“There has to be a way to end this program,” Elliot insisted, still waving his arm in the command gesture.

But Tom didn’t want this to end. He gazed transfixed down at the field, knowing those weren’t virtual opponents. Those were real enemies. Enemies who had tampered with the program to make it as real as possible. Kept the pain sensations on. Blocked their escape.

If Russo-Chinese Combatants were here …

Medusa might be here.

The greatest warrior in the world could be in the same simulation as Tom. Right in reach of him. And he was just standing here, a useless sentry, removed from the fighting.

“Yes! I’m getting the exit option now!” Elliot gave a relieved laugh. He turned to Tom. “Is the exit sequence working for you, or do I need to unplug you once I’m out?”

“Wait.” Tom turned on him, electric with determination. “Don’t go yet. Let’s fight them, Elliot. Come on. You and me. Hector and random sentry person. Let’s take on the Greeks. Let’s take on the Russo-Chinese.”

“You want to stay?” Elliot stared at him. He obviously hadn’t even considered that option. “The pain receptors are on full, Tom. You saw Stephen. Getting stabbed here feels like getting stabbed.”

“I’ll risk it! Elliot, come on already. This could be incredible! Let’s show ’em Americans aren’t cowards!”

Below them, the people in the city were screaming as they were cut down by the invading army.

“Come on, Elliot,” Tom said. “This is my only chance. You get to fight these people all the time. I may never be CamCo. I may never get to fight them in real life.”

“This means that much to you?”

“Look, come on. I’ll do anything. I’ll pay fealty. You want fealty? You’ll get all the fealty you can handle. Just don’t unplug me!”

Elliot shook his head, exasperated and, Tom would swear, amused. “You were born in the wrong era, Tom. You should’ve been a berserker. Fine. I won’t unplug you. But go as a combat character.” And with a wave of his hand, Tom’s body transformed.

He was about to murder Elliot for turning him into a girl again, but he realized that this girl character was the best warrior yet unclaimed in the sim: Penthesilea, queen of the Amazons.

Elliot saluted him. “Don’t embarrass your country, Plebe.”

“No, sir!”

“And I didn’t even have to wrangle that ‘sir’ out of you, huh? Well, that’ll do for fealty,” Elliot said with a grin and vanished from the sim.

And so it was left to Tom, the lone, nonvirtual defender of Troy, against the entire Greek army. He whirled around, the grandeur of the moment sweeping over him. He didn’t care that he was probably going to be skewered and end up as miserable as Beamer. He didn’t even care that it was going to hurt. This was his time of glory.

He watched the attackers and waited for that one. That one person to show up, the fighter he’d know anywhere.

And when he spotted him through the churning mass of the army, the clouds of dust, and the rippling waves of heat, Tom knew him at once.

Medusa was playing Achilles. The mightiest warrior in the world of today was fighting as the most fearsome warrior of the ancient world.

It was so fitting Tom could’ve cheered.

But instead, he caught sight of a stray horse, riderless, panicked with flight, galloping across the dusty ground below him. He timed his leap, and landed right on its back. It was easy in Penthesilea’s battle-hardened body. Using her powerful legs, Tom steered the horse’s massive body, launched them toward the battle. He kicked its haunches and plunged them into the bloodshed.

Tom ignored the warriors boiling about him. They were mere obstacles blocking his way to Medusa. He needed to attract Medusa’s attention, so he tried to pick out the other Russo-Chinese Combatants among the virtual soldiers.

He recognized Rusalka, known as Svetlana Moriakova, the Russian answer to Elliot Ramirez and the only public Russo-Chinese Combatant. She was playing Agamemnon, and she betrayed herself in the way she hung back and tried to ensure others took the brunt of the fighting. Tom had seen enough past CamCo battles to recognize the tactic on sight. He raised his bow and arrow, caught her eye, and winked. Just as the surprise washed over her face, his arrow impaled her throat.

He found Red Terror next, playing Odysseus, a guy who betrayed his identity by the way he cut down the strays, the stragglers, the weakest. Just like Red Terror when he fought in space, who always attacked the soft spot first. Tom clutched his bow in his left hand, drew his sword with his right, and hacked off Red Terror’s head as he careened past him.

Then he saw the Combatant Kalashnikov, playing Patrocles, recognizable by the way he played dirty and killed Tom’s horse beneath him. Tom leaped clear of the screaming, thrashing creature, rolled to his feet, and drove his sword through Kalashnikov’s eye.

That’s when Medusa saw Tom.

Medusa charged through the armies in his chariot. With a jerk of the reins, Medusa brought the chariot to a halt just meters away, dust swirling up in a great cloud around his gleaming armor.

Tom just stood there, sword in hand, a huge grin on his lips. He stared at Medusa and Medusa stared at him, and in this moment that made his dreams come true, Tom could only think of one thing to say.

“How’s it going?”

As soon as he spoke, he regretted how stupid he must’ve sounded.

Medusa’s eyes raked over him. “You didn’t run with the others.”

“I’d never run from you.”

“I’d call you courageous,” Medusa said, “but I suspect you may just be a moron.”

Tom laughed, feeling almost giddy, because this was really happening. “Got me in one guess … Medusa.”

Medusa jerked a bit. “You know me.”

“I’d know you anywhere,” Tom confessed. “I think about you all the time.” He knew how creepy and stalkerish that had to sound, but he didn’t care.

“You seem a bit deranged,” Medusa remarked.

“That’s fair.”

And then Medusa charged.

Tom knew he didn’t stand a chance in the open. He scrambled into the midst of the massing armies to buy some time. He cast his eyes around for some advantage, then spotted the concave shield of a dead Greek, aware of Medusa fighting through the Trojan army to get him like some relentless angel of death. As the rumbling of the wheels mounted to a roar in his ears, and the shadow of the chariot blotted out the sun around him, Tom twisted around, angled the shield, raising his sword above it—and blared sunlight right into Medusa’s eyes.

Medusa was blinded just as he flung his javelin. His wild throw sent it whizzing by Tom’s ear.

Tom hurled the shield at Medusa, unbalancing him. He leaped forward, lashed out with his sword and drove it through the neck of one of the chariot’s horses. Red Terror wasn’t the only one who could play dirty.

The horse tumbled to the earth with a scream. It thrashed to the dusty ground, toppling the second horse and careening the chariot onto its side. Tom leaped clear of the vehicle, saw Medusa doing the same—hurling himself clear of the wreckage. With a whoop of triumph, Tom tore after the struggling warrior, ready to impale Medusa before he could regain his sword.