Wildcard (Warcross #2)(67)

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve finally arrived at the end of this year’s unexpected and truly epic Warcross championships!” The audience bursts into an excited roar that drowns out the announcer. She pauses, then lists each of us, followed by what position we play in our teams and what we’ll be playing tonight. As she finishes, a 3-D view of today’s environment hovers over our heads, rotating slowly for the benefit of the audience. The other players and I see a smaller version of it in front of us. It’s a setting in outer space, with a planet’s enormous rings slanted behind a series of small fighter pods.

“And, of course,” the announcer continues, “behind the game itself is the one responsible for this entire revolution—Hideo Tanaka!”

As the stadium explodes into wild cheers and spotlights blaze on a passageway, I see him: Hideo, his head held high and hands in his pockets, walking toward us with his mob of bodyguards on either side. Audience members sitting in the seats near his path crane their necks and bodies forward in an unconscious attempt to be closer to him.

In spite of everything, Hideo seems as poised as ever, his trained, polite smile on. As he raises a hand to wave once at the crowds, they scream their approval back at him. He appears to have his attention fixated on the audience, but through the emotions coming from him in the Link, I can sense his focus on me, searing me even as he pretends not to notice. I stand still, careful to copy the other players, and keep my gaze turned up at the dome. I can hear the rhythmic roar of my heartbeat in my ears.

I find myself marveling for the hundredth time that he’s able to control his emotions even after everything I’ve told him. Maybe it means he’ll be the same way when he’s forced to confront Taylor, or even when he sees Zero for himself—reacting with stone-cold calm.

Hideo greets each of the players in turn, giving his customary thanks to us for the championship season. The stadium has reached a fever pitch now, and all eyes are on him, drinking in his every move. He edges closer to me. My palms are sweating, and I wipe them against my thighs repeatedly.

Ten minutes until the beta lenses patch.

Hideo greets my other teammates. He shakes Roshan’s hand, congratulates Hammie.

And then he’s here in front of me, gives me a tense smile, and holds his hand out to me. The audience is losing their minds. I reach out my hand to shake his—and as I do, I grip it hard for a moment longer than I should.

His eyes hold mine. Through his Link comes his voice, deep and strong.

We’re still on the same page, he says. It’s a question.

I don’t blink or look away. I am if you are.

Our hands stay joined for a beat more, until we know that any longer will stir murmurs. Finally, he pulls away, and so do I. My breath rushes out of me.

He walks to the center of our ring of players, then turns his face up to address the audience. The lights start to sweep again across the rows of seats. As he starts to thank the crowd for their enthusiasm, I turn my attention to the rest of the stadium. High up, near the dome’s ceiling, the countdown clock for the beginning of the game ticks.

Five minutes until the beta lenses patch.

Everything around me feels surreal. Maybe nothing will happen. The closing ceremony seems to be progressing like it normally would—Hideo greeting the players, him addressing the audience, the people cheering for the game to start. In some alternate universe, they’ll watch the match without incident, they’ll file out of the arena and head back home, hop into their flights or their trains or their cars. And everything will be fine.

“—to let the match begin!”

Hideo’s final words jolt me back into the present. The game world loads all around us then, and we are enveloped in the sweeping blackness of space, the infinite sky dotted with stars. Giant planetary rings arc across my view in a gradient of silver.

For this one moment, I dare to think that we might actually start playing this final match. Maybe none of the events of the past few weeks have ever happened.

But as I finish this thought, the game world flickers. It goes out, returning us to the dome—just in time for me to see Zero step onto the floor of the arena. And he’s not alone.





25



He and Jax are flanking Taylor. They take a few steps to the middle of the arena, then stop right in front of where Hideo stands near me.

One of Hideo’s bodyguards makes a move toward them, but Hideo shakes his head once. “Stop.”

His bodyguards freeze where they are, their eyes blinking but blank, as if in a trance. But they’re not the only ones. All around us, everything halts: the analysts hush in mid-sentence; the audience ceases waving their arms, the cheers quiet. Most of the other players—anyone not on the beta lenses—stop moving.

Only Hammie and Roshan stay unaffected. Still, they gape at Zero, Hammie’s lips slightly parted, Roshan looking like he’s about to lunge forward to protect me.

Where just moments earlier the noise in here was deafening, the stadium instantly plunges into eerie silence. It’s as if someone had simply pressed a button and paused the world, leaving only a few of us still running.

That’s exactly what just happened.

Hideo is using the algorithm to control everyone in here. I start to shake. I haven’t seen the sheer power of his abilities with my own eyes until now.

Hideo, I say, reaching out through our Link. But he doesn’t respond. His attention is focused on Taylor.