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“A timely, realistic thriller about the governance of online information” (Kirkus Reviews)—the second novel in a groundbreaking international thriller trilogy about a deadly game that blurs the line between reality and fiction.
It’s been four months since Henrik “HP” Pettersson was dragged into a ruthless Alternate Reality Game that nearly cost him his life. Although he now has everything he ever wished for—freedom, money, and no responsibilities—he isn’t satisfied. He’s plagued by insomnia and paranoia, and misses the adrenaline rush of the Game. He misses the attention. At times, he even hopes the Game Master will find him. And when HP catches the eye of a rich and powerful CEO for all the wrong reasons, he may get his wish. But he quickly learns that sometimes, you have to be careful what you wish for...
The second in a fast-paced, exciting trilogy, Buzz will keep you guessing until the end. HP believes the game is over, but is it really just beginning?
obviously gone into the toilets. Tried to wash off the blood as quickly as possible, and found his shirt in the trash. It sounded pretty damned unlikely, but stranger things had happened. He fast-forwarded through this scenario one more time, just to be on the safe side. Flimsy—but not unthinkable. Even so, he still couldn’t stop one unpleasant thought from leaking out. What if Aziz was right?! For a while back there in the camp he really had felt like strangling Anna Argos—squeezing her
again, but Rebecca kept her expression the same. “Anyway, I’ve had time to think, and looking back now I think I did actually see someone running in front of the car, while you were hanging off the door . . . I’m pretty sure I did.” Rebecca couldn’t help twitching, and Modin seemed to notice. “Well, I didn’t see any details, no gun or anything, but for some reason the color yellow is fixed in my mind. Was he wearing something yellow, a top, or a scarf or something else loose?” “A plastic
the liberty of ordering for us both. What would you like to drink with the meal? I’m having a South African red.” “Then I’ll have the same,” HP replied, then suddenly noticed a subtle change in the other man’s face. Shit, of course, he was supposed to be a devout Muslim! “Do you have any nonalcoholic wine?” he quickly asked the waiter who had appeared the moment HP sat down. A minute later he was sipping the unfamiliar drink, smiling at Philip Argos, and trying to look relaxed. “So, Magnus,”
chair he had been sitting in. The Pillars of Society website was open. Nightshift. Whores, pimps, drunks, dealers and ordinary citizens with all their fucking rights. The full moon seems to make people even more crazy than usual. I’m sick of it. Somewhere around three o’clock it started to rain, thank God, and the rabble crawled back to their holes. One day we’re going to have some proper rain, to wash the trash off the sidewalk. One day, very soon . . . Do you understand what I mean? Do you
cascades of blood. All his limbs seemed to be intact, even if they were badly battered. He tucked his arms under his body and tried to snake his way forward. Not very easy . . . Vesa had once pointed out the protective pocket to him a long time ago. The guy clearly had a serious train fetish, but you didn’t know about that sort of thing when you were fifteen. He’d eventually met a tragic fate, ending up as charcoal down in Älvsjö. He’d been riding on top of a carriage but hadn’t realized that