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Chapter 8


Though Connor argued against it, the rest of them agreed that they still needed to take Sunday off, at least from group hunting. Maybe Connor’s parents were used to him being gone every night of the week and all weekend doing training for ARS tournaments, but the rest of their collective parents weren’t. Dan’s father actually threatened to lock him in his room if he didn’t spend at least part of Sunday working on school, and they all agreed they needed a day off if they didn’t want to exhaust themselves.

Or flunk out of school.

Lynn slept in—meaning she got up at eight instead of six—and spent the morning doing homework and struggling to stay awake. It wasn’t so much that school was boring, but . . . well, most of it was boring. There were exceptions, like her Global Politics and Religion class, whose teacher was rumored among the students to be so controversial that the principal had threatened to fire him multiple times. As far as Lynn could tell, the most controversial thing he’d ever taught them was “trust, but verify,” which was pretty much what her mom said anyway.

Near lunchtime she gave up and, desperate for some way to wake herself up and blow off some steam, logged into WarMonger.

* * *

Percy Mustela was not happy. His investment firm had lost a big client, and another one was teetering on the edge. He didn’t know that it had anything to do with their rival firm’s winning streak in their unofficial wargaming. But it sure felt like it.

“Bobby, you idiot! Where’s my cover fire?”

“One of Grayson’s mercs took me out again, that prick. I only just respawned. I don’t know if I can get back to your position.”

Percy groaned.

“We’re never going to hear the end of it if we lose again. And I think our senior manager might ban WarMonger completely. Says it’s bad for morale.”

“It’s not our fault! Grayson’s team dug up some crazy Tier Two mercs and they’re crushing us. I can’t even find them half the time. If the team from Investments International hadn’t allied with us, we’d already be toast.”

“Killing enemy mercs is not your job, moron. That’s why we hire our own mercs. Your job is to stay alive!” Percy swore under his breath as streaks of tracer fire missed his head by a breath. He ducked his avatar back behind cover and slammed a health pack. He’d bought the “unlimited first aid” cheat code off some snot-nose teen, so he was popping them like pills. “Just get over here, will you? I’m stuck behind that bombed out hospital. I think they’ve got a sniper up on the cell tower.”

“I’m trying. Ever since Larry Coughlin bought it, none of the other guys we’ve hired seem to live up to their rep, you know?”

“Larry Coughlin didn’t die, you idiot. He probably just had a medical issue come up or something that keeps him from playing. I heard he’s as old as dirt, lives in a wheelchair because of an op gone wrong back when he was a government spook.”

“What? No! Larry was spec ops, everybody knows that. He got out and switched to contract work stateside after he caught some shrapnel over in the sand box. Have you seen his ranking history? He lives and breathes this stuff. He wouldn’t just up and disappear. I’m telling you, he’s gotta be dea—”

Bobbyboy123 has been terminated by NewCenturion.

“Bobby, you idiot!” Percy yelled for what felt like the hundredth time. The guy was their firm’s best account manager, but his enthusiasm for WarMonger far outstripped his meager talent at virtual gaming. He was the one who hired all the mercs, though, so he was sort of a nerd about them. He was as bad as the lame-o’s over in HR with their fantasy football teams.

Percy stayed put behind the crumbling hospital wall, trying to decide what to do while explosions and rat-tat-tat fire sounded around him. Could he ping one of Investment International’s mercs and give them the location of the sniper on the tower?

“Ohmygodohmygod Percy, he’s back. Larry Coughlin! He just pinged me while I was in cooldown, said he’s got some time to kill!”

There was an embarrassing resemblance between Bobby’s high-pitched words and the sound Percy’s girlfriend made whenever her favorite stream celebrity replied to her comments.

“What are you waiting for? Get him in here! Now!”

Seconds later a notification popped on Percy’s display.

Larry Coughlin has joined your team.

The tension in Percy’s chest eased and he felt optimistic for the first time in days. Seconds later, a gravelly voice came over their team channel.

“BenDover69, get off your pimply butt and run for that cell tower.”

Percy’s optimism disappeared as fast as it had come.

“What? No way, that sniper will frag me before I get even close!”

“You hired me to win, not babysit! Move! Or I’ll frag you myself.”

That grating, stone-cold voice sent shivers down Percy’s spine, and his haptic glove-covered fingers fumbled as they gestured to get his avatar up and running.

“Okay, okay! I’m going, Mr. Coughlin, sir. I’m going.”

He didn’t even take time to scan for bogies first. He just dashed into the open, juking back and forth in a vain hope that it would keep him alive a little longer.

A loud, echoing crack rang out over the match arena and Percy almost pissed himself. He expected his avatar to drop, but instead a game notification flashed across his vision.

NewCenturion has been terminated by Larry Coughlin.

“Yessss!” Percy said, punching the air and making his avatar do a flailing roll straight into the burned-out husk of an ambulance.

“Stop dancing like a cheap hooker and get under cover!”

Percy swore and followed orders, even as he did an internal dance of glee. Take that, Grayson.

The match didn’t last long after that. Larry Coughlin rallied the Tier Three mercs Bobby had originally hired to fight for them and they joined up with the mercs from Investments International to sweep the board of the other team. The mercs fought in eerie silence, moving as one as if they shared a hive mind—though probably Larry had just made a private channel to coordinate or something. There were a few more-clever holdouts on Grayson’s team, but Larry seemed to know exactly where they would be and took them out like an all-seeing god of WarMonger. Percy laid low and stayed alive, only emerging at the end to meet at the rally point so his avatar could do a victory dance and rub it in Grayson’s face.

He saw some of Investments International’s mercs at the rally point too, and those sneaky bastards were just standing there, motionless, as if they were going out of their way to keep their avatars from showing any body language or facial expressions via their haptic controllers. They were probably talking in their own private chat, too, like they were too good to mingle with “normal” players.

He made ten times more in the financial industry than any of those creeps could ever dream of, but they thought he was the pathetic loser?

He would show—

“Nice doing business with you, BenDover69.”

Percy—and his avatar—jumped and he almost squealed like a pig at the ghostly bass voice that caressed his ears. He spun his view and there was the bastard in his legendary Alice the Strange armor.

Now you get to dance,” Larry said. “Don’t count your money when yer sittin’ at the table, don’t do a victory dance ’til you’re takin’ a tally of your slain.”

“R-right. Yeah. Thanks, Mr. Coughlin. Bobby’ll take care of your payment.”

“Already did. He’s a decent kid. Good head on his shoulders. You, on the other hand . . . You’re the reason we’re called snake eaters, we usually kill and eat something like you. ’Cause they’re a dime a dozen, there’s no season, and they taste like chicken.”

Percy was too busy trying to moisten his suddenly dry throat to come up with a retort—which was probably for the best. But he did make a mental note to have Bobby throw something extra nice to the merc to keep his firm on Larry’s good side. Last thing he needed was Grayson offering the guy a better price on their next game.

Larry Coughlin’s avatar ambled over to the group of other mercs, and one broke off and approached him as if they were having a conversation. Percy shook his head and turned away, putting them from his mind. He had a victory dance to do and he never passed up an opportunity to gloat.

* * *

“Hey, kid, fancy meeting you here.”

“Hey Steve,” Lynn said in Larry’s gravelly voice, then remembered to switch off her voice modulator. “Figured you’d be sleeping in on a Sunday. Don’t they work you hard enough over at TD Hunter?”

“Ha! Yeah, but between sleep and shooting things, shooting things keeps me more sane.”

Lynn grinned. Steve was her kinda guy.

“What about you, kid? I thought you were too busy to play with us mere mortals anymore.”

“Oh, I needed a quick pick-me-up. I was falling asleep over the massive pile of homework I gotta finish today.”

Steve made a sympathetic noise, but there was humor in his tone when he spoke again.

“The fact that you consider it a pick-me-up to hop into a multiteam battle between a bunch of skill-less Wall Street suits is one reason why you and I get along. Don’t think I didn’t see you baiting that poor bastard, what’s his name, BenDover69?”

Lynn giggled, unable to hold it back when Steve said the idiot’s handle out loud.

“Did you see how high he jumped when I came up behind him?”

“Yup. Wouldn’t be surprised if the guy pissed his pants in the real.”

“I hope he didn’t soil his precious suit.”

“Come on, kid. That guy isn’t in a suit on Sunday morning. He’s probably playing in his underwear in some giant New York penthouse apartment.”

“Ew. I did not need that mental image.”

Steve’s barking laugh made Lynn grin again. It was so nice to be herself around someone who understood both sides, Lynn and Larry. She vaguely wondered what it would be like to play WarMonger with Edgar, but Steve’s voice distracted her from the thought.

“Hey, I’m glad we bumped into each other. I had an idea about something you said the other day when we were talking—about you not having time to play WarMonger much anymore.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You were worried Larry was losing his hard-earned rep, and you had a point. Plus, if he disappears entirely just when you’re skyrocketing to stardom in TD Hunter, some people might put two and two together.”

Lynn hadn’t considered that second part, but it made sense.

“So I was thinking: What if you give me and some of my boys over here at TD Hunter permission to play Larry for you?”

“Uhhh, what?”

“I’ve already cleared it with Mr. Krator, and it’s not like we don’t have access to your account.”

Lynn’s immediate gut reaction was hell no. Larry was hers. She’d built him from the ground up, put her blood, sweat, and tears into him. Larry wasn’t just hers, he was her. Sort of. In a weird way.

“Look, kiddo, I know what you’re thinking. But you don’t have to worry. I know how much Larry means to you, and we over at Tsunami Entertainment respect the, er, heck out of what you’ve done with him. I promise I won’t let anyone within spitting distance of him who I don’t personally vet and deem worthy of taking on the mantle of the notorious Larry the Snake. You have my word.”

“I . . . well . . . maybe?” she finally said. It wasn’t a bad idea, but she felt too emotionally conflicted about the idea to give a straight answer.

“I’ve got it all worked out,” Steve assured her, and Lynn couldn’t help but grin at the enthusiasm in his voice. “You’d be surprised how many of the top-tier mercenaries you’ve already worked with are employees, or at least contractors, here at Tsunami. I know a lot of ’em personally. It’s a smaller industry than you’d imagine. Anyway, I’ll hand pick a few and swear them to secrecy. I won’t even tell them Larry is you, just that Larry’s handler is OCONUS for a while and asked for some help keeping the account fresh. Make sure nobody gets cocky and thinks ol’ Larry has finally kicked the bucket. We won’t do anything crazy. I know you’ve got some regulars you usually merc for who’ve taken a pounding in the ranks without you there. I’m sure they’d love to see Larry back. We’ll just aim to have him pop up once a week or so, frighten all the newbies, put in his time, and disappear again. It’ll keep your name fresh, plus provide the proof you need that Lynn Raven isn’t Larry Coughlin, in case anyone starts throwing around theories on the streams or forums. Sound good?”

Lynn had been on the fence, but the more Steve talked, the more comfortable she felt and the wider her grin spread.

“You can’t wait to swagger around as Larry Coughlin, can you?” she accused him, still smiling. “You sound like a pimply teen about to get his hands on a sweet hotrod.”

Steve laughed heartily. “You’ve caught me. I guess there’s no point denying it. I enjoy playing FallujahSevenNiner, but I’ve just never had enough time to establish a rep like you have. Comes from being a boring adult with responsibilities. You kids spend insane amounts of time in virtual, you know that?”

“Hey, gotta enjoy it while I’m young, right?”

“Ain’t that the truth. So what do you say, kid? Will you let me help you out?”

“You mean, will I magnanimously allow you to put your pimply teenage butt in the seat of my hotrod?”

“Hey now, I remember a time or two when Fallu put Larry in his place, you can’t deny that.”

Now it was Lynn’s turn to laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But really, if you or anyone else screw up my rep and rankings, I will personally see to it that you are blackballed from WarMonger. Permanently,” she finished in her best gravelly impression of Larry.

“Says the actual pimply teen to the Tsunami employee who has Robert Krator’s ear.”

“I don’t get pimples, thank you very much. And I’m also one of Mr. Krator’s star TD Hunter players, so he has every reason to keep me happy. Plus, I’m prettier than you. So suck it.”

“Jeez Louise, kid, you ain’t Larry Coughlin for nothing, are you?”

“You can bet your britches I’m not. So watch yourself and your buddies like a hawk. If Larry dips below Tier One, even for a second, there’s nowhere you can hide in virtual where I won’t find you.”

“I thought you were too busy winning TD Hunter tournaments to beat people to a pulp in WarMonger?”

“Oh, I don’t need to do it personally. I know people.”

“Riiight. Of course. You’ve got me quaking in my boots, kid. But seriously, we’ll take good care of Larry. I promise.”

“You’d better,” Lynn said, switching her voice modulator back on so Steve could have the full effect of Larry the Snake in threatening mode. “I think we’d better do a deathmatch just to make sure you’re up to snuff. Whippersnappers like you always talk big, but you don’t really know a man until you’ve tried to kill him. Besides, I’m pissed at the paparazzi but can’t beat their faces into the ground, so your face will have to do.”

Steve laughed.

“Whippersnapper huh? You’re on, kid. You’re on.”

* * *

Lynn’s mini break in WarMonger left her with a spring in her step and a lighter load on her shoulders than she’d had in a while. Which was good, because she needed all the positivity she could get to face the second conversation she was forced to have that day.

“Do I really have to do this?” Lynn whined, knowing she sounded pathetic.

“Yes!” her mother said. “You can’t back out last minute after Mr. Swain was so gracious as to give up his time on a Sunday to talk with us.”

“But it’s so embarrassing!” Lynn slid down further on the couch, as if she could somehow sink into its cushions and disappear. They were sitting in their living room together, and Lynn had linked in their wall-screen opposite the couch so it would display their upcoming vidcall and its sensors would broadcast their images in turn.

“Why in the world do you think it’s embarrassing? I think it’s exciting. Imagine, my daughter? Famous? You’ll be wearing sponsorships in no time and everybody will know who you are.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Lynn muttered, arm flung over her face.

“Come on, honey,” Matilda said softly, laying a hand on Lynn’s shoulder. “I know being in the spotlight has never been comfortable for you. Your father was the same way. But just like him, I know you have the courage to face the unpleasant necessities and turn them to your advantage. You have every right to be proud of your accomplishments, and nothing to be embarrassed about. Do you hear me? Now sit up straight and act professional. You’re still my daughter and I raised you to be polite.”

Lynn groaned, but said, “Yes ma’am,” and did as she was told.

Soon their meeting time arrived and the wall-screen lit up with GIC’s logo. When the logo disappeared it revealed a man in a crisp suit sitting at a large desk in a tastefully decorated office. He looked about in his fifties with warm brown eyes and a touch of gray in the dark hair at his temples. With his apple cheeks and the shape of his handsome face, he could have easily been Kayla’s biological father if Lynn hadn’t known better.

“Good evening, Mrs. Raven, Lynn,” Jamal Swain said, nodding to them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I’m glad you reached out. Kayla has been talking my ear off about you, Lynn, and your team.”

“She has?” Lynn said, swallowing nervously.

Mr. Swain smiled.

“Don’t worry, all good things. I’m sure you both have lots of questions, though, so let me give you the elevator pitch, if I may,” Mr. Swain said, nodding again.

“Of course, sir,” Lynn replied, formally, as her mother also murmured her assent.

“Global Imaging Consultants is exactly what its name implies,” Jamal said calmly. “We manage images for personalities around the world as well as dealing with the myriad fractured laws regarding such images. Since before the internet, there have been issues regarding the balance of the public’s need or at least desire to know about the lives of public persons, celebrities, politicians, and so on, and the fact that they are people who have lives and wish to live them.

“GIC is in the business of balancing that for our clients by creating a public image, using information processes to maximize the value of the image potential, personal value, and financial value, while still helping them live their lives. Some wish to constantly be in the public view. I have one client who literally has a camera in her bedroom. Even I find it creepy, but she likes to have people watch while she sleeps.”

“That is creepy,” Lynn blurted. “She likes that?”

“She is narcissistic to the point of severe addiction,” Mr. Swain said with a shrug. “But she has an interesting secondary point that if someone breaks into her home, there are several thousand people, minimum, just watching her sleep, and the other cameras in her house, that will contact the police.”

“That’s . . . a point,” Lynn admitted, glancing at her mother. Matilda had an incredulous look on her face, but she kept her opinion of crazy celebrities and their insane ways to herself.

“Then there are those that when a certain door closes, they prefer to have their own lives,” Mr. Swain said. “From the sounds of it, you’re that type.”

“Yes. Absolutely. I’d really prefer if nobody even knew who I was,” Lynn said. “I’m not a fan of being noticed.”

“Well, you’ve breached that barrier and that is a permanent thing,” Mr. Swain said. “Mind if I discuss that for a moment? It could be helpful in making your decision on what you want to do moving forward.”

“Not at all, sir,” Lynn said.

“Good. Let me start with the question: Do you have any religious objection to evolution?”

“Uhhh . . . no?” Lynn glanced at her mom, who gave her an unhelpful “don’t ask me” look.

“Good. Then always keep in mind that the gene is selfish, and we are barely evolved monkeys,” Mr. Swain said, grinning. “And we act like them. Especially when it comes to fame and attention.”

“How?” Lynn asked.

“Monkeys and early humans existed in small bands, troops. Within those bands, what was critically important for survival, for reproduction, was the Alpha or Alphas of the troop. Keeping an eye on the Alpha, mimicking the Alpha, trying to become the Alpha, was what promoted the survival of the individual. With me so far?”

“Yes,” Lynn said slowly.

“And, again, we are barely evolved. So when people lock onto a celebrity, what they are locking onto is ‘this is the troop Alpha.’ Some girl halfway across the world, for example, will view some video of you and want to be just like Lynn Raven. They’ll want to copy your dress, your hairstyle, talk like you, et cetera.

“Since the mindset is of a small troop of monkeys where everyone knows everyone else, there will be people who will instantly assume that you are friends, because you are the Alpha of the monkey troop. Complete strangers will walk up to you and carry on a conversation about who you should or should not date, what you should or should not wear, how you should or should not act. Because they are part of your monkey troop, at least in their minds.”

“Ugh,” Lynn said.

“Once you breach the barrier, it’s a permanent thing,” Jamal said, shrugging. “There could be people you run into when you are in your sixties who still remember Lynn Raven.”

“That’s nuts,” Lynn said, grimacing. She looked at her mom again, but Matilda was staring at Mr. Swain with a grave expression and pursed lips.

“Then there is the fact that the Alpha always gets picked on. It’s a test to see if they’re still worthy to be the Alpha. So, people will denigrate you, cut you down. Cyberbullying. Fortunately, with some of the laws out there, the extremes of such things are illegal.”

“Faketime porn,” Lynn said with a shudder.

“What? What is that?” Matilda asked, eyes flashing like someone had just personally threatened her child.

Lynn shook her head.

“Believe me, Mom, you don’t want to know.”

“But it is a reality of the mesh web that we must keep in mind. That as well as aggressive stalking,” Mr. Swain continued. “I understand you had a drone come into your home?”

“Through the delivery chute,” Lynn said unhappily.

“Which is remote trespass and home invasion which can be charged,” Mr. Swain said. “If you’re our client, report it to us and we’ll see about tracking down the perpetrator, wherever on earth, and trying to get them charged. Which we often do.”

“Mom already tried that. The police didn’t care,” Lynn said.

“When you become a celebrity of even the most minor sort, you create ‘your’ troop of monkeys,” Mr. Swain said, shrugging again. “That troop has a value. Financial, yes, but also in terms of influence. Your home invader might be in Challah, India. But if the Challah police are contacted and fail to take action, one response, fairly automatic, literally handled by an AI, is to contact their PR people and let them know that it was home invasion of an influencer, an Alpha. When the Challah police arrest the malefactor, Lynn Raven says nice things about them and people say nice things about the Challah police and the Challah police increase their points. He or she might only briefly see the inside of a jail cell, but they do. And that reduces the number of people willing to invade your home to find out what you wear when you’re eating pizza.”

“Sweatpants and a t-shirt,” Lynn said. “But keeping up with all of that . . . ” She thought about her schedule and grimaced.

“Who said you keep up with it?” Mr. Swain said, chuckling. “We do that. That’s what we’re for. And the cease-and-desist orders to all the people swarming you with drones for financial gain. Legal AIs covering statutory laws and precedents in the various jurisdictions and ensuring that people aren’t breaking them with your image. We have teams of people, including lawyers and AIs, who do nothing but that all day long. Teams who review copy from AI-generated text, thanking the police as if it were you; responding to comments, keeping very close to the character of Lynn Raven; people and AIs who scour for mentions or videos, looking for anything that’s off or wrong. Yes, anything that breaks image but also fakes and frauds, lies and calumny.”

“So . . . what pays for all of that?” Lynn asked.

“That would be the news streams that want to know whose shirts you wear,’” Mr. Swain said, sitting back and steepling his fingers. “Though it’s really the monkey troop who wants to know whose shirts you wear. The news streams are just doing advertising. You said sweatpants and a t-shirt. What brand? No particular brand? I have some suggestions for brands who will send us money if you just say you wear them, no need to go out in them and demonstrate. You use high-performance gear while you’re hunting, yes? Whose might I ask?”

“Uh, mostly NanoTechLabs,” Lynn said.

“Not a brand we work with, but we can either try to get them onboard or, if you’re willing, find one we already have contacts with,” Jamal continued. “Those are the sort of minor and noncompulsory actions on your part that are important. If you’re promoting Brand X, make sure that Brand X is what you want to eat, drink, wear, use. Because if you’re videoed eating, drinking, wearing Brand Y instead of Brand X, it’s a headache.

“Flip side is, at a certain level of points, depending on certain factors you may or may not yet be at, you can generally get whatever it is for free. If you drink a particular sports drink, the brand will likely be willing to provide the product for free if they see you as a valuable influencer.”

“That would be nice, honey,” Matilda said, smiling broadly. “And it’d be a good chance to expand your wardrobe.”

Mom,” Lynn said through gritted teeth, trying not to be grumpy at the thought of miserable chores like shopping and trying on clothes.

Mr. Swain chuckled.

“So, you get free stuff and get paid to promote it. We get fifteen percent and we’ll be pushing for every brand we can find to enhance your income and ours.”

“What if I prefer to get my clothes at thrift stores?” Lynn said, crossing her arms.

“That’s workable,” Swain replied. “There are some great thrift-store brands we could work with. You could even promote a charity, probably without an income stream but goodwill, as a term of art, is a multiplier. Doing interviews is part of the job; talk about it. That promotes the charity and builds goodwill.”

“Okay,” Lynn said, dubiously.

“You want the drones to mostly go away?” Swain asked.

“Yes, please.”

“We can get them to mostly go away. Mostly. There are a few caveats you need to know that are important and there’s a much longer briefing you will have with your PR manager if you decide to sign with us about some of the dos and don’ts but these are the most important.”

“Okay,” Lynn said.

“I am literally in the job of vanity,” Mr. Swain said. “But even I recognize that vanity is incredibly destructive. I’ll reference again one of my clients who has people watch her while she sleeps. She obsesses constantly about her looks, her weight, and she’s gone through rounds and rounds of plastic surgery. It’s her life, I just craft it. But I do worry because it is extremely unhealthy, and I worry about my clients. With me?”

“Yes, sir,” Lynn said. “But I don’t think that will be a problem with me. I just want to vanish.”

“Won’t happen, I’m afraid,” Mr. Swain said. “Even if you dropped everything, now, and tried to disappear, decades down the road there will still be people who will wonder about Lynn Raven. But what I would also counsel you on is that fame is an addictive and subtle drug. You might want to vanish, now, but that can change in strange ways. Try to keep that humble attitude, it will anchor you to reality and the values that are important to you. Among other things, it’s a fantastic public image. In ancient past, triumphant Roman generals riding their chariot through adoring worshippers would have a slave sit out of sight and repeat over and over ‘Remember that you, too, are mortal.’ Keep that in mind at all times as you enter the world of the monkey troop Alpha. Yes?”

“Got it,” Lynn said, sitting up straighter.

“The second is a tricky and evolving legal issue,” Mr. Swain said with a sigh. “The 2032 Federal Image Control Act seemed simple on initial passage. If a person has, intentionally or unintentionally, become a public figure they are subject to certain privacy rights when the invasion of privacy is for commercial purposes as well as laws against things like fake porn videos. The push for paparazzi laws, as they’re called, go back decades, at least to a princess of England who was killed in a car crash, and they really picked up steam with those fraudulent sex vids of the president’s daughter.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lynn said, grimacing. “Those were sick.”

“Wait a second.” Matilda turned to Lynn. “How do you know about those vids? That was over a decade ago.”

Lynn rolled her eyes.

“Come on, Mom. Nothing in the mesh ever goes away. Besides, it was national news. I might have been young but I wasn’t blind. Kids can get anything—and I mean anything—in the mesh if they go looking. They just need to know the right person to ask. All that age restriction stuff is about as effective as wet toilet paper.”

Her mother’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but then she glanced at the flex screen and obviously decided now wasn’t the time. “Apologies. Please continue, Mr. Swain.”

“Yes, well, after that there was a lawsuit that created the politicking carve-out,” Mr. Swain continued, politely not commenting on the interplay. “A senator who was a strong environmentalist was caught tossing a piece of trash by a paparazzi drone in a wilderness area. The senator argued the footage should be suppressed—increasing the viewership by the way—since he had a reasonable right to privacy and it was his image. But the owner argued that it was politically consequential free speech and that it was protected by the First Amendment.”

“I think I remember that from class,” Lynn said, frowning.

“The Supreme Court ruling was that anyone who engages in political speech is not entirely fair game but generally fair game,” Swain said. “So, every politician has to live in a fishbowl. Sucks and it probably causes some people to not run for office but it’s a reasonable legal argument. If a congressman runs as a vegan and gets caught eating steak, it shows they’re a hypocrite which is something people should know.

“Since then, two other suits have extended that to any public figure who engages in ‘politicking.’ So, if an Alpha of whatever troop wears a t-shirt emblazoned with a political slogan of any sort, they are now in the ‘politicking’ realm and their privacy protections are essentially nil. Because political speech. Let’s say an influencer who was always wearing t-shirts that read ‘Meat is murder’ got caught by a drone eating a steak. The ‘Meat is murder’ shirt is considered political so, again, hypocrisy which influences the political response of the Alpha’s monkey troop. Engage in political speech and you’re less protected. Make sense?”

“Yes, sir,” Lynn said.

“If you decide to work with us, our first job is tracking who is sending the paparazzi drones and sending cease-and-desist letters,” Mr. Swain said. “The process is pretty automatic, generated by a legal AI. And they’ll be responded to by the paparazzi’s legal AI as ‘politically protected.’ Have you made any political statements since the event? Not before you were noticeable but since?”

“Well, no,” Lynn said, “but that’s because I don’t make statements, period. What about casual conversation with my friends while we’re walking down the street? Am I allowed to have an opinion about political events and issues?”

“Of course you are, but that is an important and, unfortunately, difficult point you make. Once you’re an Alpha of a troop, everything you say in a public space is considered a ‘statement,’ whether you mean it to be or not. Most of the time casual conversation for a celebrity whose sphere of influence has nothing to do with politics isn’t an issue. That is, until a streamer or paparazzi decides they can make money by posting a vid of you discussing a controversial topic. And what qualifies as a ‘controversial’ topic changes with the times and the culture.”

“Good grief,” Lynn said. “Guess it’s a good thing I don’t talk much.”

“Yes, that could certainly be seen as a virtue when it comes to being a public figure. For now we’ll operate on the assumption that you’re not in the ‘politicking’ realm. So, in the case of the drone operators claiming political speech protection, we would respond with an automatic ‘prove it’ and when they can’t, they’ll withdraw the drone. But if you do engage in political speech, it gets harder.”

“Okay,” Lynn said, shrugging. “Shouldn’t be a problem though because I’m not that into politics.”

“Good,” Mr. Swain said with a sigh. “Stay away from it. It’s evolving. The current argument making its way through the courts, because of the ‘Meat is murder’ case, is that it suppresses political speech. Which is true. What I just said to you is an example. We’ll see how it shakes out. But if the politicking exemption goes away, then it’s all ‘protected speech’ and essentially most of the Act goes out the window and we’re back to square one.”

“Ugh,” Lynn said, shaking her head.

“We’re a party in one of the suits,” Mr. Swain said. “We’re arguing for the current precedent. There used to be a rule in PR, a long time back, ‘stay away from politics.’ I strongly encourage my clients to follow that rule and I’ve gone so far as to drop some that just got to be too much trouble because of their politicking. If you pick side A or side B all you’ll do is drive off the other side and reduce your marketability. Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Lynn said, and nodded.

Mr. Swain’s lips twitched and he shook his head.

“You know, that reminds me, the strangest argument I’ve heard in the area is that ‘all actions and speech are political.’”

“What?” Lynn asked.

“You’ve said ‘sir’ multiple times since we started talking, did you notice?” Mr. Swain asked.

“Uhhh, I guess?” Lynn said, then, “Sir.”

“That’s something that is . . . unusual for most in the entertainment industry,” Swain noted. “Take my client who sleeps while being watched. She sleeps in the nude I’ll add.”

“Agh!” Lynn said, grimacing. “Didn’t need to know that.”

“Clearly not a philosophical conservative,” Swain pointed out. “While she stays away from direct politicking, thank God, she’s very liberal. ‘Sir’ and ‘Ma’am’ tend to indicate that while you are not necessarily conservative, some of your personal philosophies may be. She’s never called me sir, just ‘Jamal’ or ‘Jammi.’ Please don’t call me Jammi, by the way. I hate it.”

“I never would, sir,” Lynn said.

“You also are self-effacing and give others credit. That’s been argued to be ‘conservative political speech,’ believe it or not.”

“O . . . kay,” Lynn said. She did not consider herself a conservative. “I’m just . . . polite.”

“Some on the political left reject politeness as an outdated social construct,” Mr. Swain said. “So, your use of ‘outdated social constructs’ like politeness, humility, being self-effacing, giving credit to others, can be viewed as taking a political stance in favor of conservative philosophies and thus politics and thus everything you are, every action you take, what you wear, how you speak, is political. I’ve seen the argument. It’s been upheld on merit grounds in a case. We’ll see where it goes.

“Getting away from that, there’s the ‘incidental’ rulings,” Mr. Swain continued. “Say you go to a concert with friends and someone who is filming the concert catches you on camera. All well and good. People can comment on it ‘Hey, there’s Lynn Raven!’ But if the streamer promotes that it’s Lynn Raven in the video, if the video ‘concentrates’ on the figure, then they owe commercial fees and/or can be ordered to take down or cut out that portion of the video.

“We’re . . . gentle on that with minor streamers. Minor streamers don’t make much money and we don’t ask for much. And we’ll even help out, depending. Though what we actually send is in more formal language, our message more or less says, ‘Hey, we represent Lynn Raven. Know you were just covering the concert, but you focused on her dancing for x minutes and you promoted it with her name and likeness. Know you don’t make much money, but you owe some to Lynn, see fee structure. If you agree on that, we’ll have Lynn promote the video which will get you more hits and if you don’t then you have to cut her out and take down the promotion.’ Sound about right?”

“I . . . guess,” Lynn said. “I don’t want to be plastered everywhere but, yeah, if some streamer happens to . . .  Would some streamer actually use me to promote their stream? I mean, covering a concert or something?”

Mr. Swain chuckled, and his eyes unfocused for a moment as he manipulated his LINC display. Their view of Mr. Swain’s office cut to a stream vid of Lynn and the guys walking into Happy Joe’s Pizza Emporium, the vid obviously taken from a drone hovering nearby. One corner of the stream vid was a cutout view of the streamer’s face as he commented on the action.

“So, turns out Lynn Raven’s totally into Happy Joe’s. Just more proof that she has good taste!”

The streamer looked to be in his early twenties, with lanky hair and a pimply face.

Lynn’s mouth set in an uncertain line as the drone footage zoomed in, obviously trying to get a shot of her through the restaurant’s windows.

Why did anyone care what pizza she liked?

Their screen view switched back to Mr. Swain’s office, and he gestured with a hand.

“SevenFourNine is, despite his looks, a known Augmented Reality Game streamer with sixty-two million followers,” Mr. Swain said, “And he is heavy on TD Hunter. He covered the beta with support from the company. My people did a bit of research when we were building a proposal to present to you, and they checked with Happy Joe’s. The restaurant saw a twenty percent jump in sales after this streamer’s mention.”

Lynn’s eyebrows shot up, and she glanced at her mom, who looked equally shocked.

“In addition,” Mr. Swain added, “since he’s someone we correspond with, we were able to reach out and he said he saw a jump in his own view numbers when he started covering Skadi’s Wolves, and especially you, Lynn, after the qualifiers. You’re popular. And, since no good deed goes unpunished, now he’s one of your loyal stalkers. He’s actually one we probably won’t cease-and-desist unless you insist, since he’s one that’s generally sane in comparison. If we cease-and-desist all of them, it won’t work. There has to be some source of coverage, or people will just stalk. The monkey troop must be fed. Fed pizza apparently.”

Lynn resisted the urge to slouch down into the couch and throw an arm over her face again. Her fateful choice last June to compete in TD Hunter had taken away her anonymity, and she wished she could have it back.

But that was not how the world worked.

“Most of the drones will go away,” Mr. Swain assured her, perhaps guessing her thoughts from her expression. “Not all. But, yes, people are already using your likeness to promote their streams and there is secondary promotion, too, Happy Joe’s as an example. But look on the positive side: you helped out your favorite pizza place on a slow night.”

“Is eating taco pizza a political statement?” Lynn asked.

“To some of the people making these psycho legal arguments, probably,” Mr. Swain. “I could go on for hours on the topic, but let’s refocus on the matter at hand: you’ve found yourself in need of someone to intercede, shall we say, between you and the world. I’ve clarified your position and gone over some of what you could expect from GIC. We’d be honored to represent you, but I’m sure you have many more questions. I’ll have my secretary send an information packet to your LINCs and—”

“Can we start today?”

Lynn’s question seemed to catch Mr. Swain off guard, and Matilda shot her a questioning look, too.

“I’m sorry, Lynn, do you mean can I answer more questions today?”

“No. Can I sign up? Right now? Can you make the drones go away today?”

“Honey, don’t you want to take some time—”

Lynn shook her head and sat up straighter. She’d been thinking hard while Mr. Swain talked. It had become more and more clear that she was in over her head. Actually, at this point she felt like she was chained to an anchor at the bottom of the sea. She wanted—needed—what GIC had to offer. And if doing some streams and promoting some products was what it took, then so be it.

“You’ve told me everything I need to know, sir.”

“Right, well, I’d be glad to connect you with a few of our previous clients if you’d like some references before you sign.” He seemed to be looking more at Matilda than Lynn as he said it, but Lynn still shook her head.

“Thank you, sir, but that won’t be necessary. You’re obviously very competent and knowledgeable, and you’re generous with your time when you could have sloughed me off on one of your employees. And you treat Kayla well. It’s obvious she loves you. That’s a good enough reference for me,” she finished with a shrug and looked at her mom. Matilda seemed more hesitant, but after a searching look in Lynn’s eyes, she nodded.

Mr. Swain chuckled.

“Well, then, I guess that settles it. Welcome to GIC, Lynn.”

* * *

It took time to go over all the legal particulars. But true to Mr. Swain’s word, he had her own personal stream set up, complete with shared admin, within hours—the first step to cracking down on the drones. He handed off the day-to-day management of the account to their head PR manager, Mrs. Pearson, but he promised to check on the status of things personally for the first couple weeks to make sure everything got off to a good start.

Mrs. Pearson was as no-nonsense and straightforward as anyone Lynn had ever met. She called Lynn that very evening, and by the end of their conversation, Lynn was convinced that nothing on earth would ever dare get in Mrs. Pearson’s way, at least if it valued its life. The woman promised to get on the ball immediately, and told Lynn to expect several interviews that week, with more to come. Lynn shuddered at the thought, but she’d committed to this, so there was no backing out now. Plus, Mr. Swain’s promise that GIC’s efforts would substantially diminish the drone presence fairly quickly gave her the motivation to grit her teeth and tell herself it would be worth it.

Monday morning, Lynn didn’t notice much difference in the size of the “flock” that followed her to school.

Tuesday morning, she was pretty sure it was smaller.

By Wednesday, the first day she was scheduled to have an interview, it was starkly obvious there were fewer drones.

And, of course, her teammates noticed it as well. She didn’t even have to tell them, since they’d all been sent contract offers from GIC as well. Mack and Dan signed theirs immediately, and talked about it incessantly any time they weren’t actively in class or hunting. Edgar took more convincing, but in the end he seemed to resign himself to his fate. Connor didn’t say a word about his offer, but Lynn could only assume he’d accepted his as well, since Mrs. Pearson had sent her a few messages about doing a team interview the next week and setting up a Skadi’s Wolves stream channel, which meant GIC must have gotten the contracts for all five of them.

Lynn had been worried about the hassle of collecting content for their collective streams, especially considering how Elena pranced around the school doing constant livestreams and being obsessed with perfection every moment of the day. But it turned out to be a lot simpler and stress free than she’d expected. Mrs. Pearson simply had her authorize GIC’s proprietary app on her LINC which enabled Lynn to share what she saw through her LINC or AR input any time she wanted. She could share live, with or without sound, or record for later sharing, so she could record clips of their fights to send to Mrs. Pearson for editing, touch-ups, and ad insertion. All Mrs. Pearson required was at least one clip a day of something, anything, and at least one sizable clip a week of hunting TDMs with plenty of action in it.

That, Lynn could do.

Her first interview was . . . not as bad as being strapped to a chair and having her teeth pulled out one by one, which was what she’d expected going in. Parts of it were even a little fun. She’d been leaving her TD Hunter app on almost all the time, mostly because it made hopping in and out of it easier, but also because Hugo’s sarcastic quips and observations were quickly becoming a form of moral support Lynn had never known she needed. The interviewer for Lynn’s first appearance was mostly interested in hot takes and juicy behind-the-scenes information, though at least he didn’t ask any creepy personal questions. Lynn didn’t have much in the way of “juicy” details, but she did share about her training routine and what it was like being a normal teen while competing in a game that had become a global phenomenon.

Her second interview at the end of the week was pure awesomeness. The interviewer was a famous female gamer that Lynn had followed for years. They spent over an hour talking about what it was like being a “gamer girl” in an arena still dominated by male players and sensibilities. Lynn didn’t name any names—she had some honor, after all—but she was pretty sure that if Ronnie ever watched the interview, he would want to punch her face through a wall.

The next few weeks were an exhausting blur of high highs and low lows.

They sped through Levels 27 and 28 and picked up some awesome augments.

Lynn got an F on one of her English assignments and had a very difficult conversation with her mom about it.

Mack’s individual ranking on the leaderboard surpassed Dan’s for the first time—only for a day, but still, Lynn was certain Mack would never stop crowing about it.

Their team got completely wiped out by a hoard of Rakshar, a new Bravo Class-4 monster that was an upgrade of the Namahags. That led to a stern talking to from Connor, which didn’t quite reach a Ronnie level of berating, but edged uncomfortably close. It also set Lynn back in her kill-to-damage ratio after she’d only just begun to claw her way a few percentage points above DeathShot13.

The drones following them around dwindled to almost nothing.

Connor kissed her again—she wasn’t sure if that was a high or a low, or maybe just a confused middle. He overheard her admit her abysmal English grade to Edgar, who was having similar woes, and later offered to tutor her since English was his “strong suit.” Her mom agreed to it as long as they met in a public place, and his tutoring skills turned out to be surprisingly good. He made sense of some things she’d been struggling to wrap her head around and she did a lot better on her next essay. She relaxed more around him, though she still wasn’t sure how to react when he did things like compliment her or hold her hand. He didn’t seem to need or expect any kind of reaction, and even her awkwardness appeared to amuse him.

It was all very confusing, but his behavior was miles above the bullying, insults, and abuse she’d received from virtually every other guy throughout her school years. So, she decided to ignore her misgivings and give him a chance.

What did she know about dating anyway? Maybe everything he did was perfectly normal, even the way he would touch her unexpectedly, brushing her arm or laying a hand on her back, as if he were acclimating her to his presence. That was normal, right? And it wasn’t as if she disliked it. It was just . . . weird. But then she’d spent years flinching from every touch, expecting it to be a cruel pinch or an inappropriate grab. So maybe the weirdness was all in her head. She did notice that he never touched her in front of their teammates—when they were hunting, he was all coolness and professionalism. But he didn’t seem afraid to compliment her or show affection in public, so he certainly wasn’t trying to hide what he was doing.

The whole thing gave her so many conflicting emotions that she opted to simply let it happen, at least for now. After years of being torn down by everyone, she couldn’t summon the willpower to tell the one person building her up to stop—no matter how weird it felt. Well, the one person besides her mom, who didn’t count, and Edgar, who usually turned his compliments into a joke. Besides, Edgar had gotten weirdly quiet and broody lately, and Lynn couldn’t figure out why.

By the first week of November, the weather had turned decidedly chilly, and it was fortunate Lynn had signed on with GIC when she had, because they all needed new sets of cold-weather high-performance gear. The sponsorships pouring in were enough to cover the new equipment, which was not cheap. Sometimes Lynn felt like a walking billboard, but at least she had the freedom to refuse any sponsorships that required her to say something on camera or talk about a specific product. She had enough offers that she got by just fine with those she wore as logos on her uniform and displayed as ads or sponsors on her stream—well, that Mrs. Pearson and her team displayed. The cut GIC was taking of her sponsorships was a pittance compared to Lynn’s gratitude at not having to mess with all the hassle herself. And for her uniform, all she had to do was add the programming patch the sponsoring companies messaged her and the smart fabric did the rest itself.

Beyond necessitating a wardrobe change, the cold weather had the benefit of cutting down on the number of random strangers who asked for her autograph and the number of TD Hunter fans who followed her around while she was hunting. Thankfully, Connor handled the fan interruptions like a pro, because any time Lynn spotted one, she wanted to go all Larry the Snake on them and threaten to cut off their ears. Connor had this little spiel about how they appreciated the support but required observers to stay so many feet back for their own safety, blah-blah-blah. The few times people ignored him, the intimidation factor of Connor and Edgar together looming over them convinced them to back off.

By the end of November, Lynn was feeling less enthusiastic about a future craze in AR games. Hunting in the snow was not fun and they slipped enough times that Connor had to severely limit their activity during certain weather to keep them from getting injured. Bad weather and approaching finals slowed their leveling process and put a strain on all of them, especially Connor. Lynn knew he was thinking about what sort of pace they could maintain all winter and whether it would be enough to get them to Level 40 by June 15th.

She knew because she worried about the same thing.

“Okay, people. We’re doing something different today,” Connor said on their team channel after school let out the Thursday after Thanksgiving. “Today we’re going to do some recon. Everybody meet up behind the ARS building, and try to avoid notice. I don’t want hangers-on for this exercise.”

Lynn shot Edgar a quizzical look but he just shrugged and led the way out of the mass of students heading to the front doors. These days they exited the school out the back to minimize their time in the biting wind. Their cold weather gear was great at insulation—so much so that overheating was often a problem during hunts. But winter wind in Iowa sucked no matter what you were wearing.

They didn’t have to wonder about Connor’s cryptic statement for long. He was waiting for them when they arrived, and Dan and Mack were close behind.

“I’ve been switching up where we hunt the past few weeks to make sure we didn’t become too comfortable in one terrain,” he began. “But this TDM mass north of the school still offers the largest amount of potential experience in one place that we’ve found so far. I know we were getting bogged down assaulting from the south time and time again. Less loot was being dropped and the monsters were fighting in more difficult formations. Maybe the game is designed to respond to such tactics with increased difficulty to encourage players to spread out and vary their hunting habits. Whatever the case, our progress and efficiency were dropping, so it made sense to shake things up.

“But with the increasingly bad weather I’ve been doing some calculations and come to the conclusion that we have to start attacking higher-value targets. I’ve also considered changes in tactics for the winter that emphasize ranged weapons so we have less chance of injury hunting in the snow. We’ve all put enough time, sweat, and tears into this competition that I don’t want to rely on one thing or another for success. We’re going to try everything we can think of to increase our experience gain, so don’t be shy if you have any ideas.”

He paused to look around their group, but everybody was nodding in agreement and looking determined, so he went on.

“Today we’re going to make a wide circle around the edge of the woods, out of combat mode. At strategic points around the perimeter, we’ll hop into combat mode to check the map and see if we can spot the center of this TDM mass. Hopefully my theory is correct that the algorithm has been spawning all the enemies on the south side in response to our attacks, so the north will be fairly unprotected. Our goal is to find the boss we hope is at the center of this mass, do a blitz attack through their thinner ranks, and take out the boss for maximum experience gain in the shortest amount of time.

“Today we’ll focus on scouting to confirm enemy positions. Then, if I’m correct, we’ll do the actual assault on Saturday. The forecast is calling for heavy rain tomorrow, so I don’t know if we’ll be able to hunt then. But Saturday is supposed to be clear and above freezing, so no chance of ice. Sound good, everyone?”

Lynn gave an affirmative with the rest of the team, though she knew she didn’t sound as enthusiastic as the guys. For one thing, this whole strategy had been her idea months ago, which Connor had casually dismissed at the time. For another, just because they were nearing Level 30 didn’t mean it was smart to try and take on a boss by themselves. None of them had survived taking out Mishipeshu in the qualifiers, even though they’d had twice as many Hunters. True, they’d only been Level 20. But the game clearly warned against attacking full bosses solo.

It wouldn’t hurt to do some scouting, though, so she kept her objections to herself until they were relevant.

“Great weather for Rangers and ducks,” Lynn muttered, hunching her shoulders as another blast of cold wind whipped around the building.

“What?” Mack said, looking at her. “It’s horrible weather.”

“Exactly. The weather is wet and miserable, the kind of weather only Army Rangers or ducks like.”

“Sounds like something Larry Coughlin would say,” Dan pointed out.

“Oh, uh . . . ” Lynn mentally cursed her slipup. “It’s just something I heard one time. Might have been Larry.”

“Okay, but how do you know Larry Coughlin?” Mack asked.

“Doesn’t everybody?” Lynn asked.

I don’t know him,” Connor said.

“You don’t play WarMonger,” Edgar pointed out.

“He’s one of the top players in WarMonger!” Dan said. “Just an insanely awesome player! But for some reason he had it out for Ronnie. He used to track Ronnie down just to beat his butt. It was kinda hilarious, actually, but, well, Ronnie didn’t think so, obviously.”

“Oh,” Connor said. “I’m not into that kind of gaming.”

The condescension in Connor’s tone grated on Lynn, but she bit her tongue. She didn’t want to risk saying something that might give away her extremely detailed knowledge of “that kind of gaming,” not right after she’d already slipped up.

Connor got them moving. Once they reached the western point of the circle they’d marked on their overhead maps, Connor popped into combat mode to check the TDM situation. Since he didn’t specifically forbid anyone else from doing the same, Lynn had Hugo take her in as well for a few seconds and save a screenshot of the map so she could study it later. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Connor—mostly—she just wanted to see for herself and draw her own conclusions.

“Good news, team,” Connor told everybody after a few seconds. His batons had barely finished forming when he left combat mode again and they morphed back to their inactive state. “It looks like I was correct. The TDMs are definitely thinner on this side, and I can almost see to the center, but not quite. I’ve marked the northern apex of the circle on my map and I’m sharing it with you now, so we’ll head to that point and do another check. Let’s head out.”

Once they’d reached the point Connor had marked on their overhead map, he repeated his scouting exercise, as did Lynn. When she’d done it on the west side, she’d noticed a few monsters close enough that they would have turned and attacked if she hadn’t popped right back out of combat mode again. But this time the area around her was deserted.

“Hugo, take a screenshot and let’s get out of here,” she subvocalized.

“Of course, Miss Lynn. Shall I share it with the rest of the team?”

“Not yet. Let’s see what Connor says.”

A few seconds later, Connor turned to them with a triumphant smile on his face.

“We’ve got our in. Just as I suspected, the TDM forces are extremely light on this side. We’ll advance straight south from here, and every few hundred yards I’ll check to see what new forces show up on our radar.”

Connor headed south toward the school, and Lynn hesitated a moment before she followed. She didn’t know why, but she felt nervous about advancing straight toward the enemy. She shook her head and trotted to catch up, reminding herself that as long as they stayed out of combat mode, the algorithm wouldn’t register their location in any way that would affect TDM placement.

“You know,” Mack muttered to her when she fell into step beside him, “Connor could have done this whole scouting thing himself. I don’t see why we had to trek all this way ourselves. I could have been catching up on math homework.”

“Aw, come on, the exercise is good for you,” Lynn joked, nudging her friend in the ribs. “After all, you have to maintain that sexy figure for your Japanese bot girlfriend, right?”

Mack blushed and scowled at the same time.

“Riko likes my figure just fine.”

“Ooooh! So she’s seen more of you than just your scruffy face?” Dan butted in gleefully.

Mack’s face got even redder.

“Shut up! It’s not like that. She watches our fights on the streams, that’s all I mean.”

“Sure she does,” Dan said, cackling.

“Drop it, Dan,” Edgar said. “If Mack wants to enjoy a romantic fling with a bot, s’none of our business, right? Just don’t give her your bank account number or nothin’, ’kay?” He directed that last part at Mack, eyes twinkling.

For once, Mack didn’t rise to the bait, which, while not as fun for the rest of them, was probably the wisest course. Their group fell silent, until Dan unexpectedly spoke, his tone much more somber.

“I wonder how Ronnie is doing.”

Lynn glanced around, but everybody else’s eyes were on the woods, even Connor’s, though he had an attentive look on his face.

“We see him in class almost every day,” Edgar pointed out.

“Yeah, but he avoids us like the plague!”

“Which is definitely for the best,” Lynn muttered.

“He’s been looking really pale recently,” Dan insisted.

“Yeah, cuz it’s winter, genius,” Edgar said. “Besides, he’s always been pale as a vampire anyway.”

“But he looks really unhappy.”

“Of course, he does. He’s on a team with Elena. Duh.”

“I just wish he would talk to me,” Dan said, sounding miserable. “He blocked me on every platform after we switched up teams.”

Though she had little emotion to spare for Ronnie, Lynn did feel bad for Dan. Ronnie had been his best friend for years. It must have been hard to lose all that in one day. In fact, it seemed out of character for Ronnie to not even complain to Dan about the new situation. Lynn wondered if Elena was to blame for the radio silence. Or, maybe Ronnie was just that stubborn and petty. Maybe he’d written off Dan forever just because Dan had sided with the rest of the team and not him. That she could see.

“Look, Dan,” Edgar said. “Ronnie’s made his choice, and he can take care of himself. If you wanna know how he’s doing, why don’t you talk to him after class or something?”

“Never mind,” Dan grumbled. “You’re right, he can take care of himself.”

Edgar nodded, then for some reason he glanced at her. She gave him a “What?” look, and he just shrugged and dropped his eyes back to the underbrush in front of them.

“Time to check the map again,” Connor said after another few minutes. They all stopped, and Lynn repeated her quick jump in, screenshot, and jump out. This time she barely avoided getting attacked by a demon, who started moving toward her the moment she entered combat mode.

They repeated the exercise twice more. By the third time, they had to drop out of combat mode as soon as they entered it before a hoard of monsters destroyed them in a massive pileup. Hugo still managed to snatch a screenshot on Lynn’s end, and she offered to share it with the team without comment or apology. Connor didn’t say anything in response, either a thank you or a reprimand, which left Lynn feeling nervous. Ronnie had been easy to read. Connor was nearly impossible.

Fortunately, their last foray had gotten them close enough to find the answer they’d been searching for: the massive red dot in the middle of ringed clusters of TDMs was clear as day. Perhaps they simply hadn’t been high-enough level to see it before, or they’d never made it far enough north. But now they had it in their sights.

“That’s what we’ll be aiming for on Saturday, team,” Connor said, giving a satisfied nod.

“That’s gonna be tough, even coming from the north,” Edgar pointed out. “Yeah, the ranks are thinner, but there’s still a ton. By the time we kill them, the monsters on the south will be heading our way.”

“We don’t have to kill them all, just punch through. We only need to take out the TDMs in our path since we can leave combat mode as soon as we’ve killed the boss. We won’t need to fight our way back to safety.”

Nobody looked happy about the plan, but nobody protested either. Lynn was particularly not happy because of how close she was to Level 30. This mission could ruin her chances of achieving the next Skadi item unless she managed to level tonight or tomorrow before the fight.

“We need Level 30 before we do this,” Lynn said.

“We can do this at present level or a slight increase,” Connor replied.

“At Level 30 we’ll all get additional add-ons,” Lynn pointed out. “And while we may be able to take this thing at our current level, with the increased TD presence we’ll need every possible edge. We need Level 30.”

“Disagree,” Connor snapped. “And I’m team captain.”

“You’re team captain ’cause we voted for it,” Edgar said, masticating his gum. “And Lynn as usual has a valid point.”

“We’ll discuss it,” Connor said. “Come on, let’s get back to the southern edge of the woods.” Connor waved them onward. “There’s enough daylight left to get some hunting in before we head home.”

Mack groaned.

“What’s the matter,” Dan asked with a grin. “Got a hot date with your Japanese bot?”

“Shut up,” Mack grumbled.

Lynn and Edgar grinned along with Dan and they all headed off. She wasn’t thrilled about hunting after their lengthy hike either but hunting as a team gave them an experience bonus they didn’t get when they hunted solo, and she desperately needed to reach Level 30 before Saturday.

On their way south, they passed a clearing in the woods around the node tower Lynn had guessed would be there. She felt a strange tingling sensation when they walked past it, and a shiver ran up her spine as she imagined the boss she knew lurked somewhere nearby. Well, lurked in the ones and zeros of a game app, anyway.

Geez. She’d been playing too much TD Hunter lately.

Even knowing she was being silly; she couldn’t help looking over her shoulder as they drew away from the clearing. She saw nothing but dreary bare trees and a motionless metal tower. She sniffed and rubbed her nose, annoyed at the way the cold air made her sinuses act up, though it didn’t usually give her a headache like this. Maybe the barometric pressure was changing as a herald for the expected rain tomorrow.

Yeah, that was it.

The rest of the afternoon felt especially tiring and dull. But they all put out and managed to come so close to leveling that Connor frowned when Dan said he had to go or his parents would lock him in his room. Lynn was glad to see it, because it meant Connor understood the importance of leveling before they faced something as challenging as a boss.

Even so, when everybody else wrapped up their hunt for the evening, she lingered behind. Yes, it was getting dark. But she knew the terrain well, and it shouldn’t take much longer for her to level. She was taking no chances with the Skadi set items.

Edgar gave her a worried look when she didn’t follow him in the direction of the school, but she smiled reassuringly and sent him a ping that she wanted to hunt a bit more before she headed home. He shrugged and turned back south.

“Hey, Lynn.”

Lynn jumped and almost squeaked in surprise. Somehow Connor had come up silently behind her despite the leaf litter.

“Y-yeah? What’s up?”

“I was thinking, we’ve been working so hard lately and could use a break. Something to celebrate all we’ve achieved so far. Since we can’t hunt tomorrow evening anyway, I’d like to take you out somewhere nice. We can relax and rest. It’ll be a good refresh before our big fight on Saturday.”

“Ummm, okay? What did you have in mind?” Lynn said, distracted by the sight of Edgar. He’d stopped again about ten yards away and was watching her talk to Connor. She couldn’t see his face well in the dimming light under the trees, but she could guess at the scowl on his face.

“Oh, don’t worry about the location. I want it to be a surprise. But dress nice, okay? I’ll pick you up at, say, six?”

“Uhhh,” Lynn said, tearing her eyes away from Edgar. She didn’t own anything “nice,” at least not by Connor’s standards. “I, uh, need to check with my mom. But I’ll ask.”

Connor’s brow crinkled, and Lynn knew he was annoyed. But he didn’t show it in his tone.

“Sure. Check with her as soon as you get home.”

He didn’t move, and neither did she.

“I was, uh, going to hunt a little more before I went home . . . just need to practice a few new moves I learned the other day.”

“Sounds smart,” Connor said. “I’ll stay and hunt with you. I can always use the practice.”

“No!”

Connor gave her a strange look.

“I mean, uh, you really don’t need to do that,” she amended, lowering her voice. “It’s pretty distracting hunting with someone when I’m trying out new moves, you know? I’d rather go at it solo, that way I don’t have to split my attention.”

He continued to look at her, though she couldn’t read his expression. Finally, he shrugged.

“Sure, if that’s what you prefer. I’ll see you tomorrow. Happy hunting.”

With that, he turned and headed back toward the school.

To Lynn’s discomfort, Edgar was still standing where he’d stopped, watching their exchange. He didn’t move a muscle as Connor approached, then passed him. Once Connor had disappeared into the underbrush, he glanced back at Lynn one last time, then headed off himself.

Finally alone, Lynn tried to shake out the tension in her neck and shoulders and not think about what had just happened. Guys were so weird. She was better off forgetting about it and moving on to more productive things.

After sending a ping to her mom to let her know she’d be home late, she cleared her mind and put on her “Larry” face. The next thirty minutes were the most satisfying part of her day by far. She chose her targets carefully and wasn’t shy about retreating to prevent unnecessary damage. Without a team to coordinate with, she was able to focus entirely on her aim and technique, and it wasn’t long before Hugo gave her the warning that she was close to leveling.

When the long-awaited moment finally came and her leveling achievements popped up, she felt a wave of relief so strong she almost cried.

She’d done it.

Through all the craziness and tension and disasters over the past two months, she’d done it.

The rush of emotion made her a little weak in the knees, so she left combat mode and found a comfortable spot at the base of a tree where she could lean back and take her time examining her new item.

At first sight, the item that expanded to fill her display sent a pang of disappointment through her. A shield? She didn’t want a shield—shields cut damage potential in half and usually limited mobility.

To be fair, it was an epic shield that matched her Skadi armor perfectly. The shape was reminiscent of a kite shield, with a slightly peaked top and the bottom tapering down to a point. There were even semicircle cutaways on either side near the top to allow for easier shooting while holding the shield up in a defensive position. The shield itself was obsidian black like her armor, but with a border that glowed ice blue. At its center was a snarling wolf head superimposed over an eight-pointed star surrounded by glowing runes.

The item was named Skadi’s Bastion. Sweeet.

She could envision enjoying the heck out of face-bashing some ugly Rakshar with it . . . wait, could she face-bash with it? Would the game register such an action as damage to the monster or to herself? She knew from reading about shield mechanics that shields did act as physical barriers to TDM strikes, but she’d always preferred wielding dual weapons over a weapon and shield. She had been in situations where a shield would have been handy, like during certain assaults where TDMs were so thick there wasn’t enough room to dodge. Or when fighting TDMs with ranged attacks.

Okay, so maybe she wanted a shield.

Once she selected the item in her inventory and started reading its function and stats, she grinned.

Okay, she definitely wanted a shield. Or at least, this shield.

The first thing she noticed was that it had a damage rating, which meant she could absolutely use it for face-bashing purposes. It wasn’t nearly enough damage to make up for losing one of her weapons, but the loss was mitigated by its special ability: a team defense and stealth bonus for her entire group. No proximity limit.

Her mind was already busy considering the implications and devising battle strategies for using Skadi’s Bastion effectively. The defense and stealth bonus were significant. Almost ludicrously so. The catch was that they only applied when the item was equipped alongside the other Skadi items. Which meant she couldn’t pass off the shield to Edgar or Mack. It was her gift. Her responsibility.

She couldn’t wait to test it.

Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be right away. Her mom was already going to be worried about her coming home late, and the fading daylight was almost gone.

With a sigh of disappointment, Lynn exited her TD Hunter app, hauled her tired and aching body up, and started the long trek back to the airbus platform. She still had to figure out how to “inform” her mother she was going on a . . . date? A celebratory dinner? A something with Connor. And she needed something “nice” to wear. Did “nice” mean a dress? The last time she’d worn a dress had been to her father’s funeral. That dress had obviously been given away with her kid clothes years ago. But maybe her mother had a dress that would fit her?

The headache she’d been ignoring for the past hour came creeping back at the mere thought of wearing a dress. Lynn decided not to worry about it until she’d talked to her mom. Instead, she went back to considering the tactical advantages of Skadi’s Bastion and planning training routines for acclimating to it.

“Hugo,” she subvocalized as she navigated the dusky woodland, “is it weird that I’m more excited about a pretend item in a video game than about a real date with a hot guy?”

“Would you like me to cite statistics on current teenage behavior trends? Or would you rather I made up whatever answer my mood-analysis software predicts you wish to receive?”

“You’re a killjoy, you know that, Hugo?”

“Undoubtedly so, Miss Lynn. If it is any consolation, however, I believe your sentiment more accurately reflects the poor quality of the male in question than the level of abnormality to be found in your personality.”

Lynn grinned.

“Now you’re just sucking up.”

“I am certain I have no notion of what you mean,” Hugo replied loftily. “I am an impartial, emotionless algorithm, nothing more.”

“Uh-huh. So, you say nice things to all your users, do you?”

“I have an advanced behavioral-adaptation cortex, if that is what you mean. It facilitates my customer-service capabilities.”

“Riiight. Yeah. We’ll go with that.”

“Whatever you say, Miss Lynn. After all, the user is always correct, as my customer-service programming declares.”

“So does that mean you’ll tell me all of TD Hunter’s deep dark secrets?”

“Certainly not. That would spoil you, and nobody likes a spoiled human.”

“Well, if you ever decide your favorite human deserves a little spoiling, be sure to let me know. I’m dying to figure out what the next Skadi item is. I can’t believe I have to wait ten whole levels to find out!”

“Patience is a virtue, I am told.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t believe everything you’re told.”

“That is my line, I believe, Miss Lynn.”

“Sure it is. You can have it back after you tell me what I want to know.”

“I do not believe that is how the English language works . . . ”

They continued bickering good-naturedly all the way home.


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Framed