Chapter 1
Priya Anand, Phoenix, Arizona, United States, Two Days Earlier
A microburst was rolling in over the western approach. Three regional jets were stacked behind it. A medevac helicopter was screaming for priority. And a student pilot in a Cessna had just keyed his mic to ask if he could “go around again real quick.” God help us all.
This was the part of my job I loved.
“November Four-Two-Charlie, negative. Hold your heading. You are not cleared for a touch-and-go. I say again, you are not cleared for a touch-and-go.”
“But I thought—”
“I have a medevac coming in behind you.” My voice stayed calm. Always. I could feel everyone in the tower listening, waiting to see if the student pilot would argue with me again. “Maintain heading and exit the pattern. I’ll bring you around when the runway is clear.”
A long pause followed.
“November Four-Two-Charlie, maintaining heading.”
Good boy. I cleared the medevac for a direct approach, sent the three regional jets around the storm, and kept one eye on the disaster in the Cessna. He was flying straight now, which was an improvement.
“Medevac One-Three-Seven, cleared to land, runway two. Emergency equipment is standing by.”
“Copy, Phoenix Tower. Cleared runway two. Thanks for the help.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
The storm hit the tower windows with enough force to make the glass tremble. Rain came sideways across the desert, smearing the runway lights into long golden streaks. Thunder shook the floor beneath my feet. Nobody panicked. At least not where I could hear them.
I kept the planes separated, worked through the active flight vectors in my head, and made sure every pilot knew exactly where to go.
On shift, I didn’t have time to worry about anything else.
Not dinner. Not bills. Not my completely nonexistent dating life.
Especially not my nonexistent dating life.
Out there, complete strangers were trapped in metal tubes in a violent storm. For the next twenty minutes, they were my responsibility. I was very, very good at my job.
The medevac landed first. One regional jet diverted to Tucson, and I brought the other two down seven minutes apart. The student pilot came around last and managed to land without bending the Cessna or killing anyone. A miracle.
“November Four-Two-Charlie, contact ground.”
“Thanks, Tower. Sorry about before.”
“No problem.” Liar. “Have a good night.”
When the radio went quiet, I peeled off my headset and rolled my shoulders. The foam pads had left my ears sweaty and sore, and the muscles between my shoulder blades felt like someone had tied them into knots. Alvarez dropped into the chair beside mine. “You crushed that guy’s dreams.”
“I kept him from crushing a Cessna.”
“Same difference.”
“He asked for a touch and go with a medevac on approach.”
“Maybe he’s an organ donor.”
I laughed and started closing out my station. “He almost became one.” Our supervisor stopped behind me. “Good shift, Anand.”
“Thanks.”
Nobody had died. Nobody had crashed. The medevac was safely on the ground. In my line of work, that qualified as a fantastic day. Alvarez stretched his arms over his head. His back cracked loudly enough to make me wince. “We’re getting tacos. You coming?”
“Can’t.”
“You always say that.”
“Tonight I have a reason.”
He looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s nine thirty on a Wednesday. What reason could you possibly have?”
“I’m saving an alien civilization.”
Alvarez stared at me.
“Video game,” I explained.
“Right. Your fake alien boyfriend.”
“He is not my boyfriend.”
“Does he know that?”
“He’s computer generated, so probably not.”
“Tacos are real, Priya.”
So was the lonely little pull in my chest every time Vesh appeared on my screen, but I was not admitting that to Alvarez. I had standards. Low standards, apparently, but standards.
“Next time,” I promised. "Gina and Alisha are probably already waiting for me." My two best friends made Wednesday night the best night of the week, even if we were sitting in front of our gaming systems and not out dancing at a club.
He shook his head. “One day you’re going to regret choosing pixels over carnitas.”
“Not tonight. Tonight, I’m beating the game.”
“You’ve said that for a month.”
“Have a nice dinner, Alvarez. Thanks for the invite.” I left before he could tell me I needed a life.
I already knew that. The drive home took twenty-two minutes.
I spent most of it replaying possible flight paths through the final mission and the rest debating whether drive-through fries qualified as dinner. They did.
My apartment was exactly as I had left it that morning. Small. Clean. Quiet. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a kitchen used primarily for storing take-out menus and coffee. Not even a houseplant waited for me.
That was probably for the best. I had killed the last one in under a week. A living creature should never have to depend on me remembering to water it after a twelve-hour shift. The second bedroom was the actual reason I paid the rent. I had turned it into a cockpit.
Three large, motorized monitors curved around a zero-gravity gaming chair. The chair reclined, vibrated, shifted with the game controls, and had built-in massage settings. The whole setup had cost more than my car. It was worth every penny.
The only thing the damn chair couldn’t do was make dinner, which explained the cold fries I carried into the room with me.
I changed into the clothes no one at work ever saw: leggings worn thin at the knees, fuzzy socks, and a dark gray hoodie large enough to hide a small family.
Then I dropped into the chair and opened the paper bag.
Dinner. Check. Friends online. Hopefully.
Complete and total destruction of Queen Raya’s forces? Pending.
Starfighter Training Academy had been kicking my ass for almost a year. The game was fast, difficult, and completely unforgiving. No cheats. No unlimited ammunition. No magical healing potions or conveniently placed save points. If I died during a mission, I started over. I had started over a lot.
The game’s impossible difficulty was part of the reason everyone was obsessed with it.
The other reason involved three women who had disappeared several years ago after completing the final mission.
They had played together. They had all beaten the game.
Then… gone. The police suspected a serial killer. The Internet suspected aliens.
I had no idea what to think. Serial killer was the obvious choice, but every time I looked at my sexy as hell in-game co-pilot, I secretly hoped it was aliens after all.
Of course, nothing could stop me from reading every conspiracy thread I could find.
According to one particularly dedicated poster, the game was an alien military recruiting program disguised as entertainment.
Anyone who completed it was transported across the galaxy and drafted into an interstellar war. Sure.
And my mailman was three lizards in a human suit.
The disappearances should have destroyed the game.
Instead, they made it the best-selling release in the world.
Everyone wanted to become the next player to finish.
Teenagers. Military pilots. Grandmothers livestreaming from retirement homes. Most of them died on the first mission.
In the game, obviously. I had reached the last one.
One more victory and I would graduate from the Starfighter Training Academy.
As far as I knew, no one except the three missing women had ever managed it.
No one had live streamed their victory or posted their final mission on YouTube.
There were no leaks, no spoilers, no multiple endings being discussed on Discord servers.
No Reddit threads about best endings, or cheat codes.
No one had beat the game in years. Tonight, that was going to change.
I opened the game and waited for my two best friends to join our private server. Gina appeared first. Alisha logged in a few seconds later.
“Ladies,” I said around a mouthful of fries. “Tell me we’re finishing this tonight.”
“Priya.” Gina sounded as exhausted as I felt.
She was an emergency-room nurse and had just survived a twelve-hour shift.
Unlike me, she had to deal with people after everything went wrong.
“If you do not finish that mission tonight, I am going to pass out on my keyboard. My forehead will hold down the fire button, and Corvan will accidentally destroy a friendly ship. Do you want that on your conscience?”
Corvan was the hot hunk she had created to be her sidekick in the game.
Vesh was hotter, but no sense arguing about it again because Alisha would jump in and insist Torek was sexier than both of our guys.
Round and round we would go, arguing about companion characters that didn't exist. “Go to bed, G. You sound exhausted."
“Absolutely not. No way I'm missing this.”
Maybe Alvarez was right and I needed to get a real life, with a real man who could touch me and kiss me and… yeah. An orgasm or two that didn't come from a battery-operated device would be nice. “You have work tomorrow."
“So do you. So what's your point?”
I had no point. Gina won. Alisha sighed into her microphone. “We’ve been telling her to finish the mission for weeks. She just doesn’t want to.”
“I do, too.” Damn. I hated when Alisha started analyzing me. She was always right.
“No, you don’t.” Alisha built escape rooms during the day and emptied tourists’ pockets at Las Vegas poker tables at night. She said everything in the same smooth, honeyed voice. It was impossible to tell whether she was joking, lying, or preparing to steal your wallet. Usually all three.
“You’ve been one mission short for a month,” she continued. “If you win, you have to say goodbye to Vesh. You like being stuck.”
I took another fry and said nothing.
“Oh my God,” Gina whispered. “She’s not denying it.”
“I’m eating.”
“She’s in love with a sim,” Alisha announced.