Gamers Con: The First Zak Steepleman Novel by Dave Bakers Page A

in my direction.
    I saw that he was yawning his head off, and blinking away sleep.
    That’s another thing that me and my parents have nothing in common—they’re morning people and I’ve always been a night owl, feeling most awake around ten o’clock, around about the time then.
    But despite being a morning person, my dad still had enough energy this late at night to keep on clinging to his mobile, to occasionally tap something out on the chess app that he no doubt still had open there.
    I wondered if he ever thought he might get just a little bored of staring at those black-and-white squares, at staring at the exact same pieces, hour upon hour.
    I guess he had to sleep sometime.
    He sidled up to me, gave me a light smile, then waited there, apparently wanting me to get through with whatever it was he wanted me to get through with so that he could shove on off to the hotel room and get his eight hours’ sleep.
    Some people just don’t know they’re actually alive .
    Anyway, I shuffled off to Harold and Steve, shot Chung a brief smile which he batted away with a sturdy, neutral expression—what I supposed was his trademarked expression.
    I noticed his mum skulking about nearby, apparently as eager as my dad to get off as soon as possible.
    Steve and Harold explained the next day’s organisation to us, telling us that we would start bright and early at around eight o’clock in the morning, with the other six gamers who had managed to make it through to the quarter finals.
    When I asked for the names, I heard James and Kate among them.
    Though I knew they were the competition, I couldn’t help but feel a slight warmth way down deep in my gut.
    Once Steve and Harold had us sorted out, I decided to push the boat out, and actually attempt conversation with Chung.
    Since he had just about turned away as soon as Steven and Harold had wrapped up their spiel, I physically had to reach out and take hold of his shirt in my good, right fist.
    That got his attention.
    He looked back over his shoulder, that same neutral expression on his face.
    Seeing that his mother was glowering at me from where she was standing with her arms tightly folded across her chest, I decided I needed to act quickly.
    “In that first round,” I said, “did someone tell you about that button sequence—your opponent, I mean?”
    Chung just kept his expression firmly neutral, as if my voice was nothing more than a troublesome draught. Then he shook his head.
    It was then that I realised I was still holding tight to his shirt—that I still had a hold of it in my right fist. I gave him some slack, not wanting it to seem, to the casual observer, that I was thinking of taking care of my competition tomorrow with physical violence . . . anyway, if I’d really wanted to deal him some damage then I would’ve done something way easier—like sat on him.
    “Please,” I said, actually feeling my voice strain just a little, “someone told me too.”
    Chung blinked several times over, then, finally, he relented, giving me a firm, unmistakable nod.
    I decided that I was on a roll, so saw no reason to stop there. “Look, we both used to have a relationship with Alive Action Games, right?”
    Again Chung nodded.
    “And we both had to come through that Ignition Tournament because Alive Action revoked our passes.”
    He just kept up his same stony glare.
    “So . . . doesn’t some of this seem strange to you? Don’t you think that we should maybe be a touch suspicious about just what’s going on here?”
    He didn’t react at all.
    Not so much as the twitch of an eyelid.
    But I knew I had to keep going.
    “From what I heard”—I flapped my arm in Steve and Harold’s direction—“the others, the others who were with Alive Action, they managed to get through too, to the quarter finals. Doesn’t that seem like something of a coincidence to you?”
    Chung pouted long and hard, just about the most extreme reaction he’d given me in the whole time I’d