Chapter 3

Daily Log—10:01 PM, 03/12/2094

Location: Krylarian Walled City, New Angeles, California

User ID: sugar_and_spyte

I never understood why he did it.

I used to lie awake at night, curled up with my knees to my chest, and wait to hear the front door creak open. He always tried to stay quiet when he walked down the hall—he never wanted to wake me—but the floorboards were old, and they rasped and groaned with every step he took. He never knew I heard, and I never told him. All I wanted was to be sure he got home safe.

There were some nights he never made it back. He'd stumble through the door the next morning, day-old clothes rumpled and reeking, and stumble into the back room to sleep off his nights. I hated those days the most—he'd look at me, and it felt like he was looking through me. Like I wasn't even real to him.

Sometimes, though, so late at night that the moon was sinking in the sky, I'd hear him crying. I'd creep over to the gap in my bedroom door and press my eye against it, squinting through the darkness.

He'd be sitting there, spine slumped and shoulders bowed, with his head buried in his hands. His whole body would be shaking. And I'd wonder why he did it. Why he put both of us through hell for a few moments of stolen happiness, for the illusion of a life that would never be ours.

Now, though—surrounded by the bright lights, the loud music, the stench of perfume heavy in the air—my heart is pounding with something that might be nerves or excitement or a mixture of both. I rub my sweat-slick hands over my ratty jeans, and I think I understand him better than I ever have.

That scares me more than anything. The thought that I am my father's daughter.

I've never been inside one of the Eights' casinos before. They usually don't let kids in—although most won't bother kicking you out, not if you have money to spend. And today, I'm here for a reason.

In the months leading up to the Pandora X Championships—the biggest gambling event of the season—the various PX Squadrons are pitted against one another in practice skirmishes. It lets the viewers get a better idea of what Squadron they feel like betting on, and raises publicity for the upcoming Championship. And, in my case, lets me scope out the competition.

The Red Raiders are this years' favorites to win. Sponsored by the Sparrows—the wealthiest and most powerful of the Eight—they've managed to put together a roster of the most in-demand Pandora X players in New Angeles. The odds of the Blue Bandits beating them in the upcoming Championship are roughly twenty-three to one.

Today's opponents, the Yellowjackets, don't stand a chance against them. I watch as their Rogue takes a hit from the Raiders' Sniper, his mech-suit lighting up red when the hit lands. He topples off the platform he'd been standing on, falling face-first into the Pit.

The Sniper smirks. Raena Bridges, gamer tag, Cyb0rg_1: Tarmond Bridges' daughter and heir to the Sparrows gang. Rumor has it, she's been playing Pandora X since practically before she could walk. I might be the youngest player on this year's roster, but Raena isn't far behind—she's barely fifteen and already plays better than PX veterans a decade her senior.

It's not uncommon for Pandora X players to start young—the Eight discovered a long time ago that teenage competitors make good television—but it is uncommon for younger players to dominate the roster the way Raena has done. As I watch, she throws herself off her platform and through a portal, expertly summoned by her team's Kingpin, that spits her out right behind the Yellowjackets' Tank. It takes a couple more hits for his suit to light up red, signaling his disqualification—but Raena's firing a high-quality weapon at point-blank range. He falls.

Around me, the crowd roars. Money changes hands. But my eyes remain glued to the arena where Raena stands triumphantly, rifle over her shoulder, waving up at the crowd.

It's cocky. PX changes fast—take your eyes off the game for even a second, and you're asking to get shot. But PX is about more than how you perform inside the arena. It's a game designed to be bet on, to bring in money for the Eight, and the more the crowd likes you, the higher your player ranking will be.

And oh, how the crowd loves Raena.

The Yellowjackets' Sniper seems to have realized that the odds are stacked against him. With two of his teammates gone, the game is three to five—unless he can make headway, and soon, his Squadron will be facing complete and utter defeat. Raising his rifle into position, he charges.

He manages to fire one shot into the opposing Guardian's chest plate—not enough to take him down—before the Raiders' Tank is appearing behind him, smashing a massive fist into the Sniper's gut. I wince in sympathy. The mech-suit absorbs most of the damage, but not the pressure, and taking a head-on hit from a Tank hurts like a bitch, even in a battlesuit.

The Tank raises his fist and strikes again—and again, and again, until the Sniper's suit flashes red. The Raiders' Tank is none other than Carson Law, gamer tag, _Stryker_—a legendary PX player who reigned supreme for almost a decade before slinking off into an early retirement three years ago. Nobody knows why he left the game behind, or why he's back now. But for me, his reappearance means bad news.

While I've been busy watching Law, Raena has engaged the Yellowjackets' Guardian. She takes a hit, his blow glancing off from her side, but she doesn't fall—with a Sniper's middling defense, she can take at least two or three more hits like that before she's out. The Yellowjackets' Kingpin is doing her best to help her Guardian, summoning weapons and destabilizing the terrain under Raena's feet, but Raena is quick. She dances back, firing a shot into the Guardian's side. He stumbles.

While the Yellowjackets' two remaining players are distracted with Raena, the Raiders' Rogue—decently camouflaged by their Kingpin—has managed to sneak behind their opponents defenses. He slides a knife out of his sleeve, thrusting it up into the enemy Kingpin's back. His suit flashes red, and before I know it, the game is over—the Raiders have won.

The crowd screams their approval, jostling me as they push and shove to get closer to the arena. Law has his arms crossed over his chest. Raena's face is stretched into a feral grin as she thrusts her fists into the air.

It's a knockout. The Yellowjackets never even stood a chance.

As the crowd whoops and roars, all I can do is stare. Because this isn't just a game to me, and the Raiders aren't just a team. This is life or death.

How in the world am I supposed to beat them?