Hideo nods. “You are, unless you don’t want to be.”
“Does that mean you want me to compete in this year’s Warcross championships?”
“Yes.”
I suck in my breath. Hearing this from Hideo himself, from the creator of Warcross, finally makes it real. “Why?” I say. “I mean, I’m a pretty good player, but I’m not ranked in the internationallists or anything. Are you putting me in for the ratings? As some marketing ploy?”
“Do you have any idea what you actually did when you hopped into the opening game?”
“I ruined the biggest game of the year?” I venture a guess.
“You managed to hack through a shield that has almost never been breached.”
“Sorry. I’d never tried that hack before.”
“I thought you said it was an accident.”
I meet his penetrating stare. Now he’s taunting me for my stuttering apology during our first phone call. “I’d neveraccidentallytried that hack before,” I rephrase.
“I’m not telling you this because I’m upset that you broke in.” He lifts an eyebrow at me. “Although I’d prefer that you not do it again. I’m telling you this because I need your help.”
Something in his earlier words triggers my interest. “You said that security shield hadalmostnever been breached. Who else got in?”
Hideo walks over to the couches, sits down, and leans back. He gestures for me to take a seat across from him. “That’s why I need your help.”
In a flash, I understand. “You’re trying to catch someone. And the best way to do it is for you to enter me in this year’s games.”
Hideo tilts his head at me. “I heard that you’re a bounty hunter.”
“Yes,” I reply. “I catch Warcross players who owe large gambling debts, and anyone else the police don’t have time to get.”
“So you must be familiar with the underworld that has popped up since my glasses first came on the market.”
I nod. “Of course.”
A thriving underworld has always existed underneath theregular internet. It’s the part of the online world you don’t see, that no search engine will ever show you. That you cannot even enter unless you know what you’re doing. The dark web is where hackers congregate, drugs are trafficked, sex is sold, and assassins are hired. That has only increased with the popularity of Warcross and the NeuroLink glasses. The same underworld exists now in virtual reality, except it’s called the Dark World—a dangerous virtual place where I frequently wander, searching for the criminals who like to hang out there.
“And you’re comfortable there?” Hideo asks, regarding me.
I bristle at his condescension. “If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be much use in catching a hacker, now would I?”
Hideo doesn’t react to my sarcasm. “You’ll be one of several bounty hunters I’m hiring for this job.” He reaches toward the coffee table separating us and picks up a small black box resting on top of a stack of game magazines. He holds it out to me. “This is for you. The others will be receiving them, too.”
Other bounty hunters.Like my past hunts, I’ll be competing against others. I hesitate, then take the box from him. It’s light as air. I glance at Hideo before opening the box. Inside is a small, plastic container with two round compartments. I twist one of them open.
“Contact lenses,” I say, staring down at a clear disc floating in liquid.
“Beta versions. We’re releasing them to the public later this week.”
I look back up at Hideo in anticipation. “The next generation of NeuroLink glasses?”
His lips tilt up into the smallest hint of a smile, the first I’ve seen. “Yes.”
My eyes turn down again. They look like any contact lenseswould, except that on the rims, in tiny, translucent, repeated lettering, are the wordsHenka Games. All that’s needed to identify them as different from a regular pair of lenses. When I shift a little, the lenses glitter in the light, suggesting that their surface is probably coated with a fine web of microscopic circuits. For a second, I forget about my annoyance with Hideo’s replies. Instead I feel like I’m back in my group foster home, listening to the radio, hearing about his earthshaking invention for the first time. “How... ,” I start to say, my fascination coming out as a hoarse croak. “How did you do this? How do you evenpowerthem? It’s not like you can plug them into a wall.”
“The human body produces at least one hundred watts of electricity a day,” Hideo replies. “The average smartphone only uses two to seven watts to fully charge. These lenses need less than one watt.”
I look sharply at him. “Are you saying that it can be charged just by the electricity in my body?”
