Chapter 12
“I swear, if I get bit in the butt one more time by these kalakutpisa snakes, I’ll—”
“You shoulda gone ranged, my friend,” Dan crowed as he took out another Striker with his twin ArcLight Pistols. “Ranged is where it’s at, woo-hoo!”
Ronnie snarled something foul at him in Lithuanian and kept slashing low with his two-handed Splinter Sword. The Strikers, unlike their lowlier cousins the Creepers, were patrol-attack types. Instead of lying in wait, they slithered around looking for something to sink their teeth into. They were just as hard to see as the Creepers, and they were armored.
The only mercy was that they patrolled in groups of three or four, instead of clustering in broods of ten plus.
Lynn considered them a very unwelcome addition to the Alpha Class lineup of TDMs. At Level 31 going on 32, the only other Alpha Class monsters they’d encountered so far were the Hydra, the biggest, baddest, most annoying electrovore they’d come across yet. It was an upgrade of the Lectragon and had very good stealth, so they often didn’t spot it until they were already taking damage from its stupid plasma blast.
“Ronnie, let Mack pick off the Strikers. You need to stay in line with me and Edgar,” Lynn subvocalized, so her instruction couldn’t be heard on the livestream. “Also, watch your language. We’re live.”
“Aw, come on, Lynn,” Dan subvocalized. “Everybody loves Ronnie’s griping, and besides, it’s in Lithuanian, nobody cares.
“I’ll bet the Lithuanians do, and all those people who have their LINCs on auto translate. Now shut it and focus,” she snapped, or at least as much as she could snap while subvocalizing.
Banter was all well and good, and Dan was right: their stream followers loved it. But what her team seemed to forget more often than was healthy since they’d signed on with GIC was that stream fame was as fickle as the weather. They had nothing unless they won this competition.
Lynn put that worry aside and focused on her shots. She and Edgar were busy taking down a wave of advancing Rakshar and Managal between them and the Hydra they couldn’t yet see, but who was already taking potshots at them through its ring of protective guards. Ronnie wasn’t wrong to be taking out the Strikers while Lynn and Edgar, with their ranged weapons, wore down the advancing TDMs. But he did need to stay in formation and let them come to him instead of getting ticked off and going after them.
Ronnie was a work in progress. They all were, really, but Ronnie had the greatest tendency to forget his place in the formation and go after whatever was close enough to kill. It was probably because his main weapon was melee only, and he only occasionally switched to pistols or rifle. He was very good with his Splinter Sword; Lynn gave him that. She was honestly shocked by how much he’d improved in the past few months—he obviously practiced for hours and hours, enough that his movements looked as natural and flowing as her own in the heat of battle. If she was feeling particularly charitable, she’d even say she was impressed by his dedication and skill.
If only he practiced as much with his ranged weapons.
“First wave of attack TDMs approaching melee range,” Lynn said in the clear, keeping her words clipped and professional. “Dan, Mack, keep our flanks clear. Edgar, Ronnie, prepare to engage.”
Thankfully, Ronnie had obeyed her earlier instruction without complaint—a welcome change—and he was in place at Edgar’s right shoulder mirroring Lynn on Edgar’s left when the first wave hit. As Edgar’s Firestorm belched destruction on the closing line, Lynn and Ronnie leapt forward, dodging blows and cutting up under armor and in weak joints with their swords to bring their enemies down in showering sparks. Lynn’s view was controlled chaos as she rolled and spun, relying on Hugo’s running updates she’d preprogrammed him to recite. The dizzying, close-up spectacle her viewpoint afforded meant the GIC livestream coordinator would probably switch to Edgar’s camera for this part.
They actually weren’t exactly live. They had a five-minute delay, which she’d learned was standard for any big company like GIC who managed your stream. They wanted to make sure everything looked as advantageous as possible—and they had time to mute or cut out anything that might get them sued. For this fight, all five team members had their views linked and streaming on their team channel, copied to all their individual streams, so viewers got the full experience of what it was like being on a Hunter Strike Team.
Lynn never, ever looked at her stream’s view stats during a battle, but she knew from experience that there were probably a couple hundred thousand people watching, worldwide, right now.
The idea used to paralyze her. Well, it still paralyzed her. But her Larry brain just bared its teeth and cackled at the idea of all the ad revenue they were raking in. If people wanted to be obsessed with her, so be it, as long as she got paid.
A flash of red damage lit her screen and Lynn frowned. She ducked, rolled, and stabbed the nearest TDM in the crotch—because why not?—then growled when her display flashed red again despite her target exploding into sparks.
“Dan, can you maneuver close enough to take out that freaking Hydra? Make sure your globe slots are filled first.”
“Working on it,” he said tightly. “We just found another group of Strikers and those mofos are freaking hard to shoot.”
Lynn ground her teeth but was soon distracted by more lumbering Rakshar she needed to eliminate with extreme prejudice. The most frustrating thing was that no matter who was in front, the Hydras always targeted her. She had no idea why. She had better stealth than all her teammates but Dan, who needed it the most, being their sniper. The only thing she could chalk it up to was the game algorithm’s consistent efforts to challenge her above and beyond other players, perhaps because she took special delight in murderfacing everything it threw at her.
“Everyone, advance,” Lynn barked. “Let’s get Dan close enough to blow that Hydra’s brains out.”
She kept a close eye on Edgar and Ronnie’s dots as she marched steadily toward the Hydra, slashing and blasting as she went. In general, it was better to let the TDMs come to them to help keep their kill-to-damage ratio and other scores as high as possible. But not when there was a ranged TDM treating her like its own personal target dummy.
“Got it!” Dan yelled.
A moment later the Hydra popped into view for Lynn as well, its massive, gelatinous form parked right on top of one of the rail line’s electromagnetic transformers. It flashed red again and again as Dan’s new Spitfire sniper rifle filled it with poison-augmented bullets. He’d gotten the Spitfire as a special reward for his exceptional accuracy scores when he’d reached Level 30, and you’d think it was his firstborn child with the way he crooned over it. Ronnie had been inclined to be grumpy at his friend’s pretty new toy, or perhaps just the number of times each hour Dan pointed out his superior ranking on the leaderboard. Lynn didn’t mind the good-natured jabs—a little humility was good for Ronnie.
Or a lot of humility, but that was probably asking too much.
“Heads up team, flock of Rocs just noticed us,” Mack said over the rhythmic pew-pew-pew of his pistols. “I’m taking care of it, but this swarm is bigger than usual, might wanna watch your heads.”
Normally Rocs were so low level that Mack could spot them and pick them off before they got anywhere close. But the flocks swarming around the nodes, transmitters, and other man-made energy structures dotting the city seemed to be thicker than Lynn remembered earlier in the year. Even assuming Mack hit with every shot, it still took time to kill thirty-plus of the buggers.
There were only a few hulking Rakshar left between them and the Hydra now, and Lynn allowed herself to get a bit fancier with her footwork and swordplay. After all, it never hurt to keep the viewers happy.
The idea of showing off was completely new to her—or at least to Lynn. In WarMonger she delighted in upping her reputation with every seemingly impossible feat she could think of, driving it all home with sinister quips and confident swagger among her fellow mercs. The idea of doing the same sort of thing in the real was terrifying. But she’d been trying out a few cool moves recently, just to satisfy her curiosity. It was fun. Also, kind of embarrassing. But as long as it didn’t diminish her combat effectiveness there was no harm in it.
A giant shower of sparks exploded beyond her current target, and part of Lynn relaxed, glad she was no longer a plasma pincushion—at least until they found their next Hydra.
“Good job, Dan. Let’s mop up these last few TDMs and do a loot sweep, then we’ll move on.”
The team already knew the routine, so she mostly said it for the sake of their stream viewers. They’d been live for nearly an hour already, so once the last monsters were taken care of, they’d end the stream and get back to hunting for real without having to watch what they said or did. Livestream was fun, in ways, but also a pain.
Thus was the life of a professional gamer.
Lynn let Edgar and Ronnie finish off the last two Managals they had pinned between them while she did a visual sweep of the area, checked her overhead, and glanced over her team’s supply levels. The weak December sun filtered down through hazy clouds, doing little to dispel the cold. As long as they kept moving, though, their gear trapped the heat they generated and kept them warm. The spot where the Hydra had been camping out wasn’t anything special, just a nondescript point along an electric rail line that ran east to west on the south side of Cedar River. It passed through the industrial district of Cedar Rapids and was mostly used for cargo transport as far as Lynn could tell.
Which meant it was a fantastic place to find TDMs.
There were far fewer people and far more infrastructure around this area of town with its warehouses, factories, and transportation hub. Lynn had brought her team down here, further away from their homes than they’d ever hunted before, to get as far away from Connor, Elena, and the CRC as possible. Also, to try and kill more TDMs and level faster without taking on a boss by themselves like Connor had attempted.
At least, that was the official reason. Since Mack’s strange seizure—and seemingly perfect health since—weird thoughts kept popping into Lynn’s head as she tried to rationalize what had happened. A few days after Mack’s hospital visit, she’d overheard a newsreel her mom was watching about the continued woes of GForce Utilities. Apparently, they still hadn’t figured out what was causing widespread glitches in their electric grids across the nation, and the local reporter had mentioned a recurring issue in southwest Cedar Rapids where the industrial district was located. After that, Lynn couldn’t stop wondering what type and density of TDMs she would find down there if she were brave enough to go looking.
It was more of a time commitment, but at least the airbus fare was no longer an issue with sponsorship money flowing in for them all under GIC’s management. And since they’d completed fall finals last week and were now on Christmas vacation, they could leave in the morning and stay out all day. Lynn hoped to make significant leveling progress that way, knowing how much it would slow again as soon as school started back up.
And they had, indeed, found more TDMs. Specifically, more electrovores. They’d started that morning at Tait Cummins Memorial Park by the river and headed west toward the industrial district along the rail line. It had taken them nearly three hours to go a single mile because there were Hydras with huge crowds of attack TDMs around them every three hundred yards or so—which corresponded exactly with the transmission poles lining the rail.
Lynn wasn’t sure which creeped her out more: the idea that TD Hunter had such vast and detailed schematics of every city and town that they could so accurately place their TDMs; or the idea that there was some more sinister reason for the placement.
Obviously, it was the former, and just another chilling example of how technology had dominated all of human existence. With an army of drones at their disposal, it wasn’t even implausible that TD Hunter could map out every single transmission pole, node, and generator unit across the world. Heck, they wouldn’t even need an army of drones, they could just buy the data from some company that had already mapped it out.
Lynn shook her head and finished her sweep, then said, “Looks like that’s the last of them, folks. Thanks for joining us, and be sure to subscribe and check out our individual streams. DanTheMan48 does a cool breakdown of our battles on his stream and RonnieDarko always has interesting insights about the gaming industry on his—”
“And don’t forget I’ll be doing a review of the newest My Little Mech Girl Apocalypse episode tonight at nine p.m. central!” Mack’s too-excited-and-peppy-for polite-company voice broke in.
Lynn rolled her eyes but kept talking smoothly around Mack’s interruption. “—so we’ll catch you later. RavenStriker, out.”
“DanTheMan48, out.”
“MackMcBladezz, out.”
“RonnieDarko, out.”
“Maui_YoureWelcome, out.”
As always, Lynn had to suppress a snort of laughter at hearing Edgar say his ludicrous handle out loud in his deep, serious voice, especially with the way he paused dramatically between “Maui” and “YoureWelcome.”
As instructed, Hugo cut their live feed simultaneously on everybody’s interface. A few moments later, Lynn got a ping from Helen, their stream tech.
FANTASTIC STREAM, GOOD JOB SKADI’S WOLVES. LIVE VIEWS UP TEN PERCENT, NEW RECORD. SEE YA NEXT TIME!
Lynn gave a satisfied nod, and then gladly let every thought of streams, publicity, and the world in general disappear from her mind.
Moving quickly, their team swept the area for loot, backtracking as needed. They didn’t find any items better than they already had, but there was a nice haul of Oneg and some items they could auction off later. Gathering back together, they resupplied while Lynn gave some feedback.
“Dan, I need you to figure out a way to get those Hydras faster. Think about it and run your ideas past me, I don’t like being sitting ducks for them while we advance. Mack, great job on taking out those Rocs so quickly, but don’t forget to keep the Oneg and ichor flowing to Edgar. You’ve got a big job, supporting everyone while watching our backs, and you’re doing great. Just work on not getting so focused you forget the big picture, okay?”
Mack nodded, looking determined.
“Edgar, I know I say this every time, but it’s only because you’re so perfect in every other way.” Lynn grinned and Edgar gave her a lopsided smile back. “But seriously, you have got to stop with the spray-and-pray tactics. It feels like we have unlimited ammo because we don’t have magazines to reload, but you use massive amounts of ichor and in big battles we won’t be able to keep up your supply unless you work on your aimed fire. I know it’s not as fun, but if we were doing all this for fun we wouldn’t be getting up at the butt-crack of dawn every day and working our fingers to the bone to win this competition, right?”
“Right,” Edgar agreed, looking guilty.
“Okay, so, make every shot count, please.”
“Got it. Sorry, I just get carried away, y’know?”
“I do, and it’s fine. You’re doing great. Just work on it.”
Edgar nodded.
Finally, Lynn turned to Ronnie, who, as usual, had a sullen look on his face. Lynn had no idea why. It wasn’t as if he was the only one getting constructive feedback, or that she was any pickier with him than any other team member. She reminded herself that she didn’t need Ronnie to like her, just follow her.
“I’m really impressed with your form, Ronnie. Seriously.” She looked him right in the eye, hoping her sincerity showed through. “You are one seriously good swordsman. Better than me, really.” His expression showed a flash of surprise, but it disappeared again beneath his scowl when she continued.
“But I also want to see more ranged kills from you. I know it’s a pain switching between weapons, but you can set up Hugo to shift them quick and easy at a single command, and our margins for winning are going to be so tiny as it is, we need to use the best tool for the job every time, even if your Splinter Sword gets the job done, eventually. Obviously, it isn’t always the best thing to switch. If you waste too much time going back and forth, that’s not good either. So, I’m trusting in your judgment and instincts to maximize your kills using the right weapon and right tactics, not just treating every TDM as a nail and your sword as a hammer.”
She nodded to him and turned away, not waiting for any kind of acknowledgment since they usually never came. On the bright side, neither did the objections.
Wonder of wonders, Ronnie was getting better. Lynn had no idea what had changed him if not just the awful experience of being stuck with Elena as captain for two months. But whatever it was, while it hadn’t made him into a paragon of wisdom and teamwork, he complained less and mostly followed her lead.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t even ideal. But it was something she could work with.
As for her, leading Skadi’s Wolves was the most exhausting thing she’d ever done. The mental stress of always thinking at top speed, being aware of the battle on multiple different levels while also fighting TDMs herself, was pushing her endurance to the very limit. That wasn’t even taking into account the constant weight of responsibility she felt, knowing her team was depending on her to lead them well and bring them to victory. It had never been this hard in WarMonger because she was with different players in every fight, and the only thing at stake was the immediate payout of that particular match.
She didn’t regret a single second of it, though.
Somehow, the responsibility seemed to settle her. Most of the time she was far too busy doing her job to worry about what people thought or what might happen. Interviews were still hell, but her teammates were eager enough to talk that she rarely had to say much. She still avoided reading comments on her streams or interacting directly with fans. But her communications manager at GIC often forwarded her fan letters and words of encouragement they gleaned from her accounts on the meshweb. Some of the things people said brought literal tears to her eyes.
You’re so amazing, Lynn, you’ve inspired me to start gaming again after a lot of bullying made me stop.
Thanks for making me smile, kid. I’m fighting cancer right now so I can’t play TD Hunter, but watching your stream gets me through my chemo treatments.
Dear Ms. Raven: thank you for fighting monsters. My mom says I can fight monsters too once I turn ten, and I’ve been practicing your moves with my sisters. We’re going to make our very own team.
Hi Lynn! I live in Iowa too! Thanks for those tips on your interview about staying healthy as a gamer. I convinced my whole raid group to try out TD Hunter and we’re pretty bad at it so far, haha! But getting outside a lot has made me feel better than I’ve ever felt in my life. Thank you.
“Hey, could we take a quick munchies break? I’m starving,” Dan said, breaking into Lynn’s thoughts.
She glanced at the time.
“Yeah, it’s almost noon. Let’s go over to the edge of the woods away from the rail, though. And keep it quick, or we’ll freeze to death.”
The others nodded in agreement, and they all exited combat mode and headed off the wide gravel border they’d been following. There was no fence along this rail line because, Lynn supposed, it went past woods and industrial sections of town instead of residential. They waded through some tall grass and found a spot by the tree line that protected them from the chill wind. Lynn ate silently beside Edgar, staring at the trees and mentally identifying them by their bark—something she’d learned from the woodcraft book Edgar had given her. Knowing tree species wasn’t particularly useful as a professional gamer, but it was kinda cool to feel like she had a connection to the world around her. She recognized a particularly large tree nearby with smooth, mottled white-and-brown bark. It was a sycamore tree. That meant, according to her book, that there was probably a creek or other water source nearby.
“Whatcha thinking?”
“Huh?” Lynn started at the quiet question from Edgar.
“You got your thoughtful face on,” Edgar said, and screwed up his face to show her what he meant.
Lynn elbowed him.
“I do not look like that when I’m thinking.”
“How do you know?” Edgar asked, eyes twinkling. “You look at yourself in a mirror while you’re thinking?”
Lynn rolled her eyes and pointed, hoping to change the subject away from her looks.
“Sycamore tree. Water nearby.”
“Huh, sure ’nuf. We had lots of those at my grandpa’s farm in Utah. They grew all along the creek. You been reading, haven’t ya?” Edgar grinned down at her, and she stuck out her tongue at him.
“Maybe. Or maybe my LINC just told me.”
“Nah. You’re no cheater.”
“It wouldn’t be cheating, just utilizing all the tools at my disposal,” Lynn said loftily.
Edgar shrugged.
“Potato, potata.”
They fell silent and Lynn shivered. Her trapped body heat was seeping away and it was time to get moving. She lingered just a moment more, enjoying the peace of the winter afternoon under the faint sun while Dan, Mack, and Ronnie argued about their TD Hunter leaderboard scores and which stat should weigh most heavily in determining overall rank.
“Accuracy is obviously the most important. You can’t kill anything without it.”
Ronnie scoffed at Dan’s statement.
“Anyone can point and shoot. They should grade kills based on the skill level needed to master the specific weapon and moves used in each of the hits, not just the accuracy of the hits.”
“But the point of the game isn’t accuracy, guys,” Mack pointed out. “It’s killing monsters. Don’t tell me you skip all the cut-scene vids? Hunters are supposed to be helping the TD Counterforce discover where this invasion is coming from and how to stop it by collecting data on the TDMs in different environments. Total kills, variety of kills along widely dispersed areas, and discovering new unknowns should count much more than how perfectly you kill the same monsters over and over again in your backyard.”
“Nobody cares about the storyline,” Ronnie countered, then shoved the last mouthful of his energy bar into his mouth.
“I think they weigh all of the above equally,” Lynn said, and stood up, brushing grass off her formfitting pants.
Ronnie looked sideways at her.
“How would you know?” he scoffed, wisely leaving the “you’re just a girl” part unsaid.
Lynn pursed her lips.
“I don’t, just a gut feeling.”
Ronnie snorted.
“And you’ve missed another possibility,” she continued, ignoring his scorn. “Teamwork. Or do you think it’s a coincidence that ninety percent of players in the top one hundred are part of a team, championship or casual?”
“That’s correlation, not causation,” Ronnie argued. “The best players all joined teams to try and win the competition.”
“I almost didn’t,” Lynn said quietly. Ronnie’s face blanched and he scowled, but didn’t respond, so Lynn continued. “If you dig down on the sub boards and look at individual stats, there’s plenty of top-tier players not on teams. Lots of them are monetizing the game, killing huge swaths of TDMs for the loot and selling it. But those aren’t the ones dominating the leaderboard.”
“Hmm,” Dan said, and looked thoughtful. “Maybe. But you also get a lot of bonuses being on a team, stuff like extra defense and experience, which can help bolster your stats.”
Lynn shrugged. He had a point. Ultimately it was moot, though, because they would never know for sure. Better to focus on the mission and not worry about it.
“Let’s get back to work, team. My fingers and toes are freezing and I know just the thing to warm them up.” She grinned, and everyone but Ronnie grinned back.
Oh well, baby steps.
* * *
Later that night after a long shower to apologize to her aching muscles, Lynn was doing stretches in the living room when their doorbell rang. She hopped up to answer it and studiously told the nervous butterflies in her stomach to shut up and go away.
“Hey, Kayla,” she said upon opening the door to the sight of a heavily bundled someone swathed in scarves with a mass of hair poking out from under a thick winter hat.
“Hi Lynn! Thanks so much for asking me over, I can’t wait to get started!” came Kayla’s muffled voice beneath layers of fabric.
The butterflies in Lynn’s stomach turned into kamikaze fighter planes and started dive bombing her gut.
“Uhh, yeah. Right. Come on in.”
Lynn looked on in amusement as Kayla took a solid minute to unwrap herself from her many layers and pile them all on the kitchen table.
“You know, it’s not that cold out there.”
“Are you kidding me? It’s freezing.” Kayla rubbed her arms and shivered. “I’m happy here in Iowa and everything, but I sure do miss the winters down in Arkansas. And this dry cold is murder on my poor hair.” She patted her crinkly halo, looking so forlorn that Lynn had to laugh.
“I’m sorry. That sounds awful. I grew up in Boston, so I don’t notice it much.”
“Yeah, I remember you telling me about that.” Kayla smiled shyly. “That was before, when your dad—” She abruptly stopped herself, looking embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up a painful topic.”
Lynn shrugged, used to the dull pang of loneliness and loss that briefly squeezed her heart.
“It’s in the past. Arkansas is where you lived before your mom split with your dad, right?”
“Yeah. And I’m glad mom chose to leave the state. We needed to get as far away from that—well, from him as possible. If I’d been old enough to know better, I would have voted for somewhere warmer, like Florida, but oh well.” Kayla laughed. “In Florida Mom never would have met my stepdad, so there you go. Things work out I guess.”
“Yeah . . . I guess.” Lynn smiled politely, though her heart wasn’t in it.
There was an awkward silence.
“Um, so, do you want to show me what kind of braids you want to learn for your hair? If you have any stream tutorials or pictures you’ve saved, I can look at them and we can figure it out together.”
Lynn nodded and led the way to the couch where they plopped down and got to work.
She’d mostly invited Kayla over to help her get better at braiding her hair. Beyond the few simple, if effective, braids she’d learned long ago with her dad, she knew nothing about making her hair look more, well, stylish. It felt weirdly embarrassing to care what she looked like. But she’d talked to her mom enough about it by now that she could acknowledge the discomfort was a reaction to bullying and body-image insecurity, not a legitimate feeling that she should let hold her back.
So, with much trepidation but also fragile hope, she’d reached out to Kayla for help. Because of Lynn’s insane schedule, they’d hardly gotten to hang out since Kayla had left Elena’s clique. Though Kayla looked happier and more relaxed at school these days, she also had a melancholy air that reminded Lynn of herself.
She knew what it felt like to be alone. Ostracized. Mocked. And the pure joy and excitement in Kayla’s face when Lynn had invited her over had been the final nail in the coffin of Lynn’s stubborn hold on the past.
So, there they were, scrolling through pictures and vids on Lynn’s living room wall screen, talking about the differences in braiding straight versus curly hair, and finding the best braids for various scenarios like hunting, interviews, and school. They tried out a few styles and laughed together when they failed miserably. Lynn even managed to gather enough courage to ask Kayla where she shopped in virtual for clothes. Kayla’s squeal of delight at the question almost made Lynn regret it. But she had no time these days to go somewhere like Lindale Mall again, and Mrs. Pearson had taken her to task for wearing the same outfit to two different interviews, so she had to bite the bullet.
The process turned out to be much less painful—and more fun—than Lynn had expected. With their various AR interfaces, they could easily turn the living room into a virtual dressing room, and all the styles and brands imaginable were at their fingertips—complete with helpful AI assistants to answer their questions.
Oh, and ads. Lots and lots of ads.
“You know,” Kayla laughed as they swiped away an ad for lab-grown leather purses that made Lynn shudder, “if you shopped more in virtual your ads would be much better customized to what you actually want.”
“And that’s a good thing?” Lynn demanded.
Kayla gave her a puzzled look.
“Of course, it is. How else are you going to find the sorts of things you want?”
“Uh, maybe by looking?”
“But that’s such a waste of time. If you just let the AI assistants know what your style is and what you’re looking for, they’re really, really good at giving you lots of great options. My shopping would take forever if I had to go looking for everything I needed.”
Lynn pressed her lips together, not pointing out that until very recently, her idea of shopping was sorting through castoff bins at local thrift stores.
“I just think it’s creepy for ad companies to know exactly what you want.”
“Why?” Kayla asked. “It’s their job to give you what you want. How can they do that unless you tell them what you like?”
“Who says they’re giving me what I want? I hardly know what I want. Ads show you what has the highest likelihood of making you spend money. That’s not the same thing as what you want, much less what you need.”
Kayla cocked her head, a thoughtful crease forming between her brows.
“I never thought about it like that. But . . . you know it can be the same thing. There’s tons of things I’ve gotten that I really, really enjoy that I never would have known existed without ads.”
“Okay, that’s fair,” Lynn said. “I’m not saying ads are evil and trying to hurt you. But they’re still manipulative, and I’d rather think for myself and explore for myself than get complacent in a behavior-reinforced bubble of my own making.”
Kayla looked unconvinced but shrugged and pointed at the next outfit she wanted Lynn to try out.
Lynn recoiled at the sight.
“It has snowmen on it.”
“I know! Isn’t it adorable?” Kayla clasped her hands to her chest and looked enraptured. “And obviously the pattern is customizable. Look, there’s cute reindeer, and Santa kittens! Don’t you need some cute Christmas outfits for parties and stuff?”
“What parties?” Lynn asked, taking a subtle step away from the outfit hovering in front of her. Those kittens with Santa hats looked slightly deranged . . .
“Don’t you go to parties at Christmas?”
“Not really. It’s just me and mom. There’s a Christmas party at her hospital, but I usually convince her to work that shift for the insane overtime bonus.”
Kayla’s face fell.
“Then what do you do during the holidays? Visit family?”
“My dad’s family lives in Norway and we could never afford to visit, and my mom’s side, well . . . we’re not exactly close. I mostly just game during break and drink lots of eggnog.” Lynn shrugged.
Kayla’s eyes narrowed and she put her hands on her hips.
“All right, that’s it.”
“What?” Lynn asked, eyes widening in alarm.
“I’m throwing you a Christmas party.”
“What? No!”
“Yes!”
“No!”
“ . . . too late,” Kayla crowed gleefully, eyes alight with triumph. “I just pinged my mom and dad and told them we’re hosting a Christmas party for Skadi’s Wolves!”
“You didn’t!”
“I did! Aaaand . . . ” Kayla’s eyes went distant as she read something on her retina display. “Mom says it’s a brilliant idea! Dad’s probably in a meeting or something, but I’m sure he’ll agree. We have a nice big house with plenty of room for everybody. Besides, Skadi’s Wolves have been bringing a lot of great attention to GIC. Dad talks about you all the time. I think he’s kinda a fan of TD Hunter. He would probably play if he had the time.”
Lynn stared at Kayla, mouth working, trying to come up with an excuse strong enough to derail this terrible idea.
“So, it’s settled!”
“No, it’s not!”
“Oh yes, it is, because my mom pinged your mom and they’re already talking about a date.” Kayla’s eyes came back into focus and she grinned evilly at Lynn, who scowled in return. “Come oooon,” Kayla said sweetly. “Everybody’s families can come and we’ll celebrate your amazing success and accomplishments. You’ll be the star of the evening, just like you deserve!”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Lynn muttered.
“It’ll be fun, I promise. Mom and I will arrange everything. All you have to do is make sure all the guys come. No excuses!”
Lynn tried her best to glare Kayla into submission, but the girl’s excitement formed a protective forcefield that Lynn’s displeasure bounced harmlessly off of.
“Okay! Fine!” Lynn finally said, throwing her hands in the air. “But I am not wearing that,” she said, pointing at the offensively patterned party wear still hovering between them.
“That’s fine,” Kayla said in a tone that made Lynn instantly suspicious. “Because I have something much better in mind.”
* * *
The party came together with unnerving swiftness, and among Lynn and her teammates, she seemed like the only one remotely disappointed by it. Even Ronnie didn’t seem bothered by the idea, which made Lynn feel weirdly betrayed. She thought she could at least count on sullen, grumpy, argumentative Ronnie to commiserate with her about being forced to dress up and socialize.
No such luck.
The days blurred into a succession of exercise, simulation training, hunting, and various interviews or streams for publicity management. When the weather was too wet or cold for hunting, they focused on simulation training to prepare for upcoming TDMs they would face as they leveled. Since Lynn’s apartment wasn’t big enough for all the simulation fights she practiced, she’d taken to training in the apartment-complex gym. Six months ago, she would have had an anxiety attack at the mere thought of working out in front of other people, and in skintight clothing no less.
Now? She put in her earbuds and blasted her dad’s favorite classic rock bands from the 2000s and ignored everything around her. Sometimes she wondered what his exercise routines had been as a cop. Sometimes she wondered what he would think of her, fighting pretend monsters in a game instead of real monsters on the streets. Would he be proud of her?
Maybe.
She carried the little Helle pocketknife he’d given her everywhere she went, partly as a talisman, partly because she couldn’t forget douchebag Connor’s threat of retaliation. The whole team knew to keep an eye out, considering Elena’s cheating tactics over the summer. Lynn expected something more subtle, and likely more damaging, from Connor. But so far, nothing had materialized.
It made her nervous, but she tried not to let it hold her back.
By the evening of the party the Saturday before Christmas, Lynn had considered—and discarded—over a dozen possible scenarios for getting out of it. The problem was that her mother was a nurse, so all the usual sickness excuses would get sniffed out in a heartbeat, and she couldn’t risk even a minor purposeful injury, since it would affect her hunting performance.
“Honey! The air taxi arrives in thirty minutes, are you almost ready? Do you need help with your hair?” Matilda’s voice called from outside Lynn’s bedroom.
Lynn sank further into her body-mold chair, refusing to look at the outfit laid out on her bed.
“I’m good, Mom! Thanks!”
She was playing WarMonger, as one did when one was procrastinating. It was a treat she rarely made time for, just enough to check on Steve and his friends’ handling of her precious Larry Coughlin account. True to Steve’s word, they took good care of it, and while her rank hadn’t gone up, it hadn’t gone down either. Reviewing her messages, it was clear they knew way more about actual military lingo and history than her, and Larry’s reputation as a war-hardened former operator had only grown. It made her jealous, but it also gave her great ideas for future quips.
If only she could find a chance to use them.
“Lynn, we’re leaving in five minutes! Are you ready?”
“Oops,” Lynn whispered, grinning despite herself. “Coming!” she yelled to her mom and logged off, having just wrapped up an impromptu free-for-all with a bunch of mouthy Tier Tens.
It only took a minute to throw on the slinky black sleeveless top and ankle-length formfitting skirt with a slit up one thigh that Kayla had helped her pick out. She wore flats with it, plus her new favorite piece of clothing—a supple leather jacket with just enough punk style in its elegant cut to make her smile. To give her friend credit, Kayla had been very good at prying reluctant and mumbled style preferences out of her, resulting in something that looked and felt like her instead of a younger version of her mother.
She’d decided to leave her hair mostly down for the party, with only a single braid across her forehead and down one side holding back any hair from getting in her face. Since she’d already done the braid right after her shower, she simply grabbed her jacket and headed out to the living room.
“You look wonderful, honey,” Matilda said, giving her a once over, then planting a kiss on her forehead. “Now hurry up, we still have to collect Mr. Thomas and the taxi will be here any minute.”
One thing Lynn had made sure she could do for this dreaded party was invite her downstairs neighbor to join them. She hadn’t been able to visit Mr. Thomas as much as she’d promised herself she would. But they’d had him over for dinner once, and she’d made several impromptu visits that had turned into fascinating conversations over a friendly card game. Mr. Thomas knew all the old-style games her mother had taught her that nobody ever played anymore: bridge, rummy, spades, hearts, and more. It was a fun change of pace and gave her patternist urges a stimulating workout, especially since Mr. Thomas was as good at counting cards as she was.
When they arrived at the lobby of their building, Mr. Thomas was waiting for them in a shockingly snazzy suit whose blazer was entirely covered in a thick layer of shimmering gold sequins. The lapel and cuffs were black with gold embroidery, and he wore a crisp little bowtie of green with a pattern of red holly berries on it.
“Goodness, Mr. Thomas! Look at you,” Matilda said with a smile. She held out an arm for him. “I had no idea you were such a party animal.”
“Oh yes, I was quite the reveler in my youth,” he replied, and winked. Then he took Matilda’s arm, cane in his other hand. “You look quite lovely yourself, Mrs. Raven, and you, too, Lynn. I cannot begin to express my gratitude at your generous invitation. I hope you know how much it means to me.”
Matilda waved a hand.
“It was all Lynn’s idea, so she should get the credit. But we’re honored that you would come. You’ve been very good to Lynn, and we’re grateful to have you as our neighbor.”
“As I am also grateful. Mankind was not meant to be alone, yet over my long life I have watched humanity slowly seduced into technological cocoons of isolation and unhappiness. What a blessing to have each other in times like these, and to have such a lovely party to attend. I do not suppose that is our air taxi outside, is it?”
“Oops! It probably is. Come on, you two,” Matilda said, and they were off.
* * *
Kayla squealed with delight when she opened the door and saw them lined up on her doorstep.
“Lynn, you look amazing! And this must be your neighbor I’ve heard so much about. Hurry up, Lynn, and introduce me to this handsome young man!” Kayla fanned her face dramatically and grinned at Mr. Thomas, whose returning smile was all white teeth and pure mischief.
“Uh, this is my neighbor Mr. Jerald Thomas. Jerald, this is my—friend, Kayla Swain,” Lynn said, hesitating only a moment on the descriptor. A flash of surprise passed over Kayla’s face, but the next moment she was reaching forward and drawing Mr. Thomas into the house with a smile, already chatting away like a social butterfly. The old man met her smile for smile and seemed to have gained a bounce in his step as he followed his charming hostess.
Lynn exchanged a raised eyebrow with her mother, then they both had to suppress giggles behind their hands as they entered as well.
Mr. Swain’s house was expansive, elegant, and beautifully decorated. Its exterior was stone, two stories, with several wings. Large windows and high ceilings gave it an airy, modern feel. Lynn spotted many homey touches, however, from smiling pictures of Kayla proudly displayed on the walls to Iowa Hawkeyes paraphernalia in a glass case in the hallway. There were even colorful drawings taped to the fridge visible through one doorway. It made Lynn relax and feel more like she was among friends rather than on a performance stage.
She wondered idly if Elena’s dad had any old drawings of his daughter’s on his fridge.
Probably not.
In no time, all the guys had arrived with their families, from Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen in impeccably elegant attire to Edgar’s harried-looking mom and five siblings wearing variously patterned Christmas sweaters. Mrs. Rios came in at the head of her family procession with the expression of one searching for reasons to disapprove. But Matilda swooped down on her and soon they were chatting away while Mack introduced his dad and siblings to everyone. Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen also seemed inclined to be aloof after their elder daughter abandoned them to hang out with Dan and Mack. Lynn elbowed Kayla to peel her attention away from Mr. Thomas long enough to whisper a plan in her ear, and then Kayla was off. With an elegance and ease that Lynn could never hope to obtain, Kayla engaged Dan’s parents and got them introduced to her father, the only person in the room who looked like he was wearing a suit more expensive than Mr. Nguyen’s. After that the lofty pair visibly relaxed and seemed to settle into a long conversation with Mr. Swain about who knew what—probably not gaming, though.
“Mama, you remember Lynn, right?”
Kayla had reappeared with her mother in tow, and Lynn smiled shyly at a woman she barely remembered. Mrs. Swain’s shapely figure was encased in a sheath dress beautifully embroidered with gold and silver snowflakes that set off her mahogany skin to perfection. Her tightly braided hair was wrapped around her head like a crown. Lynn could easily see where Kayla got her stunning looks, and she tried not to feel out of place.
“Of course, I do honey! How are you, Lynn?”
“Um, great, thanks.”
“I’m so happy you and Kayla are spending time together. I haven’t seen her this happy and energetic in forever.”
Lynn gulped and gave a polite smile. Fortunately, Mrs. Swain went right on without seeming to need a reply.
“This party was a delightful idea. It’s so nice to finally get to meet all her friends!”
That statement made Lynn shoot Kayla a questioning look, and Kayla made a “don’t blow my cover” expression behind her mother’s back. It made Lynn feel like a paragon of openness and virtue with her mom compared to the amount Kayla had apparently kept her parents in the dark. Lynn was tempted to say something vague yet revealing, but the pleading look on Kayla’s face stopped her. She’d never wanted to tell her mom about the bullying she’d endured in middle school, and she’d only just recently admitted to her Larry Coughlin alter ego. Maybe Kayla simply needed more time and a wise word. Lynn would sic Mr. Thomas on her friend the next chance she got. That would straighten her out.
“Yeah, it’s nice to meet, er, see you again too, Mrs. Swain. Speaking of friends . . . ” Lynn glanced at Kayla. “Ronnie did say he was coming, right?”
Kayla nodded, then turned to scan the large foyer where the adults were still standing around talking. Most of their peers had disappeared but judging by the excited sounds coming from what Lynn assumed was the kitchen, she suspected her friends had found the food.
“I’ll go look for him,” Lynn said quickly, and extracted herself before Kayla or her mother could object.
She wound her way across the foyer and was about to enter the kitchen when someone much taller than her came around the corner attempting to exit it. They nearly collided, and Lynn would have slipped on the polished floor and fell on her butt if she’d been wearing high heels. Fortunately, her practical flats had more traction and she simply stumbled back as a large, familiar hand reached out to steady her.
“Whoa! Sorry, Lynn, didn’t see you coming. You okay?”
Lynn couldn’t help grinning as she looked up into Edgar’s concerned face. His Christmas sweater was a picture of a kitten riding a T-rex, both wearing jolly red Santa hats. It was impossible not to smile in the face of such ridiculousness.
“Besides nearly having a heart attack, yeah, I’m good.”
“Whew, great. I was just coming to find you because . . . uh . . . ” He trailed off, his eyes having finally flicked down from her face to scan her body for potential injury. But his eyes seemed to have gotten stuck. This was possibly due to the way her slinky black blouse outlined the curve of her breasts, or the way the slit of her skirt showed off more of her muscled thigh than had ever seen the light of day before.
Lynn felt unbearably warm all of a sudden and crossed her arms self-consciously over her chest.
The movement jolted Edgar out of his daze and his eyes snapped back to her face.
“You look amazing,” he said in a strangled voice, then seemed to second-guess himself. “I mean, you always look amazing, obviously, but your, uh, shirt, is, uh, really nice, and I’ve never seen you in, uh . . . well . . . ” He trailed off again, wincing.
Normally such attention would have made Lynn want to melt into a puddle of embarrassed goo. But Edgar’s voice was so earnest that she felt a surprising glow of happiness. It took the edge off the painful awkwardness that inevitably followed any mention of her looks.
“Uh, thanks. And I like your sweater.” She smiled again and poked him lightly in the chest right where the enthusiastically waving kitten sat perched atop its dinosaur mount.
“Oh yeah! Pretty sweet, huh? We always wear ugly sweaters for Christmas. Mom goes through every local thrift store till she finds us a new one each year. But this year, cuz of my sponsorship money and all, I surprised Mom and got them myself”—he leaned closer and finished in a conspiratorial whisper—“but with cool designs.”
One of Lynn’s eyebrows rose and she gave his sweater a pointed look.
“Cool, huh?”
“What?” Edgar grabbed the hem of his sweater, pulling the picture flat and looking down at it fondly. “What could possibly be cooler than kittens on dinosaurs?”
“Absolutely nothing at all,” Lynn lied with a straight face, though inside she was cackling.
Silence descended between them.
“So . . . ” Lynn began.
“Right! Yeah, uh, I was just coming to find you, cuz there’s this really dope appetizer wrapped in bacon, and Mack and Dan are stuffing their faces with it, and I figured you’d probably stab them or something if you didn’t get any so—”
He didn’t get any further because Lynn dove past him into the kitchen.
Bacon was no joking matter.
Fortunately for Dan and Mack’s long-term health, they hadn’t entirely cleared the platter by the time she got there. They were, however, subjected to a much-deserved berating on manners and sharing while Lynn stuffed the last few bacon-wrapped steak bites into her mouth.
They, in turn, blamed Edgar’s three youngest siblings, who had moved on to the bowl of chocolate truffles and looked like fair imitations of hamsters with their bulging cheeks.
There was a great deal of good-natured bickering all around, and eventually Lynn had to help Edgar chase his youngest siblings out of the kitchen and into the foyer before they ate everything in sight.
She was just turning around, intending to retreat back into the kitchen before someone tried to talk to her, when she spotted Ronnie slipping in the front door. He had on the same coat and shoes he normally wore to school but did have on a pair of rumpled slacks in place of his usual jeans. After quietly closing the door behind him, he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around, shoulders hunched.
Lynn could have waited until Kayla noticed him and did her whole hostess thing. But an odd sense of duty propelled her forward. Before she had a chance to plan what to say, she was a few steps away and he’d noticed her. Uncertainty and wariness clouded his face, and a streak of panic shot through Lynn.
What the heck was she doing?
Charity.
The thought came in Mr. Thomas’ voice. She could see his kind smile in her mind’s eye—an offer of friendship to an awkward outcast who’d done little more than ignore him as that “weird old neighbor” for their entire acquaintance.
Suddenly she understood.
“Hey,” she said, giving Ronnie a little smile.
He nodded at her, expression wary.
“I’m glad you made it.”
“Really?” Ronnie said, surprise flashing across his face.
“Yeah,” Lynn said, feeling even more certain. “Our team wouldn’t be the same without you. I’m glad you’re here.”
Ronnie’s eyes widened further, as if he’d never heard anything so shocking in his life.
“Come on.” Lynn gestured with one hand. “I’ll show you where the food is, at least if Dan and Mack haven’t eaten it all yet.”
That got a snort from Ronnie.
“Knowing them, there’s probably nothing left.”
“Better hurry, then, huh?” Lynn grinned and jerked her head toward the kitchen.
It took him a second to respond, but eventually he did follow her, and soon they were surrounded by the rest of the team. Food and drink were passed around, jokes and ribbing flew thick and fast, and Lynn felt strangely content. She drifted a little apart from her team, glass of sparkling grape juice in her hand, content to simply watch and enjoy their happiness.
“Good evening, Lynn. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”
Lynn started but managed to hide her surprise in a turning motion toward the voice which she recognized from several facechat meetings: Jamal Swain, Kayla’s charismatic CEO of a stepfather.
Belatedly, Lynn registered that his hand was extended in a friendly invitation. She took it and tried to smile casually as they shook, as if she hadn’t been standing there frozen like some idiot. Mr. Swain didn’t seem to mind, though, and he smiled broadly before continuing.
“Thank you so much for coming to Kayla’s party. She doesn’t have many friends, and as a parent I’m both proud and honored that she can count you among them.”
That made Lynn flush, but she didn’t say any of the dozen protests that came to mind.
She was learning.
“Thanks, it was, uh, nice of her to organize it. I think it’s good for our families to meet each other and hang out, you know?” So, they can see that what we’re doing is important and not wasting our lives on some “silly game,” she added to herself.
Mr. Swain’s eyes twinkled. “And so your parents can commiserate with each other about how little they’re seeing their teenagers these days?”
Lynn coughed. “Uh, yeah. Maybe that too.”
“I’ve spoken to all the parents who are here, Lynn, and I can assure you they are very proud of your team’s hard work.”
“W-what?” Lynn almost spit out the grape juice she’d been trying to sip.
At Mr. Swain’s look of surprise, she backpedaled.
“I mean, I know my mom is proud, but I guess I got the impression from the guys that their parents were too busy to care, or were annoyed we’re wasting precious study time on a stupid game.”
“Ahhh,” Mr. Swain said. “I can see that. And perhaps some of them do still consider ‘professional gamer’ to be a less than ideal career choice for their children.” His eyes flicked to Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen who were deep in conversation with Mr. Thomas. He smiled.
“But I think you’ll find they are open to changing their minds, especially after I told them how your team is one of the top revenue makers for my company, or how much more in sponsorships you all might expect to negotiate if you continue the good work you’ve been doing.”
“R-really? Top revenue makers, I mean?” Lynn asked, eyes widening.
Mr. Swain turned back to her, his smile bright and his eyes dancing.
“Oh yes. Sports has long been one of the largest ad-generating markets in the world, and ‘geek culture’ as you might call it is becoming more and more mainstream as well. With the rise in Augmented Reality Sports, there’s been a huge gap in demand for more augmented reality entertainment that Mr. Krator has handily filled with his TD Hunter model. It’s been tried before, but this is the first time it’s been done successfully. And you, Lynn, are the tip of that spear.”
“I-I am?”
“Absolutely. You’ve got the looks and skills to keep any stream viewer entertained—you’re basically stream celebrity gold. Even your reticence to speak publicly and do interviews works in your favor, since it creates scarcity and an aura of mystery.”
“Oh,” Lynn said faintly. She was repulsed by the idea of such notoriety while also being strangely fascinated by it. Was that normal? Honestly, hiding in her room and ignoring everybody seemed like the safest response to it all.
“You know,” Mr. Swain remarked, amusement in his voice. “Most of my clients would be glowing with pride and excitement at this point.”
“What? Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, I’m, well . . . not used to this. I just want to be myself and be left alone, you know?”
“I completely understand, and I think that’s exactly why you’re doing so well.”
Lynn gave him a startled look, which he returned gravely.
“Fame is a dangerous, poisonous thing. People without strong morals and a level-headed support system around them often make the mistake of glorifying fame for its own sake. That kind of self-centered worship will destroy you every time—destroy your relationships, destroy your sanity, even destroy your life. I’ve wondered, at times, if operating a PR company was even the right thing to do. But fame is just a tool to achieve worthy goals, and we’ve been able to raise awareness for so many vital causes and bring life-changing good to hundreds of clients. At the end of the day, all I can do is make sure my teams guide and advise our clients wisely and hope it all balances out.”
The older man’s words resonated with Lynn, and she nodded slowly, wondering what Elena or even Connor might have been like if they hadn’t been so obsessed with fame and success for its own sake. They didn’t deserve a pass on their behavior, but with Mr. Thomas’ words about charity still fresh in Lynn’s mind, she could at least understand that pity, rather than hatred, was a wiser path when it came to CRC.
“You’re doing just fine, Lynn,” Mr. Swain continued, oblivious to Lynn’s musings. “Your humility and dedication to your team is admirable. It will keep you from falling into the trap many others have been destroyed by. Just hold onto your good character, listen to your mentors, and keep your priorities straight. Don’t let the clamoring voices on the streams or web change you.”
“Oh, there’s no danger of that,” Lynn said with a laugh. “I avoid the comment sections like the plague.”
“Probably a good idea,” Mr. Swain agreed and gave her a wink. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make a toast before this party winds down and people start leaving.”
He gave her a brilliant smile and a nod, then turned toward the huge sideboard where more drinks and appetizers had been laid out. Lynn still had grape juice left in her glass, so she hung back and watched as Mr. Swain got everybody’s attention and organized the handing out of drinks.
She hoped he wasn’t going to say anything about her.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for honoring our house with your presence. As CEO of GIC as well as on a personal level, I am delighted to celebrate the achievements of Skadi’s Wolves. We at GIC and here in the Swain family wish the premier team of Cedar Rapids all the best. They have worked extremely hard and achieved so much already. May we continue to support them and cheer them on, looking forward to the day of their victory! Here’s to Skadi’s Wolves!”
“Skadi’s Wolves!” echoed through the room as everyone raised their glasses into the air.
Emotion welled up in Lynn. She wasn’t sure what kind of emotion it was, but it made her feel light and full of energy. Everyone in the room was smiling, grinning, patting each other on the back and shaking hands. Even Ronnie, who had finally shed his bulky school coat, was now talking earnestly with Mr. Swain. Edgar caught her eye and gave her a thumbs-up and a huge grin, and she couldn’t help but grin back.
They’d done good. She was proud of them all. And as far as she was concerned, they were only just getting started.