The media silence over our expressway escapade couldn’t last forever. It was inevitable people would start asking questions about the runaway maglev, the collateral damage, or the entire gunship that almost went down in the center of the city itself. Shimano Heavy Industries makes the first move by releasing cleverly edited slices of our attack on the train. Their machinations paint a coup de grace for my public reputation. The corporation’s only mistake came in giving my sister a single day to prepare a riposte. Mere minutes before their press release, unedited footage of the entire night- minus the faceoff with Prazen- hits the university boards and goes viral in seconds.
It is bedlam.
If the entire Section didn’t already know who I was, they would now. Sensationalist news under the corporation’s sway do everything they can to ruin Ajax and I for our defiance. They rail for arrest, incarceration, anything and everything with precedent. The less biased streams clear their nights to analyze the footage live on air. Seasoned veterans of the streamcams pore over the chaos in search of explanations, finding few clear answers until a brief shot from Ajax’s JOY sees Mori return to our side with Bishop’s unconscious body in tow. The most capricious streams actually dissect my fighting style and begin collectively losing their minds at some of the tricks I pulled to stay alive in the chaos.
Truth to be told, I don’t even remember half of what I see on the streams. Most of that night was a single adrenalized blur. In review, my Section does not judge me to be the criminal Shimano Industries would like. Nor am I called Concordia University’s forever-second rank, nor even Showmaker. The people declare me something far simpler: brave. Daring, noble, and a little crazy; the time-tested recipe for fresh-forged heroes. Which is what all of us are declared in the court of public opinion, even Mori- though none of the streams have a clue as to her identity.
With the truth rampaging freely across the Net, the Metro Blockhouse responds later that same night by having Bishop give a press release on the steps of the arena affirming the corporation’s acts of kidnapping. Bishop strays away from details of his imprisonment, most carefully avoiding any accusations of treason against the leagues or the Champion. Everyone’s thinking it. But to give that suspicion voice would incite turmoil throughout the capital.
The night after I brought Ajax to my gym, the four of us watch the press release happen live from the comfort of our apartment while doing our best to drown our dour mood in celebration. Rain hammers against the windows behind closed blinds. Bottles of cold sake are uncorked around the coffee table in the living room. Ajax tries to show us how to sit on the pillows in village style; no one does. No one notices how little he eats, nor how many times he has to sit back just to gather his strength. We lounge and sprawl and eat takeout and laugh about the smallest stupidities of our last month together. When one smile falters, another ruddy-cheeked grin picks it up again. We know grief is coming soon. But by unspoken agreement, we do not let it take hold tonight.
As the press coverage ends and a slew of questions begins on screen, Mori makes her home in my lap, devouring popcorn from a repurposed salad bowl. She cackles when the Metro Blockhouse’s chief shoutcaster takes to the stage to fend off the horde of reporters mobbing our fighting mecca. Golden-tongued Greggus Rebun is a man who could charm the claws off a cat, but even he looks flustered under the deluge.
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“He looks like a big fucken donut,” Mori says, chomping noisily on another kernel. Her bare feet play idly with mine. “You only hear him on radio down in the Vents. My man could use a little time in the gym.”
“Mr. Rebun is a very busy man,” Jolie sniffs. “And he’s been losing weight recently, as a matter of fact.”
“How do you figure that?”
Jolie straightens her glasses and clears her throat. “I’m his secretary. Or, his secretary’s secretary. But she’s on maternity leave and he can’t set down a drink to save his life, so…” Her faked superiority finally cracks down into giggling. “If you can believe it, Rebun used to be a bodybuilder. Though those days are a bit behind him now.”
“Clearly.”
My sister cranes her neck back at some touch Ajax gives her. His legs run on either side of hers, fingers knitting along her scalp as he does her hair up in a complicated tail. One chopstick is clenched between his gritted teeth. With a flourish, he inserts the second of the pair straight through the heart of the ponytail, then leans back to examine his handiwork.
“That should do it,” he murmurs with the voice of an ever unsatisfied artist. His fingers rub along the bottom of his chin. “Did you remember all the steps?”
Jolie turns back to smile at him and holds up her JOY. “I took a video.”
I glance down to my own JOY when it rumbles for attention the moment before my sister leans in and takes her first kiss. A noise I never expected to hear from her in my life follows right on its heels. My fingers thumb through the menus automatically.
Mori shifts back to face the stream with a grunt. “Took them long enough.”
I flick her on the head. “Don’t be mean.”
“Ow. What the hell?”
My mood begins to sour as I skim over the contents of the incoming message. It’s only a few lines long. Short and to the point, just like the man who wrote it. He wants to meet. Tonight. It’s not a request.
“What’s up?” Mori asks. She sticks her head through the center of my projection like a specter rising from a virtual lake, reading the text in reverse. “Holy shit, is that from the Champion?”
“Yeah.”
Ajax coughs from across the couch and tosses his JOY to me. Another message from the champion sprawls out of its projector, albeit one with entirely different context. “He seems adamant about you and you alone,” he says.
Jolie uncoils from his lap and hitches in a breath, still flustered. One of her fingers taps at her lips. “We should go together,” she stutters, before clearing her throat and snapping back into form. “Better to show our solidarity than let him pick at one of us for answers.”
Mori nods. “I’m with Jojo. Fuck what the old man wants. We’re a team.”
I shut them down with a single shake of my head. Wincing from latent bruises, I ease away from Mori and fetch my jacket from a peg near the door, slinging it around my back. Its crimson color takes on a lighter shade as I resummon the ki that follows in my footsteps, banishing my tipsiness with a static shock of ignited aura.
“If he wants to punish someone, I’ll take it alone.” I flash them a grin I don’t entirely feel and cock my head at the stream screen. “Besides, what’s the worst he can do? We’re heroes now.”