Hazel tried not to think about her game as she sat next to Sophie in the DeSoto home. The doctor and nurses milled about and exchanged notes, passing links, trying to figure out how to fix things.

“It just seems so strange,” Hazel sighed, not taking her eyes off of Sophie while she talked to Sophie’s father, Tomás DeSoto. “You know Sophie. She lives to drive. She spent years on your farm playing with cars. She keeps her hands on the wheel of the Queue cars – no one does that.”

“Maybe that was the problem,” Mr. DeSoto huffed. “They created the Queue to minimize human error.”

Leaning her elbow on Sophie’s bed, Hazel shook her head. “Not unless she bumped it with her bag – she had taken them off. You know how she is: she was irritated with me, so she pulled her bag from the back seat -”

“You did not cause this, Hazel,” Mr. DeSoto comforted. “I know how your mind works.” He patted her shoulder.

If you know how my mind works, she countered silently, do you know how terrified I am that you’ll pull your sponsorship? Hazel was struggling, often unsuccessfully, not to consider whether Mr. DeSoto would stop wanting to contribute to Hazel if his own daughter didn’t get to play as well. Obviously, her highest priority lay with Sophie, but Hazel’s entire living depended on Trip, and if she didn’t have sponsors, she wouldn’t get paid. She could code like Peter, but she had no “in” to the industry – except Peter, who might or might not decide to help her depending on his mood.

“I just don’t understand why she’s still out,” Hazel continued. “The medic said she should regain consciousness before she got to the hospital. Like the bash to the steering wheel had knocked her temporarily unconscious. I don’t know, though. She was so completely out while we flipped around. Like she was made of rubber. I’ve never seen anyone so – unsubstantial. It was unnatural. And now she’s still out.”

Without answering, Mr. DeSoto placed his hand comfortingly on Hazel’s head for a moment before turning to confer with the doctor. A moment later, Hazel’s handheld vibrated in her pocket, and when she picked it up, she had a message.

Sophie definitely still wants you to play, it read. Just come visit her every day.

A contribution popped up on her display attached to Mr. DeSoto’s name. Though she wanted to cry, Hazel waited until she had hugged Sophie and shuffled out the front door. Hopping on her bike – somehow miraculously spared from damage - she tried not to crash into anything as the tears, made icy from the late autumn wind, spilled down her cheeks and turned her skin blue with cold.

Within fifteen minutes, Hazel had seated herself on the couch in Peter’s loft.

“Talk to me, Hazel,” he prompted. “What happened?” He sat down next to her, laying his arm across the back of the couch behind her.

“Sophie, she…”

Peter stared at her and plastered on the face he wore when he wanted to seem like he cared.

“Sophie and I were in a wreck, and I’m not sure why…she hit her head on the steering wheel, I guess. But she’s unconscious, and even the doctor doesn’t know why.”

“Shit…” Peter complained, and Hazel lost sight of her misery for a second trying to figure out his problem. Knowing Peter, his frustration grew from something completely unrelated to her situation, because he didn’t exactly engage in other people’s problems. “You were in the car?”

“Yes…why wouldn’t I be in a car with Sophie?”

“Did you have your handheld?

Squinting her eyes, Hazel gazed at him with unexpected suspicion. What was his deal? “Yes. I always have my handheld.”

Peter blinked up at Hazel, as if suddenly realizing what he was asking, and he rushed out an explanation. “You should have contacted me. I have access to the best private doctors. Maybe she wouldn’t be unconscious.”

Irritated, Hazel gritted her teeth. “I’ll try to remember that the next time one of my best friends is almost killed.”

“Well, that just leaves me, and I’m so wired that the world will know what happened within an instant, and the best will be on the way.”

“It’s not like Sophie’s dad doesn’t have access to almost as good of connections as you, and it didn’t really matter. You should have seen him.” Melancholy finally supplanted her frustration with Peter. “He was so desperate and heartbroken. But somehow in the middle of all that, he thought about me and gave me a donation so I could play, but I don’t even want to play anymore, and…”

Lowering his arm to her shoulders, Peter tugged Hazel close, leaning back with her into the corner of the couch and wrapping her in a comforting hug. “You’re going to be okay, Hazel. Sophie was never content to let the Queue car drive. At least she’s the one who got hurt.”

Hazel glared up at Peter.

“I’m not saying she deserved it,” he shrugged. “I’m just saying that I’m glad it was her and not you.”

“I’m fine,” Hazel grumbled. “Sophie’s the one who’s being poked and prodded by doctors.” Hazel didn’t pull away, though.

“So, some kind of brain trauma, I guess?” Peter suggested, and Hazel just shook her head, sucking in a breath.

“I guess. It’s just a weird place for a hit to cause unconsciousness. Isn’t that usually a back of the head thing? Or maybe the top if the impact hits enough of the skull. But the front? That usually causes blindness or seizures or something. Not extended unconsciousness.”

“So, now you’re a doctor?”

Irritated, Hazel sat up.

“I went through this with my dad. I mean, so many people were affected by the Crash, but it wasn’t like their brains fried and they ceased breathing, or whatever. The first wires-”

“The pins. Completely different from a Wire.”

“Fine, the ‘pins’ were so much more rudimentary, and much more intrusive. They knocked everyone unconscious, and that was the problem. People died from accidents caused when they lost consciousness.”

“I know all this, Hazel. I fixed it.”

“Obviously,” she leveled sourly. “And you also know that my dad died because he hit his head when he fell from a construction platform. Massive head trauma. I studied a lot about it after that.”

“So, you’re saying Sophie’s head injury doesn’t make sense? I’m sure her dad has the best doctors, and I doubt that you know more than them.”

“All I’m saying,” leveled Hazel, standing and crossing to her console “is that you have told me many times that the Wire is made to reset within itself, not reboot a person’s brain. It doesn’t make sense that Sophie’s still unconscious – not with that minor head wound.”

“Brain injuries are often inexplicable, Hazel.”

“But that’s the thing: I don’t think she has an injury. I think she just passed out and didn’t wake up. And I have another friend in a coma, too, which is just so strange. Two people that young? Freddy is my age.”

“Freddy?”

“Freddy Nako. His dad is some diplomat. So, two Trip players, inexplicably knocked out? Three, if you count the guy who snapped his spine on a skate ramp. There’s something going on, Peter. Don’t you think any of this is strange? Can’t you look into it? I know it’s the stuff of conspiracies, but I just keep thinking this is like a virus. But it’s only hitting Trip players.”

“It hasn’t hit you.”

“I don’t have a Wire, Pete. How exactly is a computer virus going to infiltrate my brain?”

Though her conjectures bothered Peter, she had way too little information to infer anything. Still, he couldn’t let her continue in her theories. He walked up behind her, rubbing her shoulders for a minute. “From where I’m sitting, I see one strange incident and two accidents. You were in the car with Sophie when she was knocked out, and the guy on the skate ramp wiped out on national broadcast. Only little Nako seems unlikely, and a kid getting sick is hardly unheard of.”

“But – “

“I’ll look into it, Hazel, but Mr. DeSoto would know if there was something weird going on with Sophie. He has all the money in the world to hire the best doctors. I’m sure he’ll figure it out if something is off.” Peter might need to reveal his hand with DeSoto sooner rather than later to head off Hazel’s growing suspicions

“Money doesn’t fix everything,” Hazel murmured.

“You’re right,” Peter agreed, dropping his hands. “His money’s pretty worthless right now. Hang on…”

He turned toward the soaring window on one side of his living room, apparently receiving an audio link because he began playing “powerful magnate” with a conversation about markets and weapons and “corporate executives.” Because, of course, he had no intention of holding himself back for Hazel’s sake, he embarked on a discussion about evening plans, including booze and cigars at his exclusive watering hole. Not only had he shot down her suspicions, he had decided to accept a link in the middle of her crisis. The conversation sent Hazel’s eyes into a roll. Even not in her crisis, the conversation would have produced similar sentiments.

Once Peter had unleashed the Bridge, a cadre of men had gathered around him as if he were the messiah. Many of them were highly successful businessmen in their own right, and Hazel thought of them as a mutual admiration society combined with sycophants on call. Each could play the role needed at any given time. It was like Peter had gone from twenty-five to forty-five overnight, and Hazel thought he was just playing grown-up instead of actually growing up. The conversation dragged on, and the smarmy sense that emanated from Peter’s words and demeanor grated on Hazel’s nerves.

To distract herself, she picked up her controller, throwing herself down in her chair. She needed to make elite in the next two days to qualify for the Partie, and her success in the Partie would determine whether she gained enough sponsors to finish the year – without asking Peter for work. Mr. DeSoto wouldn’t support her entirely by himself. Even he wasn’t that generous. After a few minutes, Peter stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the game, his conversation with his friend apparently over.

“Was that Ziyad?” Hazel leaned sideways to see the action on the screen.

“Who else? Want me to pick up a tank or something?” Peter offered, reaching to grab a controller.

"Not today,” she sighed, too irritated to want his companionship. He would want her to stay though. “I know I’m taking over your stuff, but can I play for an hour? Your terabits kill mine. I need two more levels on the RPG before the Partie, and I can’t exactly use Sophie’s equipment right now. I’ll be up all night to get one level on my stuff at home.”

“You know you don’t have to ask,” Peter assured her.

I have to ask because if I accept anything from you, you’ll start pressing me to return the favor somehow. When she reached to tug her ponytail, Pete pursed his lips judgmentally, and Hazel transferred the motion to rubbing her bare neck.

Of course, Peter was a comfortable person for Hazel, but not because she trusted him. She more just knew how to manage the relationship – for the most part. As long as they stayed in the place of a quid pro quo, Peter remained within bounds. She brought snacks, she played his game with him, she didn’t make a big deal about his lack of decorum, she laughed at his jokes, she didn’t care about his money or the Bridge. He let her use his equipment, he didn’t judge her refusal to use a Wire.

The few times Hazel had let him overstep his bounds, she had regretted it. When she had accepted an interview at his company? He had spent weeks hounding her to join the Bridge Coalition. Without an implant – his creation, the Wire? she wondered. Didn’t make any sense. He claimed it broadened the company’s perspective. Still, she wouldn’t do it. To her, the Bridge represented everything that had changed her life.

Sure, unlike the Platform, the Bridge had put fail-safes in place so that, if the system reset again, the Wires would merely disconnect and return the users to preimplant status, not knock them unconscious. Because of that, only highly enhanced jobs bore any risk with a reset. There was something, though, that still bothered Hazel about the omnipresent nature of the Bridge. It didn’t promise an apocalypse or anything – just potential for a lot of damage. In other words, Hazel held really solid reasons not to work on the Bridge.

Peter, though? Besides applying relentless pressure on her to take his job, her refusal had brought out a side of him he had rarely shown before his elevation to “world-saver.” He had always shown the ability to switch into a barrage of mockery during a fight, but his ascension to a position of respect seemed to have confirmed his opinion of his own superiority. Most of the time, he held himself back for Hazel, but she had seen enough to refuse his offers of generosity.

“But I did ask,” she insisted. “Is it okay?”

Peter pressed his lips together in irritation. Hazel knew he would take the exchange as a dismissal, and no one “dismissed” Peter Donovan, even before he was important. Still, he at least had to appear to be a good person, so he quickly split his face with a grin. “Of course you can use my equipment, but look…” He walked over and reached for her controller, pausing to ask permission before he took it, “I have thirty minutes before I have to leave for the office. Let’s blow off some steam.”

Make sure I give you the proper attention, Hazel complained internally. Even though you had to stop and talk to your cronies about cigars and booze when I tell you my best friend is in a coma. “That’s why I want to play,” she retorted aloud, pulling the controller back.

“But if you play, then only you get to blow off steam. If we do what I want, we both get some relief.” Crossing to a cabinet in the corner, he reached in and grabbed some hand wraps. “It’s better to live in the real world, remember?”

“Or you’re afraid of being a Rexist,” Hazel rolled her eyes, acquiescing nonetheless by taking the wraps from him. “Good thing I wore the right shoes.”

“Only Trip-heads know what Rexist means, Hazel, but no. I’m not afraid you’re going to blow me off. I know better. As proven by the fact that you now have your wraps on,” Peter grinned.

As soon as she fastened the last latch, he pounced, and Hazel found herself forced to throw her hands up in defense. “I’m only a brown belt! Give me a break.”

“I’m determined to make you a black belt,” he countered.

“Then hire me a real instructor.”

Glaring, Peter swept her legs, and she fell back, barely managing a roll rather than an ungraceful flop. “I don’t think you need a different instructor,” he leveled. “I think you need to be more teachable.”

“I never have trouble learning from a teacher, so it must be an issue with the instructor…”

Hazel was strong, and fairly fast. For most of her childhood before her father had died, she had rotated through several ball sports, and she had danced since she could walk. Still, she was no match for Peter – she didn’t even know why he liked to fight with her. Besides being a black belt several times over, he had spent years with his brother, competing in gymnastics – though he was too tall to make elite competitions. Not only could he throw a sick punch, he could literally climb the walls to dodge her. With her unusual height and longer limbs, every punch took a split second longer than it needed to. She could not quite land a blow despite her strength. And, of course, he was significantly stronger than she was just by his bulk and muscle tone.

Still, Peter knew how to level down to her range, and after twenty minutes, Hazel fell into his leather chair laughing.

“Thanks,” she panted. “You were right. I needed that.”

“Just ask the Architect. Dance class isn’t enough time in the real world.”

She caught a bottle of water he tossed at her, not answering as she chugged its contents. Peter followed the bottle by her controller, which landed squarely in her lap, and then he turned to grab his wallet. Even when he makes me do what I don’t want to, he makes it fun…Sometimes she hated her lack of a backbone with him, but it had never really resulted in any serious difficulty. It just made her life uncomfortable sometimes.

“Let yourself out the back when you’re done,” he instructed. “You’ll have to punch the code in old school since you’re unwired.”

“Oh, wow. Really? I had no idea. I thought I would just make a wish on a star…”

Rather than answer, Peter grinned at her before opening his door to leave. As soon as the door was closed, a message flashed up on his screen, something Hazel hadn’t realized he could do in the middle of her game. I won’t be back before you leave, he informed her. Meeting with Ziyad and Leo at Tobies, and Chad will meet us later for dinner. The door is coded for you, as always. Nodding, Hazel turned to the screen without answering and got down to the business she had come for. Part of her was relieved he was leaving; part of her was irritated that he was going to waste his time with idiots. She really needed better Stream speed so she didn’t have to rely on him for important things.

The push of a button sent figures flashing across her screen. After a few minutes, she stood from the leather chair and roamed across the room to the desk to transfer to the better controller. No more playing around, she knew. She had picked Speer for maximum advancement with minimal investment, because she didn’t plan on spending a lot of time at Pete’s. Once the Pros started to barrage her, she had to react quickly. There were four different pieces of armor she needed to acquire in the next few days, two swords, five spells, and a couple of passive abilities that she could open but not use in the Partie until she reached the proper level. Since she couldn’t count on having the funds to purchase them, though, she had to earn them now. The game was down to the wire. No pun intended, she snickered.

When the message flashed in the corner, she ignored it at first. She was on Peter’s computer, not her own, and his public identity received thousands of messages a day. Usually only one or two while she played though, so after the fifth notification – and once she had found a place to camp – she finally glanced up at the message.

“Tripartite Trifecta,” it read.

If she had seen the words in an add on a browser or on the Stream, she would have ignored them, because there were a million people trying to get rich promising skills increases to the newbies of the world, but Peter didn’t have a “public persona” in Trip. No one knew he played except Hazel. Publicly and in reality, he was a Headspace guy, all about guns and cannons and nukes, and chess moves and gambits and strategy. Not that he played even that very much, but he used it to help Ziyad market products, lobbying the company to use “Ziyad-made weapons” in the rendering.

Certainly, no one would know to send him Trip invitations – no one even knew about her friendship with him. Unless he had signed up for something for her, or so he could beat her. Snickering to herself, she decided she couldn’t let that happen. She wasn’t sure the message would open, not sure exactly if it would require coded access, but when she grabbed it, it filled the screen.

“Invitation only,” it began. “Only available for level fourteen or above, access to specialized weapons and hidden areas that unlock new innate skills.”

Well, that takes Peter out of the equation. He wasn’t level fourteen in Trip. He had managed a good nine while playing with Hazel, but it was a courtesy play for him – he had never really invested himself in the game. In fact, he made sure to mock her regularly about her “wannabe Faerie Queene,” which wasn’t even particularly accurate. Magicians, no fairies, she always countered.

In contrast, she had managed a level forty-two on Headspace, the equivalent of about level twelve-and-a-half on Trip. It was why he always got so irritated at her for playing so well in “his game.” It’s just a stupid game, Hazel always thought. You have literally changed the world.

Peter Donovan had no excuse for insecurities. At twenty-five years old, he had created the code for and sold the blueprint to manufacture the Bridge that now ran every level of government and social infrastructure. True, he had piggybacked off the original Platform, the virtual scaffolding that had crumbled with the Crash and killed over three million people in one day. It had killed Peter’s little brother, Hazel’s best friend, Lex.

When the Crash happened, Alexander Donovan was riding in the then unregulated Queue, a fifteen-year-old who did not know how to drive, and the car crashed into the three hundred car pileup that by itself killed over four hundred people. Lex died, William Trace – Hazel’s father – died, Hannah DeSoto, Sophie’s mom, died. The number of people killed correlated directly with how wired a city was. Few rural areas saw a single death. NAmdam, the second most wired city in the world behind Edo, lost over 350,000 people. Even with twenty million people in NAmdam, most people knew someone who had died.

It was why Hazel and Peter had become so close. Hazel’s mom had needed to change jobs, double up on hours to pay the bills her husband had shared before. Hazel had spent most of her free time outside of school taking care of her brother, Geoffrey, eight years her junior.

At twenty-one when the Crash happened, Peter had buried his grief over the loss of his brother in the exercise of unraveling the Platform, determining what had caused the system to fail and how to prevent another failure. The Bridge had resulted, and with all of its checks and balances, the powers-that-be jumped on the new tech with relish, offering excellent compensation for his new system and the training required to keep it running.

Really, there was no reason Peter should have latched onto Hazel. He had felt sorry for her, she guessed, stuck at home with a seven-year-old brother, best friend dead and gone. There must have been some nostalgia to keeping her around.

Hazel had buried herself in Trip. She could turn on a video for her brother, hand him a bowl of cereal, and dive into “fantasyland” for a castle onslaught or two. Between her brother and the occasional Stream-based class to finish school, Hazel found plenty of time to become the best at Trip.

Critical of the “waste,” wise, old, twenty-five-year-old Peter Donovan had tried to wrench Hazel into a “real job” in the company that had resulted from Bridge development. He had trained her in coding, Bridge infrastructure, etc., but she could not catch the enthusiasm. By that time, she had met Sophie and found a couple of other Trip sponsors, and she had begun to earn enough to get an apartment and feed herself.

Though she tried to feel completely justified in opening the email, certain that he had sought the information for her, Hazel’s skin prickled as she forwarded the message to herself. Suddenly, she grew aware of the cameras, in the corners where she usually ignored them, and she exited the message as quickly as possible.

She wasn’t at all sure that she would be able to link into the message from her home computer, but she might be able to find something out about it. Though she couldn’t know for sure why Peter had received the message, she would dig a little deeper. Hazel did not intend to be left out.