As I dive, I notice lights following closely behind me—somebody’s hoverboard is skimming the ground in the darkness. It’s Tremaine. And he’s closing on me fast. I only have time to look up once before he barrels into me. We both tumble straight into the glacier’s surface. The impact knocks us clear off our boards.
The world around me tumbles, and all I can see is flying snow and evening sky. Then everything blinks out—the next instant, both Tremaine and I have struck out and regenerated a full pace behind the others.
Tremaine turns a murderous look on me. My Speed Burst power-up from Hammie is still in my inventory—and now I use it. It disappears from my hand in a flash of light. The world rushes forward, and I can almost feel the blast of wind against my skin. Right as I yank out my own length of rope, the dragon finally breaks free from the ice. Its gaping mouth roars to the surface.
I fling my rope, aiming to lasso the tip of its nose. One try. Then another. On my third, I manage to swing the loop across the creature’s snout. The dragon pivots its head in my direction, then lets out a furious shriek. A column of fire bursts from its open jaws. I use the momentum from the rope to swing onto its head. My rope becomes a makeshift harness. Below me, Asher and Max are locked in battle.
“Move back!” I say into my comms. Asher’s eyes flicker briefly at me. It’s all the warning he needs.
I yank the dragon’s head down as Asher suddenly breaks free and darts away. The creature shrieks in rage, then lunges at Jena, the nearest player—all she can do is throw her hands up before the creature swallows her in one bite.
Jena MacNeil | Team Demon Brigade
Life: -100% | STRIKE OUT!
The audience bursts into excited chaos. I can barely even hear the announcer’s voice over it all.
A pace behind us, Jena blinks back into existence. Asher is already waiting for her. In a flash, he pounces right as Jena materializes. Before she can get a handle on what’s happening, Asher’s hand closes on the Artifact hovering over her head.
Game over.
The world is engulfed in scarlet and gold as an enormous phoenix bursts into flames across the entire sky.
The audience explodes in wild cheers. “I don’t believe it!” the analysts are yelling over the chaos, their voices cracking from excitement. “It’s all over! Jena MacNeil and the unstoppable Demon Brigade—taken down by the Phoenix Riders in the most stunning upset we’ve ever seen! Oh my God! The Phoenix Riders win!”
Asher throws his head back, lets out a piercing whoop, and raise his fist in the air.
And that’s when I see the black figure again. He’s standing on top of the ice monument, clad in the same fitted black armor I’d seen on him in the Dark World. Zero.
A chill rushes through me. Why can I see him? Why is he here?
The world around us pauses. The dragon I’m struggling to control suddenly stops in midair, frozen, and then fades from view. The landscape darkens into blackness. I blink as the Tokyo Dome itself comes back into view, as well as fifty thousand spectators screaming wildly at the top of their lungs. To either side of me, my teammates come out of their booths.
“That was the most badass move I’ve ever seen!” Roshan exclaims, reaching me first and clapping me hard on my back. I open my mouth to thank him for protecting me, but Hammie hurls herself at me, smothering me and Roshan in a hug. I’m drowned out by the rest of our team piling on top of us. They crush me in, tangled and laughing. Blood roars in my ears. On the other side of the arena, the Demons are shouting at one another, and Tremaine is stalking away from Jena without so much as looking up at the audience.
My first official win in a championship game. But all I can think about is that Zero was there. I saw him. I search for Ren. He is smiling and laughing, too, but his expressions are off, forced. The smile doesn’t touch his eyes. He glances over his shoulder, as if he’d seen something the others didn’t. Then the tension breaks, and he goes back to grinning and hugging the others. He’d also seen the figure.
As I continue to cheer, I bring up the file that I’d managed to grab through Ren’s broken shields. There’s little there, as if I had pulled away before I could properly seize the data from him. But it did manage to grab something, possibly something Zero was communicating to Ren. The name of a program.
proj_ice_HT1.0
What? I frown at it, my thoughts racing, trying to make sense of the name. proj_ice. Project Ice? Does it have something to do with this White World level? HT. HT? Hideo Tanaka. Project Ice Hideo Tanaka. It could be a file connecting Hideo with this opening game level. Right? Or—
Then, my heart skips in terror as I connect another meaning to the word Ice. Oh my God.
Zero wants to assassinate Hideo.
And at that moment, every light in the stadium goes out.
20
The stadium plunges into darkness. Startled shouts come from the audience. Over the chaos, the announcers try to maintain some semblance of order. “Everyone stay in your seats,” one says, still cheerful. “It looks like we have a temporary malfunction, but it will soon be fixed.”
I stare through the pitch black at a red error message flashing in my view.
Incorrect User Access
The file that had activated now flashes once, then blinks out of existence as it self-destructs. I’m left staring at an empty shell, the only part that’s left of what the in-game object had retrieved. The file had been meant to destroy itself if the wrong user ever got her hands on it. Was the reason why Zero chose to keep messing with levels in Warcross because he has been passing information to his followers this way? And if that was true—who else in the games works for Zero?
But none of that matters at this very instance. While Hideo and I were racing to unlock data from Ren, Zero had been busy, too—glitching the arena itself. He had cut the power.
The security doors up in the balcony seats don’t work right now.
The realization hits me so hard that I can barely breathe. I place a call immediately to Hideo. “Get out of there,” I say in a rush the instant the call goes through. “Your life’s in danger. Right now. Get—”
I don’t even finish my sentence before I see a spark of light up in the balcony seats. It flashes once—twice—and then the blackness returns. People in the audience glance toward it, puzzled, but I know what it must have been.
Gunshots.
“Hideo? Hideo!” I say as I try to reconnect my call, but it doesn’t go through. I curse as I fumble my way through the darkness. The security teams have taken out flashlights, and thin rays of light float around the arena, cutting through the black. The NeuroLink’s connection also seems to have gone down, making it so that no one can bring up a virtual grid in their view to see where they’re going. I recall the stadium’s layout from my own memory—and before anyone can come up to me and stop me, I dart away from my station and hurry through the darkness, relying on what I remember to navigate through the space. People protest as I bump past them. It seems like an eternity before I finally find my way to the stairs. I hop blindly up two at a time. As I go, I try to message Hideo.
No response.
As I reach the second landing, red emergency lights flood the arena. Even though they’re technically dim, I squint against them after the pitch blackness. Security cams blink on overhead. The NeuroLink comes back online, my profile rebooting in the corner of my view.
The announcers’ voices ring out reassuringly as they try to organize the audience. “Watch your steps, folks!” The audience doesn’t seem to realize that there was a gunman in here.
I reach the security box at the same time as I see Hideo’s bodyguards clustered around the area. My eyes hunt frantically for Hideo’s familiar face.
I nearly collapse in relief as I see Hideo crouched down in the security box room, surrounded by his bodyguards and colleagues. He looks unharmed. Beside him, Kenn is speaking rapidly to several of the guards in a low, angry voice.
“What the hell happened??
?? I say as I hurry over. “Where’s the shooter?”
Kenn recognizes me and gives me a grim look. “The security cams up here were looping old footage. Security’s swarming to try to catch the shooter.”
I turn my attention to what Hideo is doing. One of his bodyguards is on the ground, clutching his shoulder and grimacing. Blood stains his hands. I recognize him as one of Hideo’s faithful, ever-present shadows that I’ve seen go everywhere with him. Hideo’s face is clouded with concern, his eyes opaque with that deep, dark fury I’d seen before in his Memory. He’s saying something quietly to the hurt guard, who shakes his head and struggles to push himself to a sitting position. Beside him, one of the other bodyguards shakes his head as he listens to something on an earpiece.
“The police outside couldn’t keep up with him, sir,” he says.
Hideo doesn’t look away from the injured man. “Keep searching.” His voice is frighteningly quiet.
The bodyguard shifts. “They’re saying they lost him in the empty parking structure—”
“Then tear it apart until you find him,” Hideo snaps.
The bodyguard doesn’t hesitate this time. When Hideo glances up at him with a raised eyebrow, the man bows his head quickly. “Yes, sir.” He heads out with two of the others.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Kenn says to Hideo in a low voice. “For the last time—I’ll handle things in the arena. Go home.”
“I can handle this just fine.”
“You do realize someone just tried to kill you, right?” Kenn snaps back. “This isn’t just some bug in the game—this is your life we’re talking about here.”
“And I’m no less alive now than I was before the attack.” Hideo gives his friend a firm stare. “I will be fine. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
This sounds like an old argument that Kenn has never succeeded in winning, and it occurs to me that this probably isn’t the first time Hideo’s life has been threatened. Kenn makes an irritated sound and throws up his hands. “It’s not like you used to listen to me at uni, either.”
Hideo straightens when he sees me. “If it hadn’t been for your call moments earlier,” he says, “I would be the one lying on the ground.”
A chill runs through me. In a single moment, my job has transformed from a thrilling chase to something much more ominous. I thought I’d been getting closer, making progress—instead, I’d stumbled upon something even worse. Had any of the other bounty hunters seen what just happened? I look back to the blood on the bodyguard’s shoulder. There’s a faint, metallic scent in the air. Hints of my old panic, the familiar desperation to solve this problem, rise in my stomach. Everything has a solution. Why can’t I find this one?
Hideo helps his injured bodyguard stand and talks to him in a low voice as another of his men drapes a black blazer over the bleeding shoulder, covering it from view. Whatever Hideo had murmured was too quiet for my translator to pick up, but it does make the injured man give him a grateful look. “Keep this under wraps,” Hideo says, eyeing us all. “The attack failed. We’re tracking the suspect. No need to panic the crowds.”
“Hideo—” I start to say, but stop at the look on his face.
“Go to your team,” he says gently. “Continue your celebrations. We’ll talk later tonight.”
“And you’re going someplace safe?”
He nods as the bodyguards take over for their hurt friend, then watches as they lead him to a set of private stairs. All I can do is stare. Hideo’s shoulders are straight, and his posture is calm—but his eyes are tense, far away from here. His hands clench and unclench at his sides. Even if he doesn’t show it blatantly, I can sense that he’s shaken.
Kenn finds my gaze and holds it for a moment. Talk to him, he seems to say. I can sense the silent plea from him, a friend who knows Hideo well enough to know how difficult he can be.
“Hideo,” I say softly. “You need to get out of here. Out of Tokyo. Someplace where you can keep a low profile.”
The lights in the stadium finally turn on, illuminating the space with blinding brightness. I blink away stars. Down below, the crowd murmurs in halfhearted confusion as they continue making their way toward the exits, but it is quickly replaced by cheering again as they celebrate the game. No one knows what just happened. Through the speakers, the security is reassuring the crowd, saying, “A transistor sparked in the upper levels of the dome, but everything is under control now. Please mind your steps and follow the exit signs.” As the people funnel out, Hideo turns to look at me. His eyes are still that dark color, and the look in them is furious, cold, determined.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. Then he turns away with his bodyguards.
21
If I thought the amount of publicity I’d gotten so far was overwhelming, it was nothing compared to after our first win. We’d barely made it out of the Tokyo Dome when the first enormous broadcasts appear on the sides of the buildings surrounding the arena, the headlines in giant, screaming letters.
ASHER WING, FIRST PICK EMIKA CHEN
LEAD PHOENIX RIDERS TO STUNNING UPSET WIN
A recap of me plays over and over beneath each of these headlines, my rainbow hair flying in the wind, my figure crouched on the head of a towering creature, lassoing its head, forcing it down toward Jena. Above the dome, the two crests—the phoenix and the hooded demons—suspended over the building have now morphed into only our phoenix, its flaming wings spread as wide as the dome, its head arching up to the sky in triumph.
My level has skyrocketed from 28 to 49.
But all I can think about is that Hideo could have died tonight. And that no one knows. My thoughts continue to churn, looping back over and over on Kenn’s words. He will listen to you. Please. What is Hideo saying about me that makes Kenn think this?
A mob of reporters descends on our bodyguards as we flee the arena toward our waiting cars, and suddenly I can’t see anything but a field of flashing lights and microphones.
“No training tonight!” Asher exclaims as we finally reach our waiting limousine and all climb in. The others cheer as he gives the car an instruction to take us into Shibuya instead of back to our dorms. Behind our car, a team of bodyguards climbs into a second car and follows us. Reporters in vans linger in traffic nearby, tailing us. My mind stays on Ren, and instead of looking up and grinning at the reporters outside the window, like Asher’s doing, I keep my eye on where Ren’s clapping Roshan on the shoulder.
A message blinks on in my view. It’s Kenn.
Can you get away tonight?
To go to Hideo?
He’s not even listening to you.
He never listens to me, not when he’s got an idea planted in his mind. But I’m not his bounty hunter, and more specifically, I’m not you.
Why would he listen to me?
I can almost feel Kenn’s frustration as he answers.
I can count on one hand the number of people he fully trusts. But he talks to you frequently. He takes you to dinner, unannounced.
I’m not his bodyguard. I can’t force him to protect himself.
You’re his hunter. He has hired you to tell him what he needs to know. You have a right to insist on his safety. He won’t shut his door on you.
I glance up from our conversation as my teammates roar with laughter about something. Tonight’s our celebration night, and they’ll expect me to be just as excited about our win. If I leave too soon, they’ll be poking and prying in no time, and Ren will suspect something’s up.
“Hey,” Hammie says to me, and I look up to see her curious expression, her cheeks still flushed from victory. “You okay?”
It’s strange to me that no one else in the stadium knows what happened, that they must really think the two sparks of light in the balcony seating were blown transistors instead of gunfire. I must be wearing all of my anxiety on my face right now. I give her a brilliant smile that I hope looks convincing, and then shake my head. “I’m fantastic. Just still in shock.”
&
nbsp; Hammie grins and pumps a fist in the air. It nearly hits the limo’s ceiling. “Karaoke, baby!” she shouts, and the others all shout along with her. I do as well, cheering as loudly as I can in order to drown out the storm of thoughts brewing in my head. I do it so forcefully that I almost believe it.
Soon, we’ve settled in a karaoke bar in the heart of the Roppongi district, with men in black suits guarding every entrance and exit. The halls are lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors, reflecting the light of chandeliers adorning the ceilings, while the doorways to each private karaoke room are painted in glittering gold. Outside each doorway stand virtual figures of smiling supermodels, congratulating each of us by name as we walk past. I stare down the hallway, memorizing a path out, before we enter our own private room.
In here, the music has already been turned up to deafening levels. Ren laughs as he scrolls through the song list with Roshan. Every time they rotate onto a new track, our room transforms to match it—“My Heart Will Go On” changes the room into the bow of the Titanic, while “Thriller” surrounds us with dancing, leather-clad zombies on a dark street. Roshan, usually reserved, can’t help laughing as Ren says something in French while mimicking the “Thriller” shuffle.
I watch Ren from the corner of my eyes as I sit sandwiched between Hammie and Asher. Had no one else noticed his expression as the game ended? Even now, there is something tense about his posture, as if things tonight hadn’t gone as well for him as they had for the rest of our team.
“To Roshan!” Hammie yells, startling me from my thoughts. “Most Valuable Kicking-Tremaine’s-Ass Player!”
Roshan sobers a little at the mention of Tremaine, but he hides it behind a smile. “To Hams,” he calls back. “Thief of a Thousand Power-Ups.”
“To Emika!” Asher exclaims. His cheeks are flushed, pushed up by a huge grin. He shakes his head. “Girl, you put the wild in wild card.”