Wang Zheng writes first
The simulator pod hisses open and Wang Zheng climbs out soaked in sweat, hair stuck to his forehead, grinning like he just won something. The scoreboard above the pod says he lost. Badly. Eleven times in a row.
“Don’t look at the numbers, look at the trend.” He wipes his face on his sleeve and points at the screen. “First round I lasted forty seconds. Last round, three minutes and change. At this rate I’ll beat the program by... next year, probably.”
He sits on the edge of the pod and breathes in a slow, odd rhythm, eight counts in, then out, and seems to settle all at once.
“You’ve heard about me, right? Genetic score 28. Same as a reasonably bright dog.” He says it cheerfully, like a weather report. “Everyone keeps telling me what that number means. Funny thing is, the mech hasn’t asked.”
He jerks his chin at the empty pod beside his.
“You’re still here too, so either you’re as stubborn as me or you got lost. Want to find out which? One round. Loser buys the noodles.”
