Dragons vs. Robots

the message again, scrolling endlessly down the screen. His message. He was out there. And what if he could someday figure out a way to get to me? He was a state-of-the-art AI, after all. Which meant he was always learning. And he had a whole world of information at his disposal now that he was out of his game. What if he was mining the web even now, looking for ways to get at me—in real life?

I closed my laptop that day. And I hadn’t opened it since.

“Ice cream for dinner sounds great to me!” Lilli cried, grabbing the container and yanking off the lid. “The only question is, do I bother with a bowl or just scoop it straight from the tub?”

“Let’s stick with bowls,” Aunt Robin said, coming into the kitchen. She reached into the cabinet and pulled out a stack of blue plastic bowls. “We’re sugar freaks here, not savages.”

“Also,” Uncle Jack added, “please don’t tell your mother. She would kill me dead if she found out I made you a meal without a single leafy green involved.”

I couldn’t help but smile, feeling a little better at their joking. The humiliation of the soccer game was starting to fade as I grabbed a bowl and wrestled the ice cream tub away from Lilli, who had already helped herself to a gigantic scoop. After I scooped out a few oversized scoops of my own, Uncle Jack tossed me the chocolate syrup, which I generously applied, topping it all off with a mountain of whipped cream.

Ice cream made everything better.

Uncle Jack looked around, frowning. “Where’s number one son?” he asked his wife, suddenly realizing Derek wasn’t with us.

She rolled her eyes. “In his bedroom, of course. Sucking in the last few milliseconds of screen time before we cut him off for the night.” She turned to me. “Do you mind going and getting him? Let him know about the ice cream?”

“Sure. No problem.” I pushed away from my chair and rose to my feet. As I did, Uncle Jack’s phone started to ring.

He glanced at the caller ID, frowning. “I’ve got to take this,” he said. Then he shot us a scolding look. “Don’t even think about finishing that off before I get back!”

We laughed, and he disappeared out of the kitchen, heading to his office down the hall. I took one more heaping bite of ice cream, then followed him down the same hall, toward my cousin’s bedroom. Derek had his door shut, and music with a heavy bass sound was blaring from the speakers.

I banged on the door. “Hey!” I cried. “Your mom says to come eat.”

There was no answer. I tried again. “It’s ice cream for dinner night,” I added, then tried the handle. The door was locked. Of course.

“I’ll get some later,” he called back. “I’m working on my music.”

“Cool,” I said. “Can’t wait to hear.”

After his adventures as a bard in Dragon Ops, Derek had learned to embrace his love for music and now spent most of his time in his room, playing his bass guitar. He was good, too. And sometimes he’d even ask me to jam with him. (I sorta, kinda could play drums, though not very well.) We still weren’t besties or anything, but at least we weren’t outright enemies like before Dragon Ops. One thing good that had come out of the game, I guess.

Sometimes I wondered if Derek still had nightmares, too. Probably not. He was way too cool.

I sighed, feeling depressed all over again. If only I could just talk to someone about all this. It was killing me, keeping it inside. Like there was this powder keg in my stomach waiting to blow. So bad, it literally hurt sometimes.

I left Derek’s room and headed back down the hall, pausing at Uncle Jack’s door, my hand instinctively reaching for the knob. Maybe I could talk to him about it. I mean, we’d always been close, bonding over video games. And he did work for Dragon Ops—so he already knew everything that had happened. He might think I was crazy, but at least I was pretty sure he wouldn’t laugh at me.

My hand wrapped around the door handle. I swallowed hard, daring myself to push it open. To step inside. To confess all.

“Are you freaking kidding me right now?”

Uncle Jack’s sudden exclamation startled me, and I leapt back from the door, jerking my hand away.

“Since when?” he barked. “Why didn’t anyone contact me sooner?”

I frowned. His voice sounded anxious, tense—panicked even. Much different from the friendly teasing voice he’d been using in the kitchen only minutes before. Was something wrong?

I leaned back in, pressing my ear to the door. Yes, I knew I shouldn’t eavesdrop. Especially since a lot of what my uncle discussed was supersecret, video-game-related, and totally off-limits to normal people. Though, to be honest, that was one of the best reasons to listen at his door. Once, he had revealed this amazing exploit for Fields of Fantasy that ended up giving me unlimited gold to spend with the merchants. The code worked for months before they installed a patch that shut it off, and by then I had pretty much bought out the game.

But this didn’t sound like a video game hack. This sounded way more serious.

“Let me get this straight,” I heard Uncle Jack say. “Dragon Ops is set to open next month, and you’re telling me you can’t find its game maker?”

Wait, what?

I stared at the closed door, my mind racing as his words sank in. Was he talking about Hiro? Hiro Takanama—the Dragon Ops creator? He was missing?

We’d met Hiro when we first arrived at the Dragon Ops theme park. He’d taken over the company from his father, Atsuo Takanama, who had started the Fields of Fantasy franchise back in the 1990s. Hiro was a computer genius, an expert in artificial intelligence and game design. A rising video game legend.

Also, a father.

We’d met Hiro’s daughter, Mirai, who went by the name Ikumi