Gauntlet

by Holly Jennings

  “This is an average feed from a gamer when they’re plugged into the pods currently used by the VGL.”

  He tapped the screen a few times and a new set of stats popped up. The blood pressure and pulse were much lower, the EEG was a softer wavy line, and the brain-imaging scans focused activity around the prefrontal cortex.

  “And this is your feed, Kali, while you were playing just now.”

  My teammates gathered around me to review the screen as well. I frowned and motioned at the screen. “So, does this mean I’m brain-dead?”

  Maybe that would explain why I’d allowed Rooke back on the team.

  Tamachi suppressed a smile and shook his head. “No, no. It’s these pods. Our system puts the user in a much more relaxed state.”

  “Like sleep?” Hannah asked.

  “Not quite like sleep. More like—”

  “Meditation,” I answered. The word left my mouth in a rush and left behind a numbing sensation. Suddenly, I felt like I was back in the virtual world. No way was this real. Had Tamachi actually managed to turn the virtual world into an oasis of peace and tranquility for the mind? There it was, right in front of me. The slowed EEG, the lowered blood pressure, focused brain activity, were all typical physiological signs of someone in a deep, meditative state.

  “What does that mean?” Hannah finally asked.

  I knew exactly what it meant.

  “It’s safer for us,” I said, and glanced up at Tamachi, praying I wasn’t getting my hopes up. “Isn’t it?”

  Tamachi answered with a smile. “And without the added mental stress, you can play the game for as long as your body holds out.”

  “So,” Derek began, “that means we could plug in for . . .”

  “Hours.”

  “Really?”

  “You can’t sprint forever, but you can jog.”

  Up to now, the maximum gaming time in the VGL was forty-five minutes, and that was for the dungeon raids. Of course, at-home VR sets could be played for hours. But the virtual pods used by the VGL—with their combination of real-life sensory deprivation and artificial stimuli—had always put so much stress on the user’s mind that no gamer could last more than an hour continuously. These pods had the potential to change all of that. If they functioned the way Tamachi was claiming they did, that meant we could train endlessly without breaks. The VGL really would be able to run matchups that lasted for hours instead of minutes. Would there even be any concern about too much gaming anymore? Virtual addiction could be a thing of the past.

  No. It couldn’t be that good. Nothing ever is. But with technology evolving by the day, maybe it was only a matter of time before the virtual pods progressed toward something safer. Maybe it was time to accept that things were finally getting better. For everyone.

  “One other question,” Derek began.

  Tamachi raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  “You said something about a tournament?”

  Tamachi smiled. “Why don’t we discuss that over dinner? Are you hungry?”

  My team? Always.

  • • •

  We were served dinner in the second dining room. Yes, the second dining room. I had no idea how many of them there were, and I never saw the first one, either, but I knew this was the second of its kind because Tamachi had to tell his staff where we’d be eating.

  The center of the table was a buffet: platters of roasted potatoes and vegetables, chicken breasts, salad, pasta. Help yourself. Wine, water, and juices were served, alongside tea and coffee. Real coffee. Not that automatic, machine ground, individual cup bullshit. As soon as the server set the pot down, the sweet, roasted aroma hit me, and I breathed deep.

  Help yourself. Indeed, I did.

  “So, are these pods going to replace the ones currently used in pro gaming?” Derek asked.

  “That’s the hope,” Tamachi said. “Tamachi Industries will be hosting a tournament to help promote this new technology. Some of the top gaming teams are going to compete. We’ve got ones coming into this from all over the world. Europe. China. South Korea.”

  I choked on my coffee.

  “South Korea is in this?” I asked, once I’d cleared my throat.

  Tamachi nodded. “A few of their teams have agreed to participate.”

  I swallowed down another gulp of my drink. South Korea. Practically the birthplace of eSports and competitive gaming. Over there, children were raised as gamers. If they were participating in this tournament, there went anyone else’s chance at winning.

  Tamachi continued talking, but I’m not sure how much I was absorbing anymore.

  “We’re planning a standard double-elimination bracket . . . with a twist. The championship will be the final four teams of the tournament, two from the winners’ bracket and two from the losers’, all to play out in an arena.”

  Derek sat forward. “A four-way free-for-all? That’s new.”

  “It’s all new. The championship will be a marathon round that lasts up to six hours. Since no other VR technology on the market can provide both complete immersion and sustainable gaming time, we’re hoping our pods will prove to be the best on the market.”

  Rooke took a sip of his drink. “So, by hosting a tournament that no one else in the world can provide, you’re hoping the demand for these pods will skyrocket.”

  Tamachi smiled. “That’s the plan.”

  That was fair. Sure, Tamachi was looking for a way to get his pods accepted by gaming leagues across the world, and hosting a one-of-a-kind, international tournament was a brilliant marketing idea. He was a businessman, and he had to make his profit. Besides, I’m sure that “making things better for gamers” wasn’t the VGL’s priority over making money. But these pods would accomplish both.

  “Why Chimera?” Rooke asked, and my mind flashed back to the name etched into the sides of the pods. I’d caught the reference to Greek mythology, and it was a little outdated for a virtual pod. But it was no surprise that Rooke had brought it up. He’d always been an admirer of all things historical and old-fashioned. Tamachi studied him for a minute, a look of amusement masking his face. Finally, he asked, “What do you know about the Chimera?”

  “It was a three-headed, fire-breathing female beast that no one could defeat in a fight.”

  Derek looked up from his plate and grinned. “We already have one of those on our team.”

  I glared at him.

  Tamachi pressed his lips together to hide a smile. “Chimera is in reference to the more modern definition. A fantasy world that can only exist inside your mind.”

  Well, that was the virtual world. Only exists within the mind, as much as it seemed otherwise sometimes.

  I sat back in my chair. “Can you tell us a little more about the tournament?”

  “For starters,” Tamachi began, “there won’t be a preseason. We’re starting straight off with the Death Match.”

  The Death Match was the first round of the tournament, and it divided the teams into upper and lower brackets, depending on whether they won or lost. Though the name “Death Match” was used to describe the first round in any tournament, it had earned the title from the RAGE tournaments. RAGE was a gladiatorial-style fighting game, and the first tournament match was often the bloodiest. Times ten. Hence, the Death Match.

  “When does the tournament begin?” I asked.

  “Two weeks from this coming Saturday if everything works out.”

  “Hang on a second,” Derek began. “Rumors are that people like Jessica Salt have been here. We’re talking the gods of the gaming world. What do you want with us?”

  Tamachi nodded at me. “Kali was the first female captain in the VGL, and you have won a championship. People still think the rivalry between you and InvictUS is one of the best in the league. So, you all have recognizable names and faces.”

  Derek s
hrugged. “Sure, but we’re not ten-year veterans.”

  “We’re going for a mixture of teams, from rookies to veterans.”

  “How many in the tournament?” I asked.

  “Thirty-two,” he said. “Standard tournament play.”

  “And how many slots do you have left to fill?”

  “One.”

  We glanced at each other. One slot left, meaning if we took it, the brackets would be filled.

  “This is winner takes all,” Tamachi continued. “Whoever takes the championship takes the entire prize pool.”

  Only the winner gets paid. Yikes.

  “All right,” Derek said with a grin. “Now that we’re to the good part, what is the entire prize pool?”

  “One hundred.”

  “Thousand?”

  “Million.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  It went dead silent around the table, except for the sound of a fork clanging against a plate. A hundred million dollars for a video game tournament. First, an all-star tournament, and now a nine-figure grand prize. This really was history in the making.

  I finally found my voice. “Did the VGL actually agree to that?”

  “The VGL isn’t aware of my plans at this time.”

  Ah, I knew there had to be a sticking point.

  I smiled. “I doubt they’ll fork over that kind of prize money.”

  “The prize money is coming from Tamachi Industries. It’s a specialized tournament we’ll be hosting, so the prize comes from us.”

  “So the VGL isn’t in on this?”

  “We didn’t want to present them with the opportunity to air the tournament until we had a full roster. We need one more team.”

  I exchanged glances with my teammates. They all stared back, wide-eyed. Mr. Tamachi picked up on the tension.

  “I’ll give you some privacy to discuss it.”

  He wiped his mouth with a napkin, left it on the table, and exited the room.

  “This is a big opportunity,” Derek said as soon as the door swung shut and we were alone. “Scratch that, it’s huge. Virtual gaming’s first all-star tournament?”

  “Can Tamachi really offer that kind of money?” Lily asked.

  “This guy invented the latest AI chip that’s in every phone and tablet in the world. He’s a billionaire a hundred times over. He’s got the money.”

  Rooke leaned forward. “And if this works, and gaming leagues around the world start using his pods, he’ll make a hundred million back in no time.”

  I sat back in my chair, letting my teammates discuss the issue.

  “This will be the biggest tournament in eSports history,” Hannah said.

  “It’s more than that,” Rooke pointed out. “Even the World Cup tops out at ninety million. It’ll be the biggest prize in all of sports. Period.”

  Hannah gasped. “You’re right. Plus, it’s ten times the prize pool for the RAGE tournaments.”

  “It’s ten times the level of competition, too,” I said. “In the RAGE tournaments, we’re one of the highest ranked in the league. We’re almost guaranteed a spot in the championship. But in this, compared to the top teams in the world? The prize pool doesn’t matter if it’s winner takes all. What are the chances that it would be us? We’re much more likely to make money if we stay in the RAGE tournaments.”

  “Kali, you’re loaded,” Hannah pointed out.

  I held up a hand. “Yes, I got money from touring and sponsorships as the first female captain. But that all went into making the house into a personalized facility. The ongoing costs of staff and maintenance alone are staggering.”

  “Yes, and imagine never having to worry about that again.”

  “This is the opportunity of a lifetime,” Derek added. “We can’t just walk away.”

  No, they really couldn’t just walk away.

  I didn’t have the money that most team owners did, who typically made their fortunes elsewhere, then invested in eSport teams for fun. Everything I had came from competing, and if we didn’t win tournaments, I didn’t know how I’d keep us afloat. But this was the opportunity of a lifetime, and I wasn’t going to ask them to sacrifice that. Even if we lost in this tournament, they could each move on to other teams. With a RAGE championship under their belts, they’d get picked up elsewhere.

  Plus, if these pods really were safer for gamers, that’s what I was fighting for. That was the big picture. How could I not be a part of this?

  Mr. Tamachi walked back into the room and surveyed each of our faces.

  “Well?”

  I glanced back at my teammates. They all gave a subtle nod. I turned back to Mr. Tamachi, and revealed our decision.

  “We’re in.”

  “Excellent. With the last team added to the roster, we’ll be able to go to the VGL with the proposal.” He pulled out the chair next to me and sat. “Kali, I’d really like for you to come with me.”

  “What?”

  “These pods were inspired, in part, because of you. You helped to expose some of the corruption in competitive gaming and the trouble gamers can have with plugging in too often. My pods actually make things better for the user. I think they’re the answer gamers have been looking for. The VGL is taking what you did very seriously, but not in the right way. They’re worried about marketing and profit. Crisis-management mode, they call it. They’re not looking to help anyone but themselves. And they’re also worried about what you’ll do next. So, if I have the top gamers from around the world in on this, yourself included, I doubt they’ll say no.”

  The VGL was worried about little old me? Looks like I had made some ripples in the competitive gaming world. If these pods were best for gamers, and that’s certainly what they seemed to be, then I was willing to do just about anything to make that happen.

  I smiled, though I’m sure it faltered at the edges.

  Me. The VGL. There’s a hell of a mix.

  “When are we going?”

  CHAPTER 5

  The VGL head office looked exactly how I pictured it: a stark white lobby with harsh lines and too-bright lighting, like one of those dreams where you wonder if you’re dead. Everything was Plexiglas and plastic. The letters V-G-L glowed in the wall behind the reception desk, just slightly off-white, so they barely appeared on the wall.

  Tamachi and I sat across from reception on white acrylic chairs shaped in a way that was probably meant to improve posture but only gave you a butt-ache instead.

  “This office is too plain,” Tamachi said, as if we had one mind. He glanced at me. “Neon lights would be nice.”

  I laughed. “You’re a big fan of Japanese cyberpunk, huh?”

  “How can you tell?”

  We shared a smile.

  Clicking heels pulled my attention down the hall. A woman walked toward us, wrapped in a business suit and gripping a tablet in her hands. She was light-skinned with blond hair cut bluntly at her shoulders. A man trailed half a foot behind her, also dressed in a suit, though his skin was dark and his hair was short.

  The blond woman promptly stopped in front of us and extended her hand.

  “Hello, Mr. Tamachi,” she said, shaking his hand as he got to his feet. “I’m Diana Foote, Director of Programming for the VGL. This is Farouk Nasser.” She motioned to the man standing next to her. “He’s our New Games Coordinator.”

  Farouk and Tamachi shook hands as well. Farouk Nasser was a Middle Eastern man with a warm smile. If he didn’t work for the VGL, I’d think it was genuine.

  Tamachi turned to me.

  “This is—”

  “Kali Ling,” Diana finished for him. “I think we all know who she is.”

  Diana Foote, Director of Programming, was also a magician, apparently, since the temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees with her tone of voice alone. She nar
rowed her eyes at me. Hell, her whole face pinched, like she was trying to use telekinesis to pin me to the wall and cut off my air supply.

  I smiled back.

  And winked.

  “Ms. Ling has played the game I’m proposing,” Tamachi explained. “I’ve brought her along to answer any of your questions and give her opinion as a pro in the industry.”

  Mr. Tamachi, so formal. Let’s break out the teacups and doilies.

  Diana raised her chin slightly, still pinning me with her gaze.

  “I admire you, Ms. Ling.”

  Yeah right.

  “Please, let’s have a seat in our boardroom.”

  Diana and Farouk lead the way down the hall into one of the many boardrooms. This room wasn’t as stark as the lobby. The ceiling, walls, chairs, and table were all still white, but an oversized screen on the far wall displaying game highlights added a punch of color, and glass windows to the outdoors allowed for natural sunlight and a view of downtown L.A.

  We sat at the table, Diana and Farouk on one side, Tamachi and I on the other. One team against the other, not unlike the arena.

  “So,” Diana began, tapping on her tablet a few times before setting it aside. “You’ve come to us hoping we’ll be interested in airing your event?”

  “I’m not hoping,” Tamachi stated. “I simply came to you first. If the VGL is not interested in broadcasting the event, I’m sure a general sports station will be eager to buy the rights, given that eSports are more popular than . . . anything, really.”

  Nice move, Tamachi.

  Diana Foote didn’t seem fazed by the tactic, though I’d yet to see her express an emotion on her face other than bored and evil.

  She glanced at her tablet again and sighed. “I’ve looked over the basic course, and to be frank, I’m not impressed. This really isn’t that different from what we currently have in our standard lineup.”

  Tamachi reached across the table and tapped the screen on Diana’s tablet a few times. From the reflection in Diana’s eyes, I saw a new map appear on the screen, but that’s all I got to see. Tamachi rested his arms against the table.