Sulan Box Set (Episodes 1-4)

by Camille Picott

  I do my best to maintain my strategist’s secretive smile, fixing my gaze on Mr. Winn’s fluorescent-yellow shoes.

  “Miss Hom,” Mr. Winn says after several long minutes of silence, “I’m sorry to hear of the loss of your mother. Li Yuan Hom was as much a part of the Global family as you and your father. Her loss is both tragic and unfortunate. I made a donation to a San Francisco food bank in her memory.”

  My throat constricts. All my carefully constructed self-control threatens to unravel. The welling of tears makes my eyes sting.

  Taro, standing next to me, squeezes my hand.

  That single squeeze is all I need to pull myself together. My mental walls slam back in to place. I blink away my tears and manage a nod at Mr. Winn.

  “Thank you,” I say. “She would have liked that.”

  “Li Yuan Hom did a great service for her country, as did all of you,” Mr. Winn says. “America is eager to meet its young heroes. I realize you’ve all been through a great ordeal. A press conference can be an intimidating thing even in the best of circumstances. Rest assured that I’ve taken steps to make this painless and stress free for all of you.” He smiles, almost looking grandfatherly.

  “America just needs to see you,” he says. “You don’t need to worry about being put on the spot. I’d never throw you to the press without proper training. They’re a pack of wolves on a good day. Claudine will take care of the media hounds.”

  He makes it all sound so reasonable, like he’s looking out for us, even though it’s all to his advantage and we’re nothing more than tools in his toolbox.

  “Just let America see her heroes,” Mr. Winn continues. “That’s all you have to do. Can Global count on you tonight?”

  “Yes, Mr. Winn,” we say in unison.

  “Excuse me.” Hank takes a tentative step forward. “Mr. Winn, when will we be permitted to see our families?”

  “Very soon, young lady,” he says. “Rest assured they are safe. I—”

  “We can suspend the obligatory pleasantries,” says another voice, interrupting Mr. Winn. “It’s time.”

  The voice sends a jolt down my spine. There is only one person on the planet who would dare to interrupt Mr. Winn, and I would know the voice of Claudine Winn anywhere. She took a special interest in me when I attended Virtual High School, always making her displeasure clear when I received mediocre grades.

  “Firewalls are all in place,” Claudine says. “Avatars are arriving. We’re on the brink of maxing out the site’s capacity. It’s been a long time since any Vex site has seen this much activity.”

  I scan the circular room, looking for her. My gaze is drawn toward the bustling tech crew. A crack appears in the cluster of gray polos to allow a wheelchair through.

  A bald woman sits in the chair, the back of her head cradled on a small pillow. A Vex set sits on her skull, secured by extra metal straps. Vex goggles obscure her eyes.

  A small tube runs from a ventilator into her nose. Her chest rises and falls with the rhythm of the machine, a soft psssht-psssht underlying the general hum of the room. Another tube is inserted into her arm, a fluid bag attached to it.

  The woman appears to be on life support, but there’s no one pushing the wheelchair. It rolls forward on its own, the gray-shirted tech workers peeling aside to let it pass. How is it being directed?

  That’s when I catch sight of the articulated arm attached to a console on the front of the chair. Atop the articulated arm is a small screen. On the screen is the face I have seen countless times in Vex. It’s the avatar of a pretty woman with cosmetically smooth skin and shiny brown hair that falls softly around her shoulders. Hard, intense eyes stare out of the screen at us.

  My lips part in surprise. Beside me, Hank lets out a gasp. Billy shuffles his feet. There’s a barely perceptible shift from Taro.

  It’s Claudine Winn. The woman in the wheelchair is Claudine Winn.

  My mind scrambles to process this new revelation. I recall Claudine being in a brutal car accident years ago, before I was old enough to attend Virtual High School. Is that why she’s on life support, because of her car wreck?

  “Time to jack in, Uncle,” Claudine says. Her words are delivered by the wheelchair’s avatar.

  Somehow Mr. Winn has found a way for her to communicate with the real-world through a Vex avatar, which is the woman on the screen. Her body is preserved in the real-world, her consciousness somehow linked to Vex. Despite everything, I can’t help but marvel at this feat of science.

  Beside me, Hank breathes, “Amazing.”

  Open shock paints the faces of my friends. The Winns pretend that seeing Claudine for the first time in the real-world is as commonplace as opening a can of peaches. One look at Kerry’s white face reminds me that we’re not supposed to stare.

  “You heard my niece.” Mr. Winn gestures to the green chairs. “Have a seat. It’s time to enter Vex.”

  Relieved for an excuse to move, I make my way to the nearest chair. Riska jumps into my lap and settles down, wrapping his tail around his forefeet.

  As I pick up a Vex set, my mind leaps to Gun, my closest friend besides Hank. He’s my Vex training partner. With him and the help of a little Black Tech, I’ve become a decent fighter in the real-world.

  Will Gun be at the press conference? Will I recognize him if he is? Instinct tells me he’ll be in disguise. He openly attacked the League to rescue me; no doubt they’re after him.

  Claudine rolls down a ramp, situating herself next to her uncle. Her screen rotates on its arm so she can regard us. Her eyes are as hard as ever, but there’s an added creep factor when it’s combined with the sight of her prone real-world body.

  “Vex sets on,” Mr. Winn says, picking up his set.

  I slip the set over my head, turning a small ratchet to tighten it. Then I lower the goggles over my eyes.

  “Ten seconds,” Claudine says.

  I count the seconds, tapping my forefinger against my leg. Five, four, three two, one …

  The familiar blue of Virtual Experience pulls me in.

  4

  Infinity Stadium

  The blue fades as I’m funneled into a virtual environment, which rapidly materializes around me. A millisecond later, the blue disappears, replaced by the site chosen for the press conference.

  As I fully emerge into the Winns’ designated Vex site, I become my avatar and see through its eyes. While my mind controls virtual speech and movement, in the real-world my body remains still and silent in the green chair.

  My head swivels as I take in our virtual location. I recognize Infinity Stadium immediately. It stretches impossibly tall, taller than a stadium could ever be in the real-world. It’s so tall the uppermost seats are indistinct, colorful blurs to my virtual eyes.

  Infinity Stadium is the largest site in Vex. The software is built to accommodate several million avatars, a feat of programming no other site has been able to duplicate. The Winns spared no expense in selecting a place to display us.

  My ears are assaulted by a deafening wall of sound. It’s the roar of a crowd. People shout and fist the air with enthusiasm. It takes a heartbeat for me to realize that enthusiasm is directed at us.

  Disappointment blooms deep inside me. Even if Gun is here, I won’t be able to pick him out in this massive crowd. There are hundreds of thousands of avatars here, all of them mixed together in a riot of color and noise.

  I, on the other hand, am impossible to miss. Taro, Hank, Billy, and I have all been placed on a rotating dais in the center stadium—and we’ve been enlarged for the benefit of the audience, each of us standing at least one hundred feet high. Taro, taller than the rest of us, has got to be at least one hundred fifty feet tall.

  A team of avatars in Global merc uniforms circle our ankles like mice. They are cybermercs, men and women designed to battle Black Tech from hacker attacks. All big companies use them, especially in important Vex events.

  The roar of the audience presses in on us. The urge to
flee rises inside me. I recall the time Mom convinced me to try out for a Vex drama club when I was a kid. After a humiliating audition where I stuttered, forgot half my lines, and broke out in a real-world sweat that stained the couch, she never mentioned drama club again. Standing in front of this crowd brings back those uncomfortable childhood memories. I study my feet, trying to ignore the wave of discomfort growing inside of me.

  That’s when I notice my outfit.

  I’m dressed like a stripper.

  White stilettos give me several extra feet of height. I’ve been stuffed into a skimpy white blouse that thinly resembles a lab coat. It has big pockets in the front and white buttons that fasten to the neck. I have on a matching white miniskirt so tight it looks like it’s been painted onto my body. I tug on the hem, unable to stop myself from working a quick calculation in my head.

  Based on my towering avatar height, everyone at or below a 163-degree angle has a perfect view up my skirt. There’s no way to know exactly how many avatars can see my virtual underwear, but I’d rather it be zero. The cybermercs have the best view in the house, although to their credit their attention is on the crowd, not me.

  I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. Not only do I look like a stripper, but in the eyes of the crowd, I’m a one-hundred-foot-tall stripper. Just how is this outfit supposed to embody the idea of a secretive mathematician? I’m not sure the glasses perched on my nose are enough to reinforce my persona, especially when the view up my dress is probably way more interesting. The Winns must be going for sex appeal.

  I rock unsteadily on my high heels. It takes me a beat to realize this is because Hank’s avatar is elbowing my avatar in the ribs. There’s no physical sensation in Vex.

  “Your face,” Hank whispers, wearing a big, manufactured grin. Her voice is barely audible, incongruous with her large avatar. Apparently, the Winns had our avatars modified so the crowd would be unable to hear us even if we spoke.

  “Smile and quit looking like you want to let loose with a machine gun on the crowd,” Hank says.

  I take a moment to focus on my real-world body, sensing my wrinkled brow and pursed lips. Though a Vex set isn’t tied to what I physically do in the real-world, it is linked with my mind. My physical frowning is strong enough that it reflects in my mind, making it show up on my Vex face. I spend several seconds smoothing the indignation out of my mind.

  “Better,” Hank whispers.

  That’s when I take a moment to assess my friends’ outfits. I’m not the only one who looks like a stripper. Hank is dressed in a skin-tight chain-mail dress. Dark, dramatic makeup surrounds her eyes. A chain-mail gorget cinches around her throat, with matching bracelets on both wrists. Her heels gleam like polished steel and her short red hair is spiked.

  I blink in surprise as my gaze shifts to Taro. He’s dressed in black boots, camouflage pants, and a camouflage vest. The vest hangs open, revealing smooth, dark skin over a well-muscled torso. He looks at home in the get-up, like he’s been in the outfit his entire life. Which, in a way, he has—minus the chest-exposing vest, that is. I’ve never noticed how good-looking he is.

  Yep, the Winns are definitely going for a sex appeal angle. This realization makes me feel cheap. I nearly choke on a desire to yank off my Vex set and escape back into the real-world, away from the thousands and thousands of eyes.

  That’s when I notice Taro staring at me, too. I wish I had a blanket to hide under.

  “Don’t make fun of me,” I say, doing my best to maintain my smile for the crowd. “Not everyone is lucky enough to look amazing like you.”

  Amazing? When he’s half naked in front of millions of people? What’s wrong with me? Why did I even say that?

  I look away before he can respond, worried I have offended him.

  I turn my attention to Billy, the only one who’s decently covered. He’s dressed all in black—black suit, black tie, black button-up dress shirt. They’ve even made his hair black and concealed his eyes with black sunglasses.

  Here we all are: the merc, the mathematician, the hacker, and the programmer. Displayed like made-up dolls for the world to gawk at.

  At least we aren’t expected to talk. I’m having enough trouble maintaining my facial expression. If I had to say something, no doubt I’d make an idiot of myself.

  Hank seems right at home. She waves to the crowd, going so far as to strut to the edge of the dais and blow a few kisses.

  “We can do this,” Taro says. His face is the perfect stoic mercenary mask. He looks strong. Like a warrior. “Come on, we have to give the Winns a good show.” He clasps my hand, raising it up in the air in a gesture of triumph.

  I’m filled with a gush of anger. The Winns want a show? I’ll give them a show. But it will be my show, not theirs.

  I smile at the crowd, striding forward with Taro—then I yank off my nerdy black glasses and fling them to the ground. I grind them under the toe of a stiletto. The crowd goes wild, and my smile turns genuine. How’s that for a show?

  Next, I step out of my shoes and kick them to the edge of the stadium. The Winns might have me dressed up like a stripper, but I can still be me. I can show them I will never be their lapdog.

  Hank spins on one high heel—where did she learn to do that?—and rushes toward us. I see her eyes flick to my bare feet, but her stride never wavers. She ushers us into a chain of linked hands and marches us to the edge of the dais, beaming at the crowd. Billy raises my other hand high into the air.

  We are a united wall of triumph. It’s a beautiful maneuver. My best friend is a natural on stage.

  As the hysteria of the crowd mounts, Hank breaks our chain and we all retreat from the edge of the dais. I move proudly on bare feet, taking my place with head held high.

  A tiny black bird flies out of the audience. There’s a sudden flurry of activity from the cybermercs. They stand shoulder to shoulder, each raising their right hand. Bright, silver wrist cuffs are revealed. Beams of light shoot from the cuffs; the rays materialize into a giant, electronic grid.

  My friends and I are suddenly enveloped in a mesh, protected from the little black bird—almost. As the bird circles around us, one of the mercs is thrown off balance when a group of avatars fires a catapult full of bras into the stadium. The merc takes the onslaught of the bras full in the face and stumbles. The grid wavers, a slash briefly opening. The bird seizes the opportunity, darting forward—and flies straight into my ankle.

  I start in surprise, shaking my leg to dislodge the bird, but it’s too late. The creature has morphed into a gelatinous mound that adheres to me.

  I stumble back into Taro. He catches me as I claw at my ankle, trying to rip off the dark goo.

  There are several cybermercs not part of the defense grid. One of them rushes toward me. He flicks his wrist, and a bright yellow glove materializes, completely encasing his hand. The glove must be some sort of anti-Black-Tech device.

  Before the cybermerc can reach me, my avatar ripples. I brace myself for whatever’s about to happen.

  My stripper dress darkens, lengthening and morphing. A heartbeat later, the awful thing is gone. I’m encased from ankle to neck in a dark, form-fitting black jumpsuit.

  I look sleek and fit. I look like a merc.

  I look like me.

  My head snaps up, scanning the audience. The crowd is a seething mass, everyone moving and gesticulating with excitement over the breach. My eyes fall on a tall figure that stands unmoving among the mass. It’s a woman, tall and pale with luxurious black hair that falls to her waist. She stands nearly eye level with me in the stadium, her strategic position the only reason I’m able to spot her. A gold crown with a gleaming red star rests on her head. She wears a red-white-and-blue leotard.

  From the vault of my memory, I recognize her. She’s a pre-’Fault superhero character, one of Gun’s favorites. Wonderous Woman was her name, or something like that.

  Longing spreads through my chest. Gun? Is that him?

  As our ey
es meet, the woman lifts her arms and crosses them over her chest. On each wrist is an indestructible gold bracelet.

  All doubts are erased at the sight of those bracelets. They are flat, gleaming gold cuffs. I spent many hours training with them. Marstons, Gun had named them.

  Gun.

  It’s him. It’s got to be him. I got rid of the glasses and the shoes, but he took it one step further. He turned me back into myself.

  My face blooms into a smile.

  The cybermercs follow my gaze. I sense the moment when their eyes lock on Gun. One barks an order. Three mercs break from the ring around us, whipping out tablets and frantically tapping their fingers over them. The rest of the mercs close in around us, reforming the protective net.

  Gun nods at me, giving me a familiar, dimpled smile I would recognize anywhere—even on the face of a woman. Then he disappears.

  As soon as he winks out of existence—either returned to the real-world by choice or forced out by the cybermercs—the avatars nearest him flow into the place he vacated. In less than a heartbeat, the space he occupied has disappeared. All evidence of him has vanished.

  Except for my sleek jumpsuit. I rub my hands along the arms, grateful for his intervention. Only a true friend could have known how much I wanted out of that skimpy outfit and into a merc uniform.

  The crowd is wild, cheering and stomping their feet. As far as they’re concerned, this was nothing more than a show for their entertainment. They don’t know an outsider figured out a way to hack Global security.

  “Was that him?” Taro asks.

  The edge in his voice is unmistakable. I choose to ignore it.

  “Yeah,” I reply. “That was Gun.”

  The three cybermercs dispatched to subdue Gun abruptly wink out of sight. Did they return to the real-world, or are they pursuing Gun through cyberspace?

  The rest of the cybermercs turn off the electronic grid, resuming their loose circle around us. To the casual observer, they appear at ease. But I see them scanning the stadium with new intensity, fingers resting on their wrist cuffs. Whatever form of defense they have against Black Techs and hackers, it resides in those cuffs.