proj_ice_HT1.0
What? I frown at it, my thoughts racing, trying to make sense of the name. proj_ice. Project Ice? Does it have something to do with this White World level? HT. HT? Hideo Tanaka. Project Ice Hideo Tanaka. It could be a file connecting Hideo with this opening game level. Right? Or—
Then, my heart skips in terror as I connect another meaning to the word Ice. Oh my God.
Zero wants to assassinate Hideo.
And at that moment, every light in the stadium goes out.
20
The stadium plunges into darkness. Startled shouts come from the audience. Over the chaos, the announcers try to maintain some semblance of order. “Everyone stay in your seats,” one says, still cheerful. “It looks like we have a temporary malfunction, but it will soon be fixed.”
I stare through the pitch black at a red error message flashing in my view.
Incorrect User Access
The file that had activated now flashes once, then blinks out of existence as it self-destructs. I’m left staring at an empty shell, the only part that’s left of what the in-game object had retrieved. The file had been meant to destroy itself if the wrong user ever got her hands on it. Was the reason why Zero chose to keep messing with levels in Warcross because he has been passing information to his followers this way? And if that was true—who else in the games works for Zero?
But none of that matters at this very instance. While Hideo and I were racing to unlock data from Ren, Zero had been busy, too—glitching the arena itself. He had cut the power.
The security doors up in the balcony seats don’t work right now.
The realization hits me so hard that I can barely breathe. I place a call immediately to Hideo. “Get out of there,” I say in a rush the instant the call goes through. “Your life’s in danger. Right now. Get—”
I don’t even finish my sentence before I see a spark of light up in the balcony seats. It flashes once—twice—and then the blackness returns. People in the audience glance toward it, puzzled, but I know what it must have been.
Gunshots.
“Hideo? Hideo!” I say as I try to reconnect my call, but it doesn’t go through. I curse as I fumble my way through the darkness. The security teams have taken out flashlights, and thin rays of light float around the arena, cutting through the black. The NeuroLink’s connection also seems to have gone down, making it so that no one can bring up a virtual grid in their view to see where they’re going. I recall the stadium’s layout from my own memory—and before anyone can come up to me and stop me, I dart away from my station and hurry through the darkness, relying on what I remember to navigate through the space. People protest as I bump past them. It seems like an eternity before I finally find my way to the stairs. I hop blindly up two at a time. As I go, I try to message Hideo.
No response.
As I reach the second landing, red emergency lights flood the arena. Even though they’re technically dim, I squint against them after the pitch blackness. Security cams blink on overhead. The NeuroLink comes back online, my profile rebooting in the corner of my view.
The announcers’ voices ring out reassuringly as they try to organize the audience. “Watch your steps, folks!” The audience doesn’t seem to realize that there was a gunman in here.
I reach the security box at the same time as I see Hideo’s bodyguards clustered around the area. My eyes hunt frantically for Hideo’s familiar face.
I nearly collapse in relief as I see Hideo crouched down in the security box room, surrounded by his bodyguards and colleagues. He looks unharmed. Beside him, Kenn is speaking rapidly to several of the guards in a low, angry voice.
“What the hell happened?” I say as I hurry over. “Where’s the shooter?”
Kenn recognizes me and gives me a grim look. “The security cams up here were looping old footage. Security’s swarming to try to catch the shooter.”
I turn my attention to what Hideo is doing. One of his bodyguards is on the ground, clutching his shoulder and grimacing. Blood stains his hands. I recognize him as one of Hideo’s faithful, ever-present shadows that I’ve seen go everywhere with him. Hideo’s face is clouded with concern, his eyes opaque with that deep, dark fury I’d seen before in his Memory. He’s saying something quietly to the hurt guard, who shakes his head and struggles to push himself to a sitting position. Beside him, one of the other bodyguards shakes his head as he listens to something on an earpiece.
“The police outside couldn’t keep up with him, sir,” he says.
Hideo doesn’t look away from the injured man. “Keep searching.” His voice is frighteningly quiet.
The bodyguard shifts. “They’re saying they lost him in the empty parking structure—”
“Then tear it apart until you find him,” Hideo snaps.
The bodyguard doesn’t hesitate this time. When Hideo glances up at him with a raised eyebrow, the man bows his head quickly. “Yes, sir.” He heads out with two of the others.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Kenn says to Hideo in a low voice. “For the last time—I’ll handle things in the arena. Go home.”
“I can handle this just fine.”
“You do realize someone just tried to kill you, right?” Kenn snaps back. “This isn’t just some bug in the game—this is your life we’re talking about here.”
“And I’m no less alive now than I was before the attack.” Hideo gives his friend a firm stare. “I will be fine. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
This sounds like an old argument that Kenn has never succeeded in winning, and it occurs to me that this probably isn’t the first time Hideo’s life has been threatened. Kenn makes an irritated sound and throws up his hands. “It’s not like you used to listen to me at uni, either.”
Hideo straightens when he sees me. “If it hadn’t been for your call moments earlier,” he says, “I would be the one lying on the ground.”
A chill runs through me. In a single moment, my job has transformed from a thrilling chase to something much more ominous. I thought I’d been getting closer, making progress—instead, I’d stumbled upon something even worse. Had any of the other bounty hunters seen what just happened? I look back to the blood on the bodyguard’s shoulder. There’s a faint, metallic scent in the air. Hints of my old panic, the familiar desperation to solve this problem, rise in my stomach. Everything has a solution. Why can’t I find this one?
Hideo helps his injured bodyguard stand and talks to him in a low voice as another of his men drapes a black blazer over the bleeding shoulder, covering it from view. Whatever Hideo had murmured was too quiet for my translator to pick up, but it does make the injured man give him a grateful look. “Keep this under wraps,” Hideo says, eyeing us all. “The attack failed. We’re tracking the suspect. No need to panic the crowds.”
“Hideo—” I start to say, but stop at the look on his face.
“Go to your team,” he says gently. “Continue your celebrations. We’ll talk later tonight.”