No, that’s not right—he told me to get the hell out before he physically carried me back to The Save.
“Then tell me why LanCorp sent you into the game to retrieve a character,” I say. Because I’m having a hard time understanding why a company with such intricate technology can’t fix a glitch from outside the game. Unless, of course, Declan is lying and the character we’re looking for is just like me. Sentient. When I ask if we’re searching for a self-aware character, though, he shoots me a harsh look and shakes his head curtly.
“I told you already—you’re the only one I’ve ever met who’s like that.”
“Then what’s the matter with this character?”
He cocks his head to one side. At first, I don’t think he’ll answer because he walks away, leaving me behind. But then he sighs, glances at me over one of his shoulders and says, “My assignment was given to someone new, but he was still picking up signals from his previous player. When LanCorp shut him down manually, they didn’t realize his old player had changed his location. Nobody was able to get in touch with this guy, but my boss pulled enough game footage to determine he’s in a flesh-eater save point...but we aren’t sure which one. My job is to find him and take him back to the Provinces so that his chip can be synced to his new player. Happy now?”
Absolutely not. Because now I’m very afraid for this character who has had not one, but two players controlling his mind, making dangerous moves that could result in his death. “And there’s not a faster way of tracking him down?” I ask, catching up to Declan. The left side of my body brushes against his. His gray eyes dart over me—his expression is frightening. I veer to the right to put some distance between us.
“LanCorp promises an authentic gaming experience. Sending a huge team in to retrieve a single character would irritate gamers,” he says. “Now can you drop this? Your questions give me a headache, and I’m about twenty seconds away from electrocuting you.”
“Don’t be an ass,” I say. Even though I don’t like the idea of ending our conversation, I change the subject. “Tell me about Rehabilitation.”
He parts his lips to say something. Then he pauses. “There’s not much to tell.” When I frown, he shakes his head and releases a low whistle. “But since you’re asking—why don’t you explain it to me. You’re the one who was there up until two weeks ago.”
And now I want to kick myself. I’ve put myself in a corner where I can either tell the truth—at least partially—or remain ill-informed. He must notice I’m conflicted, because he slides closer to me and gently touches his fingers to my left shoulder. I try to keep walking, but he stops me. He grasps my other shoulder and stares into my eyes.
“According to LanCorp, it’s the simulation characters’ brains go to while they’re being played. Where they’re rehabilitated—taught how to be nonviolent members of society. But that’s just what LanCorp tells the press.” Declan snorts. “There’s no real simulation. Just the character being trapped inside of his own mind—nightmares, nothingness, insecurities—while he’s completely unaware of what’s being done to his body.”
“That’s awful,” I hiss.
Declan doesn’t confirm or deny this. “Do you remember any of it, Virtue?”
No, I don’t. I remember the real nightmares. Pursing my lips together, I say, “No, but I’m sure it’s the glitch.”
I’m starting to hate saying that word.
“Just so you know, your memory is a disaster.”
Frustrated, I shrug myself out of his hands and stalk past him. “Yeah, I know.”
* * *
The theater and mall are still standing. Both look the exact same as they did three months ago when Ethan and I came to this part of town to steal weapons from a clan living in a restaurant a few blocks away. One of the women had been pregnant, and I remember feeling so remorseful for taking their only method of defending themselves. It was the same feeling I’d had a couple of days ago when Ethan and I had raided the Survivors after completing the quest to help them—like I was scum.
Now, thinking back to that pregnant woman, I have a better understanding of what I saw and it makes me feel queasy and light-headed. The gamers controlling our bodies can make us do whatever they please, most of the time without our knowing it. They can make us mate with one another, or shoot ourselves in the head, and the only thing they face for breaking the rules is losing points or having to restart the game with a brand-new character that they can ruin all over again.
Part of me wishes I had the luxury of not knowing what’s going on—but then I shake that thought from my mind. Desiring ignorance—no matter how blissful it might be—is silly and weak.
I nearly pass out when Declan covers my mouth with his hand and drags me with him behind a crushed sign. There’s glass everywhere, but he’s careful to avoid it. I tilt my head back until our eyes meet and silently question him. His rough fingertips slide from my lips and down the side of my face.
Touching the back of my neck, he guides my head to the right. My eyes bug. At the entrance of the shopping mall is a small group of characters ranging in age from early teens to late twenties. And they’re flesh-eaters. I can tell by their blood-caked clothing and the way they’re acting—feral, shoving each other around and teasing. I’m so used to Olivia steering me everywhere that I’ve forgotten how to get around undetected.
“Pay attention, Virtue. Keep your mind off your boyfriend before you get yourself killed,” he growls in my ear. “And don’t think I’ll save you if it comes down to between the two of us.”
My nostrils flare. He’s punishing me for what I told him about Ethan two nights ago, and it twists my stomach into knots. I won’t let him know that his words bother me. If I do, he’ll never let it go. “Nice to know you plan to just let me die,” I say angrily.
“Only if it comes between me and my assignment,” he says, laughing; although part of me is sure he means it. Warm breath fans the back of my neck and shoulder blades, ruffling thin strands of my hair. I hope he doesn’t notice the sharp jerk of my body or feel my heartbeat pick up. He’s so close, though. And when I look back at him, he’s wearing that cocky partial smile again.
Stupid, stupid girl. Use him and get the hell away.
“And you’re sure this is his last known location?” I say, turning my eyes back to the mall entrance.
He chuckles. The sound vibrates in my ear. “It’s not.”
“You’re such a liar.”
“But it made you feel better, didn’t it?”
For about half a second.
I ease from his arms and twist around to face him. We spend a few minutes kneeling down like this, almost touching but not quite, running through our plans. I suggest finding out if there’s a way into the mall through the sewage system. It might take some time, but at least it would reduce our chances of getting caught by flesh-eaters and tortured to death.
“That’s stupid,” he says. “And disgusting.”
My face burns. “Okay, you’re the moderator. Tell me how we’re going to get in.”
“I’m going to jam their signal,” he says at last.
“What?”
He draws a black box from his pocket. It’s as big as my hand and square. Three shiny tubes extend from one end of it, and the tube in the middle has a green blinking light.
Blink, blink. Pause. Blink, blink, blink. Pause. The box looks as if it will explode at any moment. I cover my head.
“Signal jammer, meet Virtue. Virtue, meet my way in. Press the button on the side—” he wiggles the device in front of my face so I can see the small black knob; I push his hand away “—and everyone with an active chip stays down for about forty-five minutes. Completely idle while I look around.”
I lift an eyebrow. I don’t like the look on his face. He won’t meet my eyes. And then I get it. He did
n’t say we’d look around—he said the signal jammer is his way in, meaning he plans on searching by himself. Because I’ll be idle just like everyone else.
“No,” I say.
This plan is stupid. Utterly flawed. I’d rather wade around in garbage and filth and whatever else we may find in the sewers any day rather than allow him to leave me helpless for nearly an hour.
“It’s the only way, and I promise nothing will happen to you.”
“You’re lying. Besides, won’t their players know something’s wrong when they suddenly go off-line? Aren’t you setting us up for failure?”
“That’s the glory of the jammer.” He grins, rubbing his fingers over the metal cylinders. They spring back and forth rapidly. “It takes them all down—every character in the vicinity—so it looks like a problem within the game. And just so you know, flesh-eaters aren’t played by gamers. They’re operated by LanCorp employees. Come on, Virtue, what kind of treatment would eating people be?”
This is new, but it makes sense. It explains what Olivia said to the flesh-eater she killed in the parking garage. “Good luck with your next job, Reese. Try to last a little longer than a couple months,” she’d teased.
My stomach turns. So this is the type of job that keeps 99 percent of the Provinces’ inhabitants employed? Playing an unaware human inside a game that’s made him into a cannibal? No wonder Declan’s assignment has a new player—his former player probably quit his job. And maybe once he realized he was still able to control his character, he’d decided to play a cruel game with LanCorp. Hide-and-seek with a helpless boy who has no idea what’s really going on.
I press my lips together. “You’re not disabling me.”
“It’s a good plan. I’ve got it figured out,” Declan says.
Of course he’s got it all figured out. Everything down to abandoning me after I help him. I feel the blood rush to my neck and face and ears. If he knew that his assignment was here the entire time, why did he blackmail me into coming with him and letting him stay in my shelter?
“Do you trust me?” he asks, rising to his feet. His knuckles are white from clutching the jammer.
He’s asked me this before, but my head is so foggy right now, I can’t remember when. He’s going to deactivate me. Then he plans to leave me in a pit of flesh-eaters, and I don’t know if he’ll come back for me. I’ll wake up to a flesh-eater mauling the side of my face, just like my first day in The Aftermath—except this time, I’ll already have three years of horrible memories, and nobody will be there to save me. I shake my head.
“What do you think?” I snarl.
“You should. I made a promise. Now sit tight.”
I tackle him as he presses the button. I pound on his chest hard with both hands, and there’s a mixture of discomfort and astonishment on his face that’s instantly gratifying. Then I pause. Over his shoulder, the flesh-eaters begin to drop one by one where they stand, like dominoes falling down. He looks behind us, then back at me, eyes wide. “You’re kidding me?” He waves his hand in front of my face.
“Stop that.”
I expect him to make a disparaging comment or tease me. Instead, he rubs the tips of his fingers over the spot where my chip is implanted. Tilts my head from side to side. Touches the middle of my forehead so hard I wince. Pulling his gaze away from mine, he mutters, “Come on before they wake up.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
For just over half an hour, we search the mall frantically. We race from store to store. When we find someone, I stand a couple of steps behind him, helpless, while Declan studies his face under the sunlight shimmering through the open roof. “It’s not him,” he says so many times I lose count and optimism and part of my mind. And even though we don’t find who he’s been sent into the game to look for, I discover something in one of the last stores that stops my heart: Survivors. Seven of them in all, chained to the walls in various stages of despair. Hooking my fingers into the sharp steel of the security gate separating me from them, I stare at the youngest one—a skinny girl no bigger than myself—for a long time.
“I’m letting them go,” I say. As I bend down to open the gate, Declan’s hand closes around my arm. He gives it a squeeze, shaking his head, but I pull out of his grip. “Don’t screw with me.”
I pull on the security door with all my might. It creeps up a couple of feet; then I roll beneath it.
Declan doesn’t help as I pick the locks with my knife. He sits outside the gate on top of a headless mannequin that’s dressed in lingerie. Every few moments he clears his throat and rubs his fingers back and forth over his nose. The noise grates on my nerves.
“Stop it,” I say.
“What do you think you’re accomplishing by letting them loose?” he demands.
I’ve no intention of answering him—he doesn’t deserve it. He was going to disable me. And he didn’t care that I was afraid or against it. He didn’t even ask me how I felt about his plans beforehand. I jab the knife into another lock. It skims the edge of the flimsy metal, slicing across the palm of my other hand. I ignore the pain.
“All you’ll manage to do is hurt yourself.”
I’ll pretend I don’t hear him. I’ll pretend as if the area between my shoulders doesn’t hurt, pretend I don’t want to turn the weapon on him, send it flying into his chest just as Olivia did to the redheaded boy a few days ago.
But I glance behind me, take him in, before I tackle the final two bolts.
It’s much too difficult to ignore him.
“And now what?” he asks when the last lock clicks open. “We have five minutes left until the flesh-eaters are all over us. Are you going to drag each of them to safety?”
Pressing my lips together in a tight line, I stand and slip the knife back into its sheath. “At least they can run now. Their gamers can try to get them out of here. They can—”
“Do you think their gamers are going to magically log in the moment we leave here?”
When I turn my back to him, keeping silent, he continues, “They’re not. So it doesn’t matter if they’re released. These characters will just lie here, bodies wasting away, until their gamers come back to let them get tortured a little more or wait for some point-happy Survivor to come along and save them. Now, we have four minutes. You can stay here, but I’d rather you be with me. We still have a lot of work to do.”
“You were going to use the signal jammer on me,” I say, my voice breaking.
He sighs. I hear the gate jangle—he must be pulling on it or banging his head against the metal in frustration. “No, I was going to use it on them. You were a temporary casualty, and I promised I would come back for you. I wasn’t going to leave you. I never break my word.”
A temporary casualty. I should be irritated that he’s calling me that, but for some reason, I’m not. I’m sure I’ve been called much worse. “I don’t want to leave them.” I look around me, at the seven lifeless characters—no, humans—surrounded by chains and their own blood. “They’ll die.”
“No, eventually someone will accept this mission and free them. But you’ll die if you stay. Two minutes, Virtue.”
I’d forgotten that the slightest change in this game results in new side quests. That someone’s captivity eventually means more points for another gamer. But even knowing that some clan could sweep through here to play saints as soon as Declan and I leave doesn’t take away the burning around my eyes. I blink away the tears. For thirty seconds, I count quietly in my head. I punch the wall, grit my teeth together. Then I roll under the gate, keeping my eyes off the people on the other side. I don’t care that my knuckles burn or that I bite the tip of my tongue so hard it bleeds. “Do the gamers know that we’re real people?” I know that Olivia does, but what about everyone else playing LanCorp’s games?
“Yes.”
“Why do th
ey do this?” My voice sounds different, like something that’s been beaten halfway to death. Declan can explain the Provinces’ violence solution to me a million times—tell me how the games are a way to fix both the gamers’ and the characters’ disease—but I’m not sure I’ll ever truly understand it.
“If you’re diagnosed with the gene, treatment is mandatory. It’s against the law to refuse it. But LanCorp always gives everyone with the gene a choice—pay the money to play the game or go into Rehabilitation, become a character,” he says, sounding as if he’s quoting that directly from a prompt he studied in moderator training. He pulls me away from the gate and guides me toward the mall’s main entrance. Our eyes meet. The shame in his startles me.
“But if you had the financial resources, would you really want someone else controlling you when you could be the one in power?” Declan asks.
* * *
It takes us a while to get home, an extra hour to be exact. After what happened in the mall, I feel powerless. That hopelessness screams through me, making me little more than dead weight.
To my surprise, Declan doesn’t complain. He walks next to me, although there’s at least two feet between us. He avoids my eyes, his mouth twisted into a grimace. I want to know what he’s thinking, but maybe asking outright is not a good idea. So I keep quiet.
When we reach the bar, he steps in front of me, blocking my way in. I sigh—a drawn-out noise that’s so full of defeat it physically hurts. I’m exhausted. I don’t want to deal with Declan’s games. I open my mouth to tell him this, but he cuts me off, covering my lips with his index finger.
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