The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

The motorcycles were open, like they’d been waiting for us. I swung my leg over one, settling into the seat. The machine had actual handlebars that tilted, a throttle you twisted, and foot pedals for brakes. The screen in front showed a selection of tracks and bikes.

Sloane mounted the other bike, looking comically small against the full-sized replica. But her expression was pure focus.

"Tokyo Drift track," she called. "Ninja 650 bikes."

"Fine by me."

We swiped our cards and made our selections. The countdown began: 3... 2... 1... GO!

I twisted the throttle and my virtual bike shot forward. The cabinet actually tilted and vibrated beneath me, creating a surprisingly immersive experience. Sloane and I were neck and neck into the first turn, but I braked later, cutting inside her line and taking the lead.

"Asshole!" she shouted over the game’s music.

"Sorry, can’t hear you back there!" I called back.

The track twisted through virtual Tokyo streets, underneath neon signs and between skyscrapers. I leaned into each turn, feeling the bike respond beneath me. The Oracle Feed activated automatically, showing me optimal racing lines and braking points that no one else could see. It wasn’t cheating. It was just... augmented pattern recognition. The kind that happened to give me a clean three-second lead by the final lap.

"Yes!" I shouted as I crossed the finish line first. "That’s what I’m talking about!"

I turned to look at Sloane, expecting to see frustration. Instead, she was already off her bike, arms crossed, tapping her foot. The speed of her dismount suggested she’d been waiting for me to finish celebrating.

"Best two out of three," she said.

"Nope." I mimicked her earlier response. "I won fair and square."

"Fine." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. The specific quality of that narrowing suggested I’d made a tactical error. "Let’s do a dance game."

My celebration died in my throat. I slowly turned toward her, feeling my smile falter. "What?"

Sloane’s expression turned smug. "You heard me, asshole."

She pointed across the arcade to a platform with arrows pointing in four directions. Above it, a massive screen displayed colorful patterns while J-pop blasted from speakers. The kind of setup that required actual coordination. The kind I did not have.

"No." I shook my head. "Absolutely not."

"What’s wrong, Lukas? Not feeling so confident anymore?" She batted her eyelashes mockingly.

"I don’t dance."

"Scared you’ll lose?"

"I know I’ll lose. That’s not the same as being scared."

"Sounds like something a scared person would say." She grabbed my wrist. "Come on. One round."

She dragged me toward the dance platform, and I let her. Not because I wanted to dance. Not because I thought this would end well. Because her hand felt warm against my skin, and the way her face lit up with competitive glee made something turn over in my chest that I was choosing not to examine.

"I’m going to look ridiculous," I protested weakly.

"That’s the point," Sloane said cheerfully.

We stepped onto the platform. Two sets of arrow pads facing the screen. Sloane swiped her card and navigated to song selection with the ease of someone who had done this before. Many times before.

"How about something easy for your first time?" she teased, selecting a song called "Butterfly" that showed three stars for difficulty. Three stars out of what appeared to be a ten-star system. I was going to die.

"How generous of you," I muttered.

The song started. A peppy Japanese melody with English phrases thrown in that made no linguistic sense but somehow worked anyway. Arrows began scrolling up the screen, indicating which pads to step on. The tempo was faster than I’d expected. The patterns were tighter.

Sloane moved with perfect rhythm, her feet hitting each arrow exactly on beat. She made it look effortless, like she’d been playing this game her entire life. For all I knew, she had. The ponytail swung with each movement. Her expression was pure focus mixed with visible enjoyment.

I, on the other hand, stumbled through the patterns like a drunk elephant wearing roller skates. My feet couldn’t keep up with my eyes. The Oracle Feed tried to help, highlighting upcoming patterns in that dry, mechanical way it had. My body refused to cooperate. There was a significant gap between knowing which arrow was next and actually getting my foot there in time.

"Come on, Lukas!" Sloane laughed, not even winded. "You’re missing everything!"

"I’m trying!" I growled, nearly tripping over my own feet. Again.

Sloane’s combo counter kept climbing: 50, 75, 100. Mine reset every few steps. Sometimes every step. By the end of the song, she had a perfect score. I had... a number that existed. Technically. The game displayed it with what I could only describe as pity.

"That was the saddest thing I’ve seen all week," Sloane said, grinning openly at my complete failure. "And I watched someone try to parallel park in front of our house yesterday for twenty minutes."

"I warned you this would happen." I wiped sweat from my forehead. When had I started sweating? "Rhythm games require coordination. I have other skills."

"One more song," she pressed, already scrolling through the menu. "I’ll pick something slower. Something even you can’t mess up."

"Absolutely not." I stepped back from the platform like it might bite me. "I have dignity. What’s left of it, anyway."

Sloane turned to face me fully, and I recognized the look in her eyes. She was about to deploy something.

"Please?" She gave me puppy dog eyes that looked ridiculous on someone who could literally cause explosions with her fists. "For research purposes?"

I sighed. "Fine. One more."

She selected a slower song, and this time I managed to hit more arrows than I missed. Still nowhere near Sloane’s level, but at least I didn’t look like I was having a seizure.

"Not terrible," she conceded when we finished.

"High praise." I stepped off the platform. "Can we eat now? I’m starving."

"Sure." She hopped down next to me, her face flushed from exertion. "You’re buying, remember?"