Chapter 8 | Before

Five weeks later, I'm staring at the shift in colors across the sky, the orange and purple, replacing the infinite blue. Our hovercraft drops down hundreds of levels along the Canari skyscrapers, down to the ground level. This city sits at the center of the Scepter universe, the largest in this world. Home to inter-planetary trade, it's the best place to go shopping—especially when you have a mission around the corner. The Big Mission.

Here, below the towering buildings and snake-like monorails, the air feels colder. Alex suggested we head to the ground level since we still had thirty minutes to spare before heading back to our spaceship. I agreed to tag along because I had nothing left to do.

Right around the corner, I spot a tiny kiosk crammed between a pub and an armory. The sign is a block of metal welded into a fedora. Where the ribbon should have been, large letters flash yellow neon lights in no discernible pattern. They read: Hat It.

My feet move me forward until I find myself standing over large hats trimmed with frills and feathers, reminiscent of the Victorian style worn in the Syrene system, aviator caps I've spotted on the Paragons patrolling the Canari outer rim, and hipster bowler hats my real life neighbor often wears. Alex lets out a grunt. The look on his face is easy to read. I picture what he's thinking in my mind:

Seriously, Kelrina. You picked this instead of the armory?

I smile at the thought. The seller is an old bald man with kind eyes, an NPC judging by the lack of a health pulse floating icon above his head. He shows us the latest arrivals but I shake my head. I raise my hand, pointing at a knitted beanie displayed on the lowest shelf. It's decorated with blue stars. There's a stuffed green chicken in place of the pompom.

A memory swims to my mind. Rishad showing me his plethora of hats on my third week as a Trickster, pinned on the walls of his room. I can see them so clearly now: a beret he'd stolen from a soldier, a balaclava he'd bought in Europa, a baseball cap he'd salvaged from a dumpster, a fez he'd been gifted by an NPC... There are so many, rows upon rows of them, each with its own story.

I drop a few geld into the old man's hand. I can already picture Rishad wearing this beanie as he tells us the latest intel on the Earth Reborn campaign, the stuffed chicken on top bobbing as he talks, the way his eyebrows arch high when he's excited. I can see Eva holding her breath when Rishad describes the monsters holding Earth captive, Mwangi rubbing his chin in thought, no doubt mentally strategizing our next move and Alex listening intently, face full of determination. And Rishad, he could make words come alive, our very own Pied Piper.

We pass a network of alleys and boulevards and squeeze through kiosks and stalls like two tourists on a vacation. My mind keeps crossing the list of items we were supposed to get before our next mission just to be certain we didn't forget anything. Guns and upgrade kits. Check. Protective gear. Check. Health items. Check.

Alex holds my elbow and I come to a stop. He steers us to the left, along an alley with one bulb that keeps flickering on and off, spilling erratic splashes of blue on the shadows. We emerge onto a busy street. The smell of baked pastries and spicy food reaches my nose and I hear my stomach growling. I know the real me is hungry too. I should be finishing up this session so I can get back to my world.

"Where are you taking me?" I point behind me, at the alley we left behind. "The ship's that way."

I know the answer even before Alex says it. The murmur of a crowd and the despicable song blaring out of the speakers give it away. Alex leads me towards the crowd surrounding three giant holoscreens. One shows a player running across the apocalyptic streets of London, the decrepit Big Ben looming behind him like an angel of death. The second one shows the player's stats and the third one shows the ranking board and the available prizes. The floor gives way and the player stumbles, one foot hanging from a dark abyss. The crowd whoops and hisses. The Space Hunt, a game within a game.

The holoscreen with the prizes doesn't snatch my interest until it shows the most beautiful guns I've ever laid eyes upon. Horus and Anubis, the best pulse guns for a dual-wielder like me. I remember the first time I'd seen them, the hum of excitement building inside of me, the strong compulsion to play the game and claim them as my own.

I close my eyes and breathe out a sigh. I turn to Alex, intent on getting as far away from the crowd as possible. I have to run, I have to escape, I have to keep my geld safe. I find him looking at me, grey eyes searching my face.

"I'm going to play," he says.

I huff out a breath. "No way! You can't win that."

"It's worth a try." He waves a hand in front of him, opening his control panel.

"Trust me, it ain't," I shake my head. Alex is insane. By participating, I can only imagine one outcome for him—he will lose the game and be left pissed and with thousands of geld gone. "It's freaking impossible and totally expensive."

"Let me guess," Alex says, one eyebrow raised. "You lost?"

"And you will too in the next few minutes," I say, my voice full of certainty.

"Tell you what," he sneers, "if I win—"

I fold my hands across my chest, a frown settling on my face. His smug attitude and coy smiles aren't going to bag him any prize. "You won't."

"If I win, you'll..." He leans down, warm breath tickling my neck, and whispers four words into my ear.

My face burns with heat, my pulse keeping up a notch as I step back. Alex's gaze hovers over my mouth and his grin widens. There's a reason why Space Hunt is the toughest and most infuriating game in the Scepter universe. The game is as the name suggests, a hunt. It reminds me of the test the Tricksters put me through. The player needs to last ten minutes against hordes of aliens with only a few bullets and no armor. What makes it so difficult is the fact that the arena, full of booby traps and hurdles, can shift in the middle of the game, disorienting the player. No same arena appears twice therefore players can never master the layout.

"Fine," I say. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

I can't wait to see him lose.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I stand away from the crowd, rolling my eyes as players cheer for Alex. Some clap him on the back, others give him playful punches and a few stare at him with admiration. Of course, some  of them watch him with contempt.

I feel you guys.

He's enjoying the attention, basking in his victory. It's ridiculous how the game turned out. He won. Only a few people have ever beaten Space Hunt and Alex is nowhere near their level. He must have cheated or the game glitched. I'm thinking of ways to accuse him when he waves at me to come closer.

The crowd's attention is drawn back to the holoscreens as a new player enters the game. Now they're going to be more determined than ever to beat Alex's score.

"How did you win that? You're sneaky. You did something," I say, narrowing my eyes at him.

His face looks a little hurt. "Come on, I'm your teammate. You're supposed to trust me."

I don't say anything. I do trust him and deep down, I know he won fairly because in the years that I've known Scepter, nobody has ever hacked the game. Sure, glitches  do exist but the developers have always been quick to fix them. And I never noticed any glitches when Alex was playing.

I watch him run his hands through the air, opening his control panel again. I hear a soft beep in my ear and see the mail icon in front of me, the telltale signs there's a new notification. I activate my own control panel and notice the new message:

You received Horus & Anubis from Gunslinger87X.

1. Accept

2. Reject

My hand hangs in the air, unmoving. I stare at the engraving of Anubis' head on the slide of the gun, black metal glinting in the streetlights, the Eye of Horus on its twin, gold-plated and beautiful. My vision blurs, tears stinging my eyes. I'm so shocked that I barely hear him saying, "All yours."

I pull myself out of my stupor. "But you won them."

Alex shrugs his shoulders. He puts on a show of nonchalance but I can see the shy smile he pulls when he has his head down, gaze averted from mine. "Don't need them."

We stay quiet as we head back to our ship. Although I would like to think Alex won the guns just to prove me wrong, the image of his smile, the way he'd been staring at me when Horus and Anubis flashed in front of the holoscreen, sends a rush of happiness in my heart. Alex did it for me.

The silence between us is only broken when we're in an elevator in the hangar. "Now about that deal..." Alex starts, wriggling his eyebrows.

My hands feel sweaty, my heartbeats quickening. He can't be serious. I thought he'd only meant it as a joke. He takes another step forward until we're only a breath away. I open my mouth but my voice fails. I'm saved from responding when a static noise rings in my ears. Our cybernetic chips automatically link us on the network whenever we need to communicate.

"Hey, guys," Mwangi says.

"'Sup, boss?" Alex asks, stepping to the side. I let out a sigh of relief. The elevator swishes open and I catch a glimpse of our spaceship on the left side of the bay.

"Stop slacking and get your asses back here."

Alex walks out of the elevator, leaning against the door to keep it open. Before he leaves, he shoots me a grin, tips his head towards me and says, "Don't forget, you owe me one, Cassiopeia."

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Hi everyone. I'm so sorry for the long wait. To anyone who is still reading this story, I cannot express how much grateful I am to you. So thank you for sticking around with me <3 I haven't written in weeks so if you spot any errors or would like to give me any feedback, I would sincerely appreciate it.