Wildcard (Warcross #2)(28)

I shake my head, take a seat, and pull up a grid of the entire dome’s security cams.

There’s more surveillance in this dome than I’ve seen anywhere else—at least two or three cams in each room. It seems they’ve added layers of security since the breach that nearly killed Hideo. When Jax nearly killed Hideo, I remind myself as a shiver runs through me.

The announcer finishes introducing each of the players. The lights in the stadium dim, leaving only the teams illuminated, and in the center of the arena, a hologram appears to show the world that everyone will be immersed in. It’s somewhere high in the sky, shrouded by clouds in every direction, and piercing through the cloudbank are hundreds of narrow mountain peaks with towers on top, each connected to the others around it with narrow rope bridges.

“Welcome to the Sky Kingdom,” a familiar, omniscient voice rings out across the stadium. The audience lets out a deafening roar of approval.

I look away from the arena and scroll quietly through the various security cams until I reach the ones that are inside Hideo’s private box. The shields on the cams are tight, and I can already tell I won’t be able to alter any of their footage. If security notices me in here and realizes that I’m not one of the Phoenix Riders, they’re going to start asking questions.

But nothing’s stopping me from zooming in on the surveillance cams in Hideo’s box, to follow the feeds that the security guard manning the cameras can see. I find his profile, then make my way in.

Footage from every security cam in the dome fills the space around me. I rotate through them until I find the ones in Hideo’s box, and then zoom in on the most central one.

Suddenly, it’s as if I’m hovering on their ceiling, watching them like a ghost.

And I find myself listening in on a conversation that makes me recoil in horror.





11



Kenn’s arms are crossed tightly, and he has a frown on his face as he addresses Hideo. “But there’s no proof of that,” he argues.

Mari lets out an exasperated sigh. “Kenn, we’re not here to rush out a subpar product.” Her Japanese translates rapidly into English in my view. “We need to check if this is caused by the algorithm.”

I suck in my breath sharply. So Hideo hadn’t kept it all to himself; Mari and Kenn are aware of the algorithm. Not only that—they sound like they were actively involved in putting it into effect.

But what is Mari talking about? What does she think the algorithm is doing?

“Suicides can be caused by anything,” Kenn says with a wave of his hand. “Have you become just like those stuck-up legislators? They think they can prevent progress by banning new technology in their cities—”

“They’re not always wrong to do it,” Mari replies. “This is serious. If this is our mistake, we need to fix it immediately.”

Suicides? I think of the police tape fencing off that block in Kabukichō. They must be talking about the criminals who have been killing themselves around the world. The ones Hideo mentioned in our last argument. Convicted sex traffickers committing suicide, he’d said. But that had sounded like something the algorithm was always supposed to allow.

“Just wait a few months,” Kenn says. “Everything will smooth out.”

My gaze goes to Hideo, who hasn’t said a word yet. He looks composed as he leans back in his seat and regards each of his colleagues. A closer look at his face, though, tells me he’s in a dark mood.

“The entire purpose of the algorithm is to protect people, make them safer,” Mari insists. “It’s not supposed to be responsible for users taking their lives.”

“This is crazy!” Kenn puts his hands up with a laugh. “There’s no evidence. You’re really trying to suggest that the algorithm is making regular people—people who are innocent—kill themselves?”

My blood chills at his words. I steady myself against my chair. The algorithm may be causing the deaths of innocent people now.

“Look at these numbers!” Mari waves a hand, bringing up a graph to hover before the three of them. I stare at it in horror. The graph’s curve looks exponential, sweeping ominously up. “The number of suicides worldwide started trending up the day after the algorithm’s deployment. These aren’t all people with criminal backgrounds.”

“You’re reaching,” Kenn says with a dismissive shrug. “Why in the world would innocent suicides be connected to us? I’m sure if any of those are related to the algorithm, it’s because those folks were guilty of something.” Kenn says this with a careless shrug.

It’s the same easy gesture he’d once used when I was first introduced to him and the team—except this time he’s not reassuring me about Hideo’s distant politeness. Now he’s shrugging off dire consequences of the algorithm.

I stare at Kenn’s face, remembering the way his eyes would twinkle with good cheer every time I spoke to him. Is this the same man who used to text me, worrying about Hideo’s well-being or harping on his stubbornness? Who had once asked me to keep an eye on Hideo?

I hold that warm smile in my memory while I take in the man before me. He’s lit by top-down light from the ceiling, casting that same face in ominous shadows. I can’t make out his expression.

Mari brings up another chart. “Past studies have shown a connection between purpose being removed from people’s lives and a higher risk of death. If people have nothing to strive for, if their motivations are tampered with, suicides rise.” She leans forward to meet Kenn’s gaze. “It’s possible. We have to investigate.”