“You sure about this?” Matt gathered my hoodie from the nightstand in the entryway.

I grabbed it from him and drifted out my front door. Smoke billowed from an unattended charcoal grill across the courtyard, licking the underside of a balcony and fouling the air. We’d tried the game again as soon as we got back from school, and everything worked this time—the game character striding around another tree-lined neighborhood at the flick of our controller. Matt thought maybe the system had overheated in the trash can earlier and simply needed time to cool down.

“I’m sure.” I turned back. “Well, pretty sure.” Matt would be safe in my apartment while I was out risking my butt. “No, you’re right. This is a bad plan.”

His eyes flickered with doubt before his expression melted into a smirk. He stretched, taking up the entire doorway. “Only because nobody will be there.”

“You don’t have to help, you know.”

“And miss you admitting you’re wrong and it’s just a game?” He gave me a half-hearted grin, teeth only an orthodontist could love. “No, staying here to control the game character is gonna be great. Mostly because of the olive and cream cheese sandwich I brought for my after-school snack.”

“You disgust me,” I called back, trudging across the lawn, my pulse quickening. I was really doing this. “Don’t save me any, especially if I come back alive.”

“And if you don’t?” There was more glee in his voice than I really appreciated.

I raised my head, shouting now. “My special edition TI-83 from Goodwill is all yours.”

After a bone-rattling bus ride through Las Yerbas sprawl, I squinted into the afternoon sun from a bench in Washington Park’s plaza. Planters set sail across a sea of brick and concrete, more weeds than mortar. A girl in pigtails wobbled near the fountain while a faux-hawked gutter punk negotiated a drug sale with a jock in a Lincoln High varsity jacket. It wasn’t clear who was buying and who was selling.

My phone buzzed, a text from a number I didn’t recognize, a 395 area code.

395: I know you

I sat up, a chill on my neck. Had someone tracked the game system to us despite our precautions?

me: who is this?

No response. I frowned.

me: what do you want?

Still nothing. I opened a browser and searched for the number. Zero results. I dialed Matt, chewing my lip. The drug transaction concluded to the satisfaction of both parties, their reflections parting in the mirror world of the fountain’s water. Across the park, a police sedan and a silver car idled outside the station. They wouldn’t let a teenage girl get attacked in front of them, right?

Matt answered, mouth full. “Mission HQ.”

I almost mentioned the text but didn’t want to risk distractions. “Hey. I’m here. Where’s the game character?”

“Uh. I don’t recognize the neighborhood.” The roar of traffic came through the phone, presumably from the TV.

“Maybe look for a bus stop?”

Matt huffed. “Way ahead of you. Cab’s pulling up now.” Mumblings of consternation. “Ah, crap. Slight problem—his wallet’s empty, just a couple Band-Aids and paper clips. Got a cool knife in his pocket though. I’m getting in.” A pause, the whump of a car door.

A kid on a skateboard hurtled past my bench, carving long arcs between trash receptacles.

“Is there a map?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I shut my eyes, dragging in a lungful of park air. Instead of sunshine and cut grass, I got whatever was rotting in the trash. It was like someone had misplaced a trout. “Matt … what’d you do?”

“Solved a problem. We’re heading to the plaza.”

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

A shiver flit along my spine. Oh God. “Please tell me you didn’t hurt anyone.”

“Didn’t have to.”

“You’re gonna stiff the cabbie, aren’t you?”

“I mean … You wanted me to take care of this, right?”

I shook my head. The game character was en route to the park. Within minutes, I’d see him in person and know what we were dealing with. Or not, if he was virtual. My gut clenched tight and didn’t let go. Possibly just my steady diet of ramen and PB&Js.

“Nearly there,” Matt said.

My stomach switched to somersaults. “North side of the park?”

“Turning onto Washington now.”

My gaze crept past the fountain to a path terminating at the park’s edge, a stone’s throw from the playground. A couple lifetimes passed as I focused on breathing. Finally a Crown Vic pulled to a stop beside the path—a straight shot to my bench.

“I’m here.” Matt dropped to a whisper, like it’d finally dawned on him this might be real. He must’ve seen something on screen. “I’m getting him out.”

My face tingled and I wrung the hem of my hoodie.

The cab’s rear door hinged open, letting out a familiar man in aviators and a bruise-blue suit.

I inhaled sharply, the edges of my vision dimming. The game character was here—in person.

A colorful string of profanities from the driver came through the phone. The cab screeched off in delayed stereo, the squeal reaching me first from the street, my phone a moment later.

The man strode purposefully in my direction, his gait stiff like when he was on screen.

My pulse throbbed in my ears and my most recent PB&J threatened to come back up.

“You see me?” Matt asked.

The man’s suit furrowed in the breeze, sun glinting off his polished shoes. His imposing stature, clear even halfway across the park, hadn’t translated to the TV.

I drew my boots onto the bench and shrunk into my hoodie. Matt was right. This was a bad idea. He’d said something about a knife, hadn’t he? We were controlling the man now, but neither of us had been at the controls in that replay video. This seriously broke my brain. How were we controlling a person?

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Matt whispered in my ear. “I see you, Ko. That’s you, sitting on the bench, eyeliner and all.”

I swallowed, my throat parched. Mom’s pepper spray sat heavy in my hoodie.

The man moved with a rigid certainty, his gaze dead ahead. He marched past the toddler at the fountain. Then one planter—and the other. The kid with the skateboard whizzed in front of him, but the man didn’t break stride.

My breath came short and fast.

The game character, here in the flesh, halted his advance just steps away from me. His shoulders draped in that suit jacket were like cuts of beef. He had the nose of a Roman statue, his jaw a ridgeline at sunset. If there was an expression on his face, his sunglasses hid it.

Matt’s voice was far away. “I’m sitting him on the bench.”

The man approached, turned 180, and dropped to a seated position.

I shoved over to make more room. “Uh, hi,” I managed to choke out.

He stared ahead, impassive. His face had a waxy sheen.

“Sir, hello?” I strained to hear anything above the drumming in my chest. “Are you okay?”

Nothing.

We’d somehow taken control of him via the game system. Maybe he couldn’t respond. I licked my lips. “Matt?”

“Yeah?” His voice was like the echo in an empty flood tunnel.

“This is gonna sound crazy.”

“What?”

The man sat motionless, his meaty hands on his thighs.

“Unplug it,” I said.

Background static droned over the line. When Matt responded, his voice reached uncharted octaves. “What?”

“You heard me. Controlling him could prevent him from talking.”

“If I unplug it, I … you’ll be on your own.”

“I already am.”

More dead air. Sweat gathered on my upper lip.

“Okay.” He breathed in. “Get ready.”

The thunder in my chest spread to my face. I tensed, ready to run or fight or cower into a ball as circumstances dictated. Why the hell hadn’t I told Matt to ditch this guy’s knife?

A faint, complicated click sounded, like Mom’s CD changer switching discs. Then all life drained from the man’s body at once, his head lolling to one side like he’d been shot. He slumped there on the bench with his arms hanging slack.

I jerked, my fingers curled to my mouth.

“What’s going on?” Matt’s voice was a squeak. “I’m dark here.”

My hands shook. “He kinda went limp. He’s sitting here.” Was he even … breathing? My free hand reached out as if possessed. I braced my feet on the ground, leaning forward, and jabbed the man’s arm. My fingertips felt the weight of muscle beneath thick wool; my chest felt like it would burst.

Emboldened, or maybe succumbing to the tension, I inched closer and—taking care to keep the phone pressed to my ear—slid off the man’s sunglasses.

At first, I had trouble resolving what I was seeing. But after a moment, it was unmistakable. Beneath his aviators, dual camera lenses mounted atop servo motors protruded straight from his eye sockets.

One of the cameras rotated to look directly at me—just as his hand sprung to life and into his pocket, the gleam of a blade inside.