Wildcard (Warcross)

by Marie Lu

  But sometimes, the need to protect the world from being controlled translates to seizing control for yourself.

  Jax pulls us out of the recordings. I glimpse the vast library again, the repository of the Blackcoats’ secrets, then at the Dark World’s Fair, and then the streets of the Dark World itself. Then, we leave the virtual space, and I return to my room, lit only by slices of moonlight and streetlamps. The virtual image of Jax is still here, standing beside me as I lean against my bed for support.

  “Why are you telling me all this?” I say to her. “You’re risking your own life.”

  Her expression, as always, doesn’t waver. “Because I don’t believe Sasuke’s completely gone.”

  She pauses, but her eyes go straight to me. My thoughts are already racing. The specific memory that Zero had shown me when he’d taught me how to break into Hideo’s mind. Zero had said that he didn’t mean for me to see it. But what if Sasuke had, from some corner deep in Zero’s mind?

  “The symbol,” I whisper to Jax. “The memory of Sasuke in that room.”

  She only nods back. “I don’t think it was an accident that Zero let you into that memory. I think Sasuke did it.”

  The hopeful way she says his name is a sharp contrast to her usual curt tone. To her, Sasuke is still alive. No wonder she will never try to kill Taylor—not while Sasuke might still be trapped inside Zero’s mind.

  Jax suddenly looks to her side, her expression focused again. She listens for a while. I tense, wondering what it is she’s hearing and where she is in reality right now. Then she leans close to me.

  “Listen carefully,” she says at a rapid clip. “Zero is fully under Taylor’s control. By nature of his programming, he must listen to her commands and obey whatever she says. You need to get access to Hideo’s algorithm. But once you do, you can’t let Taylor get hold of it. If you can use the algorithm to force Taylor to give up control of Zero’s mind, you can free Zero from her.”

  I study Jax’s face as she talks. The abrupt urgency and uncertainty in her voice jar me. Right now, she doesn’t sound like a ruthless assassin, but a small girl, terrified of her keeper. “Like the rest of us, Taylor’s wearing beta lenses. They aren’t connected to the algorithm.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small box. “But they will be, for a moment, right after you get access to Hideo’s algorithm during the closing ceremony.”

  She’s right. In the split second after Taylor’s beta lenses hook into the algorithm—and before her code installs her as the algorithm’s master—she’ll be vulnerable to Hideo seizing control over her mind.

  “We’re going to have just one second to do this,” I tell her. Then I add to myself, And only if I can persuade Hideo to cooperate.

  Jax nods. “It’ll be the most important second in history.”

  If this goes wrong, my own beta lenses will be hooked up into the algorithm, too. I’ll be under Taylor’s control instead of Hideo’s. All of us will. I try not to think about what Taylor would do with that level of power. What she would turn us into.

  “What happens after we free Zero from her?” I say after a while.

  “That library I showed you. It contains everything, remember? Every study and experiment that Taylor has ever done. It also contains every iteration of Sasuke Tanaka’s mind, during every stage of his trial.”

  At that, she holds out a compressed set of data to hover between us. I don’t need to say a word to know that this contains those records. “You need a way straight into Zero’s mind. Download all of Sasuke’s Memories back into Zero. Zero has no desire to go against Taylor . . . but Sasuke might.”

  Use the algorithm to save Hideo’s brother. It’s a plan that will almost certainly go wrong.

  But I still nod at Jax. “We’ll do it.”

  Jax jerks her head away from me again, as if she’s heard something. In a flash, any trace of weakness vanishes from her face. “I have to go,” she whispers to me. She meets my gaze one final time. Then she disconnects, and I’m suddenly alone again in my room.

  It’s dead quiet in here now. The contrast is startling.

  I remain leaning against my bed in the silence. The recordings I’d seen run through my head repeatedly, refusing to disappear. I bring them up again, one by one, each file that Jax had given me. The images of Sasuke, all his Memories, circle me in a halo.

  This is the key I’ve been looking for.

  Slowly, a plan begins to take shape.

  22

  I barely sleep that night. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is Sasuke as a young boy in that room, tears running down his face. I see him kissing Jax. Screaming as he’s strapped down for his procedures. The memories fuse with each other, creating new, twisted ones. There’s Jax standing with Zero on her balcony, her face turned up to him, him leaning down to kiss her neck. Jax turns into me, Zero into Hideo. We’re back in that glass tower, lying in his bed. His head snaps back as Taylor shoots him. He transforms into Tremaine as he crumples to the floor.

  Then I jolt awake crying, my body damp with sweat.

  I’m too scared to go back to sleep, so instead, I sit awake in bed and fiddle with the glowing cube that Zero had given me, the hack that will get me into Hideo’s mind.

  Use the algorithm to force Taylor to give up control of Zero.

  Will Hideo go along with this? To allow someone else access into his algorithm? Even Zero had refused to reveal himself to his brother, knowing how unpredictable his reaction might be. There’s no guarantee that Hideo will even believe me.

  But Sasuke is buried somewhere inside the monster that Taylor has created. If there’s even the slightest chance that we can rescue him . . . I have to believe that Hideo will hear me out.

  And if he doesn’t . . . if he doesn’t, I’ll have to hack into his mind. Force him.

  I study the data until dawn streams into my room. The instant the light shifts from blue to gold, an incoming call pings in my view. I jump, thinking it might be from Zero himself—that he or Taylor has figured out what Jax has done.

  But it’s from Roshan. I accept the call, and his hoarse voice fills my ears, telling me what I already know.

  “Tremaine’s in the hospital,” he says. “He’s hurt pretty bad.” His words falter a little. “Em, he’d listed me as his emergency contact. That’s why the doctor called me. I—I can’t—”

  I can hardly bear the pain in his voice. My hands shake in my lap as he gives me the name of the hospital. “On my way,” I whisper, and dart out of my bed before he responds.

  A half hour later, I arrive at the hospital to find Roshan and a doctor locked in conversation, the latter trying in vain to explain to Roshan that he can’t visit Tremaine yet.

  “We’ve been out here for hours!” Roshan’s voice echoes down the hall. “You said we’d be able to see him over an hour ago!” He’s shouting in Japanese at a doctor, his translated words appearing in a mad dash in my view. Beside him, Hammie and Asher stay unnaturally quiet, not bothering to stop him. He must have lost his temper already earlier.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Ahmadi,” the doctor explains, giving him a small bow of apology. “But you are not Mr. Blackbourne’s legal spouse; unless you have an official certificate, you will need to wait with your friends until we can allow you to visit—”

  “We’re a couple,” Roshan snaps, forgetting in the heat of the moment that that’s no longer true. “Didn’t you all pass a same-sex marriage law last year?”

  “But you are not currently married,” the doctor counters. “Are you? Do you have papers?”

  Roshan throws his hands up and storms back toward the waiting room where I stand. Behind him, Asher and Hammie exchange a quick glance. Roshan catches sight of me as he walks, then gives me a quick nod.

  My heart sits in my throat as I reach them. Roshan looks pale and haggard, and his eyes are bloodshot. “Why weren’t
you with him?” he snaps at me. “They said he was dropped off at the hospital alone.”

  Roshan’s anger stabs me hard through the chest. I start to offer excuses—that I couldn’t reach him, that the Blackcoats had figured out Tremaine hacked their databases. But this isn’t what Roshan needs to hear. “I should have been there,” I manage to choke out. “It’s my fault this happened to him. He should never have—”

  Roshan glances over his shoulder toward Tremaine’s room, then closes his eyes and lowers his head. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m glad you weren’t there.”

  “Can you see him through the window?”

  Roshan nods. “His bandages are bloody. The doctors say they’re waiting for the swelling to go down, but they don’t know when that’ll be. They said he’s incredibly lucky the bullet hit the way it did. A tiny bit to the left or right, and he would’ve arrived dead on the scene.”

  I think of Jax’s promise that she’d shot Tremaine with a glancing blow. She’d kept her word, after all.

  “What happened?” Asher asks as he wheels over to us, followed by Hammie.

  Other players—the Demon Brigade, a smattering of other teams—have shown up, too, filling the waiting area with an awkward gaggle of rivals. So I keep my voice down and tell my teammates as much as I can. That Tremaine and I had gone to the institute, and that everything went completely wrong.

  But I don’t tell them about Sasuke. I can’t handle the thought of bringing them any closer to real danger.

  “You have to stop,” Hammie says to me as I finish. “That could be you in there too—it could be so much worse.”

  I want to listen to her, but tonight I’m seeing Hideo. The closing ceremony happens in two days. We’re out of options. There’s simply no time to stop anymore. All I can do is nod weakly at her. She can see the lie in my eyes, but she doesn’t press me.

  As we settle into our chairs in the waiting room, I find myself staring at the date in my view. When the closing ceremony game starts, everything will either end or become a living nightmare.

  * * *

  * * *

  HIDEO ISN’T AT his home tonight—at least, not the one I remember. Instead, the car he sends for me takes me across the bridge spanning Tokyo Bay, where the ocean meets the city and the reflections of skyscrapers trembles against the water. Tonight, the bridge is entirely lit with the colors of the Phoenix Riders, and through my lenses, cruise ships and tourist ferries dotting the harbor have a smattering of hearts and stars hovering over them.

  The scarlet Phoenix Rider lights reflected against the ocean look like blood spreading across the water, and the cityscape like millions of shards of glass. I focus down at my lap instead, where I’m pressing my hands tightly against each other.

  We travel along the waterfront until we leave most of the boats behind and enter a quiet stretch of luxury high-rises. Here, a team of security guards waves the car through a gate, and when it finally stops at the end of a dock, more bodyguards in suits come to open the door for me.

  I step out of the car and stand facing the water, breathing in the salty air, my lips parted at the sight.

  Floating serenely before me is the largest yacht I’ve ever seen. The entire ship is matte black, blending in with the night, save for the lines of soft silver lights running along each deck and the trails of fairy bulbs strung across the top.

  “Mister Tanaka has been waiting for you,” one of the bodyguards says to me. He holds a gloved hand out, gesturing for me to step onto the ramp leading up to the yacht. I nod wordlessly, suddenly queasy with anticipation and dread, then head up to the ship’s lower deck and into its interior.

  The space opens up into a two-floor-high ceiling, where a chandelier dripping with crystals hangs. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls, tinted for privacy, line the chamber, and at the far end is a set of double doors already open, inviting me in. I walk to them, stopping hesitantly at the entryway to peer into the vast suite beyond.

  The lighting is dim, the walls made of more tinted glass that reveals the outline of the city against the water. Thick white rugs and plush divans dot the space. Sheer, pearlescent curtains glide idly in a sea breeze from an ajar window, under which lies a low, luxurious bed.

  The space is as immaculate as I remember Hideo’s main home being—at least, until I see the broken porcelain on the floor.

  “Watch your step.”

  Hideo’s familiar voice drifts from across the room, where he’s heading in from the balcony with a dark jacket slung over his shoulder. He tosses it unceremoniously onto a nearby chair. In the low light, all I can see of him is his tall silhouette and the silver of his hair, but I can still tell that his shirt is uncharacteristically rumpled, his sleeves rolled up haphazardly, and his collar pushed up. The shadows cover his expression entirely.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  He straightens and walks toward the long couches, coming slightly into the light as he goes. “I’ll sweep it up in a bit,” he replies, his classic habit of answering without answering.

  My eyes dart straight to his hands. His knuckles are an angry red, cut up, and crusted over with blood. Dark circles rim his eyes.

  Has he been here since that night at the art museum, agonizing over all I’d told him? I’ve never seen him so weary, like his whole heart is struggling underneath a great weight.

  I take a seat across from him, then wait until he leans forward and regards me with a piercing stare.

  “You brought us here,” he says quietly. “So, tell me. What do you know about my brother?”

  No need for small talk tonight. In his voice is an anger I remember only from the night Jax had attempted to assassinate him, when he’d leaned over his injured bodyguard and ordered the rest of his men to find the culprit. Even that night is nothing compared to now. I feel like I’m staring into a void that has opened up inside him, threatening to swallow him whole.

  I don’t answer right away. There are no words I can say to ease us into this conversation. Instead, I Link with him and bring up a screen to show him a Memory I’d saved of my first encounter with Zero, of him in my hotel room.

  Hideo just stares at his brother’s face. There is a whirlwind of emotion in his eyes. First disbelief, that this person could possibly be him. Then recognition, because there is no question that this young man is the same little boy who disappeared so many years ago.

  “How did you find out?” he finally asks.

  “I figured it out after the final game, after I left your suite,” I go on, wanting to fill the heavy silence. “The hack I pulled at the end to stop him also exposed his identity, and that was when I saw his name.”

  “It’s not him.”

  I bring up a second video of Zero, this time of us walking side by side as he escorts me to my room. “It’s him,” I insist in a quiet voice.

  Hideo stares at him for a long time. He stares until it seems he may have frozen solid.

  “What—” His voice breaks for a moment, and I feel my own heart crack at the sound. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him falter like this. “What happened to him?”

  I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I shouldn’t be the one to tell you this,” I reply. “But your brother . . . when he disappeared, he was very ill. Your mother had, in desperation, entered him into an experimental trial that had a chance of curing him.”

  Hideo shakes his head at me. “No,” he replies. “My parents would have told me. Sasuke was playing in the park with me on the day he vanished.”

  “I’m only telling you what I know.” As Hideo looks on, I show him each recording I’d duplicated, in chronological succession. The testing room in the Innovation Institute, with a child at every desk. The hopeful, worried faces of Hideo’s parents peering in from the window. The private meeting between Dana Taylor and Mina Tanaka. The small silhouette of Sasuke, cowering in the corner of a room,
of him begging to go home to his family. The bright blue scarf wrapped around his neck. His friendship with Jax, and all the moments they spent huddled together. The way he tried to negotiate with Taylor for his freedom, paid the price of his scarf, and then failed to escape. The slow, gradual, crippling disappearance of his identity with each new procedure done to him, of Sasuke becoming less of a person and more a series of data.

  The truth behind Project Zero.

  I expect Hideo to tear his eyes away at some point, but he doesn’t. He watches all of it in silence, his stare never shifting away from his brother as Sasuke ages a little in each video and loses more of himself. As Taylor takes away Sasuke’s scarf. As Sasuke watches his brother’s first public announcement. Each scene rips a gash in Hideo’s heart.

  When the recordings finish, Hideo doesn’t say a word. I fixate on the dried blood on his knuckles. The silence roars in our ears like a living thing.

  “Sasuke died years ago,” Hideo finally whispers into the dark, echoing the words Jax had said to me. “He’s gone from this world, then.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper back.

  The heavy weight that has been crushing his heart—the polite, stiff distance, all the careful shields he’d always put up one by one—gives way. His shoulders sag. He lowers his head into his hands, and suddenly, he starts to weep.

  That weight was the burden of not knowing, of years and years of anguish, of imagining the thousands of things that could have happened, of wondering whether his brother might ever walk back through the door. Of all those countless iterations he’d made of his Memory, trying to figure out how Sasuke could have disappeared. It was the silver strand of an unfinished story.

  There’s nothing I can say to comfort him. All I can do is listen to his heart break over and over again.

  When there are no more tears left, Hideo sits in silence and stares out the windows. He looks lost in a fog, and for the very first time, I see uncertainty in his eyes.