Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Andi
As far as con panels go, ours starts unremarkably. True to her word, Ainsley softballs a few easy questions we anticipated and prepared for, and at the fifteen-minute mark, we bring Layla out, much to the audience’s delight. Her welcome is accompanied by a multi-minute standing ovation, and by the time we get everyone settled back in, only a little more than half of our hour-long session remains.
With Layla out in front like a shield, I’m free to observe the weirdness we’ve amassed, the Samuses and Joels and Ellies and Harley Quinns. The lights shining down on us make it hard to see the people actually asking questions, but I can make out the individuals in the back astonishingly clearly. I squint, scanning the rows upon rows of excited, tired, grinning faces.
“Who’re you looking for?” Philo whispers, leaning toward me.
“Huh?” I check my mic. It’s off, thanks to whatever video game gods are looking over me. “No one. I’m not looking for anyone.”
Philo lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t call my bluff, since at that moment the audience mic squeals like a thousand violins being thrown into a scrap metal compactor. I wince, screw my eyes shut, and cover my ears. So does half the room.
With a final screech, the mic gives up on rupturing our eardrums. “Sorry, oopsy-daisy, sorry,” a low baritone says into it. “My bad. Don’t know how that happened.”
A grown man who says oopsy-daisy …
I open my eyes. A broad shiver, like a fleet of silverfish, skitters up my back. My scalp tingles with goose bumps. I tamp down the urge to hug myself. Instead, I fold my hands in my lap. Everything is fine. Everything will be just fine. He’ll direct his question at Layla, who will say whatever she has to say about her process for getting into character or prepping for hours-long sessions in the recording booth.
“My question is for the writer, actually. For Andz.”
All the blood in my body congeals and slows to a crawl. I shift to perch at the edge of my seat, where I can’t see the back of the auditorium anymore but can discern the man at the top of the Q&A line. Short brown hair. Day-old stubble. A mouth that, even in neutral, curls up at the ends, like a serial killer’s grin.
In my lap, my fingers go white around my mic.
“Hello, Andz. My name is Jan Eschler.”
I don’t hear the question at first, on account of the roaring in my ears and the ripple of energy crackling through the crowd. No one expected Jan Eschler to attend a panel, much less wait in line to ask a question, and the people who know what a big deal that is are informing the people who don’t. Between the susurrations and the sound of my heartbeat against my eardrums, I don’t absorb anything Jan says. As a result, Ainsley has to ask Jan to repeat himself.
He sighs, as if he expected as much. “We’re all very excited about the rumors that Compass Hollow will feature romanceable NPCs. However, your r é sum é is shockingly short when it comes to writing romance. After all, Connor White in Aftermath didn’t have love interests.”
I stiffen. What Jan just said sounded a lot like an accusation, like a not-so-subtle nod to the fact that I failed to give Connor a damsel in distress to save. Or am I only interpreting it that way because I’m paranoid? The muscles in my legs clench as several people in the front rows perk up and jerk their heads between Jan and me.
“Apologies, sir, but I’m not sure I heard a question in all that,” I hear Ainsley say.
“Of course. My bad.” Jan taps the mic, demanding my attention. “My question is this: are the rumors about Compass Hollow true? And if so, given your”—he gives me a sidelong glance—“controversial reputation, what makes you think you’ll be able to deliver?”
The whispering bottoms out immediately. I try to take a breath, but the air gets caught in my throat, so I try again, and again, and again, until I’m hyperventilating and the circumference of my vision is softening. How can one man suck up all the oxygen in this cavernous space and leave nothing, not even one molecule, for the rest of us? Looking at him with his dolphin smile, I am suddenly sure he was the one who leaked my address and number to Reddit. I can’t prove it—I’ll probably never be able to prove it—but I feel the truth of it, as heavy and smooth as a polished stone in the pit of my stomach.
“Andz?” Ainsley prompts.
I snap back to reality. Bringing the mic up to my mouth, I lick my lips. Swallow. Clear my throat. “Uh …”
With a thousand pairs of eyes drilling into me, I rewind the past thirty seconds and play back Jan’s words. After all, Connor White in Aftermath didn’t have love interests. Given your controversial reputation, what makes you think you’ll be able to deliver?
I know what I’m supposed to say—just yesterday, Brett told me to deflect and keep my head down (that damn mantra again)—but Jan’s jagged question keeps looping in my head like a broken refrain. What makes you think, what makes you think, what makes you think.
What makes me think I’ll be able to deliver?
“It’s a different game, duh!” A shout goes up in the back of the auditorium, from almost beyond the left set of double doors. Necks swivel as everyone tries to make out the source of the disturbance. I shoot to my feet, shielding my eyes from the glare.
“Not all games need romance, or love interests, or frilly shit like that.”
Is that … ? Sheik—no, Cat, although she’s pitching her voice down and her scarf is still around her neck and mouth—is walking up the aisle, pointing her foam kunai at Jan’s chest like she intends to stab it. Her voice grows stronger and less quavery as she approaches, although the hand holding out the kunai is shaking. I check her face, her eyes. No crease.
“ Aftermath is a bleak-ass game set in postapocalyptic Detroit. The moments of hope Connor White ”—Cat emphasizes the surname like it’s important—“experiences are brief and fleeting and all the more impactful for their ephemerality. The bright-yellow bloom of a dandelion growing out of the cracks of a broken road. A box of Twinkies in the convenience store where Connor rests during the third mission. The dog.”
A few heads nod in the crowd. Players universally loved the dog.
“So just because Andi didn’t add romance to Aftermath doesn’t mean they can’t do a killer job leading Compass Hollow , regardless of whether it includes love interests. Besides, you said your name is Jan Eschler, right? Weren’t you the narrative director for Aftermath ? If you wanted Connor to have love interests so badly, why didn’t you write them yourself? Why are you here asking Andi about it, who was something like twenty-four years old at the time? The buck stops with you, buddy!” Pockets of titters bubble up. Cat takes the opportunity to drive the point home. “Now, I’m just a random gamer, but I think I speak for all of us when I say we’re here to hear about Compass Hollow , not rehash the drama around Aftermath and how a bunch of sexist so-called fans just assumed Andi Zhang was a man and then got all butt-hurt when they were outed for actually liking a non-dude’s work.”
With that, Cat holds her kunai out parallel to the ground and lets it drop.