Warcross, Page 25

  “This is your idea of a compliment?”

  “I’m not known for making offers, Emika. Interpret that however you’d like.”

  My hands clench into fists. “Well, you can take that generous offer,” I say in a low voice as I move toward him, “and shove it up your virtual ass.”

  He leans close to me. “Everyone always thinks they’re so brave.”

  And when I look down, I notice with horror that the arm of my suit, originally bright white like my teammates’, is turning black. Plates of dark armor clip into place around my wrist, then cover my forearms, then creep up to my shoulders. They line my chest and neck, my waist and legs. I choke out a gasp and step away from him, as if this will stop it. But in this moment, I no longer look like an Architect. I look like his hunter, dressed entirely in black.

  “Get away from me,” I snarl. “Before I kill you.”

  “It is you,” he replies, “who came to me.”

  His words just make me angrier. “I’m going to give you one more chance to turn yourself in. It’ll make life easier for everyone.”

  He just watches me, his silent calm unnerving. Finally, he starts to turn away. “You’re going to regret this,” he says. Then, before I can shout anything else at him, he vanishes. So does the scarlet cavern.

  Suddenly, I’m thrust back into the game. The roar of the audience abruptly returns, followed by the announcer’s shocked voice and the jumble of my teammates’ voices all ringing in my ears. I look frantically down, expecting to see myself still encased in black armor that resembles Zero’s—but it’s gone, as if it were all a hallucination. My white game suit is intact again.

  “Emi? Ems!” Asher shouts. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Forget her—” comes Hammie’s voice, frantic. “She’s out. I’m going for the Artifact now!”

  I realize I am floating, frozen, trapped inside a set of ruins with only a small eyehole through which I can see the rest of the game unfolding. Asher is trying in vain to fend off three Cloud Knights. He’s going to lose his Artifact. I try to ram myself through my underwater cage, but I can’t—and then I realize it’s because I have no more oxygen left. My reserves are red. That’s what Hammie had meant. I’m dead, struck out of the round until I can regenerate. What had happened?

  “I don’t believe it!” the announcer is shouting now. “After their incredible first win, the Phoenix Riders may be disqualified early this year if they don’t do something soon—”

  Hammie appears at the last second, flickering into view like a phantom in the water. She lunges for the Cloud Knights’ Artifact before they can register her presence, right at the same time as the Knights lunge for Asher’s. Both teams seize the other’s Artifact at almost the exact same time. The crowd screams.

  A few seconds pass before the final score appears in our views.

  “The Phoenix Riders manage to hang on to victory by a millisecond!” the announcer shouts.

  As the world vanishes around me and the real world—the arena and the screaming crowds—comes back into view, I see Asher roll out of his station in a furious mood. His face is twisted in anger. He’s glaring at me. So are my other teammates. I look up at the enormous holograms in the stadium that are replaying segments of the game, only to see myself, ignoring the others and sabotaging their moves. Boos are mixed in with the cheers in the crowd. Some are shouting for a replay, that we hadn’t won this round at all.

  “What the hell happened?” Asher demands as he approaches me. “That was the most embarrassing, shameful display I’ve ever seen from a pro player. You tried to throw that game on purpose.”

  What can I say? Zero’s figure is still hovering in my mind, ominous and silent. “I’m sorry,” I start to say, “I—”

  Asher turns his head in disgust. “We’ll talk back at the dorms.” From the corner of my eye, I see Roshan shake his head at me in confusion, while Hammie looks away in disappointment. We had won, but it didn’t look like it at all. My gaze goes to Ren, who’s watching me. The edge of his lips tilts ever so slightly. My jaw tightens. He knows.

  Suddenly, the holograms in the arena change. The crowd goes still for a moment. I go still. My teammates all pause in unison.

  Then, everyone bursts into gasps and shouts. As they do, I can only find enough strength to stare in stunned silence at the grainy screenshot that is now publicly broadcast to everyone in the arena, and probably to everyone watching this game. Everyone in the world. I don’t know who had taken it, or how. But somehow, I know Zero is involved. This is the beginning of his attack on me.

  The holograms display a giant photo of me stepping out of Hideo’s home at night, of him leaning in to kiss me, of his hand still holding on to mine. It’s unmistakable.

  The news is out.

  25

  PHOENIX RIDER SNAGS HEARTTHROB BILLIONAIRE!

  HIDEO TANAKA PLAYS HIS WILD CARD

  WILD CARD GETS BILLIONAIRE BOYFRIEND

  EXCLUSIVE: 1ST LEAKED PHOTOS OF HIDEO AND EMIKA

  When we arrive at the dorms, I go straight to my room without saying a word to anyone. I’m too afraid to look at my phone. I’ve already turned off my messages. Even so, it was impossible not to catch a glimpse of the headlines screaming by on marquees near the Tokyo Dome, broadcasting the news to the public. Now I curl up on my bed, my heart pounding from the onslaught. From how grainy the shot looked, it must have been taken with some insanely high-powered camera lens, from some remote hill.

  After a few moments, I hesitantly turn on my messages and enable ones from Hideo. A message from him pops up immediately.

  Stay inside. I’m sending extra security to the team quarters.

  I’m about to respond when a knock sounds at my door. Hammie’s voice drifts through to me.

  “Are you staying in there forever?” she demands. “Or are you going to offer us any kind of explanation?”

  I hang back for a while on my bed, my head down, gathering my strength. Then I sigh and stand up. “I’m coming,” I reply as I walk to the door. When I open it, I find myself staring into Hammie’s narrowed eyes. She brings up a tabloid cover to hover between us. This one has published the grainy photo of Hideo and me, along with the headline: LOVE OR CHEATING?

  “Downstairs,” she says, waving her fingers once and erasing the cover from view. She turns away toward the stairs before I can respond. I hesitate, then follow her.

  Down in the atrium, Roshan is activating blackout shields on the floor-to-ceiling windows in an attempt to keep journalists out—but I can still hear the photographers clicking madly away, the flashes of their cameras reflecting off the glass. Before the windows go completely dark, I catch a glimpse of the main courtyard leading out to the security gate. A mob of paparazzi have crowded there, some of them pushing past the security. Two guards chase down a reporter and cameraman sprinting toward our dorms. It’s a feeding frenzy.

  Roshan temporarily looks away from the outside crowds to focus on me. His usually gentle expression has been replaced with one of suspicion. Asher regards me with a scowl. I sit down on the couches with Hammie, trying to avoid Ren’s stare—but even then, I can feel his smugness directed at me.

  “When were you going to tell us?” Roshan finally begins.

  “I . . .” I shake my head. “It’s complicated.”

  “Is it?” Hammie replies, glancing in disdain at the darkened windows. “All those times you didn’t want to hang out with the rest of us, was it because you were off seeing Hideo Tanaka? We’re supposed to be a team, Emi. But obviously you didn’t think we could handle your fancy relationship.”

  I scowl at her. “What’s going on between Hideo and me has nothing to do with how I feel about you and the team.”

  Asher shoots me a hard look. “It has everything to do with us. We just got into the final championship round, but now people think we won unfairly—they think Hideo’s favoritism for you made the judges hand the win over to the Phoenix Riders.”

  “No, it w
as clear that we won,” Roshan interjects. He’s watching me, telling me silently to defend myself. “And it must be hard to talk about such a high-profile relationship. Right? We’re listening, Em, but you have to give us something.”

  If only you knew the half of it. “How was I supposed to bring everything up? This was something in my personal life. I didn’t think I had to bring it into our team practices.”

  “Except you did,” Hammie says. “You were always ready to skip out on time with us or leave early from training. And what was that pitiful display today?”

  Asher nods at Hammie’s words as he continues looking at me. “You ignored everything I said. You told me you knew better. I gave you the benefit of the doubt because I had faith in you, because you’ve proven yourself before, but—” He pauses in frustration. “I am your captain. I chose you as the number one draft pick. I’ve worked hard to build a team of this caliber. Even if we go on to win the championships this year, who’s going to believe that we earned it? I can already see the headlines. Phoenix Riders cheat their way to the top.”

  “Oh, come on,” I reply, my voice rising now in frustration. “It’s just a game. I—”

  “It’s just a game?” Hammie interrupts. Everyone around me tenses, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing. It is precisely the thing I have always hated hearing from others. I start to correct myself, but she leans forward and glares at me. “Then why are you even here? Why are you even competing in Warcross if it’s so beneath you? Weren’t you living in New York’s gutters before you came here?”

  “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Then you should get out of the habit of saying things you don’t mean. I’m damn good at Warcross. Being good at Warcross allowed me to buy my ma her own house, send my sis to a good university.” She pauses to stretch her hands out at the dorm. “That’s why everyone loves Warcross, isn’t it? Why we’re all obsessed with the NeuroLink—why you use it? Because it makes things possible?”

  “It’s not what I meant,” I repeat. “There’s too much that you don’t understand. When there’s a lot more at stake than a championship, then, yes—it is just a game.”

  I hadn’t planned my outburst correctly, and I regret some of it right away. Hammie looks incredulous. Then, skeptical. Nearby, Ren regards me curiously. He’s daring me to say more.

  “Wait,” Roshan says, making a twirling motion with one finger. “So, this isn’t just a fling. What do you mean, when there’s a lot more at stake?”

  I take a deep breath. Everything is on the tip of my tongue now, ready to tumble out—but I stop just short of saying too much. Ren is still here, sitting with us. Zero has threatened me. It’s not worth putting the others at risk. I mutter a curse under my breath and stand up. “I’m sorry.”

  Hammie leans her elbows on her knees. “There’s more you’re keeping from us. And I can’t understand why.”

  “What aren’t you telling us, Em?” Asher asks, his voice very quiet now.

  “I have my reasons.”

  Something sympathetic flickers in Roshan’s gaze. The edge of Ren’s lip quirks up again, so subtle that no one else notices, and his eyes harden at me. I stare levelly back, refusing to give him the satisfaction of intimidating me. Then I turn around and head back to my room. Asher calls my name, but I don’t respond.

  Careful, Emika.

  The voice echoes in my ears. I freeze in my steps.

  There, through my virtual view, is Zero, standing at the end of the hallway leading up to the second floor, his silhouette encased in dark armor and his opaque helmet turned toward me. My mouth turns dry at the sight of him.

  I warned you, he says.

  “What are you doing here?” I say in a hoarse croak.

  Behind me, I hear Hammie’s voice as she walks toward me. “Emi,” she says, “who are you talking to?”

  He just stares calmly at me. Check your Memories.

  My Memory Worlds.

  Suddenly, my heart seizes. I type a quick command and bring up a window to search for my Memory Worlds, all the carefully compartmentalized pieces of my father that I spend so much time revisiting. No. Please. When they come up, I freeze.

  The files are blank. The option New Memory World hovers over them.

  I tremble. Impossible. I put up all sorts of security shells on them, buried them deep in my accounts so that nothing could ever happen to them, secured them in the cloud, cloned them multiple times out of an abundance of caution. I search frantically for my cloned versions now. But they are gone, too. Dad, humming cheerfully at our dining table as he cuts fabrics. Dad, crafting handmade Christmas ornaments with me. Dad, showing me how he mixes paints. Dad, sharing roasted peanuts with me in Central Park; wandering the halls of museums; celebrating my birthday.

  Zero has deleted them all.

  I’m stunned, reeling from the wound.

  Stay out of my way, and I might return them to you. Continue, and this will only be the beginning.

  My fingers curl tightly into fists at my side. My anger sharpens like a blade toward the armored silhouette before me. It takes me a second to realize that tears are blurring my vision. Behind me, Hammie finally approaches. “Emi, what’s going on with you?” she says.

  Zero’s head tilts ever so slightly. Like he’s mocking me. Too late.

  And just then, an explosion rips through our dorm.

  26

  A faulty gas line. That’s the public explanation given for the blast.

  I don’t get a better sense of what happened until I see it broadcast on the small TV in my hospital room. From the outside, it looks horrendous—one moment, the Phoenix Riders’ dorm still standing; the next, a deafening explosion and an orange ball of fire erupting from the roof of our atrium. Windows shatter, spraying glass everywhere. As the fire billows out of control, pouring black smoke into the air, nearby dorms’ lights turn on and the players from the other teams come running over. Some are screaming. Others stand with their hands on their heads, at a loss for words. But most come rushing to our windows, shouting our names. Even Tremaine—bullying, obnoxious Tremaine—is there, helping Roshan pull Asher out through a window.

  Then the fire trucks come, along with the ambulances. Flashing lights fill up the TV screen. There’s a news announcer talking in front of our dorm, then interviewing Hammie, who looks awake and dazed as she clutches a blanket around herself. Asher suffered some cuts and bruises from broken glass, as did Roshan, but miraculously, all of us came out of it alive.

  It doesn’t mean we’re not all shaken up, though.

  “Miss Chen,” a nurse says as she peeks in through my door, bobbing her head once. “You have a visitor.”

  I sit up with my arms wrapped around my legs, then nod quietly at her. My limbs feel numb. “Okay,” I reply. She leaves, and a moment later, returns with two others.

  It’s Roshan, clutching a box, followed by Hammie. They look like they haven’t slept in days. I open my mouth to greet them, but Hammie just shakes her head and reaches out to pull me into a hug. I wince—my arm still burns from the scratches I’d gotten, while my back aches from when the blast had tossed me off my feet. “Ow,” I groan, but the hug feels nicer than the pain, and I lean into her.

  “Ash sends his love,” she says against my shoulder. “His brother and parents are with him in his hospital room.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper to her, tears welling in my eyes. The blast has thrown me all off. “I’m so sorry. Ham—”

  “You don’t remember anything, do you?” she says, pulling away a bit to look at me. “You half carried me to the back door before you collapsed. Stop apologizing.”

  The explosion, the fire, the smoke, the faintest recollection of me shouting Hammie’s name as we lean against each other. I shake my head repeatedly.

  Roshan holds out the box with a grim face. “We salvaged what we could,” he says.

  When I open the box, I see broken shards of my Christmas ornament, along with burned scra
ps of what must be my father’s painting. I run one hand across the remains. The lump in my throat grows until I can’t swallow it anymore.

  I wipe my eyes with one hand. “Thank you,” I reply as I place the box carefully beside me.

  Roshan leans close. “Based on what little we know, Ren’s being questioned by the police right now. I don’t buy the gas leak story.”

  “But you know more about this than we do, don’t you, Emi?” Hammie adds, searching my gaze. “You have to tell us what’s going on. We deserve to know.”

  Your lives were threatened, too. But still, I hesitate. If I tell them everything, it might only endanger them more. They might fall on Zero’s radar. They never asked to be involved in any of this, never entered the championships to hunt down a criminal, were never getting paid to put themselves at risk.

  Hammie studies me like I’m a chessboard. “You remind me of myself from several years ago,” she says. “I always offered help—but I refused to accept any. My mother scolded me about that. Do you know what she told me? When you refuse to ask for help, it tells others that they also shouldn’t ask for help from you. That you look down on them for needing your help. That you like feeling superior to them. It’s an insult, Emi, to your friends and peers. So don’t be like that. Let us in.”

  Hammie’s words strike me clean in the chest. Even though I’ve lied with the best before, I know that both of them can see the truth on my face—that I’m involved in something beyond my capabilities.

  Something that could have killed them.

  I’m used to working alone. Even if I told them everything, what good would that really do? Am I really going to drag them into this hunt with me?

  But this is no ordinary hunt, and Hideo is no ordinary client. If our lives are all in danger, then we have bigger problems to deal with than whether or not I put my faith in my teammates.

  The mention of my name on the TV makes us turn toward the screen in unison. The news anchor is talking beside a photo of me, taken when I was celebrating our first win with the other Riders.