The Spiffy Exterminators trudged down the valley floor—two Tigers, a Shinigami, and two Wolverines. Reggie had studied up on the armaments used in each of the Exterminators’ prior matches, their tactics, their quirks. He’d brushed up on the stats of the Shinigami-class heavy juggernaut since it wasn’t one he ran across every day.
All that preparation didn’t matter now.
The idea of fighting over the tactical advantage of controlling a power plant as a piece of cover sounded silly.
The outcome of this battle now hinged on Reggie’s ability to aim a million tons of ice and snow that would be traveling hundreds of kilometers per hour if he’d rigged the charges properly. If he hadn’t, it was going to be a noisy embarrassment.
Without a tactical computer to give him the ranges, Reggie tried to estimate by eyeball.
300 meters?
200?
100?
Close enough…
Gripping the detonator in his fist, Reggie gritted his teeth and mashed his thumb down on the trigger.
Reggie didn’t even hear the explosion.
Suddenly, he was standing in the green room between Chase and Lin, with Frank just behind them. Reggie turned to watch what they were watching: the battle’s final moments playing out on the television.
“I can’t believe what I’m seeing! Two avalanche traps in a single match! Can you believe it? Ghost Platoon has taken out all five of Spiffy Exterminators’ juggernauts with only a crippled Phoenix left. Yet another daring out-of-juggernaut maneuver by Wounded Legion faction head King.”
Chase clapped him on the back. “Nice work. Next time, stay back a little farther.”
Reggie was still in shock. The sudden shift in venue felt too new. The reality didn’t start sinking in until June appeared and threw her arms around him. “That was amazing!”
“Welp, we’re in the finals now,” Lin said matter-of-factly. “I’ve got to get going. My fans are going to need to squee a little, and I’d hate to miss the ratings.”
“Like hell,” Frank said, grabbing Lin in a headlock and dragging her into a group huddle in front of the television where WINNER: GHOST PLATOON still showed, along with the final standings. “We’re celebrating.”
Reggie leaned in and whispered to Lin. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you going. Life is for the living. Frank’ll get over it.”
June, having been close enough to overhear, swallowed and nodded silently.
Final standings (of the only kind that mattered):
[Lucky Outlaws 7-0]
[Ghost Platoon 6-1]
[Everyone Else … going home]
Chapter Thirty-Three
The after party at Wounded Legion headquarters on Nibelheim was muted. Shortly before Ghost Platoon pulled victory from the jaws of fucking up, Saddest Donkeys had lost a heartbreaking battle to one of Chase’s flagged teams—one of the ones he thought that Valhalla West was in the tank for. They were called Hard Target, and they’d scored a lucky crit early on to take out the leg of one of Saddest Donkey’s Demons. Despite being down a juggernaut the whole way—well, down one moving juggernaut at least—the Donkeys had almost pulled out a win. But alas, the final remaining Hard Target Kintaro had gotten into a duel with the one-legged Demon and slowly picked it apart in agonizing fashion.
So, it wasn’t much of a trick getting Lin out of the back-slapping and rounds of drinks. Saddest Donkeys had gotten to the bar first and sucked the joy out of it—not that Reggie could blame them. Reggie hung out at a booth in the back with Chase, June, and Frank, accepting occasional well-wishes carefully reserved to keep from hurting the tender feelings of the Saddest Donkeys. The four of them kept up a quiet celebration all their own.
“Shame Lin can’t be here,” Chase mused. “She did as much as any of us to get this far.”
Frank raised a pint glass. “To Lin. May her constant bitching and expert marksmanship add up to a net positive.”
“Hear, hear!” Chase agreed readily.
Rolling their eyes at one another in a private joke, Reggie and June joined in the toast.
[Incoming Message]
Reggie scowled. Who’d be calling? Once he thought about it, just about anyone. Congratulations had poured in from various faction leaders and acquaintances, but those didn’t flag pop-up messages. Reggie’s inbox settings had been carefully pruned not to spam him around the clock. As a major faction leader, he got messages from across the digital galaxy. The pop-up meant that it was someone whose messages he generally wanted to take.
It wasn’t June. She and the others were right here in the booth with him. So were most of his senior officers, and the ones not present wouldn’t have any official Wounded Legion business, not with the galactic map frozen. In all likelihood, it was either a social call from one of those officers or some logistical update from Valhalla West about the tournament finals.
One hand maintaining custody of his beer, Reggie pulled out his tablet.
“Huh,” he remarked. “It’s from Lin.”
Chase glanced up at the clock. “Must have finished her wrap-up show.”
“Yeah,” Reggie said as he skimmed the text. “There’s an after party on the set of her livestream. Cameras off. Mostly production crew and a couple major donors to her channel.”
Chase shrugged. “My invite’s probably only valid if you jokers chaperone me. But I’m in if you are.”
“Fine by me,” Frank said and then threw back the remainder of his beer. “Let’s blow this funeral.”
Reggie glanced over at June.
She shot Frank a quick glare before sighing. “Yeah. OK.”
“Great,” Reggie said. “See you all there in a bit.”
[Armored Souls > Logout]
Reggie tapped the word.
[Really Logout? Y/N]
Reggie vanished.
[Relog options: Apartment - Armored Souls - Silent Shuriken - More Options]
[More Options: … ]
Reggie scanned down until he found the SlipStream address for Lin’s party.
A thumping techno electronica beat greeted Reggie the instant he logged back in. Lin’s after party had the trappings of a Hollywood shindig. There was a DJ stationed on a platform at one edge of the dance floor. The only lighting was multi-colored and came from spotlights that strafed the room at odd angles, casting the partygoers in kaleidoscopic shadows. The guests all looked young and fit—probably thanks to wish-fulfillment avatar choices—and most were gyrating to a beat that was like a hammer to the chest.
“Hey!” Lin shouted over the music. “Glad you could make it!” She was dressed in her Armored Souls combat gear, which looked more normal on her than the hypersexualized outfits she put on for the camera or the weirdly futuristic combat armor from her other game. But all the same, it looked out of place amid the sea of dancing club-goers, most of whom were sweating in their scanty attire.
“Little livelier than back at base,” Reggie bellowed from a foot away.
“Too much?” Lin asked at a shout.
Reggie shrugged. “Maybe. Is there someplace to sit?”
Lin hooked a thumb, and Reggie spotted the raised seating area that surrounded the dance floor. He followed the mop of blue hair in front of him as he navigated the dancing crowd. Free of the gesticulating mass of digitized humanity, the scene shifted gears from deafening to merely loud.
“Sorry about that,” Lin said. “I set the spawn point to the dance floor for the subscribers. Sets the tone for the party getting them moving from the start.” She snapped her fingers, and an NPC bartender delivered drinks for five to the table, even though she and Reggie were the only ones present.
“How’d the video feed go?” Reggie asked, taking a beer that matched in both color and smell with the one he’d just polished off in Armored Souls.
“Great. My team already had highlight videos from the Spiffy Exterminators match. Lotta fluff in that one, but the highlights were amazing. Took it on the chin a little, missing the Jum
p Boost. But almost losing before winning makes for a better story in the end.”
Reggie lifted a toast. “Happy to help.”
Frank, Chase, and June arrived in a group and settled themselves in. They all had a seating arrangement that had taken on the level of a military protocol over the years and arranged themselves accordingly without a word of coordination.
“Sorry,” Chase said. “Took us a while to find you guys. Nobody knew where you were. Had to track down an NPC programmed to know.”
Frank looked around appraisingly. “This what kids call a party these days?”
“Yes,” Lin confirmed between sips of her martini.
“Heard the highlight reel was great,” Chase said. “One of the girls we asked about you wouldn’t stop raving.”
June snorted. “Well, it is kind of a rave out there.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Plenty of time to jerk off to our own victories,” Lin said coldly, glaring at Chase. “We need to figure out what to do tomorrow to prep for the finals.”
“Highlights,” Chase reiterated. “And lowlights. We need to hammer out of flaws, identify our tendencies, and then do the same for fifteen other teams—at least until they announce the brackets. Then we’ll focus hardcore on the one in front of us.”
“I took a quick glance at the finalists while Chase was asking for directions,” June said. “First thing I noticed is a lot of uniformity. We’re the only squad running five unique juggernauts. No one else had more than three models. More than half are running five of a kind or four plus a scout of some sort.”
Reggie heaved a long sigh. “Most of them were probably pre-arranged to be tournament compatible. Us all having our preferred juggernauts is probably our biggest weakness.”
“Not our biggest,” Chase said flatly. His face was a mask. His drink held motionless halfway to his lips. There was no question of his meaning as he stared June down.
“Hey, back off!” Reggie snapped, slamming his glass down so hard he feared he might have shattered it. “June played her ass off in that last match.”
“And nearly cost us four along the way,” Chase said. “And even that last one, she could run circles around all those jugs and still nearly got wrecked. Face it, we’ve been carrying her.”
“She looked great against Lucky Outlaws,” Reggie pointed out.
“We lost. Plus, she only turned into Trinity from The Matrix when the pressure was off. Something’s eating you, June, and it’s time you got your head screwed on right.”
Rather than defend herself, June caught Reggie by the arm as he was about to step in. She hung her head. “There’s something I need to tell you all. Is there somewhere a little more… subdued we can go?”
Lin led them to a private lounge upholstered in red velvet with couches surrounding a low platform with a dancing pole. Reggie was a little surprised at Lin’s choice of décor for her club but didn’t comment on it. If June was self-conscious about the locale, she didn’t mention it when she sat on the edge of one of the couches as everyone loomed over her, waiting.
“I died.”
The words fell to the floor with a thud, and no one seemed willing to pick them up.
“It was a few weeks back,” June continued. “Chase can probably tell the date thanks to his fucking statistics.”
“What happened?” Reggie asked. “Was it… was it—?” He couldn’t bring himself to ask whether she’d killed herself. He’d thought her long past her dark times.
June looked up with a furrowed brow and flushed cheeks. “I don’t fucking know!” She took a few steadying breaths. “There was a car crash. I only found out about it from Ken Bradley after the fact. They refused to give me the details or let me access real-world news about it. So… maybe. I can never know for sure. The last thing I remember from the real world was driving home after work on a Friday. I cooked dinner, did the dishes, showered. Nothing weird or notable. Then I headed for bed to log in. That was when I was scanned for the backup copy Valhalla West restored me from.”
Reggie couldn’t believe it. He’d never noticed the difference. It had been the same when Frank had died, but Frank was a friend and drinking buddy, not a lover.
“What were you planning to do the next day?” Chase asked, turning into a police detective.
June shrugged and shook her head. “Physical therapy. Same as every Saturday morning for years. I mean, it sucked, but it was nothing I wasn’t used to by now.”
“Had you been having financial troubles?” Chase pressed. “Difficulties at work?”
Reggie punched him. “Leave her the hell alone!” In an instant, Reggie was on one knee, his arms wrapped around her. June’s shoulders shook in silent sobs.
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” June said. “Not without knowing. Not after I’d promised you I’d stay strong. How could I tell you I probably drove my car off a bridge because I couldn’t deal with the outside world anymore? I know I didn’t feel suicidal that last night. But I have a whole day missing. I have no idea what might have happened. Maybe I heard about us losing a patient—a kid, even—and that was the final straw? Maybe I got sloppy drunk and just stomped down on the gas and made it all go away?”
“Maybe it wasn’t your fault,” Reggie said mildly.
June pulled away. “Then why wouldn’t they tell me?” she demanded. “All Ken Bradley had to do was Google a local news article and I’d have been happy.”
“He’s going to tell you,” Reggie promised. “He’s going to tell you tomorrow, during our off day, or Lin’s going to publish this on her channel.” He turned and shot Lin a glare that warned her to play ball on this.
Lin nodded. “He can ban my account, but he can’t shut off my stream. I’ll tell the world.”
June looked up at her, eyes red even as a digital avatar. “Ever wonder if we’ll remember this conversation? Ever think that every thought we have in here is being kept in a little box that Valhalla West can trim and prune like a bonsai tree before they let us wake up? Or in some cases, just keep existing?”
Lin swallowed as she cringed. “Not until just now.”
“Welcome to my world,” June said. “Or rather, welcome to a peek. I’m on the other side of the glass now, with Reggie and Frank.”
Frank twitched an uncomfortable smile. “Glad to have you aboard. Well, not glad glad, but—”
“She knows what you mean,” Reggie assured the old-timer before he dug his hole any deeper.
Chase’s cheeks puffed as he let out a deflating breath. “Well, I guess that explains things. Now that you’ve gotten that off your chest, think you can pilot like normal again?”
Lin cuffed him upside the head.
“Thanks,” Reggie muttered to her.
“I dunno,” June said. “I do feel better telling someone. I just… feel weird. You remember the first time you put on a VR headset and looked down to see an avatar instead of your own body?”
Chase nodded. “Yeah.”
“Yes,” Lin said.
“Nope,” Frank said with a shrug. “I got born in this weird wasteland without ever trying any of them newfangled old-timey games.”
“Well, imagine that without being able to take the goggles off,” June continued, ignoring Frank’s dissention. “Imagine being trapped in a daydream, in someone else’s world. All the crazy stuff we do in Armored Souls, I tell myself beforehand that the worst that happens is a forced logout, that there’s the real world waiting for me.”
“Speaking of…” Reggie broke in. “Where’ve you been going when you log out?”
“Good question,” Chase said. “I haven’t noticed you logged in around the clock.”
June sighed. “I have a little apartment like Reggie’s. My account settings let me appear offline when I’m there.”
“So, you’re just… moping around all day?” Frank asked.
“It’s a good place to cry.”
Reggie felt heartsick. “I could have been there for
you.”
“You have,” June insisted. “God, Reggie, I don’t know what I’d have done without you through all this. Even not knowing, you’ve just been so… normal for me. When I’m around you, I get reassured that there’s more to life than Lieutenant June Mallet, a paraplegic army nurse. That there’s something left for me after all the struggle and pain was taken away.”
“Not all of it,” Reggie pointed out.
June brushed tears from her eyelashes. “I know that,” she said with a sniff. “And this is why I wanted you guys to find someone else. I’m a mess right now.”
“You’re our mess,” Chase said firmly.
Reggie was about to scold him for not helping, but June chuckled. “I guess so,” she admitted. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Forget confronting Ken Bradley. We’ve got more important things to worry about. We need to spend the day tomorrow getting ready for battle.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ghost Platoon convened the next morning in Wounded Legion’s main hangar. June had spent the night in Reggie’s arms, hardly saying a word. She just seemed to need his presence, so that’s all he offered. It had been an awkward night, to say the least, emotionally intimate without any physical component. He’d been glad of the morning’s meeting when it finally arrived.
Chase held court in front of a giant screen normally reserved for reviewing technical specifications. Now, it displayed the 16-team bracket for the Valhalla West Ragnarok Showdown Finals. Ghost Platoon had ended up as the 10 seed, which seemed generous given their performance.
[Psychedelic Thugs (1) vs. Hot Sauce (16)]
[Slapdash (2) vs. Train Robbers (15)]
[Lucky Outlaws (3) vs. Iron Pigs (14)]
[Hard Target (4) vs. Seadogs (13)]
[Angry Slayers (5) vs. The Agency (12)]
[Progressive Hooligans (6) vs. Dimwit Heroes (11)]
[Heavenly Mafia (7) vs. Ghost Platoon (10)]
Ghost Platoon Page 17
