“Stop the car,” Zig blurted, forgetting that he was the one driving. He hit the brakes and the car bucked.
“Mr. Zigarowski, is that—？”
Zig wasn’t listening. He was already out the door, moving in a blur, but never taking his eyes off her.
Charmaine. His ex-wife.
“Char . . . are you . . . is this . . . ? Is everything okay?” he asked.
It wasn’t.
20
It was a game, a first-person shooting game, Nola realized as she studied the screen, like Fortnite or Call of Duty, though unlike in those games, the graphics here were uncanny, the digital characters looking like real people in real uniforms.
Is this VR—some sort of virtual reality training program? Nola wondered, the screen buzzing with action as digital Rangers, Marines, even a group of SEALs ran through an Iraqi town, their uniforms rendered with every minute detail, from the most up-to-date camo pattern to the shoulder patches that list your blood type.
Welcome back.
Enter username or email.
[email protected], Nola typed.
A little hand grenade appeared, spinning round and round, then . . .
Password?
TipOfTheSpear.
Incorrect password. Please enter password.
TipOfTheSpear1216.
Incorrect password. Please enter password.
Spear1216.
Incorrect password. Please enter password.
Spear.
Incorrect password. Please enter password.
She thought about it a moment, then typed: Spearmint.
Incorrect password. Please enter password.
ScrewYouYouShitComputer.
Incorrect password. Please enter password.
She took a breath. Closed her eyes. Then typed . . .
HuckViolet.
Mint’s kids.
Incorrect password. Please enter password.
HuckViolet1216.
The hand grenade appeared again.
Welcome back, Spearmint.
Resume session?
Nola grinned.
Yes.
21
On Nola’s screen, the tiny grenade was still spinning.
Nola took a seat on her bed, its blue sheets unmade. Fuzzy cat toys sat up by the pillows, two of them shaped like mice, one of them shaped like broccoli for some reason.
A pop-up window finally appeared onscreen in the online game known as Black House.
Returning character already in use.
Play as new character?
Confused, Nola clicked yes.
The screen blinked. Bright yellow letters appeared:
Lt. Colonel Mint04 reporting for duty.
The screen blinked again, revealing a white room with walls that looked like they were made from ancient marble. Onscreen, Nola had a first-person view of whatever this new character—Lt. Colonel Mint04—was seeing.
The room looked exotic, something Persian or Indian—a church or a mosque—with peaked arch windows and sandstone carvings. The most disorienting part was the 360-degree view that kicked in as Nola turned and tilted the iPad, which she was gripping with both hands like it was a steering wheel. She stood up to get a better view.