Warcross
Page 54
“Do I hear a million?” the auctioneer shouts. “An even million? No?” He counts down—and when it looks like no one else will take it, he points out the winner. “Sold, for nine ninety!”
The winning bidder is a tall man wearing a plaid coat. As he pockets the power-up and turns away, I edge my way closer without drawing the attention of the security bots. In real life, I’m typing furiously, trying to find a moment when the man is alone and vulnerable. The security bots continue their randomized rotations; some of the assets being used to guard this auction now drift off to patrol another one that has just started.
At last, I see my window—a gap where two security bots have turned away and left a narrow, clear path to the man. I head toward him, increasing my pace as I draw closer. Then, right as he’s about to turn around, I lunge forward and grab for his suitcase.
An ordinary avatar wouldn’t have nearly the strength to do such a thing. But I’ve built up years of code on my avatar, programming myself for just this kind of grab. So when my hand closes on his suitcase’s handle, I twist hard—and the suitcase comes away in my grasp.
The man’s no fool, though. No one who spends a million notes on a power-up can be. Instantly, two other avatars near us whirl on me. He has hidden security of his own here. I twirl barely out of their reach before I make a beeline for the exit. If I can get back inside the black tunnel, where the security bots can’t go, I can make it out of here with my items intact.
One of the avatars whips out a dagger and lunges, ready to tear through me. I sidestep, but the second avatar catches me by the leg and yanks me off balance. The world topples around me, and I’m suddenly staring at the room from the floor. I kick out—at the same time, I type frantically. But nothing I can do right now will increase my security beyond what it already is; there’s simply no time. Around us, the security bots have noticed the scuffle and gather instantaneously near the entrance, sealing the tent in. Others rush to me, the mechanical women’s eyes flashing, their black parasols spinning like razor-sharp blades. Their hands clamp down on my arms. I kick out as the man bends down to grab the suitcase’s handle. His two helpers seize my backpack.
Suddenly, one of the security bots holding me slashes out at the man with the edge of her parasol. I yelp as it slices clean through his arm. They are pixels, of course—but the man still falls backward, his left hand now cut off from the rest of the space, useless. I look at the bot in surprise, but it ignores me and attacks the other two avatars before turning on the other bots.
“Go, Em!” it shouts at me.
My heart leaps. It’s not a bot at all. It’s Roshan’s voice.
I scramble to my feet and hurtle toward the exit. Another bot covers my escape—it’s Hammie. Then, a third. Asher! Their protection throws off the attacks from the others, which don’t seem ready to counterattack several of their own. I slip between two security bots that have rushed into the fray but are still unsure how to handle the hijacked bots. Then I’m at the entrance, and the sounds of everything behind me fade away.
I follow the number of steps and turns out of the entrance, and then burst through the front tent flaps to find myself deposited back in the narrow alley. The twins standing at the entrance don’t pay attention to me. Hastily, I bring up a dialog and log myself out of the Dark World. Everything around me turns black—and an instant later, I’m back in my virtual personal room.
I still have the suitcase. I still have my backpack. My items are here.
I set to work unlocking the suitcase. I can’t hang on to it for much longer without attracting more suspicion. After several attempts, the suitcase finally pops open. Inside is the Play God power-up, blue and beautiful, its swirling clouds smudging underneath my fingertips.
I stare, heart pounding. I carefully stash each of my three new power-ups into my inventory, locked up behind multiple shells. Then I wait in my virtual room, sending out pings and invites every few seconds to the accounts of my teammates.
For a while, no one appears. Had it locked them out of everything? Were they caught?
Roshan materializes, followed by Hammie. Then, at last, Asher. They no longer look like security bots—they’ve thrown off the shell now. I break into a smile. I’ve never worked with anyone else on a hunt before—but now, with my teammates on my side, it seems that much easier.
Asher speaks first. “Well?” He peers at me with a raised eyebrow. “I hope you got something useful after all that trouble.”
I nod, then bring up my inventory to show them what I have.
Asher’s eyes widen, while Roshan mutters a swear. “Tremaine had better be telling the truth about the file he sent you,” he says.
“Truth or not,” Hammie adds, “the final will be an interesting one with these in the mix.”
“If these won’t help us beat Zero,” I say, “then nothing will.”
29
With all the scandals happening, the final between Team Phoenix Riders and Team Andromeda is already poised to be the most widely watched game in Warcross history. The news is reporting nothing today except for footage and reels about the games, each station frantically trying to outdo the next, channels in every language and country. It feels like the entire world has paused to tune in. Across Tokyo, shops and restaurants close as if it’s a national holiday. People who can’t log in easily at home now crowd into internet cafés and bars, their lenses on. The city is lit up with icons, the symbols clustering in the areas where the most people have gathered.
I step away from the window of my hotel room and go back to sit on the couch. I’m holed up in one of Tokyo’s dozen downtowns, registered under a false name at this hotel. As far as I know, Hideo thinks I’ve headed back to New York. Since our conversation in the hospital, he has only sent me one message.
Stay away, Emika. Please believe me.
Now I stare at a transparent clock displayed near the center of my vision, counting down the time. Just a few short weeks ago, I’d accidentally glitched myself into the opening ceremony game for this year’s tournaments. Now, there are only five minutes until the final game starts. Five minutes before I need to glitch myself into the game—only this time, I’m doing it on purpose. I double-check everything, making sure I’ve turned on my recording function. I’m storing today’s game as a new Memory World in my account. If things go wrong in the game today because of Zero, at least I’ll have a recording to study.
That is, if his virus doesn’t hit me first.
Finally, words hover over my view.
Warcross Championships VIII Final
PHOENIX RIDERS vs ANDROMEDA
I take a deep breath. “Here we go,” I murmur. Then I reach out, tap the words with a finger, and the world around me goes dark.
I hear the whistle of the wind before I see anything. Then, the world fades into view and I’m standing on a ledge, looking down into a perfectly circular lake surrounded on all sides by sheer metal walls hundreds of feet high. When I look behind me, I realize that there is nothing but open ocean on the other side of the walls.
In the center of the circular lake, ten steel bridges—none of them connected—extend out to the walls like a star. They each lead to a tall, metal hangar door embedded in the wall, spaced out evenly. Security bots stand on either side of each enormous door. As I watch, power-ups materialize over the steel walls and along the edge of the lake’s waters, the colorful marbles lining the bridges both over and under. I double-check the power-ups in my own inventory. All there.
Let’s tear through Tokyo from zero to sixty / yeah, like we’re running out of time in this city.
The intro music playing all around us makes the hairs rise on the back of my neck. Ren’s new track, to activate the rigged Artifacts.
Let’s go out with a bang / yeah, it’s time to go out with a bang.
It takes me a while to notice the roar of the audience’s cheers thundering all around the landscape. The ever-present announcer voices come on, as excited as ever.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” they declare. “Welcome to the Silver Circle!”
Down below, the players finally flicker into view. Each one appears standing on a bridge, near the center of the lake where they do not connect. The Andromedans are unmistakable in scarlet-red suits—their captain, Shahira, has her scarf pinned tightly back and her team’s scarlet-ruby Artifact hanging over her head, while their Fighter, Ivo Erikkson, has his hair slicked back and a scowl on. My heart sits in my throat as my gaze turns to my teammates. Their suits are blue, a stark contrast against the steel walls around them. Asher (bearing the Riders’ blue diamond Artifact over his head), Hammie, Roshan. Then, the two new additions. Jackie Nguyen, to replace Ren. And my replacement—Brennar Lyons, their new Architect.
Ready? It’s Asher, contacting me through an encrypted channel I set up for him. His message shows up as transparent white text in the bottom of my view.
I nod, even though I’m not sure I am. I hope so, I reply. I bring up my inventory of precious power-ups.
When I get in, pass me your Artifact.
Will do.
The winning bidder is a tall man wearing a plaid coat. As he pockets the power-up and turns away, I edge my way closer without drawing the attention of the security bots. In real life, I’m typing furiously, trying to find a moment when the man is alone and vulnerable. The security bots continue their randomized rotations; some of the assets being used to guard this auction now drift off to patrol another one that has just started.
At last, I see my window—a gap where two security bots have turned away and left a narrow, clear path to the man. I head toward him, increasing my pace as I draw closer. Then, right as he’s about to turn around, I lunge forward and grab for his suitcase.
An ordinary avatar wouldn’t have nearly the strength to do such a thing. But I’ve built up years of code on my avatar, programming myself for just this kind of grab. So when my hand closes on his suitcase’s handle, I twist hard—and the suitcase comes away in my grasp.
The man’s no fool, though. No one who spends a million notes on a power-up can be. Instantly, two other avatars near us whirl on me. He has hidden security of his own here. I twirl barely out of their reach before I make a beeline for the exit. If I can get back inside the black tunnel, where the security bots can’t go, I can make it out of here with my items intact.
One of the avatars whips out a dagger and lunges, ready to tear through me. I sidestep, but the second avatar catches me by the leg and yanks me off balance. The world topples around me, and I’m suddenly staring at the room from the floor. I kick out—at the same time, I type frantically. But nothing I can do right now will increase my security beyond what it already is; there’s simply no time. Around us, the security bots have noticed the scuffle and gather instantaneously near the entrance, sealing the tent in. Others rush to me, the mechanical women’s eyes flashing, their black parasols spinning like razor-sharp blades. Their hands clamp down on my arms. I kick out as the man bends down to grab the suitcase’s handle. His two helpers seize my backpack.
Suddenly, one of the security bots holding me slashes out at the man with the edge of her parasol. I yelp as it slices clean through his arm. They are pixels, of course—but the man still falls backward, his left hand now cut off from the rest of the space, useless. I look at the bot in surprise, but it ignores me and attacks the other two avatars before turning on the other bots.
“Go, Em!” it shouts at me.
My heart leaps. It’s not a bot at all. It’s Roshan’s voice.
I scramble to my feet and hurtle toward the exit. Another bot covers my escape—it’s Hammie. Then, a third. Asher! Their protection throws off the attacks from the others, which don’t seem ready to counterattack several of their own. I slip between two security bots that have rushed into the fray but are still unsure how to handle the hijacked bots. Then I’m at the entrance, and the sounds of everything behind me fade away.
I follow the number of steps and turns out of the entrance, and then burst through the front tent flaps to find myself deposited back in the narrow alley. The twins standing at the entrance don’t pay attention to me. Hastily, I bring up a dialog and log myself out of the Dark World. Everything around me turns black—and an instant later, I’m back in my virtual personal room.
I still have the suitcase. I still have my backpack. My items are here.
I set to work unlocking the suitcase. I can’t hang on to it for much longer without attracting more suspicion. After several attempts, the suitcase finally pops open. Inside is the Play God power-up, blue and beautiful, its swirling clouds smudging underneath my fingertips.
I stare, heart pounding. I carefully stash each of my three new power-ups into my inventory, locked up behind multiple shells. Then I wait in my virtual room, sending out pings and invites every few seconds to the accounts of my teammates.
For a while, no one appears. Had it locked them out of everything? Were they caught?
Roshan materializes, followed by Hammie. Then, at last, Asher. They no longer look like security bots—they’ve thrown off the shell now. I break into a smile. I’ve never worked with anyone else on a hunt before—but now, with my teammates on my side, it seems that much easier.
Asher speaks first. “Well?” He peers at me with a raised eyebrow. “I hope you got something useful after all that trouble.”
I nod, then bring up my inventory to show them what I have.
Asher’s eyes widen, while Roshan mutters a swear. “Tremaine had better be telling the truth about the file he sent you,” he says.
“Truth or not,” Hammie adds, “the final will be an interesting one with these in the mix.”
“If these won’t help us beat Zero,” I say, “then nothing will.”
29
With all the scandals happening, the final between Team Phoenix Riders and Team Andromeda is already poised to be the most widely watched game in Warcross history. The news is reporting nothing today except for footage and reels about the games, each station frantically trying to outdo the next, channels in every language and country. It feels like the entire world has paused to tune in. Across Tokyo, shops and restaurants close as if it’s a national holiday. People who can’t log in easily at home now crowd into internet cafés and bars, their lenses on. The city is lit up with icons, the symbols clustering in the areas where the most people have gathered.
I step away from the window of my hotel room and go back to sit on the couch. I’m holed up in one of Tokyo’s dozen downtowns, registered under a false name at this hotel. As far as I know, Hideo thinks I’ve headed back to New York. Since our conversation in the hospital, he has only sent me one message.
Stay away, Emika. Please believe me.
Now I stare at a transparent clock displayed near the center of my vision, counting down the time. Just a few short weeks ago, I’d accidentally glitched myself into the opening ceremony game for this year’s tournaments. Now, there are only five minutes until the final game starts. Five minutes before I need to glitch myself into the game—only this time, I’m doing it on purpose. I double-check everything, making sure I’ve turned on my recording function. I’m storing today’s game as a new Memory World in my account. If things go wrong in the game today because of Zero, at least I’ll have a recording to study.
That is, if his virus doesn’t hit me first.
Finally, words hover over my view.
Warcross Championships VIII Final
PHOENIX RIDERS vs ANDROMEDA
I take a deep breath. “Here we go,” I murmur. Then I reach out, tap the words with a finger, and the world around me goes dark.
I hear the whistle of the wind before I see anything. Then, the world fades into view and I’m standing on a ledge, looking down into a perfectly circular lake surrounded on all sides by sheer metal walls hundreds of feet high. When I look behind me, I realize that there is nothing but open ocean on the other side of the walls.
In the center of the circular lake, ten steel bridges—none of them connected—extend out to the walls like a star. They each lead to a tall, metal hangar door embedded in the wall, spaced out evenly. Security bots stand on either side of each enormous door. As I watch, power-ups materialize over the steel walls and along the edge of the lake’s waters, the colorful marbles lining the bridges both over and under. I double-check the power-ups in my own inventory. All there.
Let’s tear through Tokyo from zero to sixty / yeah, like we’re running out of time in this city.
The intro music playing all around us makes the hairs rise on the back of my neck. Ren’s new track, to activate the rigged Artifacts.
Let’s go out with a bang / yeah, it’s time to go out with a bang.
It takes me a while to notice the roar of the audience’s cheers thundering all around the landscape. The ever-present announcer voices come on, as excited as ever.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” they declare. “Welcome to the Silver Circle!”
Down below, the players finally flicker into view. Each one appears standing on a bridge, near the center of the lake where they do not connect. The Andromedans are unmistakable in scarlet-red suits—their captain, Shahira, has her scarf pinned tightly back and her team’s scarlet-ruby Artifact hanging over her head, while their Fighter, Ivo Erikkson, has his hair slicked back and a scowl on. My heart sits in my throat as my gaze turns to my teammates. Their suits are blue, a stark contrast against the steel walls around them. Asher (bearing the Riders’ blue diamond Artifact over his head), Hammie, Roshan. Then, the two new additions. Jackie Nguyen, to replace Ren. And my replacement—Brennar Lyons, their new Architect.
Ready? It’s Asher, contacting me through an encrypted channel I set up for him. His message shows up as transparent white text in the bottom of my view.
I nod, even though I’m not sure I am. I hope so, I reply. I bring up my inventory of precious power-ups.
When I get in, pass me your Artifact.
Will do.
