Chapter 3
“Thanks for coming to see me, Steve.”
“Of course, Mr. Krator,” Steve said, going to military parade rest in front of the CEO of Tsunami Entertainment.
“Oh, cut it out, Steve. I know old habits and all that, but seriously. I’m in a t-shirt and jeans, eating sushi and contemplating how to design a relationship-building AR RPG for nursing homes to help old folks stay connected to their families. I don’t have patience for military formality at the moment.”
“Got it, sir.” Steve grinned and crossed his arms, leaning to rest his hip on the edge of the CEO’s massive glass desk. The design genius, CEO, and multibillionaire was sitting in a new-age-looking easy chair to the side of his desk as he ate. “So, what can I do for you?”
“Well, in addition to this old folks RPG I was thinking about, I’ve also been contemplating our star player.”
Steve’s eyebrows rose.
“Which one would that be, sir? We have dozens of top-tier TD Hunter players all over the world.”
Mr. Krator scowled at him.
“The one who gave us all heart attacks by jumping inside a TDM boss to game the system and achieve the mission we’d given her at all costs.”
“Ah. That one.”
“Yes,” Mr. Krator said with a sigh. “That one.”
“What about her, sir?”
“I’m worried about her.”
Steve opened his mouth, thought about it, closed it again, thought some more, then finally spoke.
“Sir, you designed a game to integrate experimental military technology into a globally popular game meant to secretly recruit billions of people of all ages around the world to help fight an invisible invading force of transdimensional entities that could end civilization as we know it within a matter of years—if not sooner. I feel like, at this point, it’s a tad late to worry.”
“Oh don’t be dramatic, Steve. The military was right to turn to the gaming industry. It was the only way to deal with a threat this diffuse and multiplicitous. The scientific community nearly had an aneurysm trying to merely explain the situation in terms our military could understand and respond to. You’d be surprised how many high-profile examples there are of gaming being used to solve medical, scientific, and even societal problems that were thought unsolvable. One of my favorites was back in 2011 when it took gamers a few weeks to determine the molecular structure of a protein connected to AIDS after scientists had been trying to figure it out for ten years. Gaming has been used in almost every scientific field for decades. Back when AI technology was first becoming viable, we quickly discovered that AIs lacked a certain intuition that only humans possessed. Many of our quantum processors were designed by a fusion of AI technology and human interaction within a gaming structure to solve complex problems that even quantum computers couldn’t solve on their own.”
“Oh, I get it, Mr. Krator,” Steve said, holding up both hands. “I wasn’t trying to imply that you’ve put a billion gamers in harm’s way without a really, really good reason. What I meant was, we’re facing civilization collapse. There’s a lot to worry about. I guess it feels like worrying about one kid amid millions is . . . well . . . selfish. But, if it makes you feel any better . . . ” Steve hesitated, then shrugged. “You’re not the only one worrying about her.”
Mr. Krator looked up at him sharply.
“You too, huh?”
Steve smiled and shrugged.
“She’s got a spunky streak. It’s easy to root for her. Besides, it’s hard not to have immense respect for someone who has soundly beaten almost every ranked player in the entirety of WarMonger over the last four years.”
“Too true.” Mr. Krator fell silent, seemingly lost in thought.
“So . . . what, exactly, are you worried about for her?”
Mr. Krator shook himself.
“Yes. Sorry. I’m worried about the pressure she’s under right now. The TD Hunter is her natural environment. She’ll do fine there—as long as she doesn’t pull any more suicidal stunts like the last one. It’s a miracle she didn’t drop dead. In any case, this is the first time she’s gamed without the privacy of a masking account. I know how the gaming industry is—”
“And you think she doesn’t? She’s not some naive little girl, sir.”
Mr. Krator waved a hand.
“That’s not what I meant, Steve. It’s that I know how the gaming industry and celebrity culture intersect, and what notoriety can do to a person. Especially someone like her.”
“And like you?” Steve guessed.
Mr. Krator’s wry expression confirmed his suspicions.
“Look, I’m not trying to project,” the CEO said. “I just know what it feels like to grow up bullied, and to cope with it by hiding. I’m sure she’ll learn how to manage—in fact I know she will. She’s far stronger than she thinks. But between the fame and the, hm, questionable dynamic between her and Ronnie Payne, well . . . I just want to make sure someone is ready to be in her corner. It can’t be me, as I’m sure you understand.”
“I do, sir,” Steve said, suddenly grinning.
There were many reasons why he loved his job. Not the least of which was because he was no longer getting shot at or having to dodge IEDs. Playing games more or less for a living was a nice perk too. But really, it was getting to mentor players through TD Hunters’ tactical department that really made his day. So what Mr. Krator was subtly asking for was right up his alley.
No reason to mention to Mr. Krator that he’d already been doing it since the summer. Heck, Mr. Krator probably already knew. This was just his official—if unspoken—stamp of approval.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Krator. I highly suspect Lynn Raven doesn’t need our help. But if she does, I’ll be damned if I don’t give her every ounce of support we can muster.”
“Thank you, Steve. I have a feeling she’s going to be more instrumental to the success of this program than anyone could have guessed.”
“You guessed it, sir. Don’t think I haven’t heard the rumors that you invited her personally. You even had to wheedle her a bit to get her on board.” Steve grinned again, and Mr. Krator matched the look.
“I might have been taken by a Delphic fit or two, over the years. It’s hard to get to where I am without some sort of intuition. I try not to let it go to my head.”
“You do a good job, sir.”
Mr. Krator shrugged.
“Thanks for coming all the way up, Steve. This was a conversation I wanted to have in person, off the record, so to speak.”
“You got it, Mr. Krator.”
“Want some sushi?” the CEO offered, pointing his chopsticks at the still half-full platter on the glass table beside his chair.
“I’ll pass, thanks, sir. Never was a fan of raw fish.”
“Oh, it’s not all raw. In fact—” Mr. Krator must have caught sight of Steve’s expression, because the man stopped himself and chuckled. “Once a nerd, always a nerd, I suppose. I’ll restrain myself from boring you with the fascinating culinary qualities of this delectable food. I suppose you’re a steak and potatoes kind of guy?”
“The bloodier, the better,” Steve said.
“My doctor is of the opinion that red meat is poisoning the world.”
“What isn’t, these days?” Steve asked.
“That is a point. Well, I won’t keep you any longer, Steve. Keep me apprised, if you would.”
“Will do, sir.”
* * *
Two weeks after Lynn and her mom had turned in the trespassing drone and filed a police report, they still hadn’t heard from the local Cedar Rapids police department. No surprises there, as far as Lynn was concerned. She mostly forgot about it, in fact, because there was a much more pressing threat to keep her occupied: Queen Harpy the Ruthless Attention Whore, otherwise known as Elena.
Every week that the Cedar Rapids Champions failed to pass Skadi’s Wolves on the leaderboards seemed to enrage Elena further. Before the qualifiers in September, the leaderboards had only contained individual scores. While Lynn had consistently jockeyed for one of the top ten positions on it as “RavenStriker,” that seemed to have mostly escaped Elena’s notice. But now there was a leaderboard dedicated solely to the Hunter Strike championship teams, and Elena seemed to take Skadi’s Wolves’ position on it above CRC as a grave and personal insult.
“So,” Dan asked with a little skip in his step, “how many pinecones do you think are shoved up Elena’s butt at this point? I bet at least four or five.”
Their team was headed down the hall for second-period classes. They always moved in a group, nowadays, or at least in twos and threes. After the multiple assaults Elena’s team had made on them over the summer—the last one during the qualifiers which had almost knocked them out of the competition—the guys had been more than happy to follow Lynn’s insistence that they never get caught alone at school. They had most of their classes together anyway, so it worked out.
“Maybe her body is a portal to an interdimensional chasm of bitterness and hate,” Mack said, grinning. “For all we know she could have infinite pinecones shoved up her butt!”
“But to what purpose?” Dan mused. Then he snapped his fingers several times, face lighting up. “I know! She feeds off the anger as her internal power source, so she has to stay perpetually butt-hurt to remain operational. I mean, come on, have any of you ever seen her actually eat in the cafeteria? I haven’t.”
Ronnie snorted, and Mack said, “Nope.”
As usual, Lynn felt too grumpy and anxious to participate in the guys’ chatter, though Dan’s last comment had brought a brief smile to her face.
“I’ve seen her eating salads,” she said, and shrugged. “But that doesn’t mean she isn’t still powered by petty rivalries and childish petulance.”
“Speaking of petty rivalries,” Edgar rumbled, and put a hand on Lynn’s shoulder, stopping her. The others stopped a step or two ahead once they spotted the solid mass of students coming their way down the hall.
“Yikes,” Mack muttered, eyes flicking over his shoulder to the empty hall behind them. “Should we turn around?”
“Never turn your back on your enemy,” Lynn said. She could tell her tone had changed, lowered, gone almost Larry-esque. But she didn’t care. If Elena wanted to pick a fight, she was all for it. She would never hit first, but she would sure as heck hit back.
“Chill out, everyone,” Ronnie said. “I just checked Elena’s stream. It’s live. I bet she wants to insult us to bolster her pathetic ego, maybe provoke us into a fight and get us in trouble. Everyone put on your AR glasses and go live on your own streams. That way she’ll know she’s being watched from every angle and can’t get away with any cheap shots.”
Lynn ground her teeth together. It was good advice, which was surprising coming from Ronnie. But they were going to be late for class, and she had zero desire to stand around and be used as a verbal punching bag. She’d endured that for years already and was done. Just done.
Without a word, Lynn shouldered her way through her teammates and strode toward the crowd Elena had around her. It looked like the pop-girl had summoned most of the ARS team, including her personal three stooges. The ARS guys stood at the back and the wings, a group of tall, well-muscled guys whose smug, eager expressions told her they’d come ready to enjoy the proverbial cock fight. In the center of the group were Elena’s usual gaggle of female flunkies—mostly girls from the cheerleading team but she spotted a few other regulars, including Kayla. The ebony-skinned girl was in the center of the pack, and their eyes met briefly over Elena’s shoulder.
Kayla looked away, expression clearly distressed.
“Hugo, tint my glasses, will you,” Lynn subvocalized.
“Of course, Miss Lynn.”
She always kept the TD Hunter app on these days. It was the only thing that kept her sane, and there was no harm in it as long as she stayed out of combat mode.
Some people counted to ten. Some people visualized sandy beaches. She preferred to bury herself in monster stats and tactical game forums.
Well, and Hugo’s dry witticisms helped.
Lynn stopped ten paces away from the approaching group and crossed her arms. She heard her teammates come up behind her and halt on either side. Edgar was a reassuringly solid presence at her left, while Ronnie mirrored her stance on her right. Dan and Mack shifted nervously on the wings.
Elena stopped a mere five paces away, and her posse shuffled to a halt amid whispers and giggles.
Lynn didn’t say a word, just waited for Elena to dig her own grave.
“You’re in my way, fatso,” Elena said, her artificially refined voice dripping with scorn.
“In case it is a relative point of interest, Miss Lynn, my omnisensors estimate your current measurements and body-fat percentage are equal to or less than twenty-five percent of the females surrounding Miss Seville.”
“You shouldn’t insult your friends, Elena. It’s not nice.”
“W-what? You’re not my friend!” Elena spluttered.
“Thank God for that,” Edgar muttered over Lynn’s shoulder.
“I’m talking about your flunkies, genius,” Lynn said, suppressing a snort at Edgar’s comment. “I’m the same size as some of them, so the whole ‘fatso’ insult just doesn’t work. I’d recommend you come up with something more creative, at least if your tiny brain is capable of that much intelligent thought. We’ve wondered about it from time to time.”
Elena’s face reddened and her eyes narrowed.
“You’re an ugly, fat cow,” she hissed. “Just because you squeeze yourself into some sort of fat-compression suit so you’ll fit those lame clown uniforms you hunt in doesn’t mean you’re anything like my girls. I can’t watch a single stream with you in it, you’re so disgusting to look at.”
“Pity,” Lynn said calmly. So calmly. “If you watched a few you might learn something useful about, oh, I don’t know, the game you’re trying to compete in? Did you know you’re not even in the top one hundred on the individual leaderboard?” Lynn didn’t know Elena’s exact ranking because anyone not in the top one hundred wasn’t worth her time to track down.
“Ahem, Miss Lynn, apologies for the correction, but she is not even on the individual leaderboard. It cuts off at one thousand.”
“Oh, sorry,” Lynn said, a mile-wide grin spreading over her face. “My AI just informed me you’re not even on the individual leaderboard. For the captain of a Hunter Strike Team, that’s pretty pathetic. Have you even killed a single TDM yet?”
Elena’s mouth worked silently for a moment, then she spluttered.
“I’ve killed plenty! And my team—”
“Isn’t aaaanywhere close to mine on the team leaderboard, Elena. Why don’t you take your little flock of sycophants and go practice your combat moves. That’ll get you closer to a championship win than throwing around pathetically lame insults and begging people to pay attention to you like a sorry little loser.”
Elena gasped theatrically and put a hand to her chest, her voice wobbling unconvincingly as she said, “Connor, you’re not going to just sit there and let her insult us, are you?”
There was a beat of silence as everyone in Elena’s group looked around.
“What?” Lynn asked, apparently puzzled. “Missing your pet dog? I’m actually more impressed that he’s not here. At least he has the sense to focus on getting work done while you prance around like a pigeon who thinks she’s a peacock.”
Elena flushed a deeper shade of red and dropped the “close to tears” act, shifting her focus to Ronnie.
“You’re a pathetic coward, letting a girl do all the talking for you.”
Ronnie’s pale, freckled face flushed pink, and Elena’s eyes lit up with savage glee.
“What, are you too afraid of opening your mouth in front of your betters to stand up for yourself, you little baby? Who’s the team captain, anyway? Because it’s certainly not you.”
“Shut your mouth, you b—”
“Ronnie!” Lynn’s hand shot out and grabbed Ronnie’s shirt sleeve as he surged forward. He spun on her furiously, breaking her grip.
“I didn’t ask you! Now shut up and stay out of my way.”
“Whoa, Ronnie, chill, man,” Edgar said, shifting his stance.
Elena crossed her arms again and cocked a hip, all smugness once more.
“I see. So, you let a girl and a dumb gorilla talk for you? You really are a pathetic sop.”
Ronnie started forward again, but this time Edgar snagged the back of his shirt, and that wasn’t a grip Ronnie—or anyone else—could break.
“Calm down, man,” Edgar said quietly. “We’re streaming live, remember? She’s just pushing your buttons because Lynn wouldn’t get mad. Don’t let her get to you.”
Ronnie stopped trying to advance, though he was still breathing hard, furious eyes locked on Elena.
“You can call me pathetic all you want, Elena, but I’m not the one who can’t hunt to save my life. You’re the one who’s a pathetic leech, feeding off everyone else’s hard work. You’re nothing without your dad’s money, and I’ve done research on him. He’s not even a real businessman, just a stock trader who got lucky a few times. I even found an open investigation on his firm, so I bet your dad is a cheating criminal too—”
“You liar!” Elena nearly screamed, and now it was her who was trying to advance while her flunkies anxiously grabbed her arms. The guys of the ARS team shuffled aggressively, popping knuckles and looming closer as if waiting for an excuse to attack.
“You filthy, creepy liar! If you ever talk about my daddy like that again, I’ll—”
“Hey. Hey! What’s going on here?”
Connor’s loud, commanding voice—the voice of a true leader used to controlling his team on the field—cut across Elena’s ranting. The tall, blond former ARS captain shouldered through the crowd.
“ARS boys, get out of here, this is none of your business,” Connor snapped, sending a glare around at the guys in the group.
They shrugged collectively, some of them looking amused, others disgruntled. Even so, they began drifting back down the hallway, throwing surreptitious looks over their shoulders as they went.
“Elena, what the hell do you think you’re doing,” Connor said through barely moving lips. He shot a wide, charming smile in the direction of Skadi’s Wolves, obviously for the benefit of their live-streaming glasses, not them.
“None of your business,” Elena huffed, crossing her arms again. “Though I notice you were conveniently absent when these losers started insulting me for no reason.”
“That’s because I was in class, Elena, where you are supposed to be as well. Now come on.”
He smiled again at Lynn’s group, then took a firm grip on Elena’s hand and began dragging her down the hall after his ARS team. Elena’s flunkies hurried after them like a clutch of ducklings, though Kayla, who lagged at the rear, looked back at them several times as she slowly followed. It looked as if she wanted to say something, but then decided against it and trotted to catch up with the other girls.
Lynn was staring after her former friend, wondering at the odd behavior, when Ronnie turned on her.
“Never do that again!” he hissed, fists clenched.
“Wait, what? What’d I do?”
“Usurp my authority and show me up in front of everyone!”
“Uh, Ronnie, we’re still—”
“Then turn it off you moron!”
Lynn’s glasses hadn’t been streaming in the first place, just recording, since she didn’t have a stream channel anyway. But all the other boys paused and blinked as if they were busy shutting their streams down.
“Look,” Lynn said, trying to stay calm, “I’m the one Elena always picks on. I’m the one she sees as a threat. So, I figured I might as well confront her and get it over with.”
Fatso. Cow. Disgusting.
Lynn gritted her teeth and focused on Ronnie’s furious face. Honestly it wasn’t much better than the demoralizing barbs that whispered in her head in Elena’s taunting voice.
“Well, you were wrong,” Ronnie snapped. “I’m the captain of this team, and from now on I’ll be the one speaking for us in any situation, with other teams or with the public.”
Lynn threw up her hands, sick and tired of the whole situation.
“Then why didn’t you say something before? Like, when I marched up to her and you lined up silently beside me? Don’t pretend you weren’t fine with me taking all the punishment from that harpy until she questioned your manhood. Good grief, Ronnie, you’re almost as bad as her!”
“I’m nothing like her!”
“Well you could’ve fooled me!” Lynn yelled back. She snapped her mouth shut on more words that pushed against her tongue, clamoring to get out. They were Larry’s words, not Lynn’s words—all the truth of Ronnie’s incompetence and idiocy she’d endured for months. But she bit her lip and turned away from Ronnie’s puce-colored face as his mouth worked up a reply.
“Just forget it, Ronnie. Sure, you can be the spokesperson, whatever. I don’t care. And I won’t bother trying to stand up for us in the future, since you want that job so badly.”
“W-wait a minute, I’m not done!”
Lynn didn’t bother responding, lest she say something she’d regret.
“Come on, Ronnie,” Mack said, ever the peacemaker. “We’re late for class as it is. Everyone was just trying to help, okay? No biggie.”
Lynn could hear the guys’ low voices behind her as they belatedly followed her down the hall.
Crap.
She’d thought Ronnie was getting better. He had been getting better. But then they’d become an official Hunter Strike team, had launched to the top of the team leaderboard, and the world’s attention had descended on them like an army of vultures—and it had been slowly picking them apart ever since.
Lynn wondered how professional gamers coped with it. It was maddening. She was going mad. And she didn’t know how much longer she could hold up under the stress before something gave way.
Just hold on, Lynn, she told herself grimly. Hold on.
* * *
After school was hunting time. If they rushed, they could get changed and meet up with a precious few hours in which to hunt before dinner and parent-imposed curfews.
Dan’s seven p.m. curfew was the worst. In the aftermath of their qualifier win, their team had been featured on the local news and Dan’s cover had been blown. While Mr. And Mrs. Nguyen’s reactions were filtered through Dan’s glum description, it seemed to Lynn they’d been more furious that Dan hadn’t actually gotten into robotics camp than that he’d lied about what he had been doing all summer. They’d promptly forbidden him from ever playing TD Hunter again, to which Dan had calmly—according to him—pointed out that he’d already become a local celebrity, and it would be a big embarrassment for him to suddenly quit for no reason. He might have also mentioned the cash prize, college acceptance, and assured gaming career waiting for him when he won—which, of course, was inevitable.
Lynn assumed it must have been a gut-wrenching choice for Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen: Have their son publicly fail at something or have him become a professional gamer. The choice had probably been a near one, too, but in the end, they’d allowed him to keep playing on the condition of perfect grades—thus the seven p.m. curfew.
Mack hadn’t fared much better in the parental-wrath department, at least from his mom. But, for the first time in his life, perhaps, Mack had stood up to her and told her he was going to keep playing whether she liked it or not. They were all proud of him for it, though Lynn suspected there had been a lot more diplomatic wheedling and a lot less heroic defying than Mack had implied in his retelling. The mention of prize money and guaranteed future prospects hadn’t hurt in Mrs. Rios’s case either. The end result—an eight p.m. curfew—wasn’t much better than Dan’s situation, though at least both of them were blessedly free on the weekend.
Edgar, of course, was over eighteen, and from his comments Lynn gathered his mom had always been distantly supportive of whatever he did that kept him close to his friends and out of trouble. Mrs. Johnston worked multiple jobs to support her five children and considering how mature and independent Edgar had always been, Lynn figured he’d earned enough trust that his mother wasn’t worried about his ability to balance responsibilities. He had been forced to promise a significant portion of his winnings to his younger sister, a year his junior, to take over the bulk of his duties taking care of their siblings. But Lynn had met his sister at the qualifiers, and she seemed to love and look up to him just as much as the rest of his siblings, so her mercenary demands were probably more due to Edgar’s good-naturedness than her reluctance to help.
Ronnie never said a word about his father or any sort of curfew, so Lynn could only assume he had free rein over his schedule. Heck, she didn’t even know what his dad did. Perhaps he traveled extensively for work or didn’t get home until late in the evening. Or maybe he simply didn’t care what Ronnie did. Ronnie had always been a closed book when it came to his personal life.
As for Lynn, she’d already come to an understanding with her mom over the summer. As long as her grades stayed up and she stuck close to her teammates out on the street, Matilda trusted her to manage her own schedule. That didn’t mean her mom didn’t worry. But then, what mother didn’t worry about their child?
Considering Lynn barely had time for any solo hunting, there wasn’t much to worry about. She was always with the guys, and even if she hadn’t been, she was constantly followed by a buzzing swarm of drones. Creeps harassing her on the street were a distant worry of the past—her biggest danger now was a stress-induced aneurism.
She’d half-heartedly tried to wear a disguise for a while. But considering the body-scanning and facial-recognition programs easily available to any paparazzi hobbyist, she’d quickly found it was wasted effort. Plus, there were four other people she could be predictably found around, and they all had streams, not to mention were considerably more open to the public’s attention. So if the drones didn’t find her, they inevitably found Ronnie, despite her protests that the buggers were a distraction to training. Ronnie, predictably, was too busy strutting and angling for sponsorships to do more than pretend to listen.
Thus, when school let out that day, Lynn turned her Skillet playlist up to full volume and shaded her AR glasses to the max before following Mack and Edgar out a lesser-used side entrance to avoid the crowds of kids streaming toward the school airbus platform. They headed to the nearest commercial airbus stop, where they would meet Dan and Ronnie, who were coming from a different class. The drums, guitar, and melodic screaming in Lynn’s ears drowned out any overhead buzzing nicely, and the guys knew better than to try and talk to her out in the open. Too many listening ears. If they wanted to converse, they always pinged each other in the TD Hunter app anyway. Not all the guys were as good at subvocalizing as her, but they were good enough that they could carry on private conversations if they needed to. Not that they remembered to, half the time—but at least they had the option.
They’d reached the airbus platform and were waiting for Dan and Ronnie when Lynn got a ping from Edgar. She looked up to see him watching her with a seemingly serene look on his face. But she’d known him long enough to notice the little wrinkle between his brows. She opened up a voice channel and gave him a small nod of acknowledgement.
“You okay, Lynn?”
Not really. I want to punch everything in sight and wish I could eat paparazzi drones for breakfast.
“Yup,” she subvocalized.
One dark eyebrow quirked, just enough for her to know he didn’t believe her. She rolled her eyes.
“I’ll be fine. I just want to get hunting. What’s keeping Ronnie and Dan, anyway?”
Before he could reply, Lynn spotted the two hurrying toward them from the direction of the school, and a group message from Dan popped up in her vision.
RAN INTO ELENA AND FLUNKIES ON WAY OUT. DON’T ASK RONNIE ABOUT IT.
Lynn checked and confirmed that Ronnie was not one of the recipients of the message. Then she replied-all and promised SURE THING.
The two joined their group and they all stood around waiting for the next airbus to appear. Dan and Mack started arguing, obviously continuing a conversation they’d been having earlier. They were debating the proper ranking weight of various TD Hunter scores, such as kill-to-damage ratio, which Dan was better at, versus overall kills, where Mack excelled. Those two were always ragging on each other about scores, sometimes pulling Ronnie and Edgar into their debates. Lynn never talked about her scores, though she kept a careful eye on them.
Their hunting schedule had already been decided for the evening: they were going to visit one of their old stomping grounds near the original electric substation where Lynn had first fought the TDMs en masse. It was about a fifteen-minute airbus ride northwest, not quite on the outskirts of town, but close to it. The substation itself was surrounded by an open field with woods north of it, the St. Andrew’s golf course to the west, a quiet subdivision to the east, and the backs of several businesses bordering the field to the south.
It wasn’t the most secluded spot to hunt, especially not since word had spread on the TD Hunter tactical forums that substations were a TDM magnet. But so far, they hadn’t had any clashes with other Hunters. Players were usually more interested in watching Skadi’s Wolves work than competing for hunting grounds. After all, if you could watch through the TD Hunter Lens app, it was a pretty spectacular sight. Almost as good as watching ARS games.
Or, at least, that’s what Lynn had heard in virtual. She was too busy keeping focused on her performance and avoiding the streams to check it out herself.
At their stop, they left the airbus in silence and trooped along the quiet road that led to the substation. When they rounded the last corner, though, and the substation field came into view, Lynn stopped dead in her tracks.
“Uh, guys, do you see that?” she subvocalized on their team channel.
“Whoa, what are all these people doing here?” Mack asked, slowing.
“Ignore the spectators,” Ronnie barked, not breaking stride toward the field that already had a healthy crowd of people milling around its southern edge. Lynn noticed Ronnie raise his head more and throw back his shoulders, as if preparing to give a speech before a crowd of adoring fans.
Lynn put two and two together.
“Ronnie, you told them we were going to be here!” she subvocalized, unable to add the appropriate amount of rage and indignation into her words without shouting.
When her team captain didn’t reply, she broke into a run and caught up to him.
“What the freaking hell do you think you’re doing, Ronnie?” she subvocalized on their private channel, a compromise they’d come to over the summer with the idea that as long as Lynn gave Ronnie advice privately, he would pay attention to it. “Our last recon showed a significant uptick in TDM activity at this substation. We can’t take on that many TDMs with this crowd of lens junkies in the way! And look at all the drones! What about other teams copying our tactics? I thought we’d agreed to keep our heads down.”
“We’re public figures,” he shot back. “You can’t expect we wouldn’t attract attention in a competition like this. We need to learn how to adapt and overcome, no matter the battle conditions.”
“That’s a load of crap, and you know it. We’ve never attracted even a quarter of this many spectators, even when we hunted in the middle of the city. You invited these people here to watch as some kind of ego trip, didn’t you?”
Ronnie refused to look at her.
“Shut up and get back in formation, soldier. We’ve got a job to do.”
Lynn almost slapped him then and there. Soldier? What were they, twelve years old and playing Call of Honor? She had a name! Only the swarm of drones circling overhead stopped her from strangling Ronnie on the spot.
Well, the swarm and the several dozen fans running toward them.
Lynn took a deep breath and let her Larry brain take over, enabling her to put aside all her anger, frustration, and other distracting emotions. Larry mode was cool, focused, and blessedly free of her hang-ups. It was the only way she could hunt sometimes—the only way to forget all the anxieties that held her back.
Or, in this case, her simmering stress that was about to explode and take Ronnie with it.
Only one thing mattered in Larry mode: winning. It was something Lynn forgot, at times, and she was grateful to be reminded of it.
“Tighten up, team,” Lynn subvocalized, falling in right behind Ronnie. His shoulders twitched, as if annoyed she’d beat him to the command. But in Larry mode, Lynn didn’t care what Ronnie thought. If their glorious leader was going to be an idiot, then it was up to her to take up the slack. He should have already briefed them on everything that was going to happen, not blindsided them with this ridiculous circus. Even if, in some deranged recess of his mind, this audience was necessary for “publicity” and not just to stroke his own ego, then he should have taken command of his team’s attention and confidence from the moment they realized the situation.
For all of Ronnie’s gaming experience and positive potential, his ego turned him into a childish moron. And “Larry the Snake” knew exactly what happened to childish morons: they got themselves and all their men killed in battle.
Well, not on her watch.
“Ignore the spectators,” Ronnie subvocalized into their team channel—finally. “Just don’t respond and keep going to our usual rally point in the field. From there we’ll spread out and go into combat mode.”
“Roger that, boss,” Edgar said, pulling a stick of gum from one of the tight pockets on his TD Counterforce uniform, unwrapping it, and popping it into his mouth.
Ronnie marched straight toward the gaggle of amateur paparazzi, lens junkies, and fans clutching TD Hunter swag and waving Ever Bright signing markers in their direction. Fortunately, the crowd was smart enough to part like the Red Sea when Ronnie loudly declared, “Stand aside. We have a mission to complete,” like some sort of four-star general.
Lynn rolled her eyes behind her tinted glasses. She supposed she should be grateful Ronnie didn’t try to stop for a photo op or to sign some fangirl’s t-shirt.
Unfortunately, however, the crowd didn’t stay where they’d stopped, but reformed behind Skadi’s Wolves and followed, chattering excitedly to each other—or to themselves in the case of those live-streaming their “exclusive experience.” The gaggle of people followed them all the way out into the field, staying ten paces or so behind. Their presence made the back of Lynn’s neck itch, and she resisted the urge to keep looking back.
About a fourth of the way across the field, Ronnie stopped and their team gathered round, some ignoring the spectators better than others. Mack—the little dunce—kept looking over at them and grinning. At one point he even waved at the drones overhead and mouthed, “Hey, Riko!”
It would have been cute if it hadn’t been so annoying.
“Okay, team, listen up,” Ronnie said, drawing everybody’s focus. Lynn noted that not only did he fail to subvocalize, but he didn’t even bother trying to keep his voice down. Her ire ticked up a few more notches, but she concentrated on staying in Larry mode and not letting it get to her. “Based on what we’ve seen at this substation before, we can expect a larger-than-normal aggressive and guard-type presence around a series of stationary gatherers—probably Bunyips. Our mission is to completely clear the field. That means we’ll have to resupply on the move and we’ll be attacking in a series of waves and feints. Consider this a training exercise to take on bosses.”
A thrill tingled up Lynn’s arms and she flexed her fingers, anticipating the feel of her game batons in them.
“We’ll start in a quad wedge without stealth. Dan, you’re on takedown to get rid of any fliers we draw in. After that we’ll advance far enough to get a good idea of the opposition and trigger their attacks, then fully stealth and retreat back toward the rally point, picking off as many as we can. Finally, we’ll switch to a strafing line and start whittling down the guard circles. Refill levels as needed and call out if you need a supply transfer—don’t leave it to the last second. Got it?”
The team responded with a chorus of assents.
“What about them?” Lynn asked, jerking a thumb over her shoulder.
“I already told you, ignore them,” Ronnie said, not meeting her eye.
“They’re going to get in the way.”
“They’re TD Hunter fans, not idiots. You think they don’t know how to stand on the sidelines and watch?”
Lynn gritted her teeth.
“Some of them, sure. But what about the paparazzi trying to get the best stream angle? Those crazies will do anything for a good shot. And I wouldn’t put it past some fans to jump in the middle of a battle with a championship team for a selfie. Would you?”
Ronnie gave a dismissive snort.
“Just focus on hunting and ignore them.”
“You know,” Dan piped up, “I saw this crazy lady in Germany throw herself at a Hunter Strike Team during battle to ask one of them out on a date. You should probably say something official sounding, just to warn people to stay back. You’re the captain, after all.”
That gave Ronnie pause, and finally he sighed and shook his head.
“Fine. Wait here.”
As he marched back toward the crowd, Lynn met Dan’s eye and gave a little nod of thanks. She doubted anything Ronnie could say would dissuade obsessed fans or jerk paparazzi, but hopefully the bulk of the spectators would stay the heck away from their battlefield.
Their “glorious leader” said his piece—it sounded a lot more like a welcome than a warning, but it would have to do—them rejoined them and finally switched to subvocalization to give the “Form up!” command.
They got out their batons and moved into their first formation, spreading out enough to give each other plenty of room for melee maneuvers. The quad wedge called for Edgar and Ronnie abreast at the front as the heavy hitters with Lynn and Mack behind and to the side to provide fire support and guard their flanks. Dan stood in the middle behind Edgar and Ronnie where he would be protected from melee attacks and could concentrate on taking out any Tengu or Rocs hanging around, or just picking off ground targets to thin out the crowd.
Lynn fell easily into position on Edgar’s right and shook out her limbs, getting the blood flowing and preparing to finally get some action.
“Hugo, get ready to drop me in combat mode on Ronnie’s mark. No stealth. I want those bastard Tengu rushing in like starved vultures.”
“Very good, Miss Lynn. Would you like me to put on one of your playlists for background music?”
“Not today. Put TDM sounds on my left bud, coms on my right, and leave both open to ambient noise. I don’t trust this crowd. Oh, and could you warn me if any of them gets dumb and decides to get close?”
“Unfortunately, I am unable to report on the movements of civilians in real time, only Hunters in combat mode. However, if I do notice any disturbances within your field of vision, I will certainly bring them to your attention.”
“Good enough,” Lynn grunted.
“Ready everyone?” came Ronnie’s voice over their team channel.
“I was born ready!”
“Locked and loaded, boss.”
“Ready to rumble!”
Lynn’s mouth quirked. She simply said, “Roger,” and bent her knees, keeping on the balls of her feet, ready for anything the moment they dropped into combat mode. Adrenaline coursed through her limbs, warming her with its familiar, sweet fire.
Time to do what she loved best.
“Going into combat mode in three, two, one. Go!”
Lynn’s display flashed to life and her ear instantly filled with a cacophony of sounds. Even as her hands felt the warmth of her morphing batons forming into the familiar shapes of Wrath and Abomination, she was already spinning, slashing out. The two Phasmas she’d dropped nearly on top of exploded into showers of sparks. Abomination barked once, twice, three times and the three demons parked within ten feet of her exploded as well before they could so much as turn and charge. In another ten seconds she’d cleaned up a handful of Grumblins and a clutch of death worms, finishing her sweep of the immediate area around her as her teammates did the same. Dan remained fully stealthed so he could focus on his sniping, and from the sound of it he’d already spotted some airborne targets, likely Rocs since Lynn didn’t yet hear the distinctive “missile” screech of an incoming Tengu.
Despite how easily they took out the scattered Delta and Charlie Class targets, there was no time to relax. Their sudden appearance, especially with no stealth, drew in every TDM within thirty yards like enraged water buffalo.
And there were a lot of TDMs within thirty yards.
“Shit,” Mack said, tone somewhere between this-is-really-annoying and I’m-screwed. “There’s a freaking lot of them.”
“It’s called a target-rich environment, Mackie boy,” Lynn said between blasting away at the solid wall of Orculls and Spithra headed her way. “Consider it a gift to your kill-to-damage ratio.” She lunged to the side, avoiding a stream of Spithra poison and grinned at Mack’s disgruntled grumbles barely audible over the grunts and yells of Ronnie and Edgar wading into the oncoming TDMs.
It took them barely three minutes to deal with the initial wave of lower-level aggressive types surrounding the outskirts of the TDM crowd at the substation.
But the battle was only just getting started.
“Everybody grab supplies while you can,” Ronnie shouted as a solid mass of Namahags and Penagals marched toward them from the direction of the substation. Those TDMs were joined by more Spithra and Orculls streaming in from the sides and waves of obviously suicidal, but still determined, demons and Grumblins from the rear.
And that wasn’t counting the Phasmas and Ghasts popping up and sneak attacking at every opportunity.
“That’s a looot of monsters,” Dan muttered, echoing Mack. “Ronnie, I already took out the local Tengu, and most of the Rocs are too busy at the substation to notice us yet, so I’m switching to dual pistols to clean up this mess behind us so you guys can focus forward.”
“Roger,” Ronnie replied.
Lynn glanced over at the tight sound in Ronnie’s voice. At least thirty towering Namahags followed by an equally dense line of Penagals were ten yards from Ronnie and Edgar. Dozens of other TDMs were closing in on her and Mack from the sides. All four of them were pouring fire into the monsters and doing significant damage. But for every TDM that exploded, there were more behind them, as evidenced by the thick clusters of dots on Lynn’s overhead.
So much for the “significant uptick” in TDM activity around the substation. This wasn’t an uptick, it was a flood. What had happened to change the algorithm’s spawn rates so drastically? Had a boss moved into the area that they didn’t know about?
Lynn gave a very Larry-worthy curse and refocused on her slaughter of Orculls and demons trying to rush her from the side. She had to get her area clear, or she would be too tied up to support Edgar, who was about to get swarmed, big time.
What a freaking Charlie Foxtrot. They should have scouted the area further out instead of assuming they knew what force levels they were up against.
Ronnie and his sloppy impatience, for the win! her Lynn brain said.
You let him. You should have been looking out for the team better, her Larry brain replied.
“Whooooa, man, this is so cool!”
Lynn nearly jumped out of her skin at the voice right behind her. She spun on instinct, Skadi’s Wrath whipping out toward the target. She barely managed to pull back in time to avoid walloping some random middle-schooler right across the face. True, the kid’s full-face AR helmet would have protected him from any serious damage, but it sure wouldn’t have looked good on the kid’s no-doubt-active live-stream.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING ON MY BATTLEFIELD! GET LOST!” Larry-Lynn bellowed at the top of her lungs, right in the kid’s face. Then she spun back, sweeping Wrath in a figure eight to cut down the three Spithra that were right on top of her, stabbing with claw-tipped legs at her face. They’d already gotten her solidly with their poison spit while her back had been turned.
“Please tell me the kid ran off,” Lynn subvocalized to Hugo.
“I believe he retreated a dozen yards but is still watching. And he is not alone,” Hugo informed her as she rolled forward, avoiding the swings of two Orculls that were trying to pincer her between them. She came up and stabbed one in the back and shot the other, then took a precious second to scoop up some ichor and an Oneg before dodging a charging demon. She wouldn’t need the Oneg herself—probably. But Edgar was nearly invisible beneath the Namahags mobbing him and would be guzzling the stuff.
Lynn didn’t have time to worry about idiots who got too close. She had to get rid of this mob on her, stat. Edgar’s whoops of battle lust had already turned to grunts of concentration as he jumped and dodged as best he could while blasting away. Mack and Dan had drawn closer together to cover each other and were similarly subdued as they focused on aiming, shooting, and dodging as fast as possible. Ronnie was also silent as he joined his twin pistols together into a Plasma Sword and tore through his crowd of monsters in a complicated dance of swinging, fiery death.
But silent was bad. Silent meant they were too pressed to keep tabs on one another, too pressed to even call for help when they needed it. They would get separated and defeated in detail.
She gave herself thirty seconds of one hundred percent focus on her area of responsibility.
Thirty shots of Abomination. All instant kills.
Thirty stabs and swipes of Wrath, every lunge and spin sending up more showers of sparks.
Thirty seconds and dozens of dead TDMs, then Ronnie’s time to take charge was up.
Larry was in charge now.
“Ronnie,” Lynn subvocalized on their private channel, “there’s heavier forces than we predicted. We need to blink out and regroup.”
“No,” came her captain’s reply between grunts of effort.
Lynn’s eyes scanned the ground, and she snatched up as many piles of ichor, armor globes, and Oneg capsules as she could while shooting Ghasts with her other hand, aiming mostly by sound.
“What do you mean, no? We’re going to get killed and there’s no point taking the ranking hit.”
“Can’t blink in competition. Shouldn’t do it here.”
Lynn cursed under her breath and glanced at Dan and Mack, her Larry brain calmly sorting options, putting together pieces. They were still plugging away, and didn’t look like they were about to die. But only Ronnie, their captain, had the team’s health and other levels available on his display, so she had to guess.
She sprinted toward the mass of TDMs around Edgar as her Larry side finished the puzzle.
“You didn’t care about blinking out two days ago when we were jumped by Yaguar,” she subvocalized, one hundred percent cold, ruthless Larry. “You just don’t want to look bad in front of an audience. We’ll newsflash, you incompetent prick, you’re going to look awful idiotic when we all get picked off, one by one, like some amateur bunch of noobs.”
Then she was on the Namahags and the time for words was over. Wrath scythed and flashed as she stabbed up under armor plates and took out three brutes in seconds, giving her an opening to get at Edgar. She didn’t dive into the circle, just held the gap, widening it so Edgar would have a path of retreat.
That’s when she saw the pair of guys in t-shirts and cargo pants, back-to-back, AR-visored heads uplifted in awe as TD monsters swarmed around them and poor Edgar blasted away, his AR-augmented body armor flashing with red damage again and again as he soaked in the damage that even his cannon couldn’t keep back. A dozen drones buzzed overhead, dipping down low, almost to head level, trying to get close-up shots of Edgar in action.
What the actual—
No. No time for anger. These idiotic paparazzi were just terrain. Rocks in her path. Their drones were tree branches blowing in the wind.
Her Larry mode logged the terrain features and kept fighting, focused with every fiber of her being.
But deep down somewhere inside, Lynn was screaming in rage and pulling her hair out.
“Wow! Look, RavenStriker is here!”
“Quick, get the drones on her!”
“This is stream gold, we’re gonna get so many followers from this.”
Buzzing around her head, drowning out the all-important TDM sounds. Shapes flashing in the corners of her eyes, making her glance away from her target.
“Miss Lynn, you’re taking thirty percent more damage per second than usual, might I suggest we retreat and—”
“Block out ambient noise, now!”
The buzzing and paparazzi chatter cut off.
“Were you also aware that you are still fully unstealthed, Miss Lynn? That likely accounts for at least twenty percent of the increase in hostile attention.”
Foxtrot, foxtrot, foxtrot.
“Skadi’s Wolves, stealth fully now if you haven’t already!” Lynn yelled, mentally kicking herself for the oversight. Ronnie should have reminded them to fill their globe slots the moment he realized how badly they’d underestimated the TDM numbers.
Skadi’s Wrath hit something solid as she swung it up in an arch to cut down another Namahag. The force wasn’t much, but it was enough to make her electric blue sword bend and completely distract her. In that split second, three Namahags pounced and started pummeling her, and she had to roll blindly to get away.
“Down to fifty percent health, Miss Lynn, and I doubt Edgar is doing any better.”
Lynn kept rolling, pausing just long enough to order Hugo to refill all her slots for health, armor, and globes before gasping out on the team channel.
“Edgar, do you need Oneg?”
“Yes!”
Lynn wasted precious seconds transferring her extra Oneg to Edgar, then dodged further away. She was turned around, had lost track of Edgar and the rest of her team, and was still beset on all sides by TDMs. A quick glance at her overhead reoriented her—and made her Larry curse again.
They were all over the place.
“Ronnie, we need to blink and regroup,” she panted, her focus fractured and not even bothering to use their private channel.
“No! Just—focus—we’ll be—fine,” came his disjointed reply.
“We’re taking too much damage, we’re in a terrible position, this is a waste of ranking!”
It wasn’t pride talking. Their ranking determined their experience bonuses not to mention her ability to keep earning the incredibly valuable pieces of the Skadi armor and weapon set. They were gambling their championship odds on a pointless battle, all because of Ronnie’s ego.
“I’m low on Oneg again!” Edgar shouted. “And I think I hear a Manticar coming!”
“Edgar, blink out now!” Lynn commanded.
“No! Don’t you dare, Edgar—”
There was an ear-splitting roar in Lynn’s left ear and she winced.
“Oh shit—”
Edgar’s blue icon disappeared from the overhead.
“Dan, Mack, blink now!”
“Uh, but Ronnie said—”
“Do it now, Hunters!” Lynn roared, busy herself dodging the long reach of some Penagals that stood between her and where she’d been trying to rescue Edgar. But now he was gone, and she saw the golden-maned head of a Manticar lift in another roar over the sea of TDMs. She could take on one herself, as long as she had the space and time to dodge its tails and whittle it down.
In the current mass of enemies, it would kill her in seconds.
“Ronnie, you too, get out of here!” she yelled, just as the Penagals in front of her parted, drawing back from the Manticar loping toward her. “I’m out,” she yelled, and Hugo blinked her out just as the Manticar pounced.
The abrupt quiet and emptiness around her made her momentarily dizzy, and she locked her knees, trying to orient herself.
“RavenStriker! Over here! That was amazing!”
“Tell us about your battle. What made you exit the game?”
“Can you share your training regime? I have millions of followers dying to know.”
“Will you sign my backpack?”
Voices washed over Lynn and her vision was blocked by a crowd of people all pressing in. Drones buzzed low overhead, filling her ears with that uniquely annoying sound that was as grating as fingernails on chalkboard.
“I—I—” She blinked, tried to back up, ran into someone, and flailed. People were touching her, grabbing her arms. She had her batons, she had to fight back—
“MOVE!”
The bellow came from in front of her, and there above the heads of the crowd, Edgar’s scowling face loomed.
The press of people scattered and within seconds Lynn could breathe again. Edgar came to stand beside her, looming with deadly menace as the last few paparazzi types backed up and the ring of hopeful fans clutching swag eyed him warily.
“Lynn! Lynn! You okay?” Dan’s panting voice came from behind her and then Dan and Mack came shouldering through the crowd.
Lynn scowled and didn’t respond. Her body vibrated with anger and unspent adrenaline even as her stomach twisted in fear. She could still feel the hands grabbing her, pulling her, hungry for pieces of her.
“Listen up you lot!” she called out in her best Larry battle voice. “You’re interfering with the training of a Hunter Strike Team, and every second of this is on live-stream. TD Hunter security is watching you as we speak. Anyone who doesn’t clear out right this second will regret it!”
Her threat echoed across the field, and to her relief, most of the onlookers started backing up. Some hurried away as they glanced nervously up at the many hovering drones. Others went slowly, clearly still riveted by the drama.
As long as they gave her space, she didn’t care.
The swiftly departing crowd finally revealed Ronnie, standing on the outskirts with his arms crossed, virtually ignored by the spectators. He marched toward their team, face as red as Lynn had ever seen it.
“What the—” He devolved into a stream of Lithuanian curses that even Lynn hadn’t heard before. But she could guess what they meant.
“Keep your voice down, Ronnie,” Lynn hissed. Her skin prickled uncomfortably, all too aware of how many people were staring at them.
“You usurped my authority and disobeyed a direct order!” Ronnie yelled, completely ignoring her words and getting right up in her face.
That raised Lynn’s hackles.
“If you hadn’t set us up like some sort of performing circus to bolster your own pathetic ego, none of this would have happened!” she snapped, trying but probably failing to keep her voice down herself. “We should have scouted the area first and been more careful going in, or at least pulled out a lot sooner and came up with a different plan as soon as we saw we were outgunned.”
“I’m the team captain, and I make the plans! If you had followed orders, we would have been fine! But no, you’re an emotional girl who couldn’t keep it together. You got scared and pulled out! You have no idea how to be on a team or to trust your—”
“I what?” Lynn interrupted, completely losing it. “I got scared because I’m a girl?? Do you hear yourself, Ronnie? You’re so incompetent and fragile you can’t even take responsibility for your team—who you are in charge of—much less for your own actions! You’re the one who led us in blind. You’re the one who got so bogged down you forgot to tell us to stealth up. You’re the one who let us get separated and defeated in detail. All I did was salvage our situation so the whole team didn’t suffer ‘cold chill of death’ penalties!”
“I had a plan—”
“It was a stupid plan! And I could have told you that if you’d have taken five minutes to run me through it beforehand! But no, I’m a girl so obviously I know nothing! You’re so freaking stupid, Ronnie, I can’t believe I ever thought you could lead Skadi’s Wolves.”
“This is my team! I’ve been leading these guys for years and you’re just a noob wannabe we let tag along because we needed another player! You’re not even a real gamer!”
Lynn saw red. She actually saw red, like in the cartoons.
“Ronnie, shut up,” Edgar said, “You’re being a dooshnozzle.” He laid a hand on Lynn’s shoulder, as if he could sense that she was seconds away from ripping Ronnie’s head off his shoulders.
“Shut up yourself, Edgar! She’s a liability and I won’t play with someone we can’t trust. I want her off the team!”
A ringing silence followed, broken only by the incessant buzzing overhead.
“Wait a sec, Ronnie, you can’t do that,” Dan said, brow furrowed as he looked back and forth between Lynn and his captain. “She’s our best player. How are we going to find a replacement who can even begin to match her stats and combat experience?”
Ronnie hesitated a fraction of a second, but then crossed his arms. “We’re a Hunter Strike Team. Everybody wants to be us. It’ll be easy to find a fill-in.”
“Maybe we should talk about this somewhere else,” Mack said, looking around at the thinner but obviously riveted crowd. “I know we have some bumps to smooth out as a team, but let’s not make any hasty decisions. We can figure this out.”
“If she won’t follow orders, she’s out,” Ronnie declared, shooting a glare at Dan and Mack instead of meeting Lynn’s furious gaze.
“Hey, chill out, Ronnie,” Dan said. “For real, we should talk about this, and we shouldn’t do that here.”
“No.”
Everybody turned to Lynn. She only barely recognized her own voice as she continued in tones of icy steel.
“This team is a waste of everybody’s time. Ronnie has made it abundantly clear that he’s an incompetent captain, and there’s no way in a thousand lifetimes we’d ever win the championship like this. I’m here to win, not to be constantly ignored, belittled, and insulted. And I won’t stand by and let our team lose to spare Ronnie’s fragile ego. I’m out.”
With that, she turned and walked away.
Tears blurred her vision. Not tears of hurt, but tears of anger and frustration—at wasted dreams and the futility of everything she’d fought so hard for.
Vaguely she heard voices behind her.
“Hey! Edgar! Where are you going?”
“I’m with her. If she’s out, I’m out.”
Ronnie’s protests faded behind her as she walked as fast as she could toward the road, desperately ignoring the stares and whispers of the random strangers who had witnessed their team’s untimely end. Buzzing followed along overhead, but for her own sanity she tried to block it out.
A warm presence caught up to her and began pacing silently alongside. A soothing warmth filled her chest, but she didn’t look over at Edgar. She couldn’t even bring herself to say anything—not yet at least, with a crowd still watching.
But she was grateful. So, so grateful.
They were silent the whole way back to the airbus platform. Lynn didn’t ask where Edgar was going, and Edgar didn’t say, but he didn’t get off on his stop. He stayed beside her all the way to the platform by her apartment complex. He stayed with her up to her building, and through the front doors, leaving their tail of buzzing drones behind. They didn’t say anything in the elevator, and when Lynn finally stopped in front of her door, they just stood there for a moment, silent.
“So, what’s the plan, boss?”
A fleeting smile lifted Lynn’s lips, but then the enormity of the situation crashed down on her.
“I have no idea.”
“Hey, don’t sweat it, Lynn. We’ll figure something out. I believe in you.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. There weren’t any words to describe the warm pressure in her chest, pushing up into her throat. It was a comforting pressure, and she clung to it. But she couldn’t speak past it.
“Get some rest,” Edgar said, filling the silence and giving her an encouraging squeeze on her shoulder. “See you tomorrow at school.”
Lynn forced herself to look up at him and meet his warm eyes as she nodded in thanks. His face crinkled in a good-natured smile, and he gave her a two-fingered salute before turning and ambling down the hall, digging in his pocket for another piece of gum as he went.