Behind the Veil

Book : TransDimensional Hunter

by John Ringo, Lydia Sherrer

Genres: Alien Contact; Military Sci-Fi; Alien Invasion

Synopsis

In the world of the cutthroat augmented reality game TransDimensional Hunter, Lynn Raven must outsmart stalker fans and a rogue algorithm, forcing her to push her limits to survive and win the championship.

Truth is stranger than fiction...and it’ll kill you a whole lot faster.

When Lynn Raven set out to win the championship for groundbreaking augmented reality game TransDimensional Hunter, the worst she thought she’d face was sunburn, mosquito bites, and annoying spectators.

The more she plays, though, the higher the stakes become—and the stranger the obstacles she has to face.

From dodging fans-turned-stalker to managing inter-team sabotage to surviving the increasingly bizarre antics of a game algorithm that seems to have it out for her, Lynn isn’t sure how much more she can take.

And then the other shoe drops.

If Lynn has any hope of coming out alive and on top, she’ll have to up her game beyond anything she thought possible.

And even that might not be enough.

Release date: August 5, 2025

Publisher: Baen

Print pages: 448

Sample

Chapter 1

“Edgar, Mack, lay down cover fire. Ronnie, move across the open area when he’s got it suppressed and take over. Dan, need you to dash up the stairs as soon as you can and give top cover. On three. One, two, three . . .”

Lynn took prone with Edgar standing and started pouring 6.8 fire down the main lobby of the Chattanooga Convention Center.

The Possessed returned fire but it was slacking. They seemed to be running out of ammo. Which was good because so were Skadi’s Wolves.

Ronnie darted across the lobby to the doors at the front. If the group flanked them, he could get hit from the outside and he’d be in a bad spot. But the Possessed didn’t seem to want to leave the building.

He made it to position and started firing down the lobby.

“Reloading!” Edgar shouted, dropping the box from his Squad Automatic Weapon. Mack leaned in and started the reload.

“Wait for reload, Dan,” Lynn commed.

“Got it,” he replied. “I’m in position. Gonna be a hell of a run.”

“You can do it,” Lynn said. “Make the angle as fast as you can.”

“Firing!”

“I’ve got TDMs coming in!” Ronnie shouted. “I need fire!”

“Mack!” Lynn replied.

Mack, the only one currently armed for TDMs, took a knee and launched a barrage of Dark Energy bolts from his energy bow. The Ghosts were coming right through the sunlit glass windows fronting the Center. Not that it was necessary since most of the doors were broken from the fighting.

“Go, Dan!” Lynn said as she finished her own reload.

Dan darted out of cover and made a record on the fifty-meter dash to the escalator. Because it was around the corner he was mostly out of sight from the Possessed as he pounded up the long immobile stairs.

Once up there he took a covered position and started servicing the Possessed.

As their opponents started to drop, Lynn assessed the situation.

“Edgar, get ready to fall back,” she said.

“Not until you go,” Edgar said.

“Come on, Edgar! I’m faster than you are. Move when I tell you!”

“Listen to the Boss,” Mack said. “The Boss is wise . . .”

“Edgar, go!” Lynn shouted.

With a “hmmph” the big Samoan hoisted his SAW and began humping to the escalator.

“Give us cover fire when you get up top!” Lynn shouted as she reloaded. She was down to two mags. They really needed to find some ammo. And it didn’t sound like most of their opponents had much.

As soon as the SAW started barking she waved to Ronnie.

“Move!”

“Oscar Mike,” he replied, pulling out of position and loping across the lobby, headed for cover.

“Mack! Get ready! We’re pulling out together.”

“Got it,” Mack said. “I’ve got the Ghosts suppressed but there’s more coming.”

“Worry about Ghosts later,” Lynn said. As soon as she heard Ronnie’s fire coming from upstairs, she gestured. “Our turn!”

Lynn reached the top of the escalators with her stamina bar dropping like a rock.

“We need ammo!” Ronnie said.

No shit, she thought.

“Copy,” Lynn replied. “Check these side rooms as we cross.”

At the top of the escalators was a large gathering area, then a flyover that led to the Marriott. On the left side of the flyover were windows, mostly broken. On the right side were doors, presumably leading to rooms.

The way things were going, rooms filled with either TDMs or Possessed.

“Pull back,” Lynn said. “Check the rooms.”

The first door was locked and they didn’t have access keys. The second was broken in.

And lo and behold not only had an ammo store but med kits and food.

“Jackpot!” Mack yelled. “Oh, blue food, lovely blue food!”

“Leave some for the rest of us,” Dan yelled. “And we still have company!”

Lynn picked up a case of SAW ammo and ran it to Edgar’s position.

“That should help with the company,” Lynn said.

“Oh, yeah,” Edgar said as Lynn dropped to the prone next to him and reloaded his SAW.

With the additional ammo, meaning he didn’t have to be careful with his fire, he terminated the rest of the Possessed with extreme prejudice.

“Ronnie, keep watch, Dan, Mack, Edgar, take everything not nailed down,” Lynn said.

“Just me to watch?” Ronnie said, angrily.

“No,” Lynn said. “I’m still here. Right?”

“Sure,” Ronnie snapped.

“What’s eating you now?” Lynn asked over their private channel.

“That you keep putting me in the spot of maximum danger?” Ronnie said. “Having me run across the open area when we barely had them suppressed? Leaving me to be almost the last one out?”

“Because you’re the best guy in the squad, Ronnie,” Lynn said. “You’re the one most likely to survive.”

Next to me, she carefully didn’t add.

“Sure,” Ronnie said. “More like you’re trying to

get me killed.”

Lynn rolled her eyes but didn’t reply, just kept watch as the other three hooted and hollered over all the cool loot they were finding.

“Guys, hurry it up,” Lynn said. “We need to find a safe point by dusk. Not tomorrow.”

“Working on it,” Edgar said. “But there’s a bunch of stuff to pick up.”

“Well, if there’s 6.8 it’s mine and Ronnie’s,” Lynn said.

“Here you go,” Edgar said, transferring rounds to her inventory. “Might want to reload.”

“Done,” Lynn said.

“You’re full of it too, Ronnie,” Dan said, transferring 6.8mm penetrator and explosive ammo to his inventory.

“Screw you, Dan,” Ronnie said. “There’d better be more food. My health meter is low.”

“Food, lovely blue food,” Mack said, transferring same to Ronnie’s inventory. “All the blue food gel you could need, want or desire. There’s more than we can carry.”

“Nice to finally see a decent cache,” Ronnie said, grumpily.

“Dan, Mack, Edgar, hold this point while we go fill our inventories,” Lynn said.

They both entered the room and picked over the remaining loot. Ronnie picked up some grenade launcher ammo as well. They hadn’t found one of those, yet, but it might come in handy in the future.

When they were done they exited and joined the team.

“Suggestions,” Lynn said. They weren’t currently under fire, so it was worth taking the time for input.

“Use the cache for our safe point,” Dan said.

“You just want to eat more blue gel,” Ronnie said.

“Blue gel is the best gel,” Dan pointed out.

“Mack?” Lynn said.

“Cache,” he said.

“Edgar?”

g.”

“Ronnie?”

“Keep moving,” Ronnie said.

“We’re moving,” Lynn said. “What Edgar said. Ronnie, point. Edgar, me, Dan, Mack. Watch the glass area. There might be issues. Move fast. Ready? Go.”

Ronnie started trotting across the flyway followed by Edgar and the rest of the squad. When they were about halfway across, Edgar suddenly jerked sideways and his armor flared damaged.

“I’m hit!” Edgar yelled.

“Sniper!”

“Dan!” Lynn said, continuing across the fire zone.

Dan took position at one of the support beams, giving him full cover, and started scanning the rooftops across the street.

“I don’t got him!” he shouted.

As soon as Edgar was across the flyover and had cover he pointed the SAW around the corner and started laying down fire in the general direction of the roof.

“He’s not on the roof,” Ronnie said looking out one of the side windows. “He’s in the building. Third window from the left.” He shot twice. “And so much for needing a sniper.”

“Leave some for the rest of us,” Dan said. “Is it clear?”

“We’ll know when you stand up,” Mack said, a grin in his voice.

“Oscar Mike,” Dan said.

“And now I’m down on SAW ammo,” Edgar said. “We could go back and get more . . . ?”

“Keep moving,” Lynn said. “Down escalator this time. Sweep the area first.”

Restaurant, bar, few more health and food packs. No ammo repair material for Edgar and no more ammo.

“Down the escalator,” Lynn said. “Ronnie.”

“Why do I always have to be point?” he grumbled.

“Let’s move,” Lynn replied.

There was no more fire on the way down the escalator and no enemies apparent on the ground floor. It was almost without incident until . . .

“What the hell?” Mack said, facedown on the floor. “I did not go prone! Why am I prone?”

“I think you just tripped,” Lynn said, laughing.

“I hate this game!” Mack said, as his avatar stood up. “How the hell do you trip in a game?!”

“’Cause you’re clumsy?” Dan said.

“My freaking leg is showing injured!” Mack said. “I am not taking a med pack for tripping!”

“You are if you’re slowing down our movement,” Dan said.

A notification pinged in Lynn’s ear. It was from her mom.

Lynn, you asked me to remind you when it got late. Early day tomorrow.

Okay, Mom, she messaged back. “Guys, it’s been fun, but we’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow. Time to bug out.

“Ugh, fine,” Mack said. “We need a safe point, though.”

“There’s a niche around the corner here,” Dan said.

“Assemble there,” Lynn said. “We’ll continue to the objective next time.”

“This is why we should have stopped at the cache,” Dan said.

“You just want more blue food,” Mack replied.

“Good game, guys,” Lynn said, getting her avatar situated. “See you tomorrow.” She exited the new TransDimensional Hunter-themed crossover mode WarMonger had just dropped and took off her AR glasses to rub her eyes. As usual, going from the immersive in virtual world of WarMonger back to her quiet, dark bedroom was a bit of an adjustment.

“The world ended in a tidal wave of TransDimensional Monsters destroying the power grid, wiping out electronics and killing by 

what people called the ‘Ghost Touch,’ then possessing the dead who rose as TD Zombies.

“In the hellish aftermath, survivors battled not only the invisible TDMs but each other as well, desperate to find some safe haven, some food, some shelter against the thousand-year night.”

That was the ad copy for the new WarMonger TD Hunter mode, anyway. What it came down to was fighting people and TDMs with WarMonger sets and engine.

Lynn cracked her neck and stretched out her back.

“Man, it’s so much easier to fight when it’s just electrons,” she muttered, standing up and grimacing at the thought of her butt-crack-of-dawn workout she had to look forward to in the morning.

* * *

Whoever invented running was evil.

Like, really evil.

“Freaking—hate this—kill me—now.”

“That’s the spirit, Miss Lynn. It is always good to start your day with a positive mindset.”

Lynn Raven would have liked to call Hugo, the TD Hunter service AI running her exercise scenario, a great many vulgar names. But she was too busy using her air to stay upright and conscious, and had none to spare putting her sarcastic AI in its place.

“Only thirty more seconds until your cooldown.”

Lynn gritted her teeth and strictly commanded her legs to keep pumping. It wasn’t as bad as usual, since she was on a treadmill in the apartment complex weight room. She preferred running outside, but the cold weather and aggressive flocks of paparazzi drones had conspired against her. Normally there were only one or two drones, if that, especially during the winter months. But mere days ago, she had led a group of twenty-two TransDimensional Hunter teams to destroy a massive TD boss in their area, and they had streamed most of the fight on the mesh web.

It had apparently been quite the viewing experiece.

avenStriker” and her horde of hunters. Clips of it had gone viral on multiple platforms. Lynn had even gathered enough courage to watch some of it herself and had to admit it looked pretty impressive. The TD Hunter augmented reality overlay was otherworldly. Truly groundbreaking and next generation.

It all looked so . . . real.

But that was probably just because the camera view was coming from an actual person physically swinging, jumping, and rolling to fight the augmented overlay TD Monsters.

Which was why she was up at the crack of dawn doing the thing she hated most in the entire world.

Well . . . maybe second most hated thing. The first would be doing interviews, which was sucky because GIC, her PR company, was receiving more and more requests. So many that she really couldn’t keep refusing them all. She’d embarked on this quest to win the TD Hunter International Championship to earn money for her and her mom and ensure a future for herself. And interviews absolutely made her money.

“Well done, Miss Lynn!” Hugo chirped in her earbud. “You have successfully completed your Stamina Booster workout!”

The treadmill slowed from its sprint pace, and Lynn grabbed the handles on either side to hold herself up as the muscles in her legs finally gave her the middle finger and ceased functioning. She’d been doing a HIIT routine—High Intensity Interval Training—that the TD Hunter app had in its extensive database of fitness resources. According to her ER nurse mother, Matilda, they were very well-designed exercise regimens, and since Lynn didn’t want to do any of them anyway, having a program lead her through them was easier than trying to keep track of it all herself.

Of course, the bigger question was why, in the name of all that was holy, was she doing HIIT training at seven in the morning during her senior year spring break.

She had considered the possibility that she was a masochist, otherwise known as a workout junkie. But she really didn’t enjoy working out. There was no high afterwards or a glowing sense of accomplishment. Just lots of groaning and foul curses under her breath.

What she did crave, though, was being able to breathe while fighting TDMs, and stamina was built by one thing and one thing only: exercise. And exercises only worked as well as the effort you put into them. Lynn wasn’t a workout junkie, she just hated wasting effort, so there wasn’t much point in taking a vacation from her normal workouts only to make it harder on herself when she got back to them.

The treadmill finally got down to walking speed and Lynn drank water while she did her cooldown circuit. Hugo rattled off her workout numbers, from heart rate to calories burned, to peak records in time and distance. The AI was annoyingly supportive and chipper about it all, probably because the collected wisdom of the mesh web informed it of the benefits of a positive attitude. It was wasted effort on Hugo’s part, though, because the day she felt anything positive toward running was the day she bleached her hair and tried out for her school’s cheerleading team. Instead of informing Hugo of that fact, Lynn simply mopped her face with a sleeve and tried to enjoy the fact that she no longer wanted to stab herself in the face.

That was what she got for aspiring to be the world-class champion of an augmented-reality game. Playing virtual reality games felt oddly lame by comparison.

Well, maybe not WarMonger.

Lynn smiled at the thought, remembering her latest conquests as the Tier One mercenary Larry Coughlin. WarMonger didn’t give her the same full-body satisfaction that a day of hunting TDMs did, but there was something uniquely delectable in proving her superior skill, tactics, and sheer ferocity in a first-person shooter game like WarMonger.

It was also a frustrating but unavoidable fact that Larry Coughlin was respected in ways that Lynn Raven never would be, no matter how many competitions she won. Part of that was her age, of course. It was natural that a grizzled war vet would garner more respect than a fresh-faced teenager. But the main factor

that she’d experienced over and over in her years gaming was the resistance to seeing girls as serious and capable gamers.

Most guys, and even a lot of girls, simply didn’t respect a female gamer the way they respected a male one, no matter how skilled the female was. It made her fantasize sometimes about revealing that Lynn was Larry and Larry was Lynn, just to see the proverbial jaws drop across the mesh web. It would truly blow people’s minds—at least for those who believed her. A significant subset of the gaming population would write it off as a hoax, even with evidence to the contrary. Some people simply had no desire to challenge their assumptions. It was human nature, and she couldn’t change it, so she tried not to dwell on it. She refused to let bitterness or resentment take a single iota of energy away from her achieving her goals.

So, instead of getting worked up about the stupidity of human nature, she simply enjoyed playing Larry when she could, and focused on pushing herself to the very top of her game in TD Hunter.

To that end, she had some tactical data to review from her recent “Operation Boss Bash,” so she needed to take a shower and get to it. Just because it was spring break and most high school seniors were on a beach in Panama City didn’t mean she and her Skadi’s Wolves TD Hunter team got to take a break. They had to use every spare moment to train and hunt in order to reach Level 40 by mid-June.

Despite the workout from hell she’d just finished, her heart rate picked up again at the thought of the championship, drawing ever closer. She tamped down on the thread of anxiety that came with it and focused on the here and now.

She couldn’t let future distractions ruin her present performance. That was a rookie mistake in gaming.

“Thanks for the pep talk, Hugo,” Lynn said, now that she’d regained most of her lung capacity. “I’d be happier if you’d just stop torturing me, but I guess it’s good you say nice things about me while committing crimes against humanity. You win the prize for world’s most polite sadist.”

“Drama and exaggeration do not become you, Miss Lynn.”

“Oh, darn, and here I was hoping for your undying approval. I’m crushed, Hugo. Truly crushed.”

“Sarcasm is hardly better,” Hugo said primly. 

I beg your pardon? When have I ever—”

“Don’t even finish that thought, smarty-pants. I like my eyeballs where they are, thanks, and they won’t stay put with how hard I’ll be rolling them if you try to deny what a snarky little bastard you are.”

The AI did not reply, and Lynn grinned at the thought of it grumbling and muttering to itself.

She dismounted the treadmill and grabbed her water bottle, compact TD Counterforce backpack, and heavy jacket on her way to the door. With the backpack on and the hood of the jacket up, she dashed across her apartment complex’s main courtyard, hoping to reach her apartment building without being subjected to flybys from nosey drones trying to dip down and get a shot of her face.

Honestly, Lynn thought paparazzi drones should be outlawed. But the culture’s obsession with gossip combined with free market capitalism ensured that would never happen.

She made it back through her building’s automatic doors without any mishaps and flipped back her hood as she headed for the elevator. Yes, the stairs were a healthier option, but her legs felt like wet noodles boiled so long they’d started to disintegrate. So, the elevator it was.

“Good morning, Lynn, how are you today?”

Lynn turned, a smile lighting up her face at the sight of her downstairs neighbor, Jerald Thomas, coming toward her leaning on his cane for support.

“Hi, Jerald! My workout tried to kill me, but I’m still alive. So, good, I guess?”

“Ah, the joys of youth. Just wait until you get to be my age, young lady. You will long for the days when something as simple as getting out of bed did not result in multiple minor injuries.”

A snort escaped her and Lynn shook her head.

“Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“I am not cruel, so I will not shatter your illusions, my dear. Let us just say that growing old is not for the faint of heart.”

They shared another smile and Lynn stepped away from the elevator, offering her arm to Mr. Thomas for him to lean on while she walked him back to his apartment door. She knew how much his daily walks meant to him, and how much the cold made his bones ache. Since she was up early most mornings for a pre-school workout, she was used to running into Mr. Thomas on his daily circuit of their apartment building. He always asked her about school and how her TD Hunter training was going. He’d even started watching a few gaming streams to keep up with news about Skadi’s Wolves—much to her embarrassment. But he just chuckled and waved off her awkwardness, saying that “all the drama” made him feel young.

They chatted about her recent successful Boss Bash, and he made her laugh with his incredulous descriptions of her athletic feats, as if he’d forgotten that the human body was even capable of such spryness. Jerald was always polite, interested, and supportive of her endeavors, even though she’d had no time for months to drop by and bring him some of her mom’s homemade taco pizza or sit and play a hand of cards with him. He didn’t seem to mind. Lynn couldn’t help but think that if anyone needed a lesson in what it looked like to be a decent human being, they need look no further than Mr. Thomas.

Once she’d seen him to his door, she wobbled back to the elevator and headed up to her apartment, her mind singularly focused on the blessedly hot shower waiting for her.

Her focus was shattered by a ping notification on her earbuds, and she pulled up her LINC message list on her AR glasses. She didn’t always wear them during her workouts, but she tried to at least half the time, since she had to be able to fight TDMs in them with ease and fluidity.

When Lynn saw who had pinged her she almost choked.

Voice call request from: Robert Krator.

Had she done something wrong? Had her recent boss victory broken some TD Hunter rule she didn’t know about? Why else would Robert freaking Krator, CEO of Tsunami, be casually pinging her at eight o’clock in the morning? If it was something mundane, he had employees for that kind of thing, 

didn’t he?

She was too sweaty and exhausted to focus on an important conversation, so she responded to the request with simple text:

Sorry, Mr. Krator, just finished a workout. Can I ping you after I take a shower?

Sure. And it’s Robert.

Lynn smiled, anxiety fading a little.

Got it. Get back to you in a bit.

She took an only-slightly-shorter-than-normal scalding hot shower, because Mr. Krator might be a billionaire, but she wasn’t capable of more than surface politeness without a certain amount of time to decompress under a pounding shower spray. Her apartment complex was only middling quality, but the water pressure was top-notch.

When she got out, her mom was busy fixing bacon and eggs for breakfast. Matilda Raven worked night shifts at St. Sebastian’s Memorial Hospital in downtown Cedar Rapids, so this was dinner for her and she insisted on eating together as often as schedules allowed.

“Be ready in five minutes, honey,” Matilda called.

“Okay, Mom. I need to call someone real quick, but it shouldn’t take long.”

Lynn went and hid in her room, making sure the door was firmly closed, before taking a deep breath and selecting the callback option on the voice request from Mr. Krator. She sat on the bed and began braiding her wet hair as she waited for it to pick up.

“Good morning, Lynn. I hope you’re enjoying spring break so far?”

“Um, yeah, I guess?” Lynn said, grimacing.

“Too busy to enjoy your just deserts, is it?”

“More or less.”

“I remember my senior year spring break. I made an ill-fated trip to Miami Beach on the advice of a friend. He was convinced it would change my life.”

“Er, did it?” Lynn couldn’t help asking.

“Yes . . . but not in the way he’d imagined,” Mr. Krator said ruefully, and Lynn wasn’t brave enough to pry further. “I would say

I’m surprised you’re working out during a school break, but then I’ve seen what you do, both in TD Hunter and WarMonger. You’re a dedicated person, Lynn, a commendable quality that few have these days.”

“Th-thank you, M— I mean Robert.” Lynn could have slapped herself for tripping over her words. It wasn’t as if Mr. Krator hadn’t asked to speak to her before. He’d been the one to personally invite her to beta test TD Hunter in the first place, after all.

“That’s why I was hoping you’d be willing to go a step further and do something unique to help promote TD Hunter—with compensation, of course.”

“Uh . . . sure?”

Mr. Krator chuckled. “Wait till you hear what it is, Lynn.”

“Yes, that’s what I meant. So . . . what is it?”

“Well, we have a variety of marketing strategies promoting TD Hunter to the public as well as our current player base for all Tsunami games. As I’m sure you’ve seen, we frequently invite star players and stream influencers to do promos and sponsorships. There has been a particularly stubborn subset of WarMonger players that seem to enjoy mocking TD Hunter as ‘lame’ because of the augmented aspect, while discounting the mental and physical health benefits of gaming in the real. WarMonger players as a general customer base are a close target audience for TD Hunter, so I’d like to hire Larry Coughlin to promote TD Hunter to help win over that player segment.”

Lynn nearly swallowed her tongue.

“W-what? You want me to do what?”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be you personally, I suppose. After all, Steve Riker and some of my other employees have been doing an admirable job of keeping Larry involved and current despite your busy schedule.”

Lynn gulped. Mr. Krator must have heard it, because he chuckled again.

“Don’t worry, Lynn. Steve cleared the plan with me before he implemented it. It was a good idea, frankly. Larry Coughlin is a genuine asset to Tsunami. It’s in the best interests of the company to maintain his presence as an active and valued member of the WarMonger community.”

That made Lynn snort, and she covered her mouth

with one hand.

“Sorry, I just—valued?—do you know how many players hate my guts? I do pound people into the dust for money, you know.”

Mr. Krator chuckled softly.

“You’ve made your enemies, to be sure. But you are a legend in the player and fan community. Have you ever done a ‘Larry Coughlin’ search on the streams?”

“Yeah, made that mistake once,” Lynn said with a grimace. “Won’t do it again. Did you know some guy curates an open hit list that people can add fellow players to that they want to get fragged?”

“Hm, I did not. Sounds . . . pleasant.”

Lynn shrugged, then remembered Mr. Krator couldn’t see her.

“I’m sure for most people it’s all in good fun, siccing Larry the Snake on their buddies. But it’s kinda insulting, too. As if I’d waste my time killing people for free.” She mentally added unless they’re Ronnie Payne. Mr. Krator could easily look up the match data and see that she’d spent a significant amount of time over the years ruining Ronnie’s day, but there was no point drawing attention to it. She had better things to do, now, and besides, Ronnie was . . . different these days. She no longer had the urge to slap him whenever he opened his mouth—a surprising and welcome change.

“Of course not, which is why you’d be compensated for your time promoting TD Hunter—or for the use of your profile, if one of Steve’s team did it.”

Lynn squirmed; not sure she liked the idea of someone else speaking on her behalf. Because Larry was her in enough ways that doing something like that felt deceptive, as if she was selling herself, not just her skills and services.

“I mean, I could probably handle it. What, er, would it involve?” She regretted her words almost as soon as she’d said them but stubbornly ignored the feeling.

“Don’t worry, nothing difficult. The first stage would simply be to record some matches of you fighting TDMs in the WarMonger-TD Hunter crossover mode we introduced. Then we would take Larry’s likeness from WarMonger and create an augmented reality version of him for the native TD Hunter part of the ad. For that portion, it would be ideal to have you fly down to Texas and do some takes in our marketing studio so we can use that to overlay

Larry’s skin onto your fighting moves. AI vid generation has come a long, long way from the early years, but it’s not perfect, so a live recording we can overlay would work best.”

“But how would that work? I’m a curvy, average-height teenage girl. Nobody would believe I’m a grizzled old guy even with an AI overlay.”

“O ye of little faith,” Mr. Krator chuckled. “The wonders of AI-generated graphics are quite jaw-dropping, but they’re still lacking in two specific areas: the fluidity and the randomness of human movement. Pure computer generation, even guided by human creative design, is too perfect, and therefore inhuman. But your stature and body shape won’t be the anchor points for the graphics. Rather, the recordings of your specific attacks, special moves, and body language are what our designers will use as input to enable custom footage to be created. In essence, we could make a promo ad using any old body double, but they would have no knowledge of how to move to look like Larry Coughlin. Using you brings accuracy and authenticity to the footage. As an added bonus, creating custom footage will put to bed all those rumors that Larry is confined to a wheelchair. Imagine how everyone will be quaking in their boots to see how dangerously competent Larry Coughlin still is.”

The amusement in Mr. Krator’s voice made Lynn relax as she thought the offer through. It wouldn’t be that bad, really. It’s not like she’d be out in public revealing her Larry Coughlin identity. All she had to do was a bit of fighting, and Tsunami’s graphics team would do the rest.

“Um, what about my, you know, secret identity? Wouldn’t people in Texas see who I was and put two and two together?”

“True, true. I trust my employees’ discretion, but if you’re worried about it, we could pull Steve and a few others from his team to handle the go-between and once you’re in your green suit and AR glasses most of your identifying features would be covered anyway. We could come up with a neutral name for the project and ensure the footage and documentation is not connected to your or Larry’s name. That way, by the time it got to the graphics department, they would have no knowledge of what stunt artist we used for the green-screen recording. But, if you’re truly concerned about it, we could use a different stunt actor.”

Um . . . can we plan on me doing it in person but hang on to that as a backup? I’m also worried about, well, time.”

“Yes, of course. Senior year, national competition, I understand. There is something else you can do for the promotion that does not involve travel, however.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’d like Larry to do an interview.”

Lynn’s eyes widened.

“An interview? But—” She stopped and took a breath. He’d said no travel, so he didn’t mean in person. She had her voice modulator, and it could be audio only, so no need to freak out. “I mean, that’s, er, pretty bold, wouldn’t you say? Larry is more of a shooting kind of guy than a talking one.”

“Are you kidding me? The Snake’s quips are legendary.”

“That’s just the thing,” Lynn protested. “They’re prepared, not spontaneous. You should see my wall at home, I’ve got sticky notes all over it with perfect zingers written out and waiting to be used.”

Mr. Krator fell silent, which made Lynn nervous. Was he disappointed to see behind the mask? Just like the Wizard of Oz, she could never live up to the legend she had created.

“I mean, they’re not fake or anything,” she hurried to add. “I had to do a ton of research to figure out the perfect phrasing, military lingo, local pronunciations, and all that. It’s just . . . I’m not Larry. I’ve never traveled the world. I’ve never fought in any wars. I’ve never, well, killed anyone, obviously. So . . . I don’t think an interview will, um, be as amazing as people think it will be.” Her voice turned squeaky at the end of her sentence, and she cleared her throat.

There was more silence, which made her nerves hum. But when Mr. Krator spoke again he didn’t sound disappointed, or angry, or even bothered.

“Thank you for your honesty, Lynn. I don’t think it will be the problem you imagine it to be, though. You are welcome to help craft the interview to ensure the questions are the sorts of things you feel comfortable answering as Larry. And I suspect you get much more into Larry’s head when you play WarMonger than even you would admit. Surely you don’t need a brand-new quip for every situation? Everybody has pet phrases and familiar idioms they fall back on. We could even do a mock interview beforehand to help you get comfortable in the role.”

Lynn hesitated. It wasn’t something she wanted to do, though a small part of her grinned evilly and rubbed its hands together at the thought of getting to growl cranky threats at the entire gaming community at once, instead of just her opponents in a match. She wondered if the interview would bleep out cuss words to keep it family friendly.

“Who would be the interviewer?” she asked, curiosity piqued, despite herself.

“One of the heads of our marketing department,” Mr. Krator said. “He’s a WarMonger player himself and a huge fan of yours. He was salivating at the idea of interviewing you, and is aware that he will have to stick faithfully to the agreed upon questions so as not to get on the Snake’s ‘naughty’ list.”

Lynn laughed. Oh, the joys of mercing.

“I’ll . . . think about it, if that’s okay? I’m interested, but I . . . I don’t want to let you down, er, Robert. Maybe we could start with recording virtual ad footage in WarMonger, then I could take a look at the proposed interview questions and we’ll go from there?”

“Sounds like a plan, Lynn. Thank you, I am in your debt, truly.”

Lynn felt her face heat and she was doubly glad they weren’t on a video call.

“You aren’t, Robert. I should be thanking you. ...