Page 22 of Played By Design

But the game has no equivalent for this crush of bodies, the wall of heat and noise. The air is a thick soup of cologne, pheromones, and the cloying sweetness of vape pens.

A woman in a branded polo shirt thrusts a clipboard at me. “BunnyGlitch! Congratulations on the win! Quick signature for the fan wall?”

I sign on autopilot.

“Amazing! And if I could get you to look right here—” Her phone camera flashes, and the light leaves a green afterimage on my retinas.

Two steps later, a man with a media badge loops an arm around my shoulders. His cologne sneaks past my mask and coats the inside of my nose. “Incredible performance today. What was going through your head during that final sequence?”

“Nothing,” I say.

He laughs, apparently taking what I said as a joke. “Modest! I love it. For the record, though⁠—”

A feedback squeal cuts through the corridor from a nearby microphone and drills straight through my skull. I flinch.

The media guy doesn’t notice as he keeps talking, his mouth moving while my brain refuses to process any of it. Something about training regimens. Sponsorship opportunities.

Another flash. Another hand on my arm. A teenage boy shoves a Pulse Riot tablet toward me, its screen glowing with a beat-map paused mid-game. “Can you sign it? Right here, next to my high score? Please?”

I sign, the marker squeaking over the screen protector.

Someone’s shoulder brushes mine from behind, and the contact sends a jolt up my arm. My shoulders climb toward my ears. The corridor narrows in my vision, the crowd compressing into a blur of moving parts and overlapping voices. Someone laughs too close to my left ear, the sound wet and loud.

A balloon inflates inside my skull, pressure swelling behind my eyes.

Hands on my shoulders turn me, and Kain fills my vision. He lifts my bunny headphones from around my neck and slides them over my ears.

The world muffles, the crowd noise dropping to a distant rumble, and in its place, guitar notes fill the space between my ears. Low Tide. A slow, warm, three-note progression set on repeat with minimal variation. No drums or vocals. Only clean guitar, each note lingering before the next arrives.

My shoulders drop half an inch.

Kain’s hand returns to the small of my back, and he angles us toward the exit at the far end of the corridor. He moves slightly ahead of me, cutting a path through the crowd.

I move with him, the headphones sealing out everything but Low Tide and the pressure of his hand guiding me.

Three steps from the exit, the competition organizer intercepts us. He’s a compact man with a headset and a clipboard, and he steps into our path to block our escape.

His mouth moves, his hand gesturing toward the booths set up for game developers, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.

Kain dismisses him, his focus locked on our escape route. He’s going to get me out of here.

But then the competition organizer’s lips shape words I’d recognize anywhere.

I lift one side of my headphones. “Repeat that last one.”

The organizer blinks. “Nexus? Their rhythm title⁠—”

“No. After that.”

“Julian Vey?” He hesitates, clearly confused by the question but willing to roll with it. “From Lantern Key Games. He’s here with the Dusk Protocol anniversary DLC materials.”

At the mention of the upcoming downloadable content, my head whips toward the booths, searching for the hallmark purple-and-lime game banner.

He keeps talking.

“—hoping we can get some photos with you and the Nexus team, their new rhythm title is launching next quarter and your endorsement would⁠—”

I spot the sign and start walking, leaving Kain to deal with the man.