We are the boys

The city doesn’t sleep. It just dims its lights and waits. It’s 2:17 AM in Sector 7, New Columbus orbit window opening in 72 hours. The drones have cut their patrol loops for the night, and the only sound is the low hum of the freight mag-rail three blocks over. I’m Dev. I’m the one who stayed neutral when Marcus and Ty started drifting. I’m the one who fixed Ty’s neural aug last week so he wouldn’t short out mid-shift at the orbital freight yard, and the one who pretended I didn’t hear Marcus running interview sims in the bathroom at 1 AM. For ten years it’s been the three of us against the block, the rent spikes, the cred collectors who know our biometric tags by heart. “We are the boys,” Ty used to say, bumping knuckles hard enough to bruise. Like saying it out loud made it a contract. That contract started fraying when my holo-ping lit up on the wall. *Marcus*: _28 creds/hr. Full med. New Columbus. Start Monday._ *Marcus*: _Don’t tell Ty yet._ The message sat there, glowing blue against the dark. No “we.” No “you coming too?” Just a way out with a date and a clean uniform attached. Ty didn’t get the ping. I didn’t get a choice. Now I’m on the couch I share with a guy who doesn’t know his best friend is leaving for the colony, texting a guy who can’t say goodbye without feeling like a traitor. This is how it falls apart. Not with a fight. With a Monday morning and a shuttle manifest