Warcross (Warcross #1)(15)
Audience Member Glitches into Warcross Opening Game
WARCROSS HACKED!
HACKER TEMPORARILY DISRUPTS WARCROSS OPENING
Who Is Emika Chen?
My mouth goes dry at the sight of my name. I’m a fool for thinking that my little stunt last night would have attracted anything less than a spotlight. My identity’s been blown. Not only blown, but with those blown bits plastered all over the internet like stickers. It’s too late to run. I stay frozen as Keira continues to search, her expression turning more stunned as she goes.
“They can’t possibly be talking about me,” I stammer. “They can’t. I must still be asleep.”
“You’re not asleep.” Keira holds up her phone again. I read a feed littered with my name. “You’re the world’s top trending topic.”
Over by the dining table, my phone dings again. We look at it in unison.
“Keira,” I say, “do me a favor and look up a number for me.” She follows me to the dining table, where I pick up the phone and scan the endless string of identical texts. “212-555-0156.”
Keira types it into a search. A second later, she swallows and looks at me. “It’s the number for Henka Games’ Manhattan headquarters.”
A prickling sensation of dread travels down my spine and along my arms. Henka Games has sent me over eighty text messages. Keira and I look at each other for a moment longer, letting the commotion outside fill the silence in our room. “It’s probably their lawyers,” I whisper. A rush of light-headedness makes me sway in place. A flurry of thoughts flash by: police sirens; handcuffs; courtrooms; interrogation chambers. Familiar experiences for me. “Keira—they’re going to sue me.”
“You better call them,” Keira replied. “It won’t be any better for you if you wait.”
She’s right. I hesitate for a second before finally grabbing my phone. My hands are shaking so badly that I can barely dial the numbers. Keira crosses her arms, pacing in front of me.
“Put it on speaker,” she adds. I do, then hold the phone between us.
I’d expected some general thank-you-for-calling-Henka-Games-for-English-press-1 automated message—the typical greeting from a corporate number. But instead, the phone rings only once before a woman answers.
“Miss Emika Chen?” she says.
I’m so startled by her personal greeting that I fumble all over my answer. “Hi. Here. I mean, me. I mean, that’s me.” I wince. Why am I even surprised? Obviously, they know my phone number, judging by the text message avalanche—they must’ve forwarded me straight to a live operator the instant I dialed them. They’ve been waiting.
“Excellent,” the woman says. “I have Mr. Hideo Tanaka on the line for you. Please hold.”
Keira sucks in her breath and stops pacing. She looks at me with wide eyes. I stare back, paying attention to nothing but the hold music now playing on the phone. I’ve lost my mind. “Did she just say . . . ?”
We both jump when the music abruptly cuts off. A man’s voice comes on the line. It’s a voice I’d recognize anywhere, one I’ve heard in countless documentaries and interviews, one that belongs to the last person I thought I’d ever talk to.
“Miss Chen?” says Hideo Tanaka.
His accent is British. Attended a British international school, I remind myself feverishly. Studied at Oxford. His voice, easy and refined, carries in it the authority of someone who runs a huge corporation. I can only stand there, phone in hand, staring at Keira as if I could see straight through her.
Keira wheels her arms frantically at me, reminding me that I’m supposed to respond. “Uh,” I manage. “Hey.”
“A pleasure,” Hideo says, and my phone trembles in my grip. Keira takes pity on me and holds it for me. I expect Hideo’s next words to have something to do with my hacking incident, so I immediately start to stammer some sort of apology, as if that might help my case.
“Mr. Tanaka, about yesterday—look, I am really, really sorry for what happened—it was a total accident, I swear—I mean, my glasses are pretty old and they glitch a lot”—I wince again—“I mean—not that your stuff is badly made or anything—which it’s not!—er, that is—”
“Yes. Are you busy right now?”
Am I busy right now? Hideo Tanaka is on the phone, asking me if I am busy right now? Keira’s eyes look like they’re going to pop right out of their sockets. Don’t sound stupid, Emika. Be cool. “Well,” I reply, “I’m actually late for my waitressing shift . . .”
Keira slaps her forehead with the palm of her hand. I hold both hands out at her in a panic.
“I apologize for interrupting your schedule,” Hideo says, as if my answer were the most natural thing in the world, “but are you willing to skip work today and come to Tokyo?”
My ears start to ring. “What? Tokyo—Japan?”
“Yes.”
I cringe, glad he can’t see my face turning red. What did I expect him to say—Tokyo, New Jersey? “Like . . . right now?”
A note of amusement enters his voice. “Yes, like, right now.”
“I—um—” My head spins. “I’d love to, but my roommate and I are actually about to get evicted from our apartment tomorrow, so . . .”