“What are you going to study?”
“Nothing has changed, Malik. I love to paint. My dad didn’t even want to hear about it,” Tissa sighed, her voice changing to imitate Mr. Schafer: “Every girl and her cat is an artist now! And only one in a million can afford it!”
“What does he want?”
“Did want,” the girl corrected him. “Now he supports all my ideas. Of course — what does he have to worry about now? His bank balance is green, he has premium medical insurance, a new flyer as a gift from Elizabeth. Now he’s neck-deep in work, trying to raise his category. But he used to want me to go into world testing. A year of study and a year of unpaid internship and that’s it, you’re a qualified beta tester with guaranteed work. And guaranteed category-G citizenship, the limit of dad’s dreams.”
“So I’m eating with a future famous artist?” Malik chuckled. “Well, then we’re almost colleagues!”
“Yeah? Why?”
“I’m going to be a rock star.”
“Rock?” Tissa laughed. “Who listens to that now? Old farts? If you like music, get into crayjungle!”
“Nah…” Malik frowned. “That stuff makes my ears bleed. But rock… It’s real music, you know? The guitar and the strings are alive… I’m a bard after all, remember?”
“Haha! So what? I’m a healer in Dis, does that mean I should be a doctor? Come on…”
“I can do it,” he said seriously. “I’ve tried. An uncle gave me an old guitar. I had to change the strings, but apart from that, it works fine. And you know what?” He looked around conspiratorially, lowered his voice to a whisper. “I can play all the songs I wrote in Dis in real life! Really!”
“Bullshit,” Tissa frowned, sat back in her seat, not moving her eyes from him. Then she leaned back towards him, her eyes wide. “You aren’t joking, are you?”
“No jokes,” he said, smiling from ear to ear. “Shame I don’t have a guitar here or I’d show you…”
He shared with her his plans to become world-famous, told her how he would win glory by first performing in small taverns in Dis, then getting a band together and playing at the arenas. And the more he spoke, the more he believed his own words, although at first he was just trying to impress her.
“Do you remember when the Dragons of Infinity played at the final of the Junior Arena?” Malik asked. “Well, they started in a sandbox tavern too! One day I’ll perform at the Arena final as well. And in real life! Maybe at Wembley Stadium — the whole place will be full, and billions will watch the stream!”
“I want to join your band!” Tissa said. “Let me be a backing singer!”
“Hmm, but I need someone who can sing for that,” Malik teased.
“Huh?! I can’t sing?” Tissa said, playing offended. “I’ll make you sing in a minute, you dumbass!”
She started punching him playfully and he fought back. A minute of playful struggle later and Tissa was sitting on top of him, his legs pinned beneath her, but Malik’s brain had switched off completely — all the blood had gone elsewhere. The girl checked herself and sat back down again, tousled and blushing. The moment to grab her and kiss her was gone.
“What do the boys think, anyway? About your plans, I mean,” Tissa asked. Malik didn’t hear her right away, but when he did, he sighed in annoyance. “What are Alex’s plans? I mean, apart from all the ‘citizenship’ stuff he has going on…”
Tissa had used their old code word for Threat status. Alex’s name rang out unwelcome in the semi-darkness of the cozy booth, destroying the intimacy of the moment and opening up old half-healed wounds. Jealousy reared its ugly head.
“The hell with Alex and his secrets,” he said. “Let’s discuss our strategy for the Games!”
Tissa’s expression turned serious. She straightened her back and coughed. She leaned closer and whispered:
“If Alex isn’t there, then let’s just stick together. Like in the good old days.”
“And if he shows up?”
“Then…” The girl’s hot breath played across Malik’s ear again. Goosebumps spread over his skin. “Listen carefully, this is very important…”
Chapter 1. Registration
HAIRO FLEW our unprepossessing flyer to the European district where Snowstorm was hosting the nineteenth Demonic Games. The last few days had left me completely exhausted, and the Ordeal had been emotionally devastating. So I sat down in the passenger seat and spent most of the journey asleep, opening my eyes only when we passed through the border checks at citizen zones.
They started checking us particularly often after we crossed the Atlantic and entered European airspace, most of which belonged to high-category citizenship districts.
“You are approaching Snowstorm Lakes, a category-A citizen district. Your vehicle will be forcibly stopped at the zone border inspection station.”
The flyer slowed and began to follow a guiding beam of light. Hairo, whose status for serving in the peacekeepers was higher even than my parents’, turned to me:
“We might have some trouble now. I don’t have access to category-A zones. You did make a request to come in your own flyer, right?”
“Well… I just signed it, Maria took the biometrics. You’re down as the pilot, Hairo.”
“The confirmation hasn’t arrived,” the security officer shook his head.
The scanning rings lit up green and emitted a beep of approval as we flew through. We successfully passed the automated check for banned items and substances. Now we had to go get through identification. In the meantime, Hairo contacted Maria in the hope that the confirmation had gone to her, and I checked my own comm. Nothing.
“If they pull me out of the flyer, you go on alone,” the security officer said.
