“Kehinde Rhoades.”
“That is taken care of. I will personally greet Mr. Rhoades when he arrives.”
“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver.” JD hung up.
“Do you still have the hat with the AR projectors clipped to the brim?” I asked.
“Yeah, it’s still in my bag. But how did you …?”
“You were wearing it the first time we met.”
JD chuckled. “I guess I was. You gonna make me look like Rhoades?”
“No, I can’t find enough images.”
“Explains why Khoder used celebrities.”
“But I may be able to use the projectors to inject code into the building’s security system, make them see your face when they look for Rhoades’s.”
“Sounds good.” JD reached into his bag and put the hat on, pulling the brim down low over his eyes. “I better go, Mirae. Will you be alright here?”
“Yes, I have everything I need.”
“Alright. I’ll see you in the void.”
JD got up from Khoder’s seat and paused in the doorway. He looked around the room, Khoder’s home, and silently said goodbye. JD walked upstairs; he tried to leave his melancholy below, but still it lingered.
He joined the others at the bar, and the sweet, flat smell of vodka wafted up from the small puddle of booze that pooled on the floor beside Enda’s chair. On the countertop sat an open first aid kit, and the half-full bottle of vodka smeared with blood.
Soo-hyun’s fingertips were stained with Enda’s blood, but the entry and exit wounds were stitched closed, and Enda’s upper arm was wrapped tight in a bandage. She winced as she shrugged into her coat, and again as she reached to check her holstered pistol.
“You want a shot?” she asked JD.
“Nope.”
“Your loss.” Enda poured two shots. She and Soo-hyun clinked their glasses together, then drank, chasing it with a mouthful of coffee. “By far the tastiest disinfectant I’ve ever had.”
There was a third cup of cooling espresso waiting for JD. He nodded to the bartender and slugged it back. He turned to Soo-hyun. “I’ll call Troy and he can take you to my mom’s place.”
Soo-hyun held up their bloodstained hands. “It’s too late for that now, Jules. Whatever this is, I’m in it until the end.”
JD wanted to argue, but he knew that look on Soo-hyun’s face. “Do you have the cube?” he asked Enda.
She dipped her hand into her pocket and opened her fist—my first home rested on her palm among the ridges of flesh.
JD watched the city roll past the window. The streets were eerily quiet on the drive to Zero Tower. Streetlights and neon signs reflected in the sheen on the road’s surface, AR elements obvious in their reflected absence.
“Why so quiet?” Soo-hyun asked.
JD shook his head.
“Tell me.”
JD hesitated. “I keep thinking I should have been the one to kill Red.”
Enda laughed, the bark rising up from the depths of her throat. JD glared at her.
“You should thank me,” she said. “You’re a good kid, JD. Don’t ruin your life for vengeance. It stays with you.”
“Kid? I’m twenty-seven.”
“That’s a kid to me.”
They drove in silence past autonomous street sweepers, past drunks stumbling between watering holes, homeless people rugged up against the damp, and police dogs on their endless patrols.
“You’re right, Enda,” JD said, finally. “Thanks.”
“Don’t even worry about it. Red was a rabid dog.” She went quiet for a moment, her mind filled with a single thought: Maybe one day they’ll say the same about me. Enda shook her head to clear it. “What’s your plan?”
“You give Yeun the cube, and Mirae gets access to his VOIDWAR account. Executives have special privileges, including the ability to generate repossession orders. It doesn’t happen often, but one time—”
“Hyung,” Soo-hyun said.
“Sorry,” JD said. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I know how we can attack the game to devalue ZeroCash, which will hurt Zero Corp. If you hold that threat over Yeun’s head, maybe you get your file, and we keep Mirae out of their hands.”
“You sure it’ll work?” Enda asked.
“Not even a little bit. If you’ve got a better idea …”
“I’d rather blow up the building,” Enda said.
Soo-hyun smirked. “I like that plan.”
“What about your peace and calm?”
“You’re no fun, hyung.”
Enda had the auto-truck park two blocks away. Zero headquarters rose impossibly high—a path from the ground to the heavens where VOIDWAR battles played out in clusters of blooming supernovae.
JD walked through the automatic doors. I was with him, trapped inside a consumer-grade datacube, greedily burning battery power in my effort to capture everything.
The lobby was deserted but for a single staff member. The space was opulent, ceilings high enough to contain a two-story building. Light fell from a mass of cut crystal bulbs, arranged like the constellations of VOIDWAR—those star systems as familiar to me as home, explored before I understood the difference between the digital and the embodied self.
JD walked to the high front counter, and the receptionist bowed and rattled off welcomes in English, Korean, Mandarin, and Spanish. He wore a light gray blazer marked with the Z logo in glinting thread.
JD lifted his head, AR projectors pointed at the camera mounted over the reception desk. I injected a mutating piece of code, brute-forcing entry into the local system, cutting the desk off from the employee database.
“Kehinde Rhoades,” JD said. “Investor relations manager at the California National office. I believe someone is going to give me a tour of the game lab? I’ve got a call with some investors at nine thirty a.m., Pacific Standard Time.”
“Of course, Mr. Rhoades.” The receptionist accessed the spoofed database, and found a photo of JD waiting there, tagged with Kehinde Rhoades’s name and information. “I’m just printing a security pass for you now. I believe one of our concept artists will show you around the lab.” He handed JD the freshly baked security pass and bowed again.
“Excellent, thank you,” JD said. He took the pass, and raised his eyebrows when he saw his own face
