Wildcard (Warcross #2)(31)

And the only way I can do that is to uncover what happened to Sasuke.

I’m walking a tightrope between Hideo and Zero, the algorithm and the Blackcoats. And I have to be very careful not to slip.

I stand up and pull my hoodie over my head. There isn’t much time left. The algorithm is supposed to make the world a safer place—but if Mari’s right about the algorithm, then safety’s exactly what we’ll need to worry about.

An incoming message from Tremaine snaps me out of my whirling thoughts. His voice fills my ears.

“Em,” he says. “I’ve made contact, and they have info on that symbol you sent me, the one from Sasuke Tanaka’s sleeve.”

I swallow hard at Tremaine’s words as red and gold confetti rains down from the arena’s ceiling. “What is it?”

“They won’t share it with you over a message.” He pauses. “You’re going to want to hear this in person.”





12



I have no trouble exiting the arena, not with all the rowdy, dressed-up fans flooding out around me. Phoenix Rider supporters are screaming at the top of their lungs. Andromedans look sullen but satisfied. A crowd has already lined up near the back entrance to watch the black cars take the players away. Others are making a beeline down to the overstuffed subways. The cool night wind whips my hair over my shoulders as I hop on my board and turn myself in the direction of Akihabara.

Some of Tokyo’s districts always close down a few of their main streets once a week, turning them into hokoten, giant pedestrian walkways. Since it’s a game night tonight, almost every district in Tokyo has done so, and none more grandly than Akihabara, temporarily earning it the nickname Hokoku, or a mash-up of “Pedestrian District.” The entire area looks like a light show, populated by masses of people swarming up and down eight-lane roads usually crammed with cars. Each towering building has the smiling face of a Phoenix Rider playing against its walls, accompanied by their best moves from the rematch.

In spite of everything that’s going on, I still feel a swell of team pride at the images of Asher, Hammie, and Roshan. Right now, all I want is to celebrate with them and collapse into their arms, their uncomplicated friendship.

Dozens of neon streaks linger in the air, the trails from racing drones that the police are too overworked to deal with. Music blares in the streets, where a DJ has set up temporary camp in the middle of the road and is currently surrounded by jumping fans. The ground is lit up with virtual red lava flowing in grids, and virtual phoenix feathers glitter, hovering, in the bushes, on the ground, or in front of buildings, each worth twenty points if you can grab it.

Welcome to Akihabara!

Double points during Hokoku Night!

You leveled up!

By the time I arrive in front of a massive entertainment complex draped on every side with my teammates’ faces, the black cars carrying the teams have already parked in a line in front of the building, blocking off access to this part of the street from the masses. One of the guards catches sight of me. When I approach the lineup, he shakes his head, unwilling to let me pass. He can’t tell who I am, not with my randomized identity hovering over me.

I send a quick message to Asher.

Here now. Your boys are blocking me out.



Asher doesn’t reply. But a beat later, the guard gives me a slight bow of his head, then steps aside so that I can squeeze between the black cars. I duck into the complex and through the entrance’s sliding doors.

The first floor of the building is crammed with Warcross merchandise, hats and figurines and claw machines where you can try your luck at winning plush versions of team mascots. I make my way down the corridor until I reach the stairs, then hop up them to the second floor.

Here, I step into a surreal realm.

It’s a gaming hall, with a high ceiling probably built by knocking down one floor to combine it with another. There’s fog everywhere, creeping down from a stage where a virtual pop star is performing. Neon lights sweep from the ceiling, lighting up the smoke with streaks of color. Crowds of people are dancing near the front of the stage, while the rest of the room is full of tables with games projected on them, where people are playing each other at a variety of games. I see several tables of checkers, while others play card games or board games enhanced with virtual images. Service drones zip from one table to the next, serving drinks with animated colors hovering over them and skewers of tender, grilled meat.

I recognize members from several other teams: Max Martin’s in a corner with Jena MacNeil, hunched over a table game of some sort and laughing his head off at something his Captain has just said. Shahira Boulous is gesturing wildly with a drink as she explains a game technique to Ziggy Frost, who just listens quietly with wide eyes. Pretty much everyone in here is either some current team member or a former one. I pass invisibly through their ranks, feeling a strange mixture of belonging and not belonging, while I search for the Riders.

They’re gathered near the stage, where the tables end and the dancing begins. As I draw nearer, I realize they’re almost hidden from view behind a crowd of spectators, all shouting and cheering over something.

Then I see Hammie appear over the crowd as she hops onto a chair. She raises both her fists up with a whoop. Her knot of braids has loosened a bit, and a light sheen of sweat beads on her dark skin, catching neon outlines from the ceiling lights. She has a huge grin on her face.