeping.

He was, after all, the best in the Hunters at predicting their enemies.

"So, what did you learn?"

Magma Dragoon's eyes tightened. Double's affable buffoon act was gone; as ridiculous as his armor looked, there was nothing funny about his expression. Nothing funny about his eyes.

"You're no rookie," he said.

"I meant at the meeting."

Dragoon reached to his chest and tore the Honorarium off. He held it up, inspecting the medal, its working, its heraldry. "I learned about the wages of sin."

There was a blast of heat and light that made Double wince. When he looked back, nothing was in Dragoon's hand but a lump of slag.

"I will do my part," Dragoon said to Double. "Just tell me when and how."

Double was surprised. For a moment. Then he gave a savage smile. "I understand. It won't be long."

He left after that. Dragoon lingered, unmoving, as if transfixed. At last, he crushed the slag in his hand, threw the ashes to the floor, and scattered them in his wake.

"Straight, ten high," said Signas.

Altern hung his head gloomily. "Pair of kings."

"You're very good at bluffing," Signas said graciously as he scooped some chips in his direction, "but I liked my odds that time."

"I've wondered about that," said Rekir—who, for his part, had long-since folded. "You bluff so well. I've been trying to figure out where you picked up that little skill."

Altern gathered up the cards and began to shuffle. The cards gave a sharp riff. His fingers were exceptionally dexterous and slight, as was his whole build. He had not been designed with Hunting in mind. "I guess," he said slowly, "it's because of the time I spent with humans. They're always putting on false faces just to get through the day. There's nothing… malicious about it, or bad about it. It's just for convenience. It's grease. After a while, you get used to it, and you don't mind it." Riff.

"And you learn to imitate it?"

"Maybe," Altern replied. Riff. "But they're who taught me poker, so maybe I just picked up bluffing that way."

"And you taught us."

Riff. "I have to earn my keep somehow," Altern said self-consciously.

"If you were deadweight you wouldn't have made Azzle," Rekir countered. "Are you going to deal or what?"

That startled Altern mid-riff. Soon the cards were flying about the table. "Maybe I do alright," Altern conceded, "but it's still hard to understand how I get to share the Azzle's table with you two."

They were an odd grouping, to be sure. Rekir was a near-stock, green-skinned Hunter model with modest armor, integrated helmet, and neutral expression. His only distinguishing characteristic—and this could only be noticed if one spent a lot of time with him—was that he seemed to notice everything that went on around him. Altern had like-flesh extending down to mid-chest, and his whole unarmored body was pock-marked with after-market sockets. His build was slender, almost fragile, and his face perpetually dour. Signas, in contrast, was larger than most reploids, solid, with his helmet stylized like a military cap. That cap was becoming more ornate as Signas rose in rank. Rekir privately wondered if Signas put in a mod request every time he was promoted, or if someone had already built extras out of expectation that Signas would earn them.

They had very little obviously in common, aside from all being Assistant Squad Leaders for their respective Squads of Maverick Hunters and, of course, their common appreciation of poker.

"Now hold on," said Rekir, tossing a few cards onto the table and drawing replacements. "You gave me all that grief about how I was making a big deal about Azzle privilege, and now you're gonna give me the 'I'm not worthy' shtick?"

"Rekir, you've been Zero's Azzle since before the First War. Just surviving that long as a Hunter is incredible, never mind as an Azzle."

"There's nothing special about it," Rekir said. "I have a super-boss as my Squad Leader, the world's best are-en-gee, and an abundance of caution."

"Speaking of which, ante up."

Chips fell into the center of the table.

Signas nodded. "That does explain why you fold so much. Always defensive, always limiting your losses. But it limits your winnings, too. When you don't fold early we can safely suppose you have a strong hand, and we all bail."

"I have half a mind to bluff you out of that evaluation."

"You're bad at bluffing," Altern said flatly.

"Touché."

Signas brought his cards together, doubtless having memorized them. "It's a recipe for gradual defeat, if you always play like that."

Rekir grinned. "Yeah? And, at this rate, how long will it take me to lose all my chips?"

Signas sighed. "About three years."

"See? I knew you had the most precise processors in the Hunters. I fold."

Both Altern and Signas rolled their eyes, but for different reasons. "I want to know who started that rumor," Signas said. "What does it even mean, 'the most precise processors'?"

"I always thought it meant you're really good at math."

"We're reploids," Signas said, unimpressed. "We're all good at math. We think in math. Two zenny." Click click went the chips.

"Yeah, sure, but that doesn't mean we can all use math day-to-day. If you don't have the right subroutines in place and you haven't learned how to do it, you can't conjure that math outta your brain to do anything with it. You, Signas, don't have that problem."

"I'll see your two zenny," said Altern, sliding a few of his chips in. "Anyway, let's say you're right, Signas. Let's say Rekir is guaranteed to lose if he keeps this up for three years. If we're all still alive in three years, I'd say he's won."

"Such a morbid creature," Rekir said.

"It comes naturally to someone with no armor to call his own."

"I raise," said Signas. "Three zenny. And I've seen you in armor."

"It's an external thing, like an over-carapace. I wasn't designed for it. They fitted me for it after I volunteered for the Hunters—that's what all these sockets are for, they're where the armor plugs in. I'll see your raise."

Signas fingered a chip, but didn't put it in. "Fold," he said, and tossed the chip to Altern.

Altern scooped the pot before revealing his cards. "Three of a kind, jacks."

"Not bad," Signas said. "I'll figure you out eventually."

Altern allowed himself a smile. "If you say so."

"Anyway," said Rekir as he gathered the cards, "I think you're right, Altern."

"What, that I'm naturally morbid?"

"Okay, that too. But I meant about surviving three more years."

"You've survived so far," Altern said. "Luck might not be sustainable, but caution and Zero are."

Rekir rapped the deck of cards on the table, then held them still. "Something's changed, though," he said, much more seriously.

"Something?" Altern said skeptically.

"You've seen your share of combat. You know how you'll be going along, minding your own business, and then you duck, and then you hear the shot?"

Signas nodded thoughtfully. "Your combat subroutine sees danger coming, and it hijacks motor control without asking higher consciousness first."

"Sure, if you want to talk about the actual mechanics of it," said Rekir. "It's the sort of thing most Hunters don't have at first. It only develops if you survive a while, if you've been shot at and you know how these things happen. The point is, I've got something like that, and it's thrumming at me all the time these days. I feel like the shooting's going to start any moment. The trouble is I don't know where it's coming from, and that means I don't know which way to duck."

The other Azzles considered this. "It's got to be this Repliforce-to-Alexandria business," said Altern. "Did you know we're keeping an eye on them?"

"I didn't, but it makes sense. You know how rookies are. Someone's got to babysit them."

"We're not babysitting them, we're just observing."

"Uh-huh, suuuuure," said Rekir. "Go down to the hangar and I guarantee you'll find a heavy transport on hot standby with Alexandria flight routes pre-programmed. You know, just in case."

"Absentee babysitting," Signas said, though he controlled his tone so carefully his comrades couldn't tell whether he approved or not.

"I'll take your word for it," said Altern. "The point is, they took a big force. My Operator's been telling me about it."

"Nice," said Rekir. He was a firm believer in squads cultivating their Operators, for both professional and gossip reasons.

"Not nice. For an op this size, we'd probably send something like two squads and a detachment of support mechaniloids. Repliforce sent five times that."

"They have a lot of troops that need experience," Signas said. "And they need to develop their tactics and methods. Have they ever asked us for ours?"

"I've never heard of it," said Rekir.

"Me neither," added Altern.

"So their average performance would be lower than ours, and they're using this as a training and doctrine-forming opportunity," Signas said. "Little wonder they're going with a heavy force."

Rekir shook his head. "That's all bothersome, sure, but I don't think that's the thing. I've been getting this feeling since before they went to Alexandria. I mean, it's stronger now, but it's not just because of Alexandria."

Altern suggested, "Maybe it has to do with all this drama about Hunting guidelines."

"That's a separate feeling," Rekir said with a shake of his head. "The whole 'Hunters-look-good-by-extra-murder' thing makes me feel queasy and I've tried to avoid it, but it never set off any alarms in me. Did any of us follow the new guidelines?"

There was silence at the table. Each of them had come up with his own way to avoid the new Hunting guidelines. It was tricky work when the Three Laws were in their brains and they had to convince themselves first. None of them felt comfortable exposing their internal logic to others, not when it could lead to a revolt of one's own mind.

Signas broke the silence by reverting the subject. "Are you sure this feeling's not some kind of bug?"

"I know what my own survival instinct feels like," Rekir said, almost scowling. When Signas still gave him a look, he said, "Yes, for the record, I also had a diagnostic run on me. All green."

"They don't catch everything," said Altern.

"But they're good enough for this," Signas said before Rekir could get indignant. "Rekir, I believe you. Without anything firmer, though, I don't know what we can do."

Rekir laughed. "You know, I was just thinking—Alia was telling me something similar the other day, on a completely different topic. I thought she sounded silly. I guess I must sound awfully silly, too."

"There're a lot of people who feel something's coming," said Altern.

"You, too?" asked Rekir.

"I didn't before, but I do now," replied Altern.

Rekir rolled his eyes and started shuffling. "You're just looking for an excuse to be gloomy."

"I don't think he needs an excuse," said Signas.

"The big guy piles on," said Rekir, dealing a new hand. "That's gonna hurt. Okay, I get it. What I said wasn't exactly helpful. Just… keep your eyes open, okay? Being a Hunter is always dangerous work, but these days it really feels like it. Keep your boosters primed."

"I don't have boosters," Altern moped.

"You get the idea. A little extra paranoia never hurt anyone. Ante up."

Signas complied, then looked to Altern. "One thing you never explained. You said you wondered how you got to the same table as Rekir—and as me. What did you mean by that?"

"You're not fooling anyone," said Rekir, answering for Altern. "I may be older, but your service record is the one that sparkles. I mean, have you read your own evals?"

Signas looked embarrassed. "Maybe."

"That's what I thought. Five zenny."

Altern and Signas shared a glance. "Fold," they both said.

Rekir collected the pot, then tossed his unrevealed cards into the pile. A smile crept on to his face. Of course, I've been only too willing to get testimonials from the other Squad Leaders in your favor, and do the rest of the politicking that ensures you're higher ranked than me. That way, when a squad leader spot opens up, you'll get promoted, and I'll stay where I am—behind Zero, the ultimate shield.

Oh, and my hand just now was king-high and a pile of scrap.

"Well," said Rekir, "I guess you don't know all the tricks just yet."

Zero's eyes shot open.

"Recharge complete," his tube chirped at him. It released him with a hiss. Zero scrambled out of it as soon as he was able. He'd never liked the tubes, never liked being trapped like that, but they were unavoidable.

Even his distaste for the tube was a secondary consideration right now.

Where had that come from?

His dream was growing more complex, more strange. This time there was a new piece.

He's screaming in fear—he should be afraid, he's damaged, ha-ha, KILL!

Zero winced. That screaming robot… that was Sigma. Had to be—he recognized him by sight, by sound. It was so vivid. Unmistakable.

But why had he seen a damaged, screaming Sigma?

This was the first part of the dream he was sure was a memory, and not some fantasy. It had happened. He—well, the Red Demon, the thing that Zero had been when he'd woken up with a broken brain… the Red Demon had attacked Sigma, nearly killed him. Zero had no memories of that incident. They hadn't survived his defeat and rehabilitation. But he had studied it. He'd looked at recordings, read the reports. What he'd dreamed, that experience of preying on Sigma… it all checked with his research. It had to be what really happened. He'd seen that, heard that, felt that way.

Did that mean that the rest of the dream was memory, too? The speaking man- whoever it was- boasting about him, talking to him, giving him orders… the bodies and the destruction… how much of that was memory, how much fantasy?

Or was it all memory, like Iris thought, and sooner or later he'd relearn how to find it all?

Did he even want to know for sure?

Mentally, he fled from that notion. Let tactical do his thinking for a bit.

He looked around his quarters and, after sizing it, sprang into a customized kata, a weapons exercise. His body surged into motion around the tube, dodging, attacking, saber flashing, weapons appearing and simulating shots and disappearing and flowing into the dance of combat he alone had mastered.

It was pleasing, but too easy—without an opponent pressing him, even tactical couldn't suck up all his processor cycles. His mind drifted, made connections between his prior thoughts and his current actions.

Zero was the pinnacle of warbots. Someone had gone to extraordinary lengths to make him a juggernaut. Why? If this dream human was his creator, what had he wanted Zero to do?

Destroy someone—obviously. That's why you built a warbot, after all. That's why all this power, and tactical, and warbot instincts. But who, and why?

Did that even matter?

What was he supposed to do?

He smiled, halting his kata. That, at least, he had a method of addressing. He walked to the door and opened it, hoping…

Yes. There was X, helmet off, working on a computer. "Good morning, Zero," he said without looking up. As if using Zero's appearance as a cue, he dipped his head down and covered it with his hand.

"What's wrong?" Zero asked.

X looked up with circles under his eyes and lax, tired features. "Have you ever known the right answer, but been unable to find the best words? And have you ever seen someone blow off the second-best words? And have you ever been left in agony, wondering if the best words would have worked, or if that other person was just inconvincible?"

"No," said Zero, somewhat gratefully.

X's eyes closed. "I'm happy for you. Me? Every day, I lose faith in reasoned argument."

This might have made someone other than Zero hesitate. Did X really need another burden? But Zero, through no fault of his own, couldn't care about that. "X, I'm the one who kills Mavericks, right?"

The smaller android nodded. "That's not your whole identity, but that's part of being a Hunter, and we're both Hunters."

"Was I supposed to follow the new Hunting guidelines, then?"

X's face tensed. "The Second Law doesn't allow me to say 'no'."

Zero knew better than to say "I've never had that problem".

A memory came to him then, unbidden, a memory of a different Hunt. Words came with it—a new vocabulary. He decided to try it out. "What if you… rose above the law to reach for justice?"

That got X's attention. He opened his eyes, looked carefully at Zero. Zero knew when he was being scanned. It was like Iris had said: X wasn't as strong an empath as Iris, but if he saw Zero in addition to hearing his voice, he could get a better signal.

"Those are similar words to what you said after the Third War," X said.

"Are they?" Zero barely remembered. Tactical had been hogging all his reliable memory space at the time. "I don't think they came from then."

"For what it's worth, I didn't follow the new guidelines," X said. "Which is why the Commander was staring at me so much."

"It looked like he was targeting you," Zero offered.

X smiled weakly. "Something like that."

"What if…" Zero started, then hesitated.

"What?"

"Not following the Hunting guidelines would mean killing less," Zero said, slowly, carefully, as if only by gentle handling could he get the words in line. "What if I needed to kill more?"

"Why would we want to kill any more than necessary?"

"Well… okay," Zero said, even though he wasn't.

"I'm sorry if I sounded too flippant," X said, and Zero—though he was no empath—believed it. "What I mean is: the Hunting guidelines allowed too much killing. That's why Dragoon was so embarrassed about getting the Honorarium." (Zero had missed that little tidbit completely; he envied X and Iris sometimes.) "It's hard for me to imagine circumstances where we'd need to kill more."

"What if it there were those circumstances, though?"

"Like what?"

Stumped. Only by sharing the dream could Zero explain, and a gnawing fear kept him from doing that. "X, why were you built?"

X shrugged; if the seeming change in topic threw him, he didn't show it. "To exist. To be. Why is a human born?"

Zero's shoulders slumped. "That's… not as helpful as I'd hoped."

"Zero," said X, "I'm glad you're in the Hunters with me."

"I am a powerful ally for you," Zero acknowledged.

"That's not what I mean. You could have chosen to do anything with yourself. You could succeed at anything you set your mind to do. You didn't have to be a Hunter. You chose to Hunt because it's important work."

"And because Sigma wasn't going to authorize my release otherwise," Zero said.

"We could have worked with that. There were ways…" X shook his head. "But that's not even really the point. Every day you renew your choice. You could leave at any time. You could retire and no one would hold it against you. You've earned a rest. You choose to stay here, with me, instead. I'm glad for that."

Zero drew his saber and held the unlit cylinder in his hand before his eyes. "What else would I do? I was made to destroy…"

He couldn't finish the sentence; he was missing the last word. His dream used a pronoun and there was no antecedent. Presumably his creator knew which "him" to destroy, and Zero had known (before his memory broke), and for both of them it was such a given that "him" was enough.

"Have you considered nursing?"

The words startled Zero. He looked at X, wondering if he'd heard right. X had a slight smile on his face. "Was that a joke?" Zero asked, wanting to be sure.

X's smile broadened a little. "It's not much of a joke, I know, but I try. My second choice was "politics", if that's funnier."

Reploids could use a leader, Zero thought, and immediately wondered where the thought had come from. It seemed foreign, alien, like it had come from somewhere other than his own head. Was that how Iris felt all the time? He kept his expression rigid through it all; X didn't catch on.

"Anyway," the blue-armored Hunter continued, "it's not my fault I'm bad at jokes. I never get to practice. I have to be serious all the time. Like with this," he said, jabbing his finger at the monitor. "I probably need to take a break…" He looked to Zero. "I know you're going on patrol soon. Want to spar afterwards?"

It was a gift. Zero had hounded X to spar as often as possible, over and over—and when they did spar, it was wonderful in the moment, but it didn't satisfy Zero, it just made him more anxious for the next round…

"I'm already scheduled to spar with Colonel," he said instead, for reasons he didn't understand.

X frowned. "Colonel's not going with Repliforce to Alexandria?"

"It's outside his range. He has to stay within comms range of Iris, and there are dead spots between here and Alexandria. He's stuck. That's why he needs some company."

X opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. Zero was expectant—X had to say something—but he didn't know what X would say. He didn't know what he wanted X to say.

"Have fun."

The words were unenthused, and the face that X wore made Zero uncomfortable. It had a lot going on with it. It was supposed to be smile-ish, but it was twisted and distorted in ways Zero simply could not read.

"You're not going to be mad at me for coddling Colonel?" Zero said, invoking an earlier argument with X just to make X's face stop.

"Is your plan to coddle Colonel? Never mind," X said, correcting himself. "It's not my place to judge what you do with your friends."

This... wasn't right. Zero couldn't leave things like this. Besides, the offer of a spar with X... the idea came to him. "What if all three of us spar together?"

X frowned. "Do you think Colonel would go for that? We... don't always see eye-to-eye."

Zero was trying to think of a reply when the door opened. Some of the other squad leaders were coming in; they stalled upon seeing Zero and X. "We interrupting something?" they asked.

"No," Zero lied. "I was just leaving." He headed out, as if to prove it to them. And himself. When he got to the door he glanced over his shoulder. X was running his hand through his hair again. Zero knew it wasn't for cleanliness.

He turned away.

Next time: Doubt