“Well, maybe after all that dies down, you can circle back?” Jason ventures. The genuine tone in his voice is there, and it kills me. He doesn’t sound like someone who stole my writing, stole my and Ryan’s art. He sounds like that old friend again. The cool senior I met when I was still a freshman. The knowledgeable hero I looked up to all these years. A mentor.
“Maybe... Oooh, maybe you could write under a pen name?” he suggests, his smile wider, his enthusiasm unmatched. “We can figure something out.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I shrug noncommittally. It actually doesn’t sound that terrible. Ryan, meanwhile, is fussing around with the back of the console box that’s connected to the television, and appears to be having very little luck with it. I see him gritting his teeth as he tugs at something, and for a second, the massive television wobbles. Jason must have felt something, and he starts to turn around.
“What about Ryan?” I ask loudly, trying to regain his attention. He turns back to me, his focus recaptured. “Can you bring him back in, too, maybe?”
“Yeah, definitely,” Jason says, smiling. “As soon as that friend of yours disappears. Don’t get me wrong, I feel bad for her and all, but I have a business to run.”
I try not to glare at him, but I don’t think I’m successful, as he cocks an eyebrow and tilts his head.
“She doesn’t have to disappear,” I say, feeling the anger boiling up again. “She doesn’t deserve that. She—”
And then I see it.
There’s a Vox Populi sticker stuck inside the booth.
“What the hell, Jason?!” I push by him and point at the thing, stuck to one of the posters against the fabric curtain. “What is this? You know who those guys are?”
“Oh, calm down, they’re just a bunch of gamers playing pranks.”
“Pranks?!” I’m shouting. “They attacked her mom, Jason. How could you do this?”
“It’s our audience,” he snaps back, his voice a little more hushed now. “It’s my livelihood. I don’t know her, and I’m sorry, but I don’t care. Now, do you and Ryan want to make money, or not?”
Something behind the curtain flutters.
There’s a loud groaning noise.
And the television begins to pitch forward.
“Jason!” I shout. “Look out!”
With a crash, the massive screen plummets to the floor, taking half of the booth with it. The cords, the curtains, the thick plastic pipes holding it all together, all colliding down on top of Jason and Laura. Pieces of Ryan’s art go fluttering everywhere, the postcards exploding into the air like a magician tossing playing cards into the wind.
People all around us are screaming.
I stare for a moment, mouth wide open, and look in horror at Ryan from across the destroyed booth. The console is in his hands. It’s one of those super expensive gaming and development PCs, one I know Jason uses to develop his games. It has to be worth thousands. He smiles sheepishly and ducks behind the one remaining curtain, disappearing from sight.
I bend over and dig through the bits and pieces of the booth, a number of other convention-goers with me. Jason and Laura are cursing up a storm as we haul them out of all the debris.
“Fuck!” Jason shouts, looking at the booth in pieces. “That television was worth two grand!” He storms over to what’s left of it and digs around under the fallen curtains and pipes. “Where’s the—”
He looks up at me, suspicion dawning on his face. “Did you come here with Ryan?” he asks coldly.
“What?” I scoff. “No. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“He said on social media, and I quote, ‘If ManaPunk is showing that demo, I’m going to steal that shit,’” Jason says, taking a step toward me, fury in his eyes. “Where is he?! Where the hell is my demo?!”
“Jason, come on. It’s probably under all that stuff,” I say, taking a step around him.
“Do you have any idea how much those computers cost?!” he shouts, eyes scouring the debris.
As Jason bends down to sift through the curtains and pipes and cords, I take off, running madly through the crowd, holding my poster tube above my head.
“Aaron!” Jason shouts. “Aaron, get back here!”
I’m weaving in and out of people, keeping an eye open for any sign of security, Jason, or the Vox Populi, when my phone vibrates. I duck behind a line of people waiting for what will inevitably be some very disappointing Philadelphia cheesesteaks from a food stand, and notice I’ve got only a few minutes to get to D1V’s panel across the building.
I start running. I can’t miss it.
She needs me.
Suddenly, I think back to Laura, working with Jason. The person I’d thought I needed to defend, hadn’t needed me at all. I’d spent so much time thinking about trying to save her that I never considered she didn’t need saving. That I was the one who needed saving, from people like her. People like Jason.
What if I’m wrong about D1V, too?
But this is different, right? Right?
I shake my head, my thoughts running wild, and hustle out into the main hall, squeezing past what feels like a thousand people until it opens into a large open space.
“1R,” I say to myself, again and again, checking my phone several times as I descend an escalator toward the meeting rooms. They’re massive spaces, big enough to hold a full wedding in, or maybe a panel about Firefly.
I find the hall for D1V’s panel. There’s a large sign outside it, detailing the panels going on in the room that day and the times. One about Sailor Moon fandom happened way earlier this morning, another about writing strong female characters just got out, and now D1V’s event.
“Harassment in Video Game Culture & Women: A Conversation.”
I glare at the names on the list. It’s still like three dudes and then D1V. How is that a balanced conversation at all?
I move to walk into the room, when a large burly man stops me.
“Quick pat down, sorry,” he informs me.
“Wait, what? What for?” I ask.
“High-profile guest, lots of threats surrounding her on social media.” He pats me up and down, quickly, clearly disinterested and not doing a very good job. “Nothing I’d consider creditable, though. Those trolls are all the same. All talk, no action.”
I try not to glare at him, but he must catch it.
“Problem?” he asks, pulling out his phone and fussing with something on it.