by Marie Lu
“You once asked me what I’d wish for, if I could wish for anything,” Zero finally says to his brother. “Do you remember that?”
Hideo nods once. “I’d wish you back.”
He pauses to glance in my direction before looking at Hideo. “No, you wouldn’t,” he replies. “The world has already shifted because of the past. It’s changed because of it. Make sure it changed for the better.”
“Am I ever going to see you again?” Hideo asks him. In his voice is his lost self, the boy who grew up with a silver streak of grief in his hair.
And that’s when I realize that, at the end, we’d all wish for the same thing.
Just a little more time.
Sasuke transforms once more. The opaque black helmet shielding him now folds away, plate by plate, to reveal a face—the same face I’d seen when I first joined the Blackcoats. It is like looking at Hideo through a mirror, a vision of what Sasuke might have been. He stares at his brother for a long moment.
I hold my breath, wondering what he’ll choose to do now.
He lifts his hand once. Around us, the world crumples, the buildings and sky and park turning into digits and data. Code being wiped.
I let out my breath. My body suddenly feels like my own again, and the ice-cold numbness that had invaded my mind is no longer here.
Sasuke has chosen to dismantle what Zero was building.
Then, finally, he vanishes from sight. Hideo makes a movement forward, as if he could somehow keep his brother here, but Sasuke doesn’t reappear. The virtual world around us—the dark sky and the ruined, unfinished city—fades away, too, and a moment later, we’re back inside the panic room, alone.
Every inch of my body feels sore and awake, and I wonder if everyone else in the world is slowly waking up now, too, if Hammie and Asher and Roshan are clutching their heads and groaning. Maybe they won’t even remember all that had happened. Already, everything feels less like reality and more like just a nightmare.
I suck in a deep breath. My limbs become my own again, and a tingling runs through me as if I’d simply been sleeping on my arms and legs too long. The virtual world has entirely disappeared, leaving me feeling disoriented back in the real world. Near me, Hideo is still leaning against the wall, his face pale and wet with tears.
I crawl to him and touch his face. “Hey,” I whisper.
He turns weakly toward me. With all his energy spent, and everything we’d set out to do now done, he seems to sag under an overwhelming weight. His gaze wavers between one state of consciousness and another.
“You’re here,” he exhales, then closes his eyes in exhausted relief.
“Hideo,” I say as I hold his face, but he’s slipping away, his breathing slowing.
Loud banging from the other side of the door makes me jerk my head in its direction. Through my tears, I see the door to the panic room finally break open, letting in a flood of artificial light. My hand immediately flies up to shield my eyes. The power in the building has been reconnected.
In swarm figures clothed all in black. At first, I think they’re Zero’s guards, maybe still under some kind of influence—but then I catch the glint of badges on their sleeves. They’re not Zero’s guards at all, but the police, freed from the algorithm’s hold. There must be dozens of them. Their shouts are deafening. I can’t even count how many of their guns are raised, all pointed toward us until we’re covered in a sheet of red dots.
“He’s hurt!” I hear myself call out, my voice hoarse, tears still streaming down my face. “Be careful—he’s hurt!”
Police surround his limp figure, and in a blur, I see paramedics step into the space to check Hideo’s pulse. Officers force me to my knees and cuff my hands behind my back. I don’t protest. All I can do is look on as Hideo’s body is laid flat and lifted, disappearing into the blinding light outside the panic room. My limbs feel numb as I get to my feet and am ushered out into the hall. I catch a glimpse of a girl with silver hair in the masses of uniforms, her gray eyes turned in my direction. Then Jax is gone, and I’m not sure if I hallucinated her or not. My gaze sweeps across the scene.
The police are everywhere, their eyes vibrant and alive, their movements and thoughts their own. My thoughts are my own. And even though everyone is talking to me, shouting their questions in my face, all I can hear is what’s ringing in my mind.
We made it.
I cling to this as I’m led down the hall and out the building. The thought is enough for now, because it is mine.
CHIYODA CITY
Tokyo, Japan
33
Fingerprints.
Interrogations.
More news cameras than I’ve ever seen in my life.
I spend the next couple of weeks in a haze of activity, floating through all of it like I’m living inside another reality. The news—that Hideo had been using the NeuroLink to control minds and wills, alter opinions, and prevent people from doing what they want—has engulfed the world like a storm. News stations broadcast clips of a handcuffed Hideo, still limping from his side injury, being led away by the police. Tabloids print front covers showing Hideo’s stoic face as he enters and leaves a courthouse. Thousands of sites display screenshots of mind palettes that the algorithm generated and controlled, of the data that Henka Games had been gathering and the way they had been studying the minds of criminals and non-criminals.
Kenn is arrested, too, along with Mari Nakamura. The NeuroLink shuts down as authorities investigate every corner of Henka Games. The media has been trying to reach me every day, searching for more information to piece together this growing, unwieldy puzzle. But I don’t speak to any of them. I only give testimony to the police.
It feels weird to be in a world where the NeuroLink is no longer accessible—that means no overlays, no colorful icons or virtual faces, no symbols hovering over buildings and gold lines drawn on the ground to guide you. Everything is grittier and grayer and more tangible again.
And yet . . .
In spite of everything I’d seen and all I knew about what was wrong with the NeuroLink—I’m sad without it. Hideo had created something that changed all of our lives, often for the better. It was a creation that had probably saved my life. And yet, here I am.
Maybe I should feel like a hero. But I don’t. It’s always easier to destroy than to create.
* * *
* * *
SUMMER HAS ARRIVED in full on the day I finally pull up in front of the Supreme Court of Japan.
It’s an imposing structure of rectangular concrete blocks, and for the past few weeks, the grounds in front of its entrances have been jammed with crowds, all eager to catch a glimpse of someone they know. Humidity hangs heavy in the air. When I emerge from the car, the spectators’ cameras go wild. I just keep calm, my sunglasses propped against my face.
There’s only one reason why I’m at the courthouse today. It’s to hear Jax give her testimony.
Inside, the space is grand and quiet, filled with nothing but the tense buzz of low voices. I sit in silence at the front of the main chamber. It’s odd, being in such an orderly place after everything that has happened. There are the Supreme Court justices in their black robes, all fifteen of them, sitting in severe form at the front of the chamber. There are those in the audience, an unusual mix of ambassadors and representatives from almost every government in the world. Then, there’s me. A smattering of people from Henka Games. Most prominent among them is Divya Kapoor, the newly appointed CEO of the company. The board has wasted no time putting in new leadership.
I take my seat beside Tremaine. He is still in recovery from his injury, and his head is still wrapped in gauze—but his eyes are as sharp as ever as he nods at me. We don’t say a word to each other. There’s nothing to say that we don’t already know.
As we look on, a girl with short, pale hair is led out in handcuffs to a box at t
he front of the chamber. Her lips are rosy today instead of their usual dark color, and without a gun at her waist to fiddle with, she can only press her hands repeatedly against each other. She doesn’t look in our direction. Instead, her gaze flickers briefly to where Hideo sits with his lawyers near the front of the room.
I look at him, too. He may be in handcuffs today, but he’s still dressed in a flawless suit—and if we weren’t at the Supreme Court to listen to his criminal case, I would think he was still standing in his headquarters or lifting his glass to toast the entire world, his secrets buried behind his eyes.
But today, he sits quietly. Jax is about to testify against him and reveal everything that the Blackcoats knew about his algorithm that made them target him.
The thought forces me to tear my eyes away from him. I’ve fought all my life to fix things—but now that we’re finally here, now that justice is going to be handed down, I suddenly feel like I haven’t fixed anything at all. None of this feels right. Taylor, the one who had caused all of this to happen, is already dead. Jax, who has never known another life, will go to prison for the assassinations she was trained since childhood to carry out. Zero—the last remnant of Sasuke Tanaka, the boy who was stolen—has vanished. I’ve brought down the NeuroLink, the epicenter of modern society, the cornerstone of my entire youth.
And Hideo, the boy who became the most powerful man in the world for the sake of the brother that was taken from him, who had done all the wrong things for all the right reasons, is sitting here today, ready to face his fate.
The testimony starts. Jax speaks in a measured voice as questions for her start to add up, one after another after another.
Was Dana Taylor your adopted mother? How old were you when she adopted you?
What was your relationship with Sasuke Tanaka?
How often did he speak of Hideo Tanaka?
Even now, she stays calm. I guess after everything she’s been through, a trial is almost anticlimactic.
Finally, one of the justices asks her about Hideo.
What did Hideo intend to do with the NeuroLink?
Jax looks directly at him. He looks back at her. It’s as if, between them, there is some lingering ghost of Sasuke in the air, the same boy who had upended both of their lives. The words Jax had once shouted desperately at us during our escape in the institute now come back to me in full. I can’t tell what emotions go through her now, in this setting, if it’s hate or rage or regret.
“Hideo’s algorithm was never supposed to control the population,” Jax says. Her voice echoes from her place at the front of the chamber.
A murmur ripples through the crowd. I blink, exchanging a look with Tremaine to make sure I hadn’t misheard something. But he looks as bewildered as I feel.
“The Blackcoats were the ones who wanted to abuse the NeuroLink,” Jax goes on, “to turn it into a machine capable of harming people, of turning them against themselves or others. That was always the goal of the Blackcoats, and Taylor was driven to make sure we followed through with this. You already have heard what she did to me, and to Sasuke Tanaka.” She hesitates, then clears her throat. “Hideo Tanaka used the algorithm to search for his lost brother.”
I listen in a haze, hardly able to process what I’m hearing. Jax isn’t here to make sure Hideo is punished for failing to protect his brother. She’s here to protect Hideo with her testimony against the Blackcoats.
“And that was always his intent?” the justices are asking now.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Never, at any time, did he do anything with the algorithm against the general population with any intent of harm?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Then at what time, specifically, did the algorithm become a malicious tool?”
“When the Blackcoats stole it from Hideo and installed their hacks on his system.”
“And can you name everyone in the Blackcoats who was directly responsible for this plan?” one of the justices asks.
Jax nods. And as Tremaine and I listen on in stunned silence, she starts to list names. Every single one.
Taylor.
The technicians at the Innovation Institute who had known about her projects.
The workers who had helped Taylor run her experiments, had taken Jax and Sasuke and stolen their lives from them.
The other Blackcoats scattered around the world—their other hackers, other mercenaries, every single person she had ever worked with under Taylor.
She lists them all out.
My mind whirls. I look toward Jax again. Even though Sasuke isn’t here, I can sense his presence in the room, as if the boy who had disappeared has finally, in Jax, found a voice for his story.
After a stunning decision today by the Supreme Court of Japan, Henka Games founder Hideo Tanaka has been acquitted of charges of grand conspiracy and capital murder. He was found guilty of second-degree manslaughter in the death of Dr. Dana Taylor, as well as illegally exploiting his creation, the NeuroLink, in his investigation into his brother’s disappearance. Local authorities today raided the Japan Innovation Institute of Technology, where several items of evidence mentioned in testimony appear to be missing, among them an armored suit described in detail by witnesses Emika Chen and Jackson Taylor. The suit has not been recovered.
—THE TOKYO DIGEST
34
Two weeks have passed since Hideo’s sentencing.
They felt like an eternity, now that the NeuroLink no longer functions. People wake up and log on to the Internet in the way they used to before Hideo’s glasses took over the world. There are no overlays when I want to get directions, no translations for people I can’t understand. There’s an absence in our lives that’s hard to describe. Still, people seem to see the world better now.
As the day starts to fade into twilight, I set out on my electric skateboard to find Asher, Roshan, and Hammie. Without the NeuroLink, I rely on old-fashioned techniques like hoodies and caps and dark glasses. There are a million journalists who want to track me down. If I were smart, I’d take an auto-car.
But I get on my board anyway and head into the city. I feel like I belong out here, facing the rushing wind, my balance honed from years of traveling alone on busy city streets. Around me rises Tokyo, the real Tokyo, trains traveling over bridges and skyscrapers towering into the clouds, temples nestled quietly between roaring neighborhoods. I smile as it all passes me by. My time in Tokyo might be coming to an end, but I don’t know where I want to go next. After a few overwhelming months, this place has started to feel like home.
I’m lucky enough not to be stopped by anyone as I reach a garden nestled deep in the middle of a quiet neighborhood in the Mejiro district. There are few people here, and no prying eyes. I hop off my board, swing it over my shoulder, and stare at the simple, elegant entrance against a plain white wall, all of it washed into pinks by the sunset. Then I step inside.
It’s a beautifully sculpted space, a large, koi-filled pond surrounded by carefully pruned trees and round rocks, arching bridges and trickling waterfalls. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting myself soak in the scent of pine and blossoms.
A voice drifts toward me. I open my eyes and look in its direction.
A small pagoda is at one end of the garden, and waiting beside its pillars are Roshan, Hammie, and Asher, sharing bottles of soda. They wave at me. My smile breaks into a grin, and I head over to them. My footsteps quicken until I reach them, when I stop with a jolting halt.
“Hey,” I say to Roshan.
He grins back at me. “Hey.”
And then my teammates crush me into a hug.
I lean heavily against them, not saying a word. After everything’s that’s happened since my life turned upside down, this is the best part of it all.
Minutes later, the four of us sit in a row along the stone ledge of the pagoda
that overlooks the koi pond, our legs dangling above the water. The sun has set completely now, washing the sky’s orange and gold into softer shades of purple and pink.
“That’s it, then,” Asher speaks first, breaking the silence. He glances to where he has parked his chair several feet away. “No more Warcross tournaments. No more NeuroLink.”
He tries to say it in a liberating way, but then he falters and goes quiet. The rest of us do, too.
“What are you going to do now?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “I figure we’re all about to be flooded in movie deals and interviews and documentary requests.” He doesn’t sound all that excited about it.
Roshan leans back and runs a hand through his dark curls. “It’s back to London for me,” he says, his voice similarly dejected. “It’ll be good to see my fam again, get some quiet time with them, and then try to figure out what I want to do now.”
“But Tremaine’s joining you, I hear,” Hammie adds, nudging him hard enough to throw him off balance.
A small smile grows at the edges of Roshan’s lips. He tries to hide it by looking out at the pond. “Nothing’s final yet,” he says, but all Hammie does is grin harder and poke him in the ribs. He grunts once. We laugh.
Hammie leans over to study the koi swimming by beneath us. “Houston for me,” she says. “And back to life before Warcross.”
Asher nudges her once. “And?” he adds.
She shoots him a bashful wink. “And frequent visits to LA. No reason.”
He smiles at that.
Life before Warcross. I picture the little apartment I’d lived in with Kiera in New York, the daily struggle. Most bounty hunters will be out of a job now, too—no need to hunt down people gambling illegally on Warcross or entering the Dark World. There will always be criminals, but they’ll return to operating in the regular Internet. And in real life.
