The television was off, my computer was on sleep mode, and the kind of silence that only comes in the dead of the night was pressing up against me. Like the game. I shuddered. If there was one thing I didn’t like, it was being alone. It was important at times. Meditation. Reflection. But this house was always so full of people, so full of my friends that more than a few minutes of it was suffocating.
I pulled my cell from my wrist and hit REDIAL on one of the more recent numbers. A voice answered.
“Hello?”
I cleared my throat. “Jessica? It’s Kali.”
We’d talked just hours before, but with the events of the night, it felt like a month. Scientists like to think time is constant, but really, it’s completely fluid. Ten years can go by in a blink, or a single day can feel like a lifetime.
“I guess you’ve heard the news,” I said. “Were you offered Epoch’s spot in the championship?”
“We were.”
“Are you taking it?”
There was a long pause.
“Yes. Are you taking Oblivion’s?”
I fumbled with nothing on my desk. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Did I ever? Hell, ever since I took over Defiance, I’d been flailing around. I’d had drunken pin-the-tail ventures that had been more successful than my attempt to manage the team.
“Why aren’t you taking the spot?” she asked.
“It just . . . doesn’t feel right.”
It went quiet again, but I could hear her tongue clicking against her mouth, like she was thinking.
“When you were offered the captaincy, was it for the right reasons?” she finally asked.
“Well, I guess—”
“You were marketable. A female RAGE captain. Genius. The sponsors will love it. It’ll drive ratings and sales. Am I right?”
“Pretty much.”
“But you still did it, and made it into your own career-defining moment.”
I shook my head even though she couldn’t see me. “I’m not sure this is the same—”
“Kali, listen to me. You’re just getting started in your career, so it’s hard for you to see the big picture here. Yes, there’s corruption in professional gaming. There is in any sport, and any business, for that matter. At some point in nearly everyone’s life, they’ll be offered an opportunity under questionable circumstances just like these. It’s not pretty, but it’s the way things go. Bottom line: There’s still an opportunity in front of you, and it’s only going to sit there for so long before someone else takes it. The VGL is pushing ahead with this tournament either way.”
“So, you think I should do this?”
“Absolutely.”
“How do you know it’s the right thing to do?”
She chuckled. “It comes with experience. This championship will be my last game. Ever. I know for you it must feel like your entire career is in front of you, but you never know where life will take you. What if it’s your last game, too?”
I leaned back in my chair as if the weight of her words had pushed me back. What if it was? I didn’t know if we could survive much longer. The media was destroying us, and the sponsors had left. My bank account was two withdrawals away from growing a middle finger and showing it to me. There was a good chance this would be our last tournament.
Most of all, if it hadn’t been for the VGL’s tricks, we might have made it on our own. We would have done better in the tournament, the media wouldn’t have been hounding us, and the sponsors wouldn’t have been breathing down our necks. Maybe it was the right thing to do.
I pressed the phone to my lips. “Thanks for the talk.”
“Will I see you in the tournament?”
“I don’t know. It’s not up to just me.”
“Of course. Say hi to the team.”
“I will.”
I hung up the phone and left my office. As soon as I opened the door, some god-awful, greasy smell assaulted my nostrils. I followed the stench to the kitchen and found my teammates. Eating, of course. Half-empty Chinese take-out containers littered the table. I nearly gagged.
The team froze when they saw me in the room.
“Uhhh,” Hannah began. “We didn’t think you’d want to eat, and the rest of us wanted Chinese food.”
I glanced at the table. My lip curled.
“Chinese food,” I repeated. “Is that what you call that?”
Lily pointed across the kitchen with her chopsticks. “I think there’s some leftover pizza in the fridge.”
I held up a hand. “It’s fine. I’m not hungry.”
I sat at the table, trying to breathe through my mouth. Hannah pushed her take-out box under my nose.
“The rice is pretty good.”
I didn’t even look at it.
“Did my father make it?” I asked.
She glanced between me and the box a few times. “. . . no.”
“Then it’s not good rice.”
She frowned and pulled the box away.
I waved a hand at the table. “Is this really what you guys chose as your last meal?”
Derek stopped plowing food into his mouth long enough to ask, “Last meal?”
“If we’re back in the tournament, then we’re back on our diets, too.”
Now everyone stopped shoveling food into their mouths to stare at me. Derek swallowed down what was in his mouth.
“Are we back in?”
“I want to talk it through, at least. Legacy is taking Epoch’s spot, and Jessica Salt thinks we should do the same.”
Rooke leaned in. “Then what’s making you hesitate?”
I sighed. “Part of me feels like we didn’t really earn it.”
Derek shook his head as he reached for an egg roll. “Tamachi threw everything he could at us to take us out, and we’re still standing. We didn’t whine. We didn’t complain. We just took it and dug deeper. I think that means we deserve to be in the championship more than any other team in the tournament.”
I shrugged. “Maybe. But we’re only getting a second chance because of the car accident.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Lily said. “Oblivion and Epoch should have failed their drug tests all along. They shouldn’t have even been in the competition.”
I tapped my fingers on the table as I considered that and pushed out a heavy sigh. “I guess.”
Rooke studied me. “What’s really bothering you?”
“What if it’s a setup?”
Everyone stopped eating and just stared. Apparently, no one had an argument with that, so I kept going.
“They worked the whole tournament to kick us out, to get us to the point where we are right now. No money. No sponsors. Nothing. Why would they just let us back in unless they’ve cooked up something ten times worse.”
The room got so quiet, the only noise was the hum of the refrigerator in the background. Everyone traded looks with each other. Though no one said a word, the bleak expressions on their faces told me everything. They were worried I was right.
Finally, Derek cleared his throat. “The VGL wanted to kick you out as punishment. You spoke out about corruption, and it cost them millions. But the industry can only silence people for so long. Maybe with this crash, they’re realizing that. If the police investigating the accident are reporting that drugs were involved, the VGL can’t hide it. It forces their hand.”
“That still doesn’t stop them from doing the same things they’ve been doing to us all season. NPCs specifically targeted for us. Injuries that compound as the rounds go on. If we enter that championship, who knows what they’ll come up with?”
Rooke grinned. “I think the warrior would say that’s nothing more than a challenge.”
I grinned back. That was certainly true.
“We’ve gone up against ev
erything they’ve thrown at us,” Derek said. “We’re ready for whatever they have next.”
“We could be plugged in for hours,” I pointed out.
Lily shrugged, like it was nothing. “That’s just hours to kick ass.”
I smiled. “Against K-Rig, Legacy, and Eon, three of the best teams in the world.”
Hannah rested her elbows on the table and winked at me. “And now we’re about to be one of them.”
We were all smiling now. I looked around the table.
“You really sure you want to do this?”
They all nodded. Vigorously.
“Then we need to prepare,” I said. “For anything.”
LEVEL 3:
THE CHAMPIONSHIP
CHAPTER 22
We had two weeks until the championship. We were the lowest rated team by far. We were hated across the board. None of us cared. We’d been given a second chance, and we were going to make the most of it.
Really, all the teams were at some disadvantage. No one knew what the course would be until we were inside the game, and no one had ever played a game that ran this long.
Going up against K-Rig, you have to tell yourself things like this.
We trained. We jogged for hours, preparing our bodies for the endurance haul of our lifetimes. The trainers specifically redesigned our workouts to match those of marathoners. Squats, dead lifts, and core workouts. We sprinted in place. Thirty seconds. Stop. Sixty seconds. Stop. Two minutes. Stop.
Should have hired freaking drones.
Going into the championship on the losing side meant we’d have a handicap. The winning teams got five respawns. They’d have to return to a starting point, but they’d keep coming back. Again and again. The losing teams got none. Once we were dead, it was permadeath, and we’d be out of the game.
I sat with Rooke in my office, going over strategy. With such an important matchup, it was better if we worked together on it. The screen across the office rolled through footage on our opponents. The arena would remain a mystery until we were on the inside, but at least we knew who we were facing.
Eon.
Legacy.
And K-Rig.
“Apparently, Derek has been scoping out the illegal betting sites.” He nodded at the Koreans on the screen. “They’re the favorites to win by a margin of ten.”
My eyes closed. “Don’t tell me Derek put money on the matches. We don’t need to be kicked out again.”
“I think he was just checking out our odds. I hope.”
“What are they?”
“What?”
“Our odds.”
He grimaced. “Better not to ask.”
I knew it. We were going up against three megastar teams, and we were like the dorky little brother trying desperately to keep up.
Jessica Salt flashed across the screen. I cringed as a pang hit my stomach. She’d talked me into this. Had been there when I needed a mentor, someone more experienced to guide me along my path. Now I was about to face her in the arena. She’d gone from confidante to opponent in a blink.
Rooke noticed my apprehension.
“How do you feel, going up against your idol?”
The pang in my stomach became a thunderbolt. I tapped my foot against the desk. “Well, if someone else takes her out, I won’t have to face her at all.”
Rooke grinned. “That’s a good way of avoiding the question.”
I took a breath and tried to push the feelings of trepidation away. “If I get to fight her, it’ll be an honor.”
Please, someone else take her out.
“What’s your advice?” I asked him. “What do I do if I have to face her?”
He considered it. “She has experience, but you have youth. If you can keep the fight going long enough, she’ll get tired, and you can take her.”
“You seem pretty sure about that, as if you’re not talking about Jessica Salt.”
“Kali, she’s just a human being. Yes, she’s amazing. She set records. Won championships. But that’s how half the world looks at you, too. At least, before all the media bullshit in this tournament.”
I’m sure he said it to make me feel better, but my heart did flip-flops instead. Jessica herself had said she felt I was the one to take over her spotlight. Though I still didn’t really agree, suddenly I understood just a little more why she felt that way.
“I feel a little lost over all this, to be honest,” Rooke admitted, motioning at the tablet in his hands. “Without a map or objectives, it’s hard to plan and come up with tactics.”
“All we can do is focus on our strengths and minimize our weaknesses.”
Soon, the entire team started working on strategies. We’d gather in my office, or around the kitchen table, debating over our meals.
“K-Rig has no weaknesses,” Lily claimed as she stuffed a forkful of steamed vegetables in her mouth.
“Yes they do,” Hannah said. “We’ve faced off against teams like them before, and they’re all the same. They fight as one. Knock them out of sync, and they fall.”
Rooke swallowed down a gulp of protein. “We’re focusing all our attention on K-Rig, but there are other teams in this game.”
The whole week went like this. Even while we played games in the living room, we were discussing the other teams. Eon’s incredible run through the tournament. Legacy’s ten-plus years of experience. K-Rig’s raw talent and immense dedication.
“We’re the lowest ranked team going into this,” Lily pointed out, as we blasted our way through Gears of War 3 in a four-player battle. Hannah was sitting her turn out and stroked her fingers through my hair as she sat beside me.
Derek shrugged as he thumbed the controller in his hand. “Someone has to be.”
Hannah smiled. Not a practiced smile, but a soft grin that curled up the corners of her mouth. She leaned toward me and lowered her voice.
“We have heart,” she said. “We have natural chemistry. K-Rig is manufactured. We weren’t raised from childhood to do this. Hell, three years ago, I was modeling, and you were in high school. Look at everything we’ve accomplished, and we don’t have half the practice and support they do. We built this together because we love the game and each other.”
I had to smile. She was right. It was something we had above the other teams. A sort of family. No matter what happened, how much we fought, we always seemed to come back together stronger than before.
The Friday before the championship, we trained in the morning, stretched, and prepared ourselves. For the rest of the day, we relaxed. Played console games. Downed bottles of water to stay as hydrated as possible.
“Maybe we’ll piss ourselves in the pods,” Lily said. We all laughed, then worried it would come true.
Sometime in the middle of the day, our phones beeped. All of them.
This is a message to all VGL players: Please tune in to the VGL’s home channel at 7:00 p.m. this evening for a special announcement.
At 7:00 p.m. that evening, we congregated in front of the television. A crowd of reporters had gathered inside the media room of the VGL headquarters. At the front of the room was a platform with a podium. A row of VGL executives sat behind the podium, and beyond them was an oversized screen taking up the entire wall featuring the VGL logo.
Diana Foote stepped up to the podium.
My best friend.
“Good evening. Thank you for joining us this evening. On the eve of the championship of virtual gaming’s first all-star tournament, we have a special announcement. Here to make this announcement, please allow me to introduce the President of the VGL.”
The crowd erupted with applause. Jonathan Kreger stepped up to the podium, smiling and nodding at everyone. The President of the VGL. Given the amount of media attention and security around him, you’d think he was President of the United States.
“Thank you,” he said into the microphone, and the crowd calmed itself. “The VGL has been proud to host the world’s first all-star tournament. However, it has brought to light some of the oversights in virtual gaming.
“There has been a lot of discussion, and after many debates, the participating countries in the all-star tournament have agreed. Tonight, we are happy to announce the formation of the International Association of Virtual Gaming.”
He motioned to the screen behind him. The logos for each gaming league participating in the all-star tournament appeared under a huge banner, the International Association of Virtual Gaming, or the IAVG.
It was sponsored by Tamachi Industries.
Something cold slid through my stomach.
On-screen, people clapped and cheered. Inside my house, no one was clapping.
Hannah glanced around at us. “Anyone else feeling a little sick?”
Yeah. We all were.
“What the hell is going on?” Derek asked, voice wary. “What does Tamachi Industries have to do with the formation of an international association?”
“Because it’s not really about an international association,” I said, as my chest went tight. “Tamachi must have planned this from the start. He wanted to bring these countries together so he could consolidate the leagues under one name and get his pods into every gaming league in the world.”
Lily snorted. “He’s gonna make another hundred billion.”
The cold feeling in my stomach turned to ice as the realization of what was happening sunk deeper and deeper. The VGL controlled vast sources of media, like Hypnotized and Pro Gamer Weekly. I’m sure the gaming associations of other countries weren’t much different. Tamachi Industries had stakes in mobile devices and now virtual pods. Soon, they’d all combine under one international association if that’s really what it was.
Conglomerate, anyone?
A multinational association that controlled the media. Tamachi’s cyberpunk game was becoming reality. Or had he fashioned the game around what he’d already had planned? It didn’t matter. Virtual or real, those two worlds were merging more and more every day.
Gauntlet Page 31
