by Linden Storm
“I can’t believe it worked,” Belle says again. She blinks repeatedly, trying to clear her vision of the tears that inexplicably have filled her eyes. She covers her face with her hands.
J.T.’s voice booms, his amplified hysterical baritone drowning out even the screaming crowd. “Deep Secrets had the Untouchables, but the Untouchables trapped them into trapping them so they could spring their own trap.”
“Or something like that,” Lane says. “Some would say Doggy handed them the match. But never mind! What a victory!”
“That was epic! Let’s do the Victory Dance!” Nick says.
Belle doesn’t usually allow such obvious demonstrations of glee without protest, but this time she watches indulgently as Nick dances awkwardly—like the hopeless nerd he is.
Everyone moans and laughs. They all accept towels and begin to wipe down their faces, which are glistening with sweat.
After bowing to more hysterical cheering, Belle begins to calm down.
Now they’re obligated by contract to file toward the podium and endure the post-game interview with J.T. and Lane. After that, they’ll have to go into hiding, because all the gamer bro gangs will be coming after them for having the audacity to exist. Those losers hate to see women win, especially in a big tournament.
“Let’s not get carried away,” Belle says, checking her phone to scan the game sites and prominent social media feeds, not for invective, but for analysis of their match. “For once I agree with the pundits. We managed to win this match, but that doesn’t mean we can win the next one.”
“You should appreciate us more,” Nick says, jumping up and down. “We’re a miracle.”
“I love you guys,” William says, wrapping an arm around Paul’s shoulders.
Marina smiles and nods, but her expression is guarded.
For once Belle feels keenly that she and Marina are in synch: they’ve got to make some changes if they are going to win it all. And they’re going to have to watch their backs more carefully than ever.
∆∆∆
Marina nods as Belle approaches her backstage.
“We need to talk,” Belle says.
Marina shakes her head. “I have to fly out in two hours.”
“Over here,” Belle says. She pulls Marina down a hallway backstage.
Marina says nothing. Instead, she endures Belle’s cursing and her frantic search for a quiet place, allowing herself to be dragged into a small cleaning closet that smells of chemicals.
“That match was a mess,” Belle says.
“I don't agree,” Marina says.
“You have to admit that we got lucky when Doggy got stupid. That’s the only reason we won.”
“All right. I admit that. Of course.”
“What are we going to do?”
Marina pauses. “I don’t know. The team is slow. They argue and forget. They don’t trust the plan.”
“You’re talking about me, too, now, aren’t you?”
Marina waits, holding Belle’s gaze.
“All right,” Belle says, rolling her eyes. “But trust doesn’t come easy to me. Even if you are my half-sister, we’re really just strangers.”
Marina tries to swallow the hurt filling her throat, her chest. She’d tried so hard to create a relationship with Belle, and all her advances had been rebuffed. There had been no quiet Sunday afternoons relaxing and talking, no pleasant check-ins, no affection whatsoever. Just businesslike interactions regarding the team.
“You haven’t given us a chance,” Marina says simply.
Belle sighs. “What would a chance look like, in your opinion?”
“We could talk more. Get to know each other. Tell our stories. Make a start.”
“I don’t want to tell my story. I want to forget it. But if you want to tell me about your rough life, go ahead. I’m listening.”
Marina shudders. Belle’s posture is stiff, and her eyes are blazing. How can she open up and reveal her pain in the face of this hostility and defensiveness? How can she enumerate the horrors—the constant violence in the streets, the hunger and food riots, even the violent acts she herself perpetrated in order to save her two out-of-control brothers? Belle wouldn’t understand. She shrugs. “I have a plane to catch.”
“Fine. Don’t tell me,” Belle says. “But remember one thing: at least you had a family. I never did.”
“The family you’re born into isn’t necessarily the family you deserve,” Marina says evenly.
Belle shakes her head. Marina can see she still believes her own suffering is all that matters.
“Yeah, well, the past is the past,” Belle says. “What are we going to do now?”
“I don’t know,” Marina says, wondering why she’s always the one who’s expected to find the answers.
“More practice? More hours in game? More studying?” Belle says.
“At this point, it’s really down to attitude. Trusting each other’s competence. And it’s about you and me being of one mind.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t work that way. Even if you are my sister.”
“You have made that clear,” Marina says. She can’t talk anymore to this damaged, stubborn woman. She turns, open the door, and flees down the darkened corridor.
It isn’t until Marina is away from Belle that she realizes Belle has finally admitted to her face that they’re sisters.
Maybe that’s progress, she thinks, but it’s too slow. Belle is so caught up in bitterness about her childhood, she can't allow their relationship to grow and develop into something that can both anchor the team and propel it forward.
Marina has a choice to make. She can either run—hide her identity and disappear into the vast and varied landscape of the United States of America—or she can take her chances on her imperfect team and aggravating sister.
Or maybe, just maybe, there’s a way to turn her sister around.
For there is one thing Marina knows: if she and Belle are truly in synch, they will be unstoppable.
∆∆∆
Marina does not stay for any optional interviews or for a single celebration. Instead, she exits the arena, boards the light rail, and hightails it for the airport. With two weeks to go before the finals, she needs to get to Phoenix and settle things with Jimmy before she either runs away or sets a plan in motion to fix the team.
Her marriage is a dangerous sham, but she can’t survive deportation. The safer option might be to disappear, but that would mean giving up her dreams of a Battlecraft career. Right now, she’s still regarded as a lucky dilettante, but winning the Battlecraft VR championship in two weeks would net her enough real money to pay top immigration attorneys, establish her as a sports professional, and make her too famous to deport. In spite of the U.S.’s draconian immigration policies, which have tightened inexorably since the twenty-teens, she’s sure she’ll be able to get a work visa and stay. But not if the Untouchables lose the tournament.
When she lands in Phoenix, she takes a shuttle to the apartment and begins clearing up the mess.
The place smells like rotten meat, stale beer, and dirty clothes. This is a bad sign. It means Jimmy is not doing well.
Marina feels guilty about Jimmy. He’s not a bad guy. A year ago, like many other middle-aged, lonely American men, he’d signed up for a virtual dating network. He’d found several Uzbek women to date, then set up virtual meetings with them.
Marina had been the first woman he’d met with. The timing had been fortuitous for her, since she’d resorted to the virtual dating site just after she’d engineered the murder of a vicious crime boss who was threatening her brothers. Marina didn’t regret protecting her brothers, but the killing was not an act that would be forgotten or forgiven. She’d needed to get out, and Jimmy had offered her a way. She’d had no choice but to accept.
At first, it had seemed like an acceptable alternative. Jimmy had been friendly and funny, and they’d talked for many hours. She learned he was a civil servant who lived in Phoenix and was l
ong divorced, with two grown daughters and money in the bank. He went to AA meetings every few days, and he’d been twenty years sober.
The minute she’d said she wanted to move to the U.S., he’d asked her to marry him.
Using bureaucratic connections he’d made through his job, Jimmy had applied for and obtained an expedited fiancée visa.
Marina had used a cash gift from Jimmy and all the funds she could scrape together to bribe a local official, and she’d slipped out of Uzbekistan by way of Germany. Once there, she was able to use her visa to get into the U.S. From that point, she was obligated to marry Jimmy within six months.
She used her six months in the U.S. before the marriage to build her Battlecraft team. They were already beginning to win, but she was running out of time. After a few sleepless nights and one desperate attempt to escape her fate, she’d gone ahead with the marriage to buy time until she could earn her visa another way.
Anyway, things were going surprisingly well with Jimmy. It wasn’t until a couple of months later that Jimmy had begun drinking again and the relationship had deteriorated.
Now that she’s back in Phoenix surveying the smelly mess in the apartment, it’s clearer than ever that the marriage is untenable, unfixable, and unsafe. She’s just beginning to pack up some of the contents of her closet when the door to the condo door swings open and Jimmy stomps in, earlier than normal. His dark-blue uniform is stained with vast patches of sweat. His face, which was always ruddy, is purple and wet. He reeks of bourbon. He’s swaying.
He scowls at Marina. She scowls back. If she’s had any doubts about leaving him, they’re long gone now.
He advances toward her, hands curled into fists.
Marina stands her ground, determined to stay the course.
But Jimmy figures it out before she has a chance to explain or retreat.
He charges at her.
He wraps his rough, hot hands around her neck.
She struggles and scratches at his arms.
Then her vision blackens at the edges and begins to telescope down.
Chapter Two
Going, Going, Gone
A week later, Belle sits fidgeting at the Spigot Games conference table. It doesn’t help that she’s been kept waiting twenty minutes for Rupert Jones Jr., the rude, entitled, billionaire sponsor of the Untouchables, to arrive.
Dressed in a bright orange smart-smock, Nick sits several chairs away from Belle, rocking in his chair and staring at his hands. His fingers tap the table incessantly.
Belle’s mood is as black as her clothing. She glowers at the people outside the glass doors—five or six privileged asses dressed trendily in outfits in various shades of eggshell, ecru, and beige, even their footwear.
William dashes in, his long Jesus-hair flying.
He smiles beatifically at Belle. “That’s a flowy bunch,” he says.
“You’re late,” Belle says irritably.
“Sorry,” William says, “I had to deal with a delivery crisis on the way.”
“Glad you’re here, man,” Nick says, standing suddenly.
William cocks his head at the knot of gossipers in the lobby. “They look like sex robots.”
“How would you know?” Belle says sardonically.
“I’ve seen ads,” William says, grinning. William is wearing jeans and an ancient Motorhead t-shirt.
“It’s good to see you, man,” Nick says, standing and moving toward William. “It’s been a while.”
“I know,” William says. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, man,” Nick says.
Belle grabs her own throat and gags loudly. “Will you two sit down and shut up? We see each other every day.”
“Not in person, though,” Nick says. “It’s different.”
“Yeah,” William says, smiling at Nick.
Belle ignores him. He’s overly sentimental, in her opinion. He acts like he loves everyone. It’s weird.
Harold Mathis bursts in the outer office door and pushes through the game designers. He looks like a country Santa Claus: white hair and beard, bib overalls, a flannel shirt, and a John Deere cap.
He pounds on the conference room door.
“Oh, no,” Nick says in a stage-whisper, rubbing his patchily bearded chin. “It’s Grandpa Harold. How did he find us?”
William runs over and lets Harold in.
Harold enfolds his grandson in a tight bear hug. William leans right in and hugs Harold too.
“Grandpa, what are you doing here?” Nick says, rubbing his stomach and grimacing.
Belle notices Nick’s stomach-rubbing and hopes he won’t start working his crybaby act. She hates it when he whines.
“You know I was at the semifinal,” Harold says, grinning maniacally. “Front row seats, almost. Can you believe what happened?”
“Yeah, it was something, right?” William says.
Harold puts a giant chapped paw on Nick’s shoulder and squeezes. Nick winces, then smiles.
Harold grins. “More than four million fans watched that playoff. You are heroes, every one of you.” He beams as he looks at each of them, and then his brow knits. He addresses Nick. “Son, I called your buddy William, here, because you weren’t answering your phone. Why don’t you answer your phone?”
Nick opens his mouth to speak, but Harold keeps talking. “—Anyhow, William told me you were going to meet with Rupert about Marina.”
“William told you where we were?” Nick says, lowering his eyebrows and cutting his gaze in William’s direction.
Harold nods vigorously. “Yes, and William agreed with me that I needed to be here. I’m the president of the fan club, remember. I’ve got a responsibility to the fans. It’s right in the charter that I’m your liaison. You wouldn’t believe how many questions I’m getting. ‘Where’s Marina?’ ‘Did she quit the team?’ ‘Is she sick?’ ‘Is she dead?’ People are desperate for information. So I really need to be here. Am I right?”
“Right,” William says.
“I guess so,” Nick says, cutting his eyes nervously toward Belle.
“Harold, you should just tell them Marina is fine," Belle says.
“How do you know Marina is fine, Missy?” Harold says. “What about those crazy bro gangs? They’ve been threatening her with all kinds of mayhem.”
Belle feels bile rising in her throat. She stares at Harold. He stares right back at her.
“Tell me again what he’s doing here?” she says, cutting her eyes to Nick.
Nick looks miserable. He touches his grandfather's arm. “Grandpa. Those bro gang guys don’t usually do anything in the real world. They only threaten people. And what did I say about calling women ‘Missy’?”
“Well, Marina isn’t fine,” Harold says belligerently. “She can’t be. Or she’d be answering her phone, or responding to our hails on the different social platforms, or at the very least showing up for daily practice sessions, which she is not, am I accurate? When has Marina ever shirked? Tell me that.”
Belle opens her mouth to tell the old man off, but she’s interrupted by a tall, lanky woman in a midnight-blue cape-like garment materializing like a wraith at the transparent door. She’s carrying a large tray loaded with various greenish drinks and energy bars.
Belle hates energy bars.
“Oh!” William says. He jumps up from his seat and lets the woman in, taking her tray and placing it in the middle of the table.
“What are you doing?” Belle says. “Stop letting people in!”
The woman glides like a runway model. Her cape billows.
“Who’s that?” Harold says, leaning in toward Nick’s ear.
Belle glares at him. Doesn’t he realize how loud he is? And how can he fail to recognize this woman? Everyone knows her.
“Grandpa, this is Gemma Gosnold. She’s an actress. A very famous actress,” Nick says quietly.
“Oh! Really? Like Jane Fonda?” Harold booms.
Gemma turns toward Harold and favo
rs him with a large, bleached smile. “Remember ? From the series Alien Invasion? Picture me with blue skin and a very long forked tongue.”
“Oh,” he says, clearly still puzzled. “Hey. You sound like a foreigner. Are you from someplace else?”
Belle isn’t much of a fan of old-time celebrities, but she’s shocked at Harold’s cluelessness.
Gemma Gosnold, however, does not lose an iota of composure. “I’m British, sweetie, but I live in L.A. now. I'm here in Seattle to do some voice-acting in a Spigot game. Something involving mad robots, lost children, and dragons, I think. Or maybe ogres—”
Belle thinks about how far a popular reptilian-alien-playing actress on a 2021 video series can fall.
Gemma grimaces. “But you’re wondering what I’m doing here in this room, aren’t you? Well, sometimes Rupert uses me as a sort of assistant, if I can fit it in. And if I can’t, he tells me I must, and so I do, because I can’t afford to lose future work he might send my way. You see?”
Everyone stares uncomfortably at Gemma.
“Where’s Rupert?” Belle says.
“He’ll be right along. Don’t worry. He’s very busy being CEO of Spigot Games, and his board of directors, they disapprove of this, um, side habit…uh, hobby?” She looks around and they all stare back at her blankly. “…Of sponsoring your gaming? Um, VR sports, is it? Apparently, your sport takes up Rupert’s time and energy…he watches too much Battlecraft, plays too much Battlecraft, and spends too much time managing your team’s offers and finances…” She waves her arms dramatically. “But, look, never mind all that. In spite of the naysayers, he’s determined to see you through this season, which I understand is nearly over! He adores you, one and all!”
Belle takes a green drink, smells it, and puts it back.
Gemma picks up a remote control and turns on the big screen. There, filling the screen, is Paul’s face. He’s wearing a brown camo shirt and a Diamondbacks baseball cap. He takes off the cap and rubs his bald head. When he looks down, his jagged scar and dented skull appear in sharp relief.