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expanse of lush plains turns into a crystal-blue lagoon, surrounded by towering cliffs and smooth, steep rocks, their tops covered with vegetation. Waterfalls thunder down their sides. When I look closer, I realize that the rocks are actually enormous sculptures, each of them carved to look like past tournament winners. Rays of sun dance through the valley, painting light on theplains even as the floating isles cast patches of shadows; flocks of white birds cry out in formation below us. The towers of a castle on the cliffs peek through the distant mist. Farther, to the horizon, majestic ocean ray–like creatures glide in the air. There, the sky is black, and lightning forks between the clouds. I shiver as if I could sense the electricity in the air.
    Even the soundtrack chosen for this level is off-the-charts epic, full of orchestral strings and deep drums, sending my heart soaring.
    Above it all, a grand voice echoes across the world. “
Welcome to the Warcross Opening Ceremony Game.
”
    A soft
ding
sounds, and a transparent bubble pops up in the middle of my view:
    Logged into Opening Ceremony!
    +150 Pts. Daily Score: +150
    Level 24 | N580
    Then it fades away. My reward for watching the opening game is 150 points, which will go toward my leveling . . . except it won’t, since I’ve hacked this version of Warcross. Too bad. If I played like a normal person, I’d probably be at Level 90 or so by now. But I’m still at Level 24.
    “They always do it up, don’t they?” Keira’s voice makes me blink. She has a look of wonder on her face.
    I smile, then take a deep breath and spread my arms out. I leap off my floating isle. And I fly.
    My stomach drops as my brain believes I’m actually thousands of feet in the air. I let out a whoop as I soar over the plain, the music egging me on. There are restrictions on the official competing players—some worlds allow players to fly around or swimunderwater, while others must obey virtual gravity. But audience members are always free to wander around the landscape however they wish. We’re barred from altering it in any way or interfering with the players. The players won’t see us, either. They can only hear the roar of our cheers or boos, as well as the referee’s calls.
    I fly straight through the floating isles like a ghost, angling up to go as high as I can until I can’t get any farther from land. Then I turn around and dive back down like a meteor. I finally stop on one of the floating isles, right as the cheers of the audience mix with the voices of the game analysts coming from my earphones, as if I were listening to them on a radio.
    “It’s time for the annual Opening Ceremony Game!” one of them exclaims. “We’ve gathered here tonight to watch this all-star performance before the real tournament season begins. At the far end, we have Team Alpha, led by Asher Wing! At the near end, we have Team Beta, led by Penn Wachowski!”
    The players finally appear, scattered at opposite ends of the mass of floating islands. I fly away from Keira and head over to see them more closely.
    The avatar rule for official, professional Warcross players is that their virtual selves must look like their real selves, without any of the crazy customizations typical users can have, and that each team’s members must wear the same color. Team Alpha’s color is blue. There’s Jena, all blond hair and lanky limbs in her blue, fitted Warcross armor, its dragon scale texture tailored to match the level. She’s one of the younger players—only eighteen, same as me—and is from Ireland. As I watch her, she tosses her hair over her shoulders and places her hands on her hips. Her silver armguards gleam in the sun, as do the identical knives strapped to her thighs. The audience screams their approval.
    Standing on a floating island nearby is Max. Max, the son ofmillionaires, is a Harvard grad. His Warcross position is a Fighter, for sheer brawn and power, with the goal of taking