by Eric Smith
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the curtain behind the television swish back and forth a little, the black fabric separating. Ryan’s hand and eventually his head peek through. He locks eyes with me and nods.
“Well, maybe after all that dies down, you can circle back?” Jason ventures. The genuine tone in his voice is there, and it kills me. He doesn’t sound like someone who stole my writing, stole my and Ryan’s art. He sounds like that old friend again. The cool senior I met when I was still a freshman. The knowledgeable hero I looked up to all these years. A mentor.
“Maybe... Oooh, maybe you could write under a pen name?” he suggests, his smile wider, his enthusiasm unmatched. “We can figure something out.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I shrug noncommittally. It actually doesn’t sound that terrible. Ryan, meanwhile, is fussing around with the back of the console box that’s connected to the television, and appears to be having very little luck with it. I see him gritting his teeth as he tugs at something, and for a second, the massive television wobbles. Jason must have felt something, and he starts to turn around.
“What about Ryan?” I ask loudly, trying to regain his attention. He turns back to me, his focus recaptured. “Can you bring him back in, too, maybe?”
“Yeah, definitely,” Jason says, smiling. “As soon as that friend of yours disappears. Don’t get me wrong, I feel bad for her and all, but I have a business to run.”
I try not to glare at him, but I don’t think I’m successful, as he cocks an eyebrow and tilts his head.
“She doesn’t have to disappear,” I say, feeling the anger boiling up again. “She doesn’t deserve that. She—”
And then I see it.
There’s a Vox Populi sticker stuck inside the booth.
“What the hell, Jason?!” I push by him and point at the thing, stuck to one of the posters against the fabric curtain. “What is this? You know who those guys are?”
“Oh, calm down, they’re just a bunch of gamers playing pranks.”
“Pranks?!” I’m shouting. “They attacked her mom, Jason. How could you do this?”
“It’s our audience,” he snaps back, his voice a little more hushed now. “It’s my livelihood. I don’t know her, and I’m sorry, but I don’t care. Now, do you and Ryan want to make money, or not?”
Something behind the curtain flutters.
There’s a loud groaning noise.
And the television begins to pitch forward.
“Jason!” I shout. “Look out!”
With a crash, the massive screen plummets to the floor, taking half of the booth with it. The cords, the curtains, the thick plastic pipes holding it all together, all colliding down on top of Jason and Laura. Pieces of Ryan’s art go fluttering everywhere, the postcards exploding into the air like a magician tossing playing cards into the wind.
People all around us are screaming.
I stare for a moment, mouth wide open, and look in horror at Ryan from across the destroyed booth. The console is in his hands. It’s one of those super expensive gaming and development PCs, one I know Jason uses to develop his games. It has to be worth thousands. He smiles sheepishly and ducks behind the one remaining curtain, disappearing from sight.
I bend over and dig through the bits and pieces of the booth, a number of other convention-goers with me. Jason and Laura are cursing up a storm as we haul them out of all the debris.
“Fuck!” Jason shouts, looking at the booth in pieces. “That television was worth two grand!” He storms over to what’s left of it and digs around under the fallen curtains and pipes. “Where’s the—”
He looks up at me, suspicion dawning on his face. “Did you come here with Ryan?” he asks coldly.
“What?” I scoff. “No. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“He said on social media, and I quote, ‘If ManaPunk is showing that demo, I’m going to steal that shit,’” Jason says, taking a step toward me, fury in his eyes. “Where is he?! Where the hell is my demo?!”
“Jason, come on. It’s probably under all that stuff,” I say, taking a step around him.
“Do you have any idea how much those computers cost?!” he shouts, eyes scouring the debris.
As Jason bends down to sift through the curtains and pipes and cords, I take off, running madly through the crowd, holding my poster tube above my head.
“Aaron!” Jason shouts. “Aaron, get back here!”
I’m weaving in and out of people, keeping an eye open for any sign of security, Jason, or the Vox Populi, when my phone vibrates. I duck behind a line of people waiting for what will inevitably be some very disappointing Philadelphia cheesesteaks from a food stand, and notice I’ve got only a few minutes to get to D1V’s panel across the building.
I start running. I can’t miss it.
She needs me.
Suddenly, I think back to Laura, working with Jason. The person I’d thought I needed to defend, hadn’t needed me at all. I’d spent so much time thinking about trying to save her that I never considered she didn’t need saving. That I was the one who needed saving, from people like her. People like Jason.
What if I’m wrong about D1V, too?
But this is different, right? Right?
I shake my head, my thoughts running wild, and hustle out into the main hall, squeezing past what feels like a thousand people until it opens into a large open space.
“1R,” I say to myself, again and again, checking my phone several times as I descend an escalator toward the meeting rooms. They’re massive spaces, big enough to hold a full wedding in, or maybe a panel about Firefly.
I find the hall for D1V’s panel. There’s a large sign outside it, detailing the panels going on in the room that day and the times. One about Sailor Moon fandom happened way earlier this morning, another about writing strong female characters just got out, and now D1V’s event.
“Harassment in Video Game Culture & Women: A Conversation.”
I glare at the names on the list. It’s still like three dudes and then D1V. How is that a balanced conversation at all?
I move to walk into the room, when a large burly man stops me.
“Quick pat down, sorry,” he informs me.
“Wait, what? What for?” I ask.
“High-profile guest, lots of threats surrounding her on social media.” He pats me up and down, quickly, clearly disinterested and not doing a very good job. “Nothing I’d consider creditable, though. Those trolls are all the same. All talk, no action.”
I try not to glare at him, but he must catch it.
“Problem?” he asks, pulling out his phone and fussing with something on it.
“No,” I say. “Thanks.”
He mumbles something in response, and I push through the door into the room. Inside, most of the chairs are full already. The stage is all the way up in the front, the guests just taking their seats. Some guy up on the podium, bald and full of tattoos, is fiddling with a few papers and making small talk with one of the male panelists sitting at the table. Another dude is next to him, looking at his phone, and then...
I squint.
But it can’t be.
There’s a young woman sitting there, but her hair is a mixture of colors. Blood orange, with splashes of yellow and dark red, like her hair is on fire, with golden glasses and...
She looks up and across the room.
Green eyes.
I can see them from here. Bright, piercing.
D1V.
She must have changed her appearance after everything, something I certainly can’t blame her for. Must have made navigating the convention floor much easier, but now she’s onstage. Everyone can see her; they all know who she is. I feel my breathing grow short and heavy, and I look around for a seat, settling on one between the very back and very front. Smack in the middle, where hopefully she can
see me if things go poorly.
I think about the security guard and turn around to spot a bunch of people just wandering in. I think I can make out his outline by the door, still on his phone, but I pretend that I’m not seeing that. He’s paying attention. He isn’t being careless. Everything is going to be okay.
My heart is hammering in my chest. All these people. All those threats. The threads upon threads and comments upon comments from people who have no idea who this amazing girl is. Or how amazing she is.
I glance over at the walls, the loose paneling connected with hinges and broken up with seams, easily foldable and movable to make the room bigger or smaller or—
And there they are. Vox Populi stickers.
Just a few, but they’re scattered all about the sides. I stare at some of the people lining the walls. Did one of them put the stickers there? Did several of them? How well were they searched?
Damn it, I should be doing security here.
More attendees shuffle in, filling the rest of the seats, and before I know it, the hall is full, with a bunch of people standing in the back, leaning against the flimsy walls. I’m one seat away from the middle row, with a short kid filling the chair in front of me.
Perfect.
I reach down for the plastic tube I brought, and the contents that are rolled up inside. Everything looks innocent enough, like posters or swag you’d get at any convention.
I’m ready.
The bald man at the podium blows into the microphone a few times and looks over at the panelists. I can’t take my eyes off D1V, who sits there, so strong, so resolute. I don’t see a single crack in her bravery, and my heart soars.
I wish I could shout something.
Tell her that I’m here for her.
But I sit back. And I wait. I don’t want one of these security guards misconstruing my actions and kicking me out of the place. And besides, after watching Laura at the booth...maybe D1V doesn’t actually need me here? I look at the plastic tube again and start to feel a little silly for even having it with me.
“Hello, and welcome,” the bald man says into the microphone, and the audience quiets down. I see a few people pluck phones out and hold them up, recording. “I’m Thad Folkward, author of The Dangerous Lives of Men.” There’s a smattering of applause from people up in the front, and I can’t help but scowl. This is the guy they chose to moderate a panel about women in video games?
“It’s an honor and a privilege to be here today, speaking to these fine creators. I’ll introduce everyone, starting directly next to me. First, we have Solomon Gray, the art director over at Ravenfox Games.”
He drones on, introducing Solomon as my gaze darts around the room. Everyone looks... I don’t know, not suspicious? Normal? I’m not really sure what I’m looking for here, other than people who look angry. But they’re all fixated on the stage. Some with cameras, others with phones, some just watching, entirely caught up in the moment. I note a few guys who are dressed rather plain, like the dudes who pestered me and Ryan out in the corridor, but they aren’t really any different looking than anyone else.
I turn my head slightly, and there, leaning against one of the walls, is Rebekah, D1V’s streaming partner. I wave in her direction, and for a moment, she breaks focus with the stage and sees me. I wave a little more and point at myself, mouthing “Aaron” at her.
She scowls and gives me the finger.
I smile.
Rebekah from the Angst Armada just flipped me off.
That was awesome.
“Next to Solomon we have Arthur Reginald, lead programmer at Shiftcore Games. Some of you might know his work from titles such as Armor & Sleep, or perhaps his even more famous work, The Fall Out.” The applause is a little louder this time, more intense, and I shift my attention to the stage to see what the big deal is. The man holds his hand up and says thank-you into the microphone.
I catch my breath. It’s time for D1V.
“The young lady who follows, many of you may have spotted in the news lately. It’s my great pleasure to introduce streaming and Glitch sensation—in her first appearance ever, I believe—D1V!”
Applause thunders in the hall, and my heart races. A few people in the front stand up, clapping, their hair an array of colors. It looks like a small army of girls, each with patches emblazoned on their jackets. I can’t quite make them all out, but there’s something uniform about the logos.
I can already tell I want to be friends with every single one of these people.
“We’re here for you, D1V!” one shouts over the roar of the audience.
“Commander!” another cheers, raising her hands in the air.
“Okay, okay,” the MC says, a smile bright on his face. “Let’s get started.” He pulls out some kind of remote and pushes a button, and a large screen lowers behind the panelists. D1V and the men turn to watch as a bright blue splash of color appears.
“Before we officially begin,” he continues, and everyone on the panel turns back to face the audience. “We have a special bit of footage from Solomon and Ravenfox games. Who is ready to see the first bit of gameplay from...Twenty Thousand Leagues?!”
The audience roars again, and I can’t hide my smile, despite the circumstances. The much-hyped ocean exploring game inspired by Jules Verne has been making waves in the press for months, and I’ve been dying for some more ocean exploring ever since I played through the BioShock series on Steam.
I lean back a little in my metal folding chair. I’m allowed to enjoy a little of this, right? I find myself wishing Ryan were here. He’d love this preview.
The room goes black, the lights shutting off with an audible snap. Several people in the audience gasp, and the darkness is broken by the glow of multiple cell phones. People hold them up, little lights in the black, and as the footage starts, hundreds of smartphones are set to record.
This is going to be all over the Internet, and I’m thrilled that I actually get to be here for it.
Music swells, epic and intense, a symphony. The projector screen shows a boundless ocean, surprisingly empty except for little fish flitting back and forth. Some kind of horn sounds in the musical score, deep and ominous, and a vessel courses into view.
A voice-over booms, deep and dramatic, as the shadowy outline of a submerged vessel begins to materialize.
“In an ocean where—”
The lights flicker back on.
The audience buzzes with voices, several people shouting in protest as Thad fusses with the remote on the stage. I look to D1V, who’s craning her neck toward the projector screen, just as confused as everyone else is.
“Sorry!” Thad shouts, holding his hands up, trying to calm the audience down. “Let me just—”
Snap!
The lights are off again.
There’s a brief sound of celebration from the audience, but it dies quickly. Almost instantly. And I immediately see why.
The screen. It’s gone black.
With the exception of two letters in the middle of it, a white line slicing down between them.
V | P
The Vox Populi.
They’re here.
“Boo!” a voice shouts from somewhere nearby. A shadowy figure stands up across the aisle.
“The Vox Populi will rise!” screams someone else near the front of the room.
“Someone get the lights!” Thad yells from the stage.
“Boo!” another voice chimes in, louder. A guy behind me. I turn around, and in the little bit of light shining in from the outside near the walls, I see Rebekah shove him. I stand up, wanting to rush toward her, but suddenly there’s a massive chorus of booing, echoing from all around the hall. And a strange... I don’t know, a rustling sound, coming from everywhere around me. Like someone fussing with a backpack or a jacket, only times several dozen.
; After what feels like forever, there’s another loud snap.
The lights crack back on.
It’s easy to spot what the rustling was now. Multiple guys around the room are sporting bright white shirts with a black V | P logo right in the middle, matching the one on the screen.
They’re everywhere. They were here the entire time. Just hidden among the audience.
Yet as scary as that is, it takes everything in me not to laugh at the fact that all these guys took their shirts off and changed while the lights were out.
It feels...ridiculous. And sad.
Several guys around me get to their feet and start to take slow, meaningful steps forward. My heart pounds in my chest, a sense of urgency mixed with fear coursing through me. Are they going to come for me? Or are they heading toward the stage?
I take my badge and tuck it inside my shirt, hiding my name. I don’t know how D1V does it up there, on display for everyone. I try to steel myself, to find some strength for her, and I reach down and grab the plastic poster tube.
Behind me, I can barely make out that one security guard, the man who was on his phone, but I see him grab the guy tussling with Rebekah and throw him out of the hall.
A masked face appears on the projector screen, still easily visible even with the lights on.
WE ARE THE VOX POPULI.
There’s a roar of cheering scattered throughout the crowd.
WE WILL NOT BE SILENCED.
And suddenly, it’s complete pandemonium.
Security guards seem to erupt out of nowhere, shoving their way through the swelling crowd to the stage, where they form ranks around the panelists. The army of dudes surges toward them, all looking enraged at...what? What is it about a girl being popular on the Internet that pisses them off so much?
Some of the Vox Populi who were behind me shove by, and I look at the floor for a moment, afraid they might see me. Somehow recognize me.
When my eyes flit back up, D1V is still standing on the stage, resolute, serving up a powerful glare.
She’s so brave. My God.