op pls nerf: Part Six

Complex Corazón

Living by the ocean, going through the motions
Drinking with my head in a noose
Never known a better potion to let my liver soak in
No I bet I'm telling the truth…

Chapter THIRTY-THREE

Maxed Disposition

The argument: It just works.

An NPC, Major Lurch, rode to SNAFU U with ten men in tow. He found, far from the odd research institution he'd been told to expect, a bustling city/camp/slum. Probably thousands of players spread out in and around the manor, many of them spilling well into the woods. They newly arrived, all dead center of their own experiences and therefore of prime import, set up tents, huts, or shacks and, in many cases, marched straight to the manor and demanded to see whoever was "in charge." Maybe they expected, as per RPG regulations, to be let in or, worst case, sent on a fetch quest to earn the right, but Squares, standing on the stoop, told them politely to fuck off. Most peaced peacefully, some forced Squares to take stronger measures.

What'd been the lounge had been quickly converted into a meeting room. The newly assembled "Human High Command" sat at a big, brown dining table and watched as their "Chairwoman," Andykey, pointed out places on a massive map someone had nailed to the windowless wall. Out of the windows that lined the opposite wall, the players could see their recently ordained low-level bureaucrats striving to sort out gathered forces, check weapons, note stats, and gather intel, most of which was whacky and baseless rumorage.

Major Lurch approached Squares and asked him the same question he'd heard from so many others.

–They're having a meeting right now, said Squares, sensing Andy et al might actually want to speak to this particular visitor.

–Would you mind waiting? Squares asked.

–I'll wait with my car, said Lurch, turning and walking confidently away.

Slick, as she and Brostein fled burning Brandonville via a stolen auto, shot off several messages.

First, to Pfo,

Brostein and I are getting away from all this nonsense. We've got money and a plan. We're going to try and find the Akashic Library, or at least one of the other libraries. We can't accept that the only way out of this game is to kill each other. I have a feeling you won't accept that, either. We want you to come with us. Get together some people that agree with us if you want. Or come alone. Either way, we're going to Shoretown, to the northwest. We'll be there for a bit while we plan our next steps. We hope to see you.

Then, to Dan,

Dan,

I know we never got along. But I'm sorry about all that happened and I hope that you will be okay. Brostein Bear and I are leaving Brandonville. We're probably leaving the whole continent. We are going to try and find some of these other libraries. Maybe we'll find the Akashic Library and it'll show us a way to get everyone out of the game without us all killing each other. Whatever we find, we think it ' ll be more worthwhile than sticking around and fighting. We asked LadMan to come with us, but he refused. He 's struggling. He gave Brostein and me most of the Sad Lad's money to furnish our expedition. I know this will probably piss you off, and I'm sorry for that. But I truly believe that the money will be much better spent by us than by everyone who stays back to fight the war. Please don't come after us. We are trying to find a way to help everyone, you and LadMan included.

The real reason I am messaging you is to tell you to take care of him. A lot of people think the Sad Lads got their start in that Hundred Years' War sim. But I think you know the real truth. The Sad Lads existed the moment you, LadMan, and Douglas met each other, whenever that was. I could tell the second Aditi and I rolled up on you and LadMan in Survive that it was you and him that formed the essence of the guild. Then you two introduced us to Douglas and I realized that nobody would ever come close to really getting between the relationship the three of you shared. The only people that had any power over that relationship was yourselves.

For whatever reason, you and Douglas were the only ones that could ever really get through to LadMan. Bobby, Pfo, Phat, Ty, myself, we could momentarily influence him, but he always, in the end, came back to you two. I don't know why Douglas didn't play Fanget. I know his internship story is probably bullshit, but I never asked him, you, or LadMan the real reason he didn't play with us. Just like you guys never asked me why Aditi left the guild so suddenly. Sometimes these things are better kept private. Sometimes they're not. I'm not really sure if either Douglas or Aditi's sudden disappearance was better kept private. But, for whatever reason, Douglas is gone and that means you are the only one LadMan has.

Sincerely,

Slick

With Douglas gone and LadMan dead, Dan ascends. The only real Sad Lad left.

Pfo peeked out from his room. Urban sat in a chair across the hall, smoking a cig. He glared at Pfo.

–What do you want?

–I want to see Chump, said Pfo.

–No, fuck off, I already told you that you not allowed to see Chump.

–Then may I see Oxie?

–No, fuck off, you not sposed to talk to her.

–Can I speak with anyone?

–Are you retarded? No, you can't talk to anybody.

–To prevent me from conspiring with somebody and all that, right?

–I don't know, said Urban with a shrug. I guess. I just know that Deus and Chump told me to stop you from talking to anybody.

–Can I ask you one more question? said Pfo, fluttering his eyelashes in a faux-flirty fashion.

Urban took a long cig-suck.

–What?

–Did Chump or Deus, when they told you to watch me and make sure I don't speak with anyone, specify from where you were supposed to watch me?

Urban paused. His cig dangled from his fingers.

–What do you mean?

–I mean, did Chump or Deus tell you to watch me from inside my room, or to sit outside my room, sucking cowboy killers and fellating yourself?

–Why does that matter? Urban demanded.

–Why? Why would they care?

Just before Pfo disappeared into his room and slammed his door behind him, he said, quickly,

–Because they understand what it means for this game to have a messaging system.

Urban shot up. He couldn't imagine Deus' response. "How could you be so retarded?" he'd say. We told you to stop him from talking to anybody! Urban thought it'd be weird to sit in the small room with Pfo and stare at him. There wasn't a window, so Pfo couldn't get out. But still… what a blunder!

Seeking to correct his oversight and (perhaps) punish Pfo for taking advantage of it, he threw open the door and stormed angrily, and blindly, into the room.

Andy stood tall before the map as she spoke. She addressed, sitting around the big, dining room table: Chump, SNAFU President; Deus, CinC of the Armed Forces; Sleepr, SNAFU's provost; Jean and Bobby; Balkan, SNAFU's resident voodoo economist; and the historians Guido, Infirmary, and Jose Jefe. In a corner, in a little chair, sat Dan. He kept his head down and his eyes closed, though he was paying attention.

–The dwarves are hardly a factor, said Andy. Their Champion isn't incompetent like ours, but he's timid, unassuming, and underleveled.

–The Dwarvia also lack a real system of organization, said Guido.

He, Infirmary, and a few others had served on Dan's pre-war panel, tasked with preparing for the scenario the players now faced. As such, he had a decent idea of the strengths of the other species, though the arrival of the Ascended still shocked him like it shocked everyone else. He continued,

–The only Dwarvia of note, excluding their Champion, are Relic the Sad Lad, Bones from Fleek, and Noname Name, the leader of Ipswich. Relic is confirmed dead.

Bobby sighed. He hadn't known Relic well, but he knew him as a Lad.

–We're not sure about Bones, but it's likely that Striker had him killed. Unless Striker found some use for him, and I personally doubt that. Striker hasn't shown any hesitation in killing non-Meria, even if they are FLEEKers. That leaves Noname. He's the closest thing the Dwarvia had to a leader before their Champion showed up. But he was only ever able to get the Dwarvia members of Ipswich under his control.

–The Frostia are in an even worse position, said Infirmary. They have the least number of players and the least number of NPCs. They have even less organization than the Dwarvia. Nobody is in charge. Maybe Domingoes? He gathered a few Ipswich Frostia to rally around him. Very minor threat, overall.

–Their Champion is an older guy, said Andy. He's not skilled and he's too nice, too weak.

–That leaves the Meria and the Wisteria, said Deus. The Meria are the real problem.

–Their Champion is good, said Andy. Definitely the best of all of them.

–How would you rank the Champions? asked Deus. If you had to.

–No question, said Andy. Meria, Wisteria, Dwarvia, Frostia, human.

–Is Sparrow really so useless? asked Infirmary.

–Yes. From what I understand, he'd be even worse if Jean hadn't shown up to practically babysit him when she did.

–He… struggles, said Jean. He's too young for all this.

–We shouldn't regard him as an asset, said Andy. He'd be more useful as bait than as a combat unit.

–Don't be cruel, Andy, said Jean.

–Anyway, our advantages come from the intel and preparation we already had in place. I guess we can thank Dan for that.

She looked at Dan. The boy didn't raise his head.

–That puts us ahead of the Wisteria, despite their good Champion and decent organization.

–They could also have money, said Balkan. Pinkie might be gone, but his fortune hasn't disappeared. All they need is someone with access to his money, Imma Wut somehow escaped from SNAFU…

They all looked at Dan, leader of the force that secured SNAFU. But the boy still didn't raise his head.

–We have people looking for him, said Deus. Hopefully they get him before he gets off the continent and into the water. Pb&j is also missing, but I don't think he could help the Wisteria much even if he did make it to them.

–He was a member of LadMan's inner circle, said Andy. We don't know what he does and doesn't know. With any luck we'll get _both_him and Imma Wut.

–And just detain them, yeah? said Bobby. You ain't gonna kill Pb&j or nothing?

–We'll do what we have to, said Andy.

Bobby opened his mouth to protest.

–Yes! said Andy, we will try to take him alive. Okay?

–The Meria are clearly the real threat, said a bored Chump. Any logical person would focus on them first. If I receive my funds I can keep developing-

–Yes, Chump, your funds are assured, said Andy sharply. But you aren't the center of the Universe.

–Of the Observable Universe-

–Guido, said Andy, cutting Chump off. You got Grace and the SNAFU magic department looking into the teleporters, right?

Guido nodded.

–They're almost certain the teleporters are done for, said Guido. The bomb destroyed most of the tower. The Brandonville teleporter is gone, and the altar where the crystal sat was destroyed almost beyond recognition. Also, Zweister, the Crystal Keeper, is dead. We're trying to get in touch with Zyron, the previous Crystal Keeper, but we're struggling to find him. We do have the crystal itself, though. Dan got it before the bombing. Chumpchange took possession of it. He says he has a safe place for it. We'll see what we can do, but for now we should assume that nobody, including us, is able to use the teleporters.

–Yes, yes, said Andy. I've already talked to Chump about that. The crystal is his until further notice. But I want you all to still try and get the main teleporter network running again. If we can rebuild the altar… or something… It would give us a huge advantage.

–Okay, said Deus. That's all fine and whatever, but what about our army? This is a war, right? What should I be doing with our soldiers?

–We're still organizing the armed forces, said Guido. We need to figure out our strength, determine what role the NPCs will play-

–But what about the forces I already have organized? said Deus. I've got plenty of Crusaders, some Sad Lads, and some others. Then you've got the Ascended. They're basically a mini-army on their own. Do we just sit on our asses?

–Jose, said Andy. You said you're an expert on strategy, right?

–I am, said Jose Jefe. He had his arms crossed and leaned back in his chair. A pointy mustache jutted out way past his face. Like a child's painting of a bird. His slick hair gleamed in the light.

–An expert both in real world strategy and in strategy games, he continued. Unrivaled, in fact, especially in the strategy of this time period. The belle epoque, you see-

–What do you suggest? asked Andy.

–Defense, Jose said quickly. I always say, never attack when you can defend. This strategy has never failed me. In fact, my family has followed this doctrine since the days of the First World War. Alsatians, you see… but never German! My forefather defected to the French forces the first chance he got, and from them he learned the noble art of defense.

–From the French? During World War One? asked Infirmary.

–Indeed, said Jose Jefe. I honor their defensive inclination every day of my life.

–Where did you say you studied history?

–Small school up north, you wouldn't have heard of it.

–Whatever, said Andy, making a mental note not to listen to Jose. Deus, we're not ready for operations, anyway. We need to gather our strength and get organized. For now, focus on training and implementing a command structure. I'll talk to you and Guido about some small scale stuff we might consider in the meantime.

Deus grumbled his assent.

–Balkan, how are our finances looking?

–Eh… decent, I'd say, said Balkan. It helps that every player that arrives here is willing to dump all their money into the cause. The issue is, they all have their own ideas on how to do that. They don't want to pool their money. I have all the account information for the Sad Lads' funds. I'm going to go to the First Brandonville Bank later today and withdraw the whole amount. Normally I'd be afraid the bank wouldn't let me… for… a variety of factors… not to mention the current state of Brandonville… but this being a videogame… let's just say that I'm confident I can get the full sum. There's a good amount, and if we-

–Don't bother, said Dan, still refusing to raise his head or open his eyes.

–Why not? said Balkan. You don't think they'll give it to me?

–It's not there.

–Excuse me? said Andy.

Dan opened his eyes and looked up slowly.

–Slick took the Lads' money.

–What?

Andy's voice shook with anger. But Dan calmly held her gaze.

–LadMan gave it to her. Her and Brostein went to find the other libraries. LadMan… he never really believed it had to come to this.

–All our money? said Bobby. To spend on what?

–Boats? NPCs? An airship? Whatever they want, I guess.

–You're telling me two rogue players have all of that money. Our money? said Andy.

–Not sure why you think it's yours, muttered Dan.

–And you knew about this? said Andy. That makes you-

–Lad didn't tell me, said Dan. I didn't know. I don't think I deserved to know.

–Then how the fuck do you know about it now?

–Slick sent me a message about it.

–When?

–Little while ago.

–Little while- has everyone gone fucking insane? Are all you cocksuckers trying to get us all killed? Do you think that if we ask Striker nicely he just won't fucking kill us? Do you think the other Champions are going to listen to all our arguments for why this game shouldn't be a deathmatch? They've been training for almost two years. The Wisteria Champion is a lunatic. Striker has almost the whole world wrapped around his pinkie finger. And now I hear that LadMan gave all his money to two dumbasses who think they're gonna find something before Striker or Frederick slaughters us. God, LadMan was such a retard-

–Don't talk about Lad that way, shouted Dan.

–Oh, you gonna defend him? He was always so paralyzed by doubt he never fucking did anything. And the few things he did do were so fucking stupid it blows my mind.

–Okay, chill, said Bobby, his voice rising, his face turning hot.

–We wouldn't be this organized if it weren't for Lad, said Dan.

–Oh, we're organized? said Andy. This is organized? Sorry if I don't see it. And not to praise you, Dan, cause you're just another dumbass in this fag wag, but any preperation you retards did for this shit was cause of you, not him.

–All right, that's enough!, thundered Bobby.

–I don't remember you doing anything except dying, Dan mumbled.

–Speak the fuck up, Andy said. Don't just mumble everything like a petulant child. Yeah, I died because I was weak and stupid. And Hector died because he was weak and stupid. But I'm trying to move forward-

Jean slammed her clenched fists onto the table, almost breaking it in two. The violent bang shut everyone up. Their eyes shot to her. Her eyes were closed, her smile wide, her whole face scrunched together adorably. In the gentlest voice,

–We're all trying to move forward. Let's not fight among ourselves, okay?

–Balkan, said Andy behind clenched teeth. I want you to scrounge together as much money as you can, okay?

–Yeah, I got it, said Balkan.

–Dan, I'm asking you this nicely… why did you not tell us about Slick sooner?

Dan shrugged.

–You seemed busy.

–In the future, please inform us of suchdevelopmentsas soon as you learn ofthem, said Andy, steaming but not bursting.

–All right.

–Now, Dan, would you check with Squares to see if anybody important has shown up?

Dan knew it was a useless job, meant just to get rid of him, but he stood up and left anyway.

–Okay, everyone, we're going to dismiss for a while. Get your jobs done. Deus and Guido, come back in thirty. Oh, Chump and Sleepr, stay here for a sec.

The players filed out until only Chump, Sleepr, and Andy remained.

–My funds- Chump began.

–Yes, I'll do my best, said Andy. I'm fully aware of what your research means.

Andy had, soon after arriving, bullied Chump into telling her almost everything. As such, she had a much clearer picture of his activities than LadMan ever did.

–But it's a balancing act, you understand? Andy continued. I can't fund you at the expense of everything else. We need conventional forces too.

–I understand, said Chump.

–Anyway, said Andy, I want to get rid of Pfo. He's become too much of a nuisance. I don't care if he's a human, or if he's a Sad Lad. I've gathered that you're not a fan of his. So… any objections?

–The opposite, said Chump. Do you mind if I handle it?

–Why, you going to dissect him?

–No… I mean-

–I don't really care what you do to him, Chump, said Andy. As long as you're not messing up my plans, or fucking with my humans, you can do whatever you want. Just make sure Pfo can't bother us anymore. Oh, and keep it on the down low, I don't want Bobby getting upset.

Chump and Sleepr departed, heading for Pfo's room. In the back of his mind, Chump was already thinking up excuses to tell Doughy.

Dan stepped out onto the porch. Squares stood, arms crossed, beside him. In the driveway, surrounding a large car: several NPC soldiers. A splendidly dressed officer sat in the car, reading a small book.

–Anything to report? Dan asked.

–Scooby Doo showed up with some of the Warrior Monks. He wants to talk to Andy.

–That's fine, let him in whenever he wants.

–He's setting up in the woods a little ways off. I'll send him to talk with her when he's finished.

–What do those NPCs want?

–The same thing as everyone else, to talk to someone in charge.

–Who are they?

Squares shrugged.

–Fine, I'll talk to them.

Dan approached the vehicle. The soldiers fidgeted and fingered their rifles. The freak show surrounding them: the strange fashioned, bizarre bodied, foreign slang spewing players unnerved them immensely. Only Major Lurch stayed stoic. He heard Dan approach by the crunching of his boots on the gravel. He snapped shut his little book, exited the vehicle, brushed a bit of dust off his uniform, and waited, tall.

–You wanted to talk to someone? said Dan.

–Indeed, I did, said Lurch. He spoke softly, but with a knowledgeable, confident, almost streetwise inflection. Like he could go tough-guy if he needed to. He wore a handsome, bushy white mustache that he habitually brushed with his fingers every minute or so. Older, regal, exuding a kind but curt aura. Some sort of old guard everyone perpetually assumes existed not ten years ago but doesn't now. The only thing dampening the picture was that he stood on a clearly mechanical left-limb. Though it was hidden beneath his pants, you could tell from the way he stood, the way he walked; an ever so awkward limp, a slight lean, the grinding of the gears as he shifted his weight.

–I am Major Lurch, he said, extending his hand. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

–I'm Dan, said Dan, ignoring his hand. What do you want?

–I'm here at the behest of Empress Xia. My orders, relayed to me by no less an impressive personage than the Defense Minister himself, instruct me to carry out several tasks simultaneously. First, I am to assess the situation here and report my findings in detail to the Defense Minister.

–Well, tell him whatever you want, just leave us alone.

–I would prefer to report the truth.

–Look, I don't know what to tell you, said Dan, though he knew Andy probably wouldn't want him telling Lurch what he was about to say. Everything is fucked, okay? There's gonna be a war between all the species. You NPCs are going to get dragged into it, probably. Since we're sort of on the same side, I'd suggest you listen to me and go tell your minister that everything here is fine. We'll… I don't know… deal with you all at some point.

–I assume you understand that such an answer won't satisfy me. As I was saying, I am here with several tasks. My second task is to locate certain individuals and extend to them an invitation to meet with Empress Xia.

–The… she wants to meet with us? Who?

–I was given a long list of names, in order of priority. If you'll pardon my bluntness, I… personally… struggle to comprehend some of Empress Xia's… recent actions. This order is yet another in a series of maneuvers I fail to understand. Nevertheless, I will do my duty and follow my orders. My most generous interpretation of my orders leads me to the conclusion that Empress Xia sees the Begotten as particularly relevant to the recent violence in Brandonville. I must admit, even the usually faithless struggle to view the arrival of Logos' Champion as anything short of a divine proclamation of war against the forces of evil, whomever that may be.

–It's the Meria, mostly, said Dan. But don't count onour Champion. I met him, he's a squeaker.

–A… what?

–It doesn't matter, said Dan. Yeah, you're mostly right. There's gonna be a big war. We could use the NPC's help.

–I have been told that several attempts have been made in recent weeks to arrange some sort of meeting with Empress Xia.

–Yeah, and she blew us off every time.

–Empress Xia is unimaginably busy. She takes a much more… active role in governance than her predecessor.

–The guy she killed?

Lurch ignored the remark.

–At any rate, she would now like to meet with your representatives. Many of the names I have been furnished with were also individuals the army was ordered to secure. The first individual, a Mr. Absolute LadMan, we were unable to secure. Do you know of his whereabouts?

–He's dead, said Dan, his voice far off.

–Ah… a shame. The second name on my list is Mr. Dan the Dan. Might that be you?

–Yeah, that's me.

–Great. Then I'll extend an invitation to you after I finish my assessment.

Dan was growing tired. He didn't think anybody wanted this spiffy NPC poking around SNAFU. Whatever morsel of satisfaction he gained from being second on Lurch's list was hampered by the death of the holder of the spot above him. More than anything, he wanted to lie down and drift off to sleep. He wished his body agreed with this sentiment. Then he could lay down, close his eyes, and feel himself settle in. His whole body letting out a contented sigh.

–You don't need to do an assessment, said Dan. I'll explain our whole situation to Empress Xia when I see her. Let me go inside and consult with a few people real quick. I'll be back out soon.

Chump and Sleepr arrived outside the room holding Pfo. Chump rapped on the closed door.

–Urban, he called.

No response.

–Urban, he repeated. It's Chumpchange, I have to come in and see Pfo.

No response.

–What's wrong with him? he asked Sleepr.

He looked at the door and said,

–I'm coming in.

He entered to find the room empty. No Urban, no Pfo. The room looked as it had, a small writing desk stuck up in the corner, a large bookcase stuffed with anatomy books, and a large bed against a wall. The bed was half-covered by a blanket. The rest of the blanket hung off the side, down to the floor.

–Urban? Chump said.

Then, hesitantly,

–Pfo?

No sponse from neither.

–What on Earth? Do we have the wrong room? We put him in Yui's old room, right?

Sleepr poked around. Inspected the desk, rifled through the books on the bookcase, absentmindedly felt the wall. He pulled the blanket off the bed. It was bare, just a stained mattress on a boxspring, held aloft by a brass frame. He peeked underneath and leapt back, shouting.

–What? said Chump.

Sleepr, breathing heavily, got on his knees, reached under the bed, and dragged out Urban, still armed and armored but out cold. His eyes were closed. His mouth twitched as if he was talking in a dream.

–Urban? What happened to him? demanded Chump.

Sleepr knelt down beside the boy. He placed an ear an inch over Urban's mouth and pushed two fingers into his neck. Let several seconds tick, watching the slow rise and fall of Urban's chest. Then, Sleepr positioned his nose above Urban's mouth. He sniffed.

–There's something on his breath, Sleepr said. Smells… sour? Sulva, maybe?

–What? How did Pfo get access to Sulva? No, it doesn't matter. Get Squares, we need to find him. Let's go.

–What about Urban?

–He'll either wake up or he won't. It doesn't matter. Come on.

Chump never told anybody that Pfo wasn't allowed to freely wander the SNAFU campus. Andy knew, but she was busy in the meeting room. So Pfo, finding that he didn't have to sneak out of the manor and dart for the woods, just walked. The people who encountered him either didn't know him (lot's of new arrivals, after all) or figured he was fine. All usual unless explicitly told otherwise. Pfo wove between the makeshift campsites and rally points until he got deep into the forest, where the SNAFU sounds barely reached. Out there, in the primordial nature, he saw only the odd wandering player, and none of them bothered him.

After a short, brisk trek he arrived at a rotting stump near a river. He reached inside and retrieved a leather satchel. Inside: a set of sturdy clothes, a revolver with ammo, food, water, cash, potions, and a few odd books. He ripped off the ratty spawn suit Chump had put him in and geared up. He stuck the revolver in his pocket and covered the grip with his shirt. Everything else sat snug in his inventory.

As he returned to the narrow path he encountered four human players, each decently named, walking slowly in a tight line. Their heads were shaved and they wore simple blue robes and sandals. They focused intently on their task, noting every step, every muscle movement, every breath, every sensation. Pfo stood to the side, watching them approach. In awe. How could such players exist? Were they Buddhists IRL, stuck in a game where their Blessed Boss' precepts prevented them from escaping?

Just as they were about to pass him, the head monk suddenly stopped. The monk trailing him, so focused, bumped into the leader.

–You are Pfo, yes? the lead monk asked.

Unnecessary question. Pfo's name hung over his head. Could these meditators know of his fugitive status? Pfo rued the thought of shooting Buddhist monks, in-game or out.

–It's good that you are here. That poor child needs you.

–Poor child?

–Down the path, a few minutes brisk walk.

The lead meditator resumed walking. The second, annoyed by the interruption, grumbled.

–Good thoughts, said the lead.

–Sorry, muttered the second.

Pfo, stumbling through a dream, headed up the path. The forest seemed to expand and contract, like a great breathing organism. The thumping of reality, the very vibrations of existence itself. Pfo felt like he was tripping on LSD. The faintest SNAFU-sounds echoed around him. The Sun peeked through the pervasive canopy. Birds squealed. Pfo felt like he was in his youth, wandering through the vast Vermont forests w/ his father. Childhood remembered is childhood perverted. Conjuring into existence a mangled, undead entity, like the depraved product of a half-baked ritual. Pleading for death. Leaves fluttered down around him. Cacophony of colors. Scent of leaves dying in the dirt. Crunching underfoot. All of creation, bearing down around him.

As he advanced up the path, he began to hear a high-pitched voice, just one, engrossed a furious, unintelligible, and deeply pained debate with itself.

Pfo sped up. Of course he knew the voice. He left the path and pushed through a few feet of brush to find Doughy, dirty and distressed, sitting, legs crossed, in a small clearing. He had his back turned to Pfo.

–… but he's family… well, not really… does that matter?… but Oxie is so nice… he knows best, doesn't he?

–Doughy? said Pfo.

Doughy leapt up and spun around.

–Pfo! What are you doing here?

–I had to get away from Chump. He's gone too far.

Doughy's eyes came to rest on Pfo's hip. He was printing.

–I'm just trying to get out of here before things get too bad. You… you heard about LadMan, right?

–Yeah, said Doughy, fighting back tears.

–Come with me, Doughy, said Pfo. I'm going to find Slick and Brostein. Slick messaged me and said I should meet her at Shoretown. Things here are spinning out of control. The gyre is widening. Slick's arranging an expedition. We can make it to them if we play this smart. How about you grab Shook-

–Shook doesn't like me anymore, said Doughy. He's obsessed with Mufferson. But… but she doesn't want to hang out with him anymore. It's made him mean.

–Okay, said Pfo, confused. Then let's just go, the two of us. If we hurry-

–What about Derek? asked Doughy.

–Doughy… I don't know about Chump, but you have to realize that he's gone off the deep end. I know your sister-

–He doesn't care about Juliet! cried Doughy. And he doesn't care about me! Pfo- he's… he's got a place!

–A place?

Doughy grew increasingly distressed as he led Pfo through the forest. He told a fragmented tale of his terrible discovery.

One recent night, Doughy had been in the forest. He'd been eating alone when DeJaVu, the librarian, sat beside him. The two got to talking and Doughy told her that it'd been four months since they'd first gotten trapped, which, assuming no time dilation, meant it was his sixteenth birthday. Pfo felt bad for not remembering this (though there was no way he reasonably would. His own birthday had passed two months ago, forgotten). DeJaVu then went to the library and came back with an illustrated guide to local plant-life. Doughy was ecstatic, and spent the rest of the day looking at the pictures until he came across a flower, local to this region, that was said to glow beautiful blue during the night, if struck by the light of the Moon. Pfo had no idea how this worked, biologically. Moon Bloom, Doughy said it was called. So Doughy was out in the forest at night, under the light of a mostly full Moon, searching.

Was all that setup to explain why he was in the woods at night? Pfo thought as they kept trekking and Doughy kept talking.

Then, Doughy said, he saw Chumpchange, Sleepr, and a few others sneaking along. Doughy was going to call to them, but he noticed that they were dragging with them a Meria NPC, who was crying behind a gag. While Doughy processed this the group disappeared behind a ridge. Doughy followed, and once he crested, found himself peering at the group, in a small valley, fiddling with a strange, black-stone arch. Like part of an ancient ruin. The group soon got the arch, which turned out to be a teleporter, working, and went through. Before the portal closed, Doughy rushed through.

Pfo struggled to piece together what happened next, as Doughy grew exponentially more distressed. Then Pfo realized that Doughy was leading him right to the teleporter in question.

Apparently, after Doughy went through, he witnessed something terrible. Chump said something awful, or multiple awful things to him. Then Chump said something awful about his sister?

–He was always so mean to her, said Doughy, nearly bawling at this point.

–We all just thought, oh, that's how he is… my dad, you know, wanted a smart son… it's… but then… Derek said… he said she's a pseudointellectual… hampered by… outdated notions… you know… she's…

Pfo did not know. They crested a ridge and, just as Doughy had said, there stood a black-stone arch. The dirt leading to it was kicked up, signifying struggle. Next to the arch was a stone tablet on a stand, exactly like the teleporters Pfo was familiar with. Pfo drew his revolver.

–Doughy, what's in there?

–It's… that's… their tests…

–How does it work? The teleporter, I mean? Is it like the normal ones?

Doughy didn't know.

–This is dangerous, Dough, let's just go, said Pfo.

–No… they're… the people in there… Oxie…

–Oxie's in there? said Pfo.

–That's where they're gonna put her. They put everyone in there. Chump… he said if I told anyone… he's gonna put me in there too.

–Fuck, said Pfo, struggling.

–Pfo… I…

Pfo looked long at the boy. From day one he'd ignored him, thinking him a nuisance. Back in the heyday of Lukia, when Pfo played for a break from everyday life (as if _Lukia_hadn't become his life), he had no problem dicking around with Doughy. The dumb dude was just another distraction. But when the game became life Pfo pushed Dough away. Doughy has no place in Pfo's real life. If sweet, perceptive, green-thumbed Doughy doesn't, then who the fuck does?

–Okay, Doughy, let's go, said Pfo.

Pfo'd gotten some teleporter dust from his recently acquired bug out bag. He dumped a handful into a small container on the arch's side and went to the tablet. It buzzed to life. Pfo could barely decipher its runic scrawl. Green Crystal active, it said. Warning: only this subnet is powered. Insert the Blue Crystal into the main altar to power all teleporters. Under destinations, it listed two: Gertrude Estate and Gertrude Pocket Realm.

–Orphan gates, said Pfo to himself. The crystal we took from Zweister was blue. It's a different crystal? How long have these teleporters been operational? Have they been up the whole time?

Doughy didn't respond.

–Could Chump have used this Green Crystal to power all the teleporters before Lunar got back from the Shadow Realm? No… maybe… would he have, if he could have?

Doughy looked down at the dirt.

–It doesn't matter, said Pfo. It's impossible to predict what Chump does and doesn't know.

Pfo selected Gertrude's Pocket Realm, the only option, them already being at Gertrude's Estate. Pfo fired up the teleporter and the arch came to life. A shimmering portal formed.

–This Gertrude must've been an interesting guy, said Pfo. Had his own pocket realm. Shame Chump probably murdered him. You ready, Doughy?

Doughy gulped and nodded. He stepped towards the portal. Alongside Pfo, he might be.

Jean sat on a wooden stool outside a green canvas tent. Inside, Sparrow lay atop a cot, on his stomach, his arms dangling over the edges. He picked at the grass on the ground. Jean had, during her time as his de facto babysitter, tried to get him to train, but outside of raiding the armory to equip himself with an absurd number of weapons, he had hardly leveled at all. His gear sat in a pile beside his cot, thousands and thousands of pieces worth of pieces glimmering uselessly in the faint sunlight streaming through the canvas tent's tears.

The other realm had arenas with respawning mobs of various levels to fight. From what she gathered, Sparrow had, initially, under the caring tutelage of some of the other Champions, killed a few mobs, but when they discovered the truth they left him on his own. The nicer Champions left him alone, the Wisteria Champion actively fucked with him. When Jean arrived she found a poorly organized human community centered around a strong but overwhelmed teenage girl and a relatively recent arrival, a vulgar, angry boy berating Sparrow daily for his "pussiness." Of course Jean had to do something.

–We're going to win the war, right Jean? asked Sparrow.

–Yes, of course, said Jean, absentmindedly.

–God's gonna help us win?

–Yes, God is on our side.

–What about everyone else? Why is God not on their side?

–God favors us because we live in line with His will.

She knew, theologically, that things weren't that simple. Poor Sparrow. Jean found that having him pray every night helped calm him down.

–I don't think God wanted us to be in the game at all, Sparrow said softly.

Jean let the remark hang. Who can know the mind of God?

–What about your viewers? Sparrow asked her.

Often, in the other realm, Jean had spoken to Sparrow of her generous viewers. She told him the funny things they did in so many previous games. She spoke little of them in relation to Fanget, other than to tell him that they were watching her. Now she said,

–There never were any viewers. My viewers were never watching.

–They weren't?

–No, it was an error on the game's part.

–That's so sad.

–But think of how happy it made me to think that my viewers were watching, said Jean. During the difficult times right after the patch, the thought of my viewers watching and giving me gifts gave me great strength.

–But they weren't watching?

–No, they weren't.

–What about God? He's watching, right?

–Of course, he's always watching.

–How do you know?

–Because I trust my hope.

–Huh?

–I trust my hope. Hope is all we have. I hope, with all of my heart, that God is watching. We all hope for something like that. Some people reject their hope. That's their choice, but I choose to trust my hope. How can my heart hope so profoundly for something that isn't true?

What outrageous optimism. Optimism broken free and rampaging around the town. Burning everything to the ground. Sparrow said,

–That's how I know my sister is okay?

–Exactly, said Jean. You hope with all your heart that your sister is okay, so that must make it true.

Sparrow, shortly after re-arriving in the game, tried to find his sister around Chancellorsburg. Nowhere. And nowhere round Brandonville, neither. No trace of her. Way out of friending range. The last time anybody had reliably seen her was when Andy and Hector spoke to her so long ago. Andy confirmed for Sparrow that, as of a few days post-patch, she was alive, then let the matter drop. Andy didn't give a shit about Sparrow's sister.

Jean looked up to see Vac Effron approaching, slowly, uncertainly. He came to stand beside her.

–Hey Jean, he said.

–Vac, how are you?

–I'm okay. I'm holding up. It's good to have Ted back, at least. And you… of course.

Jean smiled. Vac bent over and peered into the tent. Sparrow's big eyes peered back at him.

–Hey… Captain Jack. So… you like The Pirates of the Carribean?

He cringed at the question, but Jean smiled, glad for the effort.

–I never saw it, said Sparrow, as if that was the most reasonable answer in the world.

Vac stood for a sec then burst out into laughter. After an uncertain moment Sparrow joined him. Then Jean. The trio, cracking up.

–Hey Vac, did you ever get that biplane you wanted so badly? Jean asked.

–Oh yeah, said Vac. I used the money you gave me and bought the most advanced model they had.

–Was it great?

–It was garbage.

–Huh?

–The planes in this game suck. They're impossible to control, and half of them are bugged beyond belief. They seem to pick the worst possible time, and then just bug the fuck out.

Jean and Sparrow stared at him. Vac flashed them a huge smile then burst into another round of laughter. Jean and Sparrow followed suit. The trio, cracking up.

Dan barged in on Andy speaking with Deus and Guido. She was motioning violently at a map, her face as red as her hair. Andy angry and Deus ashamed.

–Dan, dammit, why do you think you get to barge in here whenever you want?

–Empress Xia wants to meet with us, said Dan.

–Oh, she does? Well, as I've said, we should already have a relationship with her. But… fine, it's good that she wants to meet with us. Where'd you hear this?

–An NPC outside. He's waiting for our official answer. Also…

Dan hesitated.

–She… I don't know… She seems to know about the species war.

–A lot of the NPCs know about it, said Deus. It's… like… this big religious prophecy for them.

–I know, but she seems to know… more…

–Maybe, maybe not, said Andy. It's possible a player already met with her and told her something about it. Hm, maybe not likely… Still… it's not impossible… Either way, we'll meet with her. Then we'll know for sure how much she knows. If possible, I want her to think the NPCs have as much a stake in this as we do. We want her to commit as much as possible.

–But what do they win? asked Dan. I mean, winning for us means escape. They can't escape.

–They view it in religious terms, said Guido. It's about transcendence or whatever. We explain to her that if the humans win the war, all the humans, NPCs included, transcend to heaven. Something like that.

–The NPCs don't actually matter, said Andy. The mural made that fairly clear. We don't want her directing her efforts to killing the NPCs of other species. We'll tell her that the species that still has Begotten at the end of the war is the one that transcends. That way she'll focus mostly on killing other players.

–We'll need to play this carefully, said Guido. We have a chance to make this really work for us.

–We'll put together a team, said Andy. Guido, you seem to have a head for this kind of thing. I'm putting you in charge of our diplomatic mission.

–I can handle this, said Dan. Empress Xia wanted to meet with LadMan. She specifically requested him.

–Well, LadMan isn't here, is he? said Andy.

–She requested me next, said Dan.

–Who gives a shit? Actually, you know what, I want you to go as Guido's assistant.

Guido and Dan both frowned. Dan knew that, once again, this job was meant just to get him out of Andy's hair.

–I'm not an assistant, said Dan.

–Really? You seemed fine with being LadMan's assistant. Go, I'm not discussing this anymore. You go as Guido's assistant or you sit around and do nothing.

Dan slouched down in a chair and pouted.

–I also want you to take Mufferson, Andy said to Guido. She'll be your protection. And she needs to get her morale up. It'll be good for her to be part of something successful. She'll probably want to bring her boyfriend. That's fine, just don't let him talk. I met him and, God, he's a dumbass.

–Good with me, said Guido, still salty that Dan was tagging along.

–Get a draft of the things you're going to say, then present it to me. Dan, go tell that NPC that we'll send our diplomatic mission to her as soon as possible. Do you know where she is?

–Her villa, said Dan, still pouting.

–Get your transportation arranged. That shouldn't be so hard, should it?

Dan didn't respond.

–You're right, Guido, said Andy. This is a big chance for us. Good luck.

Then,

–For God's sake, Dan, stop pouting. You're acting like Sparrow.

Chump sent his coterie of loyal academics out to scour for Pfo. A few of them grumbled. They weren't guards or cops. Tracking down and arresting a lost Lad wasn't in their job description. Nevertheless, they fanned out. Chump checked his friend list and noticed that Pfo had unfriended him. And Pfo was already out of friending range. The range wasn't that short; Pfo must be moving fast. Chump figured Pfo would try to escape via the usual routes. He sent a group down the road towards Brandonville. Then he sent a party to scour SNAFU itself, on the off chance that someone in the manor or its ramshackle suburbs had seen or heard something. He told them to question on the downlow, no need to make Pfo's escape a big thing. Lastly, he sent a particularly trustworthy party into the forest. He told them to check on the "special laboratory," on the very off chance that Pfo had stumbled across it.

After organizing all this, Chump and Sleepr were heading down the stairs when they ran right into Andy.

–Chump, she said, what are you doing? Where have you been?

–In my office, said Chump.

–What are you working on? Have you dealt with Pfo?

–Yes, it's fine, said Chump, looking away. If I could get my funding…

–Jesus, you'll get your funding. Calm down. Since that retard LadMan gave all his money away to some braindead expedition, we've had to start scrounging. We'll throw some money together, but you're going to have to wait. Can't you do anything until then? Don't you have any money left over?

–Producing the potion isn't cheap, said Chump. And our other project is proving more expensive than we thought.

–It better pan out, then, said Andy. Now move, I need to get through. Unlike you morons, I'm busy.

She pushed past them. Chump and Sleepr continued onto the porch. SNAFU buzzed with a life they'd never seen. Even during its halcyon days, when it was just Chump, Pfo, and Sleepr interviewing a new academic every day, the university hadn't seemed so alive. But this life was different from the academic life. Far too many players. All armed and angry. This is what it felt like to have your house requisitioned. Lively, sure, but a toxic, viral life, a sort of inherently sick, unsustainable life that eats your house then jumps to the next one.

–At least we still have our lab, Chump whispered to Sleepr.

Sleepr nodded nervously.

Pfo wasn't sure what to expect. He went through the portal with his pistol pointed. He stepped onto soft grass. He and Doughy stood in a clearing, surrounded by off-tilt trees, their branches blowing in the heavy wind. Leaves fluttered through the air. The sky was dark, covered by clouds. Thunder sounded off in the distance. Like the moment before a storm. This pocket realm was meant to be sunny, a perfect 20, with a few wispy clouds wandering around. But Gertrude was a subpar mage and fucked up the creation ritual. Hence his realm: perpetually pre-storm. The manifestation of its inner instability; stable enough to exist, too unstable to exist well.

Pfo looked forward. Staring at him: two NPCs armed with bayoneted bolt-actions. They flanked a little, hastily built shack that resembled a child's attempt to create a toll booth or security shack. Through the shack's open door, Pfo glimpsed a wall plastered with papers. Central among them: a rough drawing of him, big, bald, shirtless. Pfo was offended, he didn't go shirtless often enough as to warrant it on his wanted poster. Underneath his picture, the words: entry prohibited, shoot on sight.

The NPCs were too slow. Pfo shot the first one several times before he could aim his rifle. The second one fired but missed. Pfo was already darting to the side. The NPC struggled to bolt his rifle. Pfo scrambled behind a tree. He peered out but brought his head in when he saw the NPC aim. A bullet smacked into the tree. Pfo reached out and emptied his revolver. He only hit once, but it got the NPC in the neck. He dropped his rifle and slumped to the ground, grasping his bleeding neck. Doughy, still in front of the slowly-closing portal, screamed and cried. Pfo emerged from his tree, took six bullets from his inventory, and reloaded his revolver.

–You okay, Dough? he asked as he approached the NPCs.

–Why'd you shoot them? Doughy demanded.

–Look, said Pfo, pointing to the shack.

Doughy took a sec to catch the poster. When he saw it, he started sobbing harder. Pfo could almost hear the sounds of his shots bouncing around as distant echoes, alerting anybody else in the realm to their presence. He stood over the NPCs. One had died as he fell, the other was still grasping his neck. Pfo took a rifle and stabbed him in the chest. The NPC, eyes wide, grabbed the rifle with weak hands and tried to pull it out. Pfo pushed it further in. With blood pouring from his neck, the NPC went lifeless. His limbs fell uselessly on the red-green grass.

–We should just get out of here, said Pfo. This is even more dangerous than I thought.

–What about Oxie? said Doughy between sobs. I… I… didn't think Derek wanted to kill you. What is he going to do to Oxie?

–Damn it, said Pfo. Okay, come on, let's find her quickly.

Pfo calmed Doughy and the two set off. He couldn't have the boy blubbering. He tried to get Doughy to take a rifle and a few clips from the NPCs, but he refused. The best Pfo could manage was to get Doughy to take a bayonet, with instructions to stab anyone who jumped at him.

The distant thunder continued, not growing closer or further. Pfo and Doughy emerged from the forest and onto a gravel road next to a pond. The pond seemed to dance in the harsh wind. Floating algae swept across its surface. Drooping reeds, wild in the wind, surrounded it. In the distance, over a hillock, Pfo could make out a big stone building. Almost like the bottom half of a castle. Somebody had started building and gotten bored, unable or unwilling to finish the towers or spires. Pfo couldn't know, but that's exactly what happened. Gertrude figured the structure satisfactory and, still peeved about his realm's eternal thunder, proclaimed it finished.

Pfo positioned himself behind a thick tree and peeked at the building. He took precautions not to silhouette himself or make sudden, janky movements, but his prudence proved superfluous. The structure didn't appear to have guards outside it. In fact, its front door, a wide wooden double-door, was open. Gardens, industrial gardens, surrounded the structure. Sprinklers snapped to life at regular intervals, spit a specific amount of fluid, then shut off. Pfo couldn't identify all the different types of liquid. It certainly wasn't all water. Some was exotic: neon purple, like irradiated grape juice; or sparkling brown, a soda sprinkled with glitter. One sprinkler shot dark red. Pfo prayed it wasn't blood.

The building itself, short and squat, boasted five chimneys, clearly recent additions, that spat smoke. It had few windows, and the ones it did have had been covered with boards. For security? If so, the wide-open door seemed out of place.

–Well, that's a Chump-lab if I've ever seen one, said Pfo. Come on, Doughy. And be ready.

The duo descended the hill. They'd scanned for alternate entrances, but none seemed to exist. It was through the front door or not in at all. Pfo positioned himself next to the opening and peered through, trying to expose as little of himself as possible. A large, well-lit room, like a big warehouse. Equipment cluttered the length and width of the floor, arranged in seemingly random clusters or rows. Some of the machines whirled, some chugged along. Some spat smoke into the chimney pillars. A hazardous number of wires snaked across the floor or hung in the air, attached to the ceiling via poorly made metal cable clips. Like someone had incompetently explained a cable clip to a bewildered blacksmith. The ceiling was dominated by pipes of all colors and diameters, some spewing steam. In the center of the room, a huge machine literally floated, seemingly unassisted, and spun rapidly. A great magic seemed to surround it. In fact, the area around it had been marked off with wooden fence painted yellow, a low budget safety tape. Several meters away, Pfo recognized the Blue Crystal, the main teleporter crystal. It sat lopsided in a little glass receptacle. A slew of lenses, microscopes, and other such stuff surrounded it. Pfo noticed that a little bit of it had apparently been chipped off. Huge lightbulbs hanging precariously from the ceiling lit the room. The light danced off the steam, the smoke, and the whirly and chugging thingamajigs. OSHA would have a field day in here, Pfo thought. At the far end of the room, a few metal doors led to who-knows-where.

None of this was unexpected, but what did surprise Pfo was the utter lack of life. No players, no NPCs, nobody. Was the entire operation automated? Maybe, but Pfo thought it more likely that whoever had been working here heard the gunshots and fled. Had they gone deeper into the structure, or fled to somewhere else entirely?

Pfo and Doughy cautiously advanced inside. Pfo peered at the machines, trying to divine their purpose. No hope. They all existed in that strange place between magic, science, and pure video game nonsense. Pfo lacked the real-world science or the Fanget smarts to figure their function. He and Doughy wove through the clusters and rows, towards the doors at the floor's far end. They'd almost arrived when Pfo heard a crashing behind him.

A bullet whizzed past and smacked into the wall in front of them. Pfo fell to the ground, taking cover behind a large, metal contraption. He pulled Doughy down with him. He tried to peek around but couldn't get a look without exposing himself.

–Pfo, you fucker! cried a voice.

Pfo knew the voice. Absolute Thot. How had Pfo not seen his username? You couldn't see usernames through solid objects. Thot had been hiding, waiting for his moment to strike.

–Thot, what are you doing? Pfo said, trying to stall for time until he could locate his adversary.

–You know damn well. You're trying to ruin everything we've worked for! You're trying to neuter the humans' chance of escape. I have an obligation to stop you.

–I'm just trying to save the players Chump took captive, said Pfo. We don't need to fight.

–It's too late for that, said Thot. Way too late. You had every chance to join our side. Come out with your hands up and I won't kill you.

Pfo stuck his pistol over his metal-cover and let off a shot. The shot missed wide. Whizzed past Thot and smashed into the Blue Crystal behind him. The crystal, so delicate, so unstable, containing all the aetherial information for all the main teleporters jammed into one three-dimensional object, shattered into a million pieces. Pieces finer than sand poured outta the hole made by Pfo's bullet.

–You bastard! screamed Thot. He sent several shots into Pfo's cover. Doughy whimpered.

–Doughy, Pfo said.

Doughy was starting to sob again.

–Doughy, listen to me, I need you to do something.

Doughy tried to listen.

–Do you see that cluster of equipment? I need you to run over and crash into it. Don't expose yourself to Thot, just make as much noise as possible.

–Pfo… I can't…

–You can, Doughy, you can. Come on, I wouldn't tell you to do something if I thought you couldn't do it. Right? Doughy? Right?

Doughy nodded. Tears obscured his vision.

–Go right now, before Thot changes position.

–Do you realize what you've done? Thot thundered. You've destroyed any hope we had of getting the teleporters working again!

Thot heard a crash to his right. A piece of equipment tipped over. He aimed his carbine and put a bullet into the equipment. He heard a scream, too high pitched to be Pfo. A bullet smacked into his chest. It took the wind out of him. A dull punch mixed with the hard pinch of the game's pain. The last thing he saw, to his left, was Pfo aiming his pistol for another shot. The bullet broke his skull and ended whatever life he had.

–Doughy, are you okay? said Pfo, scrambling over to him.

Doughy was crying, sprawled out amidst the pile of equipment. But he was good. Thot's shot hadn't hit him.

–Jesus, Doughy, said Pfo, grabbing him. I'm sorry I made you do that.

Doughy stuck his face into Pfo's chest. Pfo could feel the snot and tears soaking his shirt.

Both uranium-235 and plutonium-239 easily undergo fission. The process of fission, critical to the cosmic bomb, occurs when you shoot a neutron at the nucleus of U-235 or Pu-239. The neutron splits the nucleus. The split nucleus sprays more neutrons. Those neutrons hit more nuclei. Chain reaction. On and on.

But to actually detonate a bomb, you need enough fissionable material. A critical mass. If you don't have enough, the chain reaction won't occur and your bomb won't blow. So just horde U-235, right?

Unfortunately for you, Mr. Bomb Boy, uranium-235 only occurs in .7% of natural uranium. Most of the uranium sitting around is uranium-238, ineffective for fission. So you have to mine a bunch of uranium and then separate the U-235 from the U-238. How do you do that? Mining is easy. As usual, get a bunch of under-paid Africans to take care of it. But separation? Gonna have to find a clever method. Uncle Sam, during the war, looked chiefly at four methods.

Electromagnetic separation used a spectrograph to stream particles through a magnetic field. U-235, which is lighter than U-238, would be deflected more. Result: two streams, one of U-235 and one of U-238. You could gather the U-235 at your leisure. But electromagnetic separation cost a buttfuck-ton and took forever. The Y-12 Plant in Tennessee (not far from Beb and Charles' house, incidentally) was built for electromagnetic separation, but was mostly abandoned after the war.

Liquid thermal diffusion proved a similarly inefficient method. This process worked by putting liquid uranium in between two pipes. One side would be water-cooled and the other heated by steam. U-235, lighter (as has been mentioned), would tend towards the hot side, while U-238 would tend towards the cold side. A convection current moved the U-235 upwards, where it could be removed. The United States used this method for some enrichment but, turned off by its inefficiency, abandoned it.

Gaseous diffusion was the method that worked best for Uncle Sam during the war. As most know, lighter isotopes pass through porous barriers easier than heavier ones do. While U-235 and U-238 vary in weight only by the smallest amount, repeating the process many times results in sufficiently enriched uranium. Initial setbacks hindered Sam's efforts to enrich uranium via this method, but by the end of the war he'd done so, though the massive energy required still proved a problem.

The final method, and the one that time has dubbed the most effective, remains the elegant centrifuge. Not only is the centrifuge the accepted method today, it was the earliest method by which chemical isotopes were separated: Cl-35 from Cl-37 at UVA in '34. But when applied to uranium, the process had problems. While a capable centrifuge was constructed, it proved energy-demanding and prone to failure. The essence of the centrifuge is thus: a cylinder spinning on its vertical axis separates a gaseous mixture of U-235 and U-238. U-235, lighter, is less affected and can therefore be retrieved at the top of the cylinder. Despite it being the main method today, Uncle Sam couldn't get it working well during the war. He went with other methods, primarily gaseous diffusion. Post-war, physicists in the USSR and Europe, primarily ex-Axis physicists in Soviet POW camps, improved the centrifuge design, making it efficient and stable enough for industrial production. A working, effective centrifuge proved surprisingly easy to construct once somebody figured out how to do it.

Now you've got your uranium. Congrats, you're pretty much ready to build your bomb. Assuming you've been working with uranium this whole time (not plutonium) you've got one real-dropped precedent to look at. While Fat Man, dropped on Nagasaki on August 9th, 1945, used plutonium, Little Boy, dropped on Hiroshima on August 6th, 1945, used uranium. Little Boy used a "gun-type" mechanism. A regular (non-nuclear) chemical explosive (nitrocellulose propellant powder) literally shoots a piece of uranium (sufficiently enriched) at another piece of uranium (also sufficiently enriched), which causes fission, a chain reaction, and an atomic blast.

Assuming you're, say, a psycho scientist trapped in a video game in which the technology is, in areas, twenty years behind this tech and, in other areas, ten years ahead, you'll inevitably find yourself stuck with certain issues. First, enriching uranium, even if you know the most efficient centrifuge method to use, requires uranium. You have to spend a not-insignificant amount of your money on getting the uranium from the NPCs who mine it. Then, because the NPC society you're in is only just pre-nuclear, you need to avoid raising the suspicions of those who could fuck your operation. Once you have your uranium, you have to enrich it. Luckily, one of your lackeys might find an NPC who claims (correctly) that he knows a magical process that can greatly increase your centrifuges' effectiveness. You'll take the video game bullshit when it benefits you and get this chap to enchant your centrifuges. Now you're on your way to getting sufficient material. You'd like to use plutonium, as the designs you're most familiar with demand plutonium, but, for some reason, plutonium proves unreasonably hard to acquire. So you go with the one design you're sure you can actually build.

You design a bomb weighing some 10,000 pounds. The entire thing is encased inside a heavy armor plate. A specific shape, with specifically shaped fins, ensures the bomb doesn't act erratically while in the air. Inside, you have your electric gun primers. They set off the cordite bags, the regular explosion that sets the whole bomb into motion. Nine U-235 projectile rings are shot down a smoothbore barrel and meet the U-235 target rings.

So now the bomb will blow. But you don't want it blowing up whenever. So you need a fuze system. The first bomb Sam dropped contained three such systems. A simple timer, activated when the bomb actually left the plane, ensured it wouldn't blow until at least 15 seconds had passed. Then a barometer activated and tracked until a rough altitude was reached. Finally, radar altimeters fired up and detected the exact altitude at which the bomb should blow. Sam figured that 580 meters was the altitude at which the bomb would blow the most Japanese to bits. You don't have radar. You've got guys working on it, but they aren't there yet. You design several redundant timer systems. That's the best you're gonna get for now.

Your final issue is actually dropping the damn thing. To drop something, it has to be in the air. Getting this 10,000 pound thing into the air is gonna be near impossible using the biplanes everyone flies around in. You go to the NPCs at the forefront of aviation. They tell you about a particular plane built by a Brandonville NPC engineer. He claims that it's the largest plane in existence. A single engine biplane with an upper wingspan of 19 meters, a height of 4 meters, and a length of 13 meters. He claims that the plane can carry almost 5,000 pounds of load. You buy it immediately, and bring the NPC on as your chief aviation engineer. But you still have a serious problem. Your bomb is twice the weight of your plane's maximum load. You consider getting the NPC to design a new plane, but he's incredulous when asked, insisting that his current design already pushes the boundaries of aviation. Next you'll be saying you wanna fly a guy to a Moon. What could you possibly want a bigger plane for, anyway? Then the NPC mage comes back and tells you about a feather spell that reduces the weight of objects without altering their actual composition. You are extremely skeptical, as any such fucking with your bomb could easily render it unusable, but the mage assures you that the feather spell only lessens the object's weight in relation to the thing that carries it. You say fuck it, we don't have any other ideas, and tell the mage to go for it. He gets the bomb down to an apparent weight of 4,500 pounds.

Now you get your NPC engineer to modify his bigass biplane to carry and drop the bomb. You'll need to retrofit the plane with bomb bays, sights, and a dropping mechanism. You encounter a final disaster when your top nuclear physicist turns out, through no particular person's fault, to be an enemy. He knows everything you're doing, and how to sabotage it, or, worse, how to replicate it. You have no choice but to detain him and deal with him. It's a real shame, he was solely responsible for so much of your progress.

A house of horrors. In the cavernous underground passage Doughy and Pfo encountered some of the sickest sights they'd ever seen. Worse than any snuff, even worse than most IRL leaked gore vids. ISIS beheadings, automobile accidents, executions, police shootings, massacre victims, electric burns, acid burns. The boys from the future saw it all. But not in the re reality. They saw Detle's corpse, cut up way worse than Pfo ever thought a corpse could be. Like somebody had cut him into the tiniest pieces possible and poorly reassembled them atop a metal gurney. The boy's eyes had been scooped out and stuck on tiny rods surrounded by microscopes. His internal organs had been removed, placed on a nearby table, and meticulously labeled. His brain'd been jarred in some green goop. Somebody had cut off his penis and stuck it under a microscope, where they'd evidently poked, cut, and prodded it with precision instruments. He'd been scalped; his hair had been the focus of intense study. His fingers and toenails had been ripped off and examined. Cross sections had been cut at various points in his arms and legs. His nose was missing.

Stacks of non-human NPCs and a few players littered the floor, all of whom had been killed using Chump's fucked up dust. Some of them were burnt completely black, others only burnt partially. All of them were dead. The ones whose faces you could see displayed fear and rage.

They came across a small cell, evidently the site of a small explosion. Pfo found a wall of pictures nearby. He struggled to piece together the events. Apparently a player known as Tele-Test Subject 1, also known as Tribune, had been a guinea pig in a short lived player attempt to develop their own method of teleportation. Chump had initially attempted to replicate the Green Crystal for use in the then-missing Blue Crystal's place, but that had failed. They needed the Blue Crystal to power the main teleporters. The Green Crystal could only power Chump's little subnet. So Chump got to work developing an alternate teleportation method. Using what they could pry from Zyron, their orphan gates, the inactive teleporters, and samples of teleporter dust, Chump and his boys constructed a hand-held device that, when shot at somebody, would teleport them to a predetermined location. Clearly the device had not worked. Whether Tribune was teleported somewhere unexpected or zapped into nonexistence, the researchers couldn't say. Either way, they didn't know what had happened to him. The project was scrapped after the regular teleporters were restored.

Somebody seemed interested in werewolf research. Several NPCs in cells had died halfway through grotesque transformations into wolfmen. Finally, Doughy and Pfo arrived at corpses they recognized. Solo had been chained to a table. He was riddled with cuts. Evidently the researchers wanted to find a way to cut his limbs off without killing him. They failed. Yui, the Frostia, in a great act of irony, had been shaved and dissected. And poor Pinkie, still almost handsome, had been beaten, stabbed, and had his gills fucked with. Pfo stopped briefly in front of Dead Dude, living up to his name, and Healthy Man, not living up to his. Across from them, Jmar. Dead Dude and Healthy Man were slumped over. While Doughy cried nearby Pfo took them and laid them out on the ground. He crossed their arms over their stomachs then covered them in blankets lying nearby. Jmar had to be unchained from the wall. Pfo lowered the boy down and crossed his arms. Jamal's big, terrified eyes looked up at him. Pfo gently closed them then covered him with a blanket too.

He and Doughy could hardly take any more. They came to a heavy metal door at the end of the passage. A big metal pipe kept those on the other side locked in. Pfo slid the pipe out and pulled the door open.

A grimy, dark, damp prison. A short corridor with cells lining the wall. Doughy and Pfo advanced slowly, peering into each cell. Some empty, some occupied by corpses. Doughy couldn't restrain himself. He burst into a high-pitched wail.

–Doughy, please, said Pfo, somebody will hear us.

–I… I want Juliet…

–I know, Doughy, but I can't do anything-

–Doughy?

A voice at the end of the hall.

–Doughy, is that you?

Pfo and Doughy rushed to the source of the sound. Sure enough, at the end of the hall, in the final cell: Oxie, slumped on a bench. Her feathers were dirty, her face sunken. She wore tattered prisoner duds. Her hands and wings were bound.

–Oxie, you're alive! cried Doughy.

–How did you two get here? Oxie asked. Do you know-

–We know enough, said Pfo. We're getting you out of here. Do you know where the key is?

–I'm not sure. Chump has one. Somebody else, probably. I don't really know-

–I'll do it manually, said Pfo. Stand back.

–You can't actually, can you?

Pfo rattled the cell door. Just a deadbolt. How strong could it be? Pfo stepped back and rushed forward. He put everything he had into ramming his substantial mass into the door. It creaked then came loose, flying open.

–Oh my God, you did it! cried Oxie.

–Good thing I rolled a muscle man, muttered Pfo, recovering from the impact. He'd lost a third of his health.

Doughy rushed to Oxie. For the second time that day he buried his head into someone's chest. His snot and tears soaked her tattered shirt. She couldn't hug back, with her arms restrained, but had she been able to she would have put her arms around him and hugged him tight.

Chump came storming out of the woods, heading towards the manor. Sleepr sheepishly followed. Chump was fuming, about to burst. The top of his head was about to fly off, a pillar of steam searing through whatever was above him.

The party he'd sent to check his lab found all evidence of Pfo's fuckery except Pfo himself. Two dead guards, a dead Thot, a freed Oxie, and a shattered crystal. And somebody had put a bullet into the metal freezer in which he was trying to cryogenically preserve Detle's nose.

He stomped through SNAFU and into the meeting room. Andy was there alone, focused intently on her menu. She looked up and frowned.

–Chump, what do you want? I'm busy.

–It's Pfo, Chump said. He's missing.

–Excuse me?

–He's missing. He took Oxie. And Doughy. Kidnapped him, I think. He broke into my lab, killed Thot, and stole Oxie.

–I'm sorry… backup a second there. What the fuck did you just say?

Chump got halfway through repeating himself when Andy thundered,

–No, I heard you, I'm just sorta shocked that's actually what you said. Pfo killed somebody, freed a prisoner, and kidnapped that little retard. You see, I was led to believe that Pfo had been dealt with.

–He also killed two of my guards, said Chump. We have to-

–Chump, you aren't getting this, are you? You're either too autistic, or not autistic enough. Let me explain this clearly, so you understand. I told you to deal with Pfo a day ago. A few hours after that, you tell me that he'd been dealt with. Now, a day later, you come and tell me all this. What exactly happened? Did he resurrect and then pull this stunt? That better be what happened.

–He… I thought I had it under control, said Chump, growing flustered and angry.

–Ah, I see now. So, to be straight, this is what happened. You lost him, then lied to me because you thought you had things under control. Then you realized you didn't have it under control. Let me be clear, Chump, you have nothing under control. Not one of you has ever had anything under control. I don't care if you think you do, you don't. From now on, you tell me this kind of shit the millisecond it happens, or your ass will be gone. Do you understand that? Is that clear enough for you? You want your funding, your resources? You will get nothing. I will tell every human player in this game to shoot you on sight. Do not pull this shit again, or you're gone. Do you understand?

Chump was too startled to be angry. He nodded.

–Now, did Pfo take anything… or see anything important in your lab?

–He kidnapped Doughy… and took Oxie.

–I didn't ask if he stole a retard and your fucking… fetish shit-

–I would never! said Chump, beet red.

–Did he take anything to do with your… project?

–He wouldn't know what to take, Chump insisted.

Though it was unrelated to his project, he hoped Andy wouldn't find out about Pfo destroying the crystal. Best not to mention it for now.

–Jesus, the incompetence around here is astounding, Andy said to herself.

Then, to Chump,

–I will put out a general alert about Pfo. Get back to work. I will send some people to bolster your lab's security. But they will answer to me, not to you. I won't hear any protests about this. And you better keep me informed. Of everything. I'm not LadMan, you don't have the luxury of fucking around with me.

Chump left.

Dan leaned his face against the window. The wilderness sped by. The endless forests broken only by the odd field or cow-speckled pasture, a homestead in the center. Dan was dressed up in a red vest and a black tuxedo jacket. Well-fitting slacks, a perfect shave, and a slick top hat. He wore a pair of golden-rimmed glasses and held a platinum pocket watch attached to a gold-chain. He absent-mindedly opened and closed its lid.

In a first-class booth on one of the finest, fastest trains in the Empire. The attractive waitresses brought him whiskey, oysters, and cigars. He could retire at any time to his personal suite, half a car outfitted with a bed, fine furniture, a stocked liquor cabinet, and a button that summoned the help. Right now, in the dining car, a few other first-classers ate, drank, or smoked. They talked in hushed tones.

This is what the game was supposed to be. This is the stuff Dan'd dreamed about. This kind of finery; sitting first-class on your way to see an empress. Maybe a train robbery would break out? Horses would appear beside the train. Bandits would board and burst in, faces masked, revolvers raised, demanding money and valuables. Dan would sit, nonchalant, his chin in his hand, until a robber got to him.

–Give me what you got, the bandit would demand.

Dan would feign reaching for a wallet then grab the bandit and smash him down on the table. He'd rip out his firearm and put two into the bandit's chest. Then, a full on firefight. Mechanically competent Dan wouldn't be stopped. Then-

Dan looked at the empty seat across from him. He took a sip of whiskey and a puff from his cigar. Outside, the wilderness kept running past.

A slight commotion drew his eyes up, towards the dining car's entrance. Mufferson, wearing a long, sparkling dress and equally bright jewelry: rings, earrings, bracelets, necklaces, and hairpieces in her short hair. She swayed down the aisle, slightly awkward, unfamiliar with her heels, and sat down across Dan.

She studied him while he continued smoking his cigar. She never thought he'd assent to being an "assistant." She wasn't sure he really had.

–Dan… I wanna tell you… I'm sorry about what happened to LadMan. Dan stared at her, puffing away.

–He was a good leader, you know? Of the Sad Lads, I mean. I remember when me and Ali first joined the guild. Ali had been talking about joining a guild for a while, but we couldn't find one that seemed right, you know? They were either too hardcore or too casual. We were into Lukia… I mean, you remember… but we didn't want to, like, obsessively grind one thing like the Crusaders. And we wanted the guild to have a decent number of members, but not too many. You know those huge guilds that have so many people you don't even know 90% of the members. I didn't think we'd be able to find something like that, but then we met you guys. You know, it's a funny story… how we first met. It was LadMan, Bobby, and Diamond… and Douglas, I think. I don't think you were there. Anyway, they were down in some dungeon and they came across us; me and Ali. We were in a real bad spot because Ali, oh man, he lost, like, half of our lantern oil, so we were trying to get out without losing our stuff. And it was late, and we had school the next morning, and we… just, really didn't want to log in the dungeon and lose our stuff. I kept wondering if we should, but I'm glad we didn't. Because just as we were about to run out of oil we hear these voices coming down-

–You could have saved him, said Dan.

–What?

–LadMan. There were three of you. You had the levels. LadMan shouldn't have died in that fight.

–Are you blaming me-

–You got stunned the second that fight started. You did nothing.

Mufferson stared at Dan. He could see her face quivering. She got up and stomped off. The upper-class NPCs stared after her. Dan, in his booth, kept puffing.

–That was such a dick thing to say, said Shooketh.

He sat across from Mufferson in their private suite.

–But he's right, said Mufferson.

Her makeup ran down her face, making her look much more of a mess than she really was.

–No, he's just being a dick. I mean… he's upset about LadMan, obviously, but he's also being a dick. It's not your fault.

–I trained for more than a year, said Mufferson. A year. The first real fight I get into I get stunned immediately. Dan is a huge dick… I shouldn't have tried to comfort him… but he's also right.

–No-

–You don't get it. You weren't there. You don't know what it's like to be trapped like that.

–I… I do, said Shooketh. I'm trapped in the game too.

–You don't know what the other realm was like, said Mufferson. You don't know what a year in there was like. You just can't understand.

The Imperial Villa was situated between the Brother Lakes, Oenopion and Thoas. The villa proper and its gardens occupied 10 hectares, with an additional 1,000 hectares of mostly forest reserved for its master's hunting (neither the previous nor the current master hunted). The actual villa was a relatively modest structure, nothing bigger than an aristocrat's large house. Its true charm derived from its world-renowned gardens and the collection of art hung or painted on its walls. Throughout history the villa had served as the emperor's retreat. Each new one decorated it according to his tastes, adding art but never completely removing the previous influences. As such, the villa and its gardens became a mismatch of taste, a smorgasboard of all the artwork the Empire's long history had to offer. Logos, the Lord God and his mono-reign, the pagan gods before him (since the artistic renewal they'd been increasingly the subject of attention), and even scattered influences from other species' (subsumed) pantheons.

The central courtyard was dominated by an ancient statue, the Birth of the Bashful Venia. It depicted Venia Pudica bashfully covering her breasts as she rose from the sea foam created when her father, the Ur-God Anus, the Sky Deity (free your mind… and your ass will follow) shat santorum into the sea. Flanking the courtyard entrance: a statue of the current monarch (still under construction) and the genius loci, the feisty, naked nymph Nadilee. The interior walls were well decorated. Each room its own. The Imperial Seal abound.

The gardens and their fountains, originally designed by noted architect Lorenzo Lo'Renzo and expanded by every subsequent Imperial Architect, told in broad sweeps the story of the Empire thus far. Si, gli scrittori del gioco erano molto pigri.

A Heelys. The poor pair, shamed by the other shoes. But they were the most powerful shoes of all. Though nobody knew it. Some can't abide the shred. The Sit, sit your ass down type, tell you to take the wheels out while you're in the hallway. Fuck that. Ζήσε γρήγορα, πεθαίνουν γρήγορα. But she sends you to Lycomotive Man, who also tells you to walk. You don't like it there. Maybe you rape some chick, I dunno, the deets don't really matter. Either way, when many-means man comes and sticks a sick shred sit down you can't not stick in your wheels and shred, can you?

Simon the Senile, who saw Logos when he was a child (Simon or Logos?), and foretold how crist-crossed he'd get before everything got set straight. How many downs and how many ups? The thunderous fall of man in the Garden of Ede when Man and Mom ate the Coconut off the Tree of Information Regarding What is Right and What is Not Right, beguiled by the cunning lizard, the sneakiest of the creatures Logos (the Four-in-One; the Diddy, the Kiddy, the Ghost of Christmas Past, and the Uncle Sam) had created when on some day he beget beasts. The Kid would save us all. But at what a cost.

Herr Odd, Octavia's butler, the bitch boy, went online, tored around, and bought with Bitcoin a hitman to take out the kid. But Joey, the kid's sorta-father, received a vision and took his little family south to find safety in the land of the Dile Delta, the imperial cookie jar.

This bit is disputed, but Joey and Maria once lost Kid Log in a mall. They left and drove all the way home before they realized they'd left him. When they got back, they found him in the break-room, entertaining the on-break employees with creation accounts and Wind Waker speedrun tips.

Logos was making his way along, heading to the chair, when he saw not a thing. They don't let you see your mother on the way to the chair. Your via dolorosa is a hallway with a fella-frier at the end.

Logos, according to the in-game human account, was strung up on three pieces of wood arranged in an H-shape. They stretched him out, like a starfish, and left him to starve.

The boys got together to check on Logos on the H. Break a leg, Logos. Oh shit, he's already dead. Damn, somebody check to be sure. Linus, you go. Is that water?

Finally, the Entombment of Logos. So called cause they put Logos in a tomb. By which we mean they buried him. Because he was dead. Because they strung him out on that H after they fried him. Remember? Linus was sposed to check but he passed that job onto his buddy, Lance. Logos was so dead he was already getting soggy. Hadn't even buried him yet. Don't worry, he'll be back.

And in a few days he is. Then he's gone again. But don't worry, he'll be back. He came back last time. He'll come back again. If not in Nero's time, then shortly after, surely. Soon™.

The emperor five emperors ago decorated the salon with the theme "labor," under the wildly mistaken belief that he'd labored a day in his life. On the ceiling: a mannerist piece depicting the Temptation of Logos; Young Man Logos in the desert, fasting forty days, all while the adversarial prince of the down-there world whispered nonsense into his ears. Logos, laboriously, resisted.

The OG architect intended the salon for social occasions, but Empress Xia had turned it into a war room. The center of her entire operation. The whole villa transformed into a grand human headquarters. She imported the entire war cabinet and set them up in the villa. She flattened most of the gardens to make room for tents and shacks to house the hundreds of low-level officers, servants, and others required to brain a war. She expanded the villa's communications, running tele wires across the gardens. She mandated new-fangled telephones in all the Empire's major forts. In the salon she plastered maps and diagrams on the walls, covering the pictures depicting the labors of Herr Cleez. Cleez, known by other names in other parts of the world, it was said, committed all sorts of -cide and had to perform thirteen tough tasks to atone. But Empress Xia didn't care a lick for Cleez; she plastered a detailed map of Merse over his most important labor, the capture of Hogzilla.

She almost seemed to expect the war to arrive at the villa itself. She'd fortified the place mightily. Soldiers worked round the clock to construct fortifications around the perimeter. They built traps, watchtowers, and all manner of earthworks. They stuck spikes into the ground. They installed rudimentary AA guns, artillery, and landmines. They set up tank traps and littered the roads with hazards. They set up explosives to blow bridges and collapse tunnels in case of emergency. They rigged dams. They put up fences and razor wire. A newly formed regiment, the Empress' Own, oversaw the efforts. Nearby, workers had cleared a section of forest and began constructing an airstrip. Massive balloons, anchored to the ground via steel cables, floated far above the villa, meant to deter strafing runs. Empress Xia instituted a strict no-fly zone. Anything bigger than a bird caught above the villa was to be blown out of the sky. She set up checkpoints, and several redundant ID systems. Any unidentified person was to be detained immediately. If capture proved impossible, they were to be shot.

At the center of everything, almost always hidden within the villa, only moving between the salon and her private apartments: Empress Xia, vague and imposing. Every harsh command filtering down the human ranks seemed to originate with her, but very few got to see her. Only her war cabinet and select elements of the high command. The workers inside the villa, servants and such, had been screened exhaustively, and cleared for the highest possible security clearance.

The four players, driving towards this scene, were astonished. Empress Xia took things three times as seriously as anybody they knew. Even Andy looked like a toddler when compared to this dead-set seriousness.

They'd first arrived at a train station several miles away. They'd been received by a tired Colonel. They'd been searched extensively. They were each asked more than thirty strange questions, then searched again. To their surprise, the Colonel told them to empty their inventories of anything remotely dangerous. He would know, he said, if they tried to smuggle illicit material inside the villa.

–How do you know about our inventories? asked Guido.

The Colonel wouldn't answer. He repeated the command. After he was sure they didn't have anything illicit, he led them to a car and drove them down a long, gravel road. They were flanked, preceded, and followed by cars and motorcycles. Guards stood at intervals along the road, staring at them as they drove past. They passed two checkpoints before the villa came into sight.

–The Empress is crazy, muttered Dan when he saw the villa. How paranoid can one person be?

Mufferson glared at him.

Their car sputtered to a stop in front of the villa. They disembarked. Out of the villa came a tuxedoed man, tall and slick, followed by four armed guards.

–The visitors? asked the man.

–They've been cleared, said the Colonel.

–Very good, come with me.

The party followed the man into the villa. They tried to stay poised, not act amazed by the interior's art, the opulence and wealth that went into creating and sustaining such a structure. The villa was a piece of art in of itself, though one recently sullied by war. The four players were led up a flight of stairs, into a small sitting room. A huge door, guarded by no fewer than eight armed men, dominated the room. The players took seats. Squished together on a comfortable, though small, couch.

–Let me confirm for the final time, said the man. You are Dan the Dan, Guido, Mufferson, and Shooketh, yes?

–Yes, said Dan. We've confirmed this, like, fifty times.

–My apologies, said the man. But Empress Xia insists on these… exhaustive… measures. Allow us one further intrusion, yes?

A guard stepped forward. One by one he had the player rise from the couch to be searched.

–You've searched us already, said Dan as the guard patted him down. If you know about the inventories, you probably know we can't keep weapons in them. We don't have any weapons. We're clean.

–Of course, said the man, bowing. I assumed nothing less. Once again, I apologize for the intrusion.

–Intrusions, said Dan. Plural.

The man had the four players stand up, shoulder to shoulder. An NPC scampered in front of them and began setting up a strange box on a tripod. Only after the flash did the players realize it was a camera.

–Why do you need our picture? Dan demanded.

–Apologies, said the man. Empress Xia insists.

The photographer opened his box and took out a roll of film. He put the roll into another box he'd set on the ground beside him, and waited while the box whizzed and purred. A fully developed picture of the four players, surprised by the flash, emerged. Interestingly, their usernames were visible in the picture, floating above their heads.

–Did you know usernames showed up in pictures? Mufferson asked after she peered at the photo.

–Chump mentioned it once, said Guido. But the NPCs still don't see them.

The photographer handed the photo to a guard. He cracked open the big door and slipped inside. He emerged a minute later, and nodded.

Finally, the players were fully cleared to enter. The guards parted, one of them swung the door fully open. They motioned the party inside.

The apartment was fine, but nothing spectacular. It, like the salon, had most of its lavish features covered in maps or charts. Fine wooden furniture was placed densely throughout, but it lacked the coherence a careful designer would give it. In the corner, a record player sat still. Another door led further into the suite, presumably to the bedchamber. A few guards lined the walls. In the center, lounging on a red Chesterfield: Empress Xia. Nobody knew what to say. They'd all expected something, but none of their expectations matched the woman sitting before them. Young, plain, and extremely skinny. She wore plain brown slacks, tall brown boots, and a tan wool jumper. A magazine fed .45 was holstered at her hip. On her head: a small silver tiara, slightly crooked, as if she wore it begrudgingly. But what shocked them wasn't her wardrobe, her bearing, or her size. What shocked them was the username floating above her head.

–x86! Dan shouted. What the fuck?

–Watch your mouth, one of the guards hissed.

–What the fuck are you doing here? Dan asked.

–I said watch your mouth!

–What is going on? Dan asked again. You're not Empress Xia, are you?

–Of course she's Empress Xia, you mongrel, said the guard. Your Majesty, allow me to slay this-

–Leave us, said x86, waving her hand.

–Your Majesty?

–Go, leave us alone. I command it.

–But… I would highly advise-

–Your impertinent advice has been noted. Now go, or I will have your head for treason.

As the guards began to hesitantly withdraw x86 gave a further command.

–Nobody is to enter this suite without my explicit command. I don't care what situation arises. If anybody tries to enter, shoot them. If anybody tries to listen in, shoot them.

The guards exited. The door closed.

–Can I please get an explanation for what's going on? Dan asked.

–Keep your voice down, unless you want the whole villa hearing this conversation, x86 said. Dan… you're as loud and dumb as ever.

Dan's face went red. Guido, Mufferson, and Shooketh took seats on the softa opposite x86.

–It's good to see you again, said Mufferson. I heard that you went missing… but you never ascended, so I assumed the worst.

–Yes, I'm here, said x86 simply. So, where is LadMan? I heard he's dead.

–Yeah, said Mufferson. Died in Brandonville.

–I see. Then who is in charge of the human players? An Ascended named Andykey? Is that correct?

–Yeah, that's right, said Mufferson. So you know about the Ascended?

–Hold on, hold on, said Dan. X, how are you an empress?

–I would also like to know that, if you don't mind, said Guido.

–Have we had a Sad Lad as Empress this whole time? asked Dan.

–You've had a Sad Lad as Empress for a few weeks, said x86. Before that you had an incompetent NPC.

–Well… yeah… I mean, I knew that…

–Are you, like, the real Empress? asked Shooketh.

x86 leaned back and sighed.

–Let me explain, she said softly. I don't think we're going to get anywhere until I explain.

Her tone reminded Dan of Andy.

–I left Chancellorsburg around the time the teleporters came back. I became convinced that nothing useful was going to get done there… or in Brandonville. I went north, not far from here, and began speaking to NPCs. That's the Sad Lads' problem, you never use the NPCs. An NPC told me that she heard about some ruins in the wilderness. I investigated and found that the ruins led to an underground library. I searched the library and started finding books that explained things about this game. The Challenge, the Ascended, the Champions, the other libraries. The Akashic Library. The solution to the Challenge. Once I learned that, I realized that I had to do something drastic. So I came here, to this villa, and convinced them to hire me as a maid. Then I got Emperor Edward to fall in love with me. It… wasn't as difficult as it should have been. Once he was in love I convinced him to marry me. He wanted to have a big, lavish ceremony, but I convinced him to make it small and quick. Then, once I was married to him, and officially the Empress, I poisoned him so he wouldn't bother me anymore. He had a history of sickness, and nobody was really sad to see him go. Now I'm Empress Xia.

Dan, Guido, Shook, and Muff stared, dumbstruck at the skinny, awkward Empress Xia in front of them. Three of them remembered x86 from Lukia, the strange, anti-social girl who raided brilliantly but barely spoke. She regarded the three of them poorly, and seemed perpetually ticked off with LadMan, though she never said anything.

–I finally become the Empress, and then, almost immediately, you people blunder your way into starting the war. I didn't think you'd start it. From what my people told me, Striker had LadMan tricked pretty well.

–How much do you know? said Dan. Why didn't you tell us all this sooner? You… I mean… you found the library. What about when you married the old emperor? Why did you never say anything?

–I have a dozen reasons, said x86. Each better than the last. They can all be summed up with a single sentence: the Sad Lads are useless. Most of the players are. Telling you what I knew would confer no advantages, while posing so many risks. Right now, I occupy an extremely advantageous position. I'm in charge of the biggest, strongest nation in this game. I'm fairly sure Striker doesn't know that Empress Xia is really a player. I have soldiers and money. I didn't need little people getting in my way.

Dan opened his mouth to protest, but said nothing. A thought struck him. Andy is gonna love this bitch. He smiled deviously. Imagine those two cunts, each thinking herself the biggest, the baddest, at each other's throats. At least one of them was gonna get knocked down a few pegs. Maybe both.

–Have you explored alternatives to the war? asked Guido, distraught. With all these resources… I mean, did you look for the other libraries?

–I sent a team to search for the sixth library, the one on the West Continent, said x86. They found nothing.

–But they haven't been searching that long-

–There's no use. Striker is poised to attack. As are the Wisteria. Maybe when we crush their power and send them scattering we can renew the search for alternate ways out of the game. I will admit, I don't want to hunt down each individual Meria, Wisteria, Dwarvia, and Frostia player. That could take years. But we can't leave them unified and powerful like they are now. I'm sure this Andykey understands this. But one thing I can't have are idiot human players threatening my command.

–X, do you care what happens to us at all? asked Shooketh.

–I met with you, didn't I? I didn't want to fight the war yet, but now that it's started, I might as well care a little about you. We are allies, after all. But you are going to have to do what I say. I am the empress. You are based at SNAFU U, correct? Your entire army will be put under my immediate and complete command. All your resources, all your information. In exchange, I won't treat the human players like sacrificial pawns. I have NPCs for that. Most of the human players could survive this, if they listen to me.

God, Andy is gonna have a heart attack, thought Dan. He almost licked his lips. Then: the ghost of LadMan fluttered by in thought-form. How would LadMan react to learning that x86 was Empress Xia? And what would x86 have done if LadMan had strutted into this room, instead of him, Dan the Right Hand Dan?

Dan was incredulous. It defied all logic. Nothing he knew about the world prepared him for this possibility. It was natural law that, when two forceful females meet, they will violently repulse. Basic law of bitchiness. But Andy and x86 immediately hit it off. Andy was pleased and impressed that a player in the Overworld had not only discovered the bulk of the Challenge's relevant info, but had taken solid steps to prepare for it. She'd assumed that Striker was the only one who knew anything, and that everyone else was bumbling around in response to him. The second most prepared player, Andy originally thought, had been Dan, the dumbass who, very late, put crude emergency measures into place. But x86 had worked wonders. Seducing Emperor Edward, becoming empress herself… a masterstroke. Even Striker, with all his fashy flashiness, couldn't match it. Andy was more than happy to bow to x86's skill and subterfuge.

And x86, hard to impress, thought Andy refreshing. She'd heard how difficult the situation for the humans in the other realm had been. Andy, a very late arrival, took control in so little time and got them on something resembling a track. Andy admitted her mistakes. She was furious at Striker for duping her, but didn't whine endlessly about it. She demonstrated an admirable grasp of combat and strategy, and quickly picked up the intricacies of x86's politicking and war planning.

The two, far from duking it out as Dan had expected, came to a respectful understanding. Andy convinced x86 that the players had something to offer, while x86 demonstrated the value of the NPC Empire. A co-command began. No single chick on top. Both engaged in a fluid, changing dynamic of authority. Dan insisted that this command structure could not work, and continued to watch furiously as it did.

Andy and x86 combined forces, information, resources, and everything else, and continued, both with Earth-orbiting morale, planning for the great war of annihilation against the other species. Striker and his Meria, the Wisteria, the Dwarvia, the Frostia… and all subversive humans: Lunar, Charles, Beb, Clean, Pfo, Slick, Bro. The great snake unhinged its jaw and, its eyes alight, moved to eat up the whole of the Earth.

Chapter THIRTY-FOUR

Nother Dead

Well California washed away, left us all their bills to pay…

The argument: It's crazy how fast some things move. Is the title of this chapter a typo?

A lone lonely loner loomed long. Long shadows stretching to the end of the Earth, as our loner loned. Alone along the road-side, draped in a cape, hood pulled over his head. Seul in the sky. So lo. Um… what?

He'd been hiking on the lo, living mein alene, too, as mot minh do. Lookin turn, kid-cad. No he dandu… the psyche shatters. All the prej pours out. Check these dubs, dog.

Imma Wut had been on the road for several days, traveling roughly south-west in search of friendly Wisteria or, failing that, safety in some other form. He hoped to make it to the water, where his fishyology would give him a descent advantage over the whomans who, cause Dan du did that Situation Normal, All Fucked Up shit and the fish-gut, capital P-piss off what amya gonna change? acadabrademic hepped, was hunting down his type and taking them 72 inches down.

What was that? The stomach shrivels. You forget yourself. You're a wut?

Sam: Hitori decisive. Allein on learning it.

Wut: What?

Sam: Come on hon, ja ja ja ja ja…

Que: k

Finally, an oasis. A country inn nestled in a clearing a few hundred meters off the road. Horses in the stable, lights in the window. Imma Wut didn't have a choice. He was running out of food. He couldn't hunt, gather, or trap. He could prepare a mean meat-pie, but somebody has to get the ingredients. Sammy usually took care of that.

Any non-human Begotten was to be detained on sight, as per direct order of Her Imperial Majesty Empress Xia. Any suspicious non-humans were to be detained and interrogated. Any subversive activity was to be shut down, by force if necessary. What a frenzy. The non-humans barricaded themselves in their homes, boarded up their businesses, hoarded and hunkered. Imma Wut, with his cloak and hood, hoped he wouldn't get accosted. If he happened across a player he was fucked. They'd see his username, perceive his fishy-ness. All that remained was the bag-and-tag.

He pushed his way into the inn. Not many people, and no usernames. Three old drunks at a corner table, spitting stories, and two grizzly boys at the bar, carrying on with the bartender, a hunched old man with a white mustache that fell half over his mouth. Imma Wut shuffled to the end of the bar and sat down. He fished in his inventory for change. Pinkie never left him poundless. He produced a number of bills. God, he missed that bombast.

–Come on over, friend, said one of the bar-boys. We don't bite.

Imma Wut shook his head. He tried to pull his hood further over his head.

–We see yer a Wisteria, friend. That's okay, come on over. All that big city stuff doesn't reach out here.

Imma Wut slowly removed his hood and relocated next to the bar-boys. The bartender leaned over the bar and smiled.

–Can I get you something? he asked.

–Whatever food you have, said Imma Wut, setting his money in front of him. And something to drink.

–Weak or strong?

–Cup of each.

–Ha, I like you, said bar-boy Uno.

Dos nodded.

–You getting back to the water? asked Uno.

Imma Wut nodded.

–I would too, with what's going on, said Uno. Damndest thing. Seems like one minute all this Begotten stuff calmed down then the next minute a whole war breaking out.

–You aren't going to fight in the war? asked Imma Wut.

–We'll do what we have to, said Uno, but, friend, you ain't done nothing to us. If this turns out to be the Reckoning, I've lived good. Logos'll vouch for me.

–Wish everybody thought like that, muttered Imma Wut.

The bartender had gone into the backroom. He returned with a plate of food. Some bread, cheese, dried meat, soggy vegetables. He set it before Imma Wut. Wut was about to dig in when he froze. Why had his stomach been rumbling? The game didn't simulate hunger. It never had before. But he couldn't deny the truth, he was hungry. So hungry he felt about to collapse. He dug in. A few minutes later the bartender set two glasses in front of him, one of hard cider and a smaller one with whiskey. The whiskey burned his throat more than he was used to.

–Can't take your drink? laughed Uno.

The bartender was motioning at someone and shouting.

–Jerome. Jerome, you useless boy!

Imma Wut hadn't seen Jerome enter. He'd leapt down the stairs, landing gracefully. He wore tight peasant clothes. His hair and beard were cut short. He smiled wide despite the abuse the bartender hurled at him.

–Calm down, gramps, said Jerome with a laugh.

–Clean that table, dammit!

–Or what, your six customers are going to leave? Six? Isn't it normally five? Oh, I see you've got a new customer tonight.

Jerome smiled at Imma Wut.

–How much did he pay you to come in here, darling?

–Stop harassing my customers! Clean that table!

Jerome spun around and set to half-heartedly wiping down the table. He hummed to himself as he worked. The tune sounded vaguely familiar.

Imma Wut turned back to his food and drinks. He downed the cider, followed it with the rest of the whiskey, then motioned to the bartender for more.

Imma Wut? A drunk? Drinking with Jerome? Who is Jerome? A pleasant peasant byte-boy that reminds one of Pinkie. Pinkie: the British pounder. A puffer, in a very real sense. It's all out of control. Even the queer kids are puffing. LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA. You can't all live on the west coast you idiots could you imagine if the entire human population tried to cram itself into the west coast of the United States the center of culture the place in which the politics of the whole world are decided holy fuck how can you go there with anything resembling a coherent ideology the whole coast strips away everything resembling morality its a bone-throne boning boning boning boning piss everything away hilarious ha ha ha ha fuck you all first of all don't you realize that your actions can't get high if they slap you with fifteen to twenty for even considering trying to undermine the dominant ideology. EVERYONE HOLDS A SUBVERSIVE IDEOLOGY. What basic-bitch boy could proudly claim to belong to the dominant sect? Oh, yes sir I'm thoroughly with those in power cause I lack anything resembling a personality.

Bleh. Blah. Blart. Saul of Tarsus. Jerome was a lovely lad with a prickly black beard. His hair was short. If you got in his good graces he'd let you feel his beard and his hair. When he laughed his whole face contorted into a huge smile. He spoke in a high pitched, pleasant tone.

Yes. Yeah, Absolutely. The absolute reigns above all. It has to. Hence the name. Another beer. And another! Keep chugging. Imma Wut? Everything you think you know about theology, cosmology, literature, mathematics, geometry, history, epistemology, ontology… it all dissolves into the bubbling of the all-pervasive beer. Good stuff.

Georgie loved Sammy. He really did. Sammy was cute and kind and funny and pleasant. But Sammy had an obsession with money that Georgie struggled to square. Geoergie loved living in their little London flat. Georgie didn't love when they moved to the US solely so Sammy could make more money. Ever more money. Money. Money. Money. Money. Money. Money. Money. Money. Money. Money. Money. Money. Money. Money. How many times do I have to say it before you understand that it is money that undermines every interaction that the modern, so-called human has-

Jerome didn't seem encumbered like Pinkie did. Jerome didn't pound so relentlessly. Georgie wanted to go home. Home is a place in which money exists on the periphery or not at all. Everything bombastic that Sammy does, everything fun, everything funny. All. Everything. MONEY. If you can't piss all your money away at a moment's notice then you're not a human. Sorry, kid, but it's true. Imma Wut won't survive. But at least he'll always be able to do that. At least, at the very fucking least, he wouldn't die encumbered to such a stupid concept as money.

–For sure you'll find ships at the Four Shores in Shoretown.

But Slick and Bro didn't find ships at the Four Shores in Shoretown.

–They more known for their whores, but you might see ships at the Sea Horse.

But Slick and Bro didn't find ships at the Sea Horse, though they did see whores. Nor at the Nautical Naughties or the Oar House, just more whores. They found the captain of a fishing ship at Maureen's, but he angrily declared that his ship wasn't for rent. He was gonna sail out to sea and cast his lines, everyone else be damned. Among the lines of fishermen at the Fishing Lines they found nothing but contempt and a party of two dozen navy boys drinking away their last day on land.

–You haven't heard? said a bartender at Booey's Bar (allegedly haunted). Empress Xia ordered all the warships to steam to the east. And she requisitioned all the civilian ships too. You gonna be hard pressed to find a captain with a floating ship you can commission.

Another sailor at the Idle Warship confirmed this news.

–These puns are getting worse, said Bro. Maybe we need to try another port?

–If we can't find a ship in Shoretown, we're not going to find one anywhere, said Slick.

–An airplane, then? Or a zeppelin?

–Not enough space, said Slick. We need enough supplies for an expedition. I refuse to believe that there is not a single captain in this whole city with a ship we can commission.

Finally, at the Crabby Cap'n, they found their man. Neither the man nor the bar in which they found him were ideal. The Crabby Cap'n was the crappy-captain-crib. Cheap booze and cheaper patrons. Situated on a pier, a bit crooked, like it was about to slip into the sea. Bro swore the beer had been cut with seawater. In the corner, in a full captain's get-up three sizes too big: a too-tan boy with half his teeth. His white hat kept slipping over his eyes. He smiled too much. Slick noticed halfway through their conversation that he had a severed crab pincer stuck onto the back of his black jacket. A pair of dirty binoculars hung at his neck. He couldn't have been more than eighteen.

–Captain Kidd, they call me, he said.

–Because you're so young? asked Bro.

–No, cause that's my name. William Kidd.

–What, like the real William Kidd?

–You know another William Kidd? Well… my friends call me Billy.

–Like Billy the Kid?

–Well… my middle name is Isaac.

–Like Isaac Kidd?

–Who? Never heard of these people. They probably copying me, you know.

–And you have a ship? said Slick, doubtful.

–A ship? Oh boy, I don't have a ship. I have a lady. A lady of the sea. The finest vessel north of the Frostia.

–We're south of the Frostia, said Bro.

–That don't matter. My ship's a beauty, let me tell you. She's got a furnace, and a rudder, a deck…

Kidd listed off every part required for a ship to function.

–Listen, he said, you need to steam somewhere for a reasonable cost, you call me, Captain Kidd.

–Why aren't you going east with everyone else?

–What? With all those navy boys? I'm no navy boy.

–But the government is requisitioning all civilian ships too.

–Well, they don't want my ship. She's too much for them. They took one look at her and said, Captain Kidd, you keep her and do what you want with her, we wouldn't know how to use her.

–What, did it fail inspection? asked Bro, half jokingly.

–Their inspection is bullshit, said Kidd. They gonna tell me what's seaworthy? I know damn well what is and what isn't worthy of the sea.

–Your boat can't float, then? said Slick.

–It can too. Been floating fine, in fact.

–Listen kid-

–Captain Kidd.

–Captain Kidd. We need a ship that sails. We don't have time-

–Sir, sir, you're gonna regret not commissioning my vessel. You ain't gonna find another ship in this town as fine as she. Not gonna find another ship in town at all, actually.

–Ma'am.

–Ma'am… but you a man?

–You're going to call me ma'am, do you understand? said Slick, her face hot.

–I ain't ever heard of no man going by ma'am.

–You call your ship a "she," but you can't stomach doing the same for me? We aren't going to consider giving you business-

–All right, all right. It's no problem.

–Ridiculous that I have to wave money around to get some common courtesy, mumbled Slick.

–Simmer, Slick, said Bro. He's an NPC.

The NPC looked at them like an eager puppy.

–We haven't found anything else, said Bro. Can't hurt to take a look.

–You'll love her, said Kidd. Oh, she's the finest. Come on, I can show you her right now.

Hey mom, look, the boys are back in town.

You dunno Dino? In the Antediluvia he ruled the Earth, from one barend to another. The grill from a-b bored him. The boys, back inda ville, at J Honey's place pissed the red-hot one off. She slapped him. But dose boys don't care. Forget her.

So deluge-during Noah "forgot" Dino. Poor Dino, sunk and soggy. Never gone, though. Him and his boys'll be back.

Slipped in at one. God breathed life into the dirt-dude's nose. Soon Dino and his boys ran wild. Till Noha. They stayed sunk while Abraham hammed it up, through the David-days; David, King, Killer of Goliath, Conqueror of Jerusalem, Adulterer, Father of Solomon. Dino and boys still down while the Jews rambled around Babalon. Even when JC went up, Dino stayed down. Finally, recently, Dino and his boys rose from the water, shook themselves off, and got back to rioting around. Will they be there for the Sabbath? Hard to say. Will the Sabbath?

Lesser-light Lunita, lying against a log. Twirling his beard. Shifting, trying to get comfortable. Clean beside him.

–I'm the one who bought it, I should sleep in it.

–I was gonna buy it. You went and got it before I could. It's bullshit. Lunar, listen. The guy at the store said he got one super tent left, so I said, fine, since both us obviously want it, not one us should get it. We both buy large tents. That fair, right? But then Charles goes and buys the super tent when I ain't looking.

–It's big enough for both of you, groaned Lunar. Share it.

–We want our own tents. But it ain't fair if Charles has a bigger tent than me.

–What about me and Clean, we both have large tents?

–Yeah, but… anyway, you understand why it ain't fair that Charles gets the super tent. We should switch off. I get it one night and he get it the next night.

–I don't wanna relocate every night, said Charles.

–But it ain't fair. You know I woulda bought it. But I thought we agreed not to!

–I never agreed to that, said Charles.

–Okay, I have a way to solve this, said Lunar.

–You ain't gonna take it like you did those wings?

–No, I have a test. You said we have to clear the area of mobs, right?

–I mean… yeah… just our area of the forest. So one don't come into our camp and snatch our stuff.

–How about the first person to get twenty goblin clubs gets the tent?

Beb and Charles looked at each other. A second later they'd sprinted off.

In a nearby village Lunar had spied a young merchant selling authentic goblin clubs.

–Why would I want to buy a goblin club? Lunar asked him.

–Oh, they're quite the commodity around here, said the merchant. There are no goblins in our area, you know? Not a single one till you get near Brandonville. Folks around here never seen a goblin club before. They smitten by these clubs.

–Hm… well, I'll come back if I need a goblin club, said Lunar with a smirk.

As if that day would come.

–I don't get it, said Beb, staring at the pile of clubs Lunar had dumped in the center of the camp.

–I looked for hours and I ain't found a single goblin. Cut up a bunch of other mobs, but no goblins. Charles, did you get any goblins?

Charles shook his head.

–You guys must be too leveled, said Lunar with a shrug. Scared them all off before you saw them. Either way, it was a good game. Looks like I get the tent.

Don't be scared. What is there to be scared of? 37,000 automobile deaths. 47,000 suicides. 17,000 homicides. Drugs. Alcohol. Rape. Murder. Jihad.

There's gonna be a race war, you know? If the government takes my gun I won't be able to kill myself as easily. I'll have to resort to jumping in front of trains like the Japanese. But we don't have the public infrastructure for that!

There are like a billion types of cancer. Bladder Cancer. Breast Cancer. Colon Cancer. Endometrial Cancer. Kidney Cancer. Leukemia. Liver Cancer. Lung Cancer. Melanoma. Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma. Pancreatic Cancer. Prostate Cancer. Thyroid Cancer.

Over 600,000 Americans die of heart disease every year. The kids spend too much time in front of their computer screens. It's melting their brains. The brain fluid will seep out of their ears and pool on their keyboards. They'll keep clacking, mindlessly clacking, their fingers squishing against the brain-fluid coating the keys.

A shot of wrong-water up the nose and you've got N. fowleri eating you from the inside out. What about brain aneurysms?

They spread along the western front. The western front of what? The industrial revolution was a disaster for mankind. Mankind was a disaster for the industrial revolution. Are you listening?

Take a shower. Shave. Get dressed and go out. Go to the pizza parlor. Have a slice. Grab a six pack. Come home. Get high. Watch television. Go out again. Piss your money away. Get some ice cream.

–What our plan, Lunar?

–I don't know. I honestly don't know. We can't go back to the humans, can we? Should we try to find another way out the game? Should we stay here?

A light drizzle brought in the night. The rain tapped the top of Lunar's new tent. He'd spread his sleeping bag in the center, taken off his armor and thrown it to the side, and set a few other things about. He couldn't get close to filling it. He ventured into the forest and found some wood from which he fashioned a little table to set his lantern on. Now he sat cross-legged on the ground, staring at the little flame dancing inside the glass.

A light knock. Somebody was tapping on a tent pole.

–Come in, Lunar said.

Clean peeled back the canvas door-flap and crawled inside. She, like Lunar, wore a baggy white shirt and tight black pants. Her hair was lazily tied up. She wore a pair of specs that hung on the end of her nose, threatening to fall but never doing so. She looked like an 18th century dandy dressed way down.

She took a seat across Lunar's little table. She looked over the lantern. Her face was barely illuminated. Lunar could make out her sad smile.

–You doing okay? she asked.

–Yeah, I'm fine, he said.

Silence.

–I should have let them out, Lunr said. Why did I think we could talk to Dan?

–It's not your fault, said Clean.

–It is, said Lunar. Beb wanted to let them out right away. I didn't let him. You wanted to too. If I let them out, they'd still be alive.

–You can't know that.

Lunar was silent. Then,

–I don't know why Beb still trusts me. I'd hate me if I were him.

–Look, Lunar, Clean said slowly, nobody knew that those… psychos were going to show up and start killing everyone. If you knew that and still did nothing, then, sure, I'd call you a monster. But you didn't know. I didn't. Nobody did. You wanted to get them, but you wanted to do it peacefully. There's no shame in that, in not wanting to start a fight with the Sad Lads.

–But peacefully was never going to work, Lunar whispered. You knew that all along.

–I didn't really. We can't see the future. Don't be so hard on yourself. You tried. You acted right. And you did turn around, in the end. You went to get them out, regardless of what the Sad Lads said. You fought to save them. You risked your life to save them.

–Too little too late.

–Just don't beat yourself up, okay? You're not the one who killed them. You fought to save them. You have nothing to be ashamed of.

They sat in silence. Clean, thinking it might help, asked,

–What was Kitty like in real life?

–Oh… you know…

Clean did not know.

–She was… nice. Caring… stuff like that. She came over all the time, and she would always ask how I was doing, how my stuff was going. My mom liked her too. And Shane freakin adored her. I remember… this one time…

Clean settled her chin on her hands. She peered at Lunar through the flickering flame.

–Shane and Kat always did this thing. She would speak Spanish really fast and he'd pretend like he knew what she was saying. Shane's Spanish was terrible. He was trying to learn, but I had better Spanish than he did. But Kat would start talking so fast that nobody could understand her. I mean… Ricardo would've been able to, but he was never around when she did this. So she'd start talking, saying whatever, and then Shane would respond, in English, with something like, "Kat, don't say that about Belton!" or something like that. They did this all the time, with everyone. They were doing it one time, at a pool party, to one of Shane's friends. I was nearby, watching, with my buddy Emiliano. He starts laughing. He told me that Kat was just reciting a bunch of Biggie Smalls lyrics in Spanish.

Clean gleams. The flame flickers.

–Everyone from real life is gone, said Lunar. Shane, Kat… even Ricardo.

The game subsumes. An infinite chain of substitutions, looping back on themselves, copying the copies. What real life?

–I am glad I met you, though, Lunar said softly.

They tried to nuke it, you know? At least, they considered it. We can talk about that later.

–What are you like in real life? Lunar asked.

–Not what you're expecting.

–How do you know what I'm expecting?

–I don't think you'd like me in real life.

–Because you don't look like your avatar? Do you think I really have a white beard and a purple mohawk?

–It's different.

Maria. Maryam. Mariamy. Deva Mariya. Marie. Mari. Meari. Meri. Mairi. Mariya. Mary. Merry Mary matter af all. Ah, chosen above all the women of creation. The perpetual virgin, the messiah-mother, assumed to be in heaven.

Or da whore? A too-rich bitch who drove a killer-car paid for by her rich diddy? A trust-fund kid with way too much? Why'd she always wear those heart-shaped aviators? Why'd she always wear those tight tees?

It's not great, but its the best you're gonna get. The stupid Sun, beating down. But Belton didn't mind it cause he was younger and covered in sunscreen. Lounging on a pool-chair, watching the little kids struggle to swim. Mary, wearing her black one-piece and her aviators, waded through the water, trying to fine tune the kids' shitty strokes.

–Get your arms out of the water… don't stop kicking… you're sinking because you're not kicking… breath to the side… both sides… you have to pull and kick at the same time… don't grab the lane-line…

Belton squinted his eyes. Across the pool: Shane and his buds, trying to do gainers off the diving board. Shane went up but couldn't flip back fully and landed on his back. He surfaced, groaning, and paddled to the wall while his friends laughed.

Mary's kids hung on the side. She was trying to hand out kickboards and give instructions, but every time she opened her mouth some kid would sink under the water. She'd pull them up, set them on the side, and say,

–Keep your heads above water, please, so you can hear the set.

But then one of them would go right back under the water. Across the pool, Shane had reached the side. Emiliano, the off-duty guard, Belton's age, helped him up.

–You idiots never gonna learn how to dive if you don't use the right fundamentals, said Eimiliano.

Shane's friends laughed.

–Since when could you dive? one of them said with a smile.

–Are you serious? I'm formally trained, bitch. Observe.

Emiliano tore off his shirt. He wore a small golden chain with a cross. His hair was curly but short, his cheeks and chin scruffy. Belton watched as he climbed onto the board. He stepped forward slowly and came to stand at the end.

–Right fundamentals, he said.

He bounced several times, going higher with each bounce. His body stayed straight. He always landed at the very end of the board.

–Bounce up, not out, he said. You need the height to do tricks.

He came down and shot back up. He brought his legs straight up and touched his toes above his head. His legs and arms remained straight. Gracefully, fully in control, he continued the backflip until he'd come all the way around. He hit the water feet first. The board still flapped up and down.

He surfaced to the applause of Shane and his buds. Mary had finally gotten all her kids kicking.

–Keep your legs straight… point your feet… hold the board with straight arms… hey, are you spitting water at him?

Keep it chill. The Sun ain't that hot. You've got time before it burns us all black. Mary was cool. Cute and kind. Nobody is gonna convict you of nothing that deserves convicting. Miliano is mood too. Woah, man, this might be a cleanclusion.

A bashful Japanese boy? Drugged up? Sucking pills is fine, just like VR-diving is fine. It's all about vetting. A smiling Japanese girl? It's all fine when you've finally got your sex-stuff panned out. Perfect? Bye, then. Panning, then. The distinction can matter if you want it to.

And what about you, Clean? Is the shining Moon the validation you need? Naw, celestial bodies, no matter how hot, how shiny, how big, how small, are star-stuck. They'll eat us or yeet and retreat us but not anytime soon. Whether you go out or in it's always you. Yes oui si. It's all you.

–Lunar.

The rain had stopped. Lunar could hear the sound of the forest creatures, accompanied by this vexatious hissing.

–Lunar.

Lunar rose. Clean, beside him, wiped her eyes. He peeked out of his tent and nearly bumped into Beb.

–Good, you awake, said Beb.

–Because you woke me, said Lunar, crawling out of the tent.

Clean followed.

–Oh shit, Clean in there too? said Beb. Dang, Lunar…

–What do you want? asked Lunar, irritated. It was still night.

–We caught these two out in the woods, said Beb.

Lunar noticed for the first time two Dwarvia players, bound and gagged, on their knees in front of Charles' tent. Charles stood behind them, a pistol pointed.

–What the hell is this? Lunar asked.

–We found em sneaking round the woods, said Beb. What we supposed to do? Who knows what they'd do to us?

The two Dwarvia made muffled protests.

–Take their gags off, said Lunar. Jesus Christ.

Charles hesitantly complied. Both players burst into shouting.

–Okay, calm down! shouted Lunar. We aren't going to hurt you. Explain yourselves so we can understand.

–We weren't sneaking around, the first said. We didn't even know you were here. We're just trying to find somewhere safe. Please, please don't kill us.

–We aren't going to kill you, said Lunar. How'd you get in these woods in the first place?

–We came from the coast, to the east. We jumped off a ship and swam.

–A ship? Back-up and tell us the whole story.

–We're Dwarvia… I mean… obviously. We… I guess there is some kind of war between all the species now. All the Dwarvia territory got attacked by the Meria. This huge NPC army, led by a bunch of Meria players, came in and just… slaughtered everyone. We had this one player… said he was our Champion. He appeared in our spawn town and said he was going to defend us against the other species. But the Meria killed him. Everyone else got killed or taken prisoner. The whole East Continent is all under Meria control.

–Are the Meria led by a guy named Striker? asked Lunar.

–Yeah! Yeah, Striker is his name. He was in charge of the whole Meria operation. We tried to fight for a bit, but… they were just too much. God, it was awful…

–How'd you escape?

–We stowed away on a boat. One of the last boats to leave the whole East Continent, I imagine. We weren't sure where the boat was going, but when it came near the coastline here we jumped off and swam. We thought we could find somewhere on the Central Continent to hide.

–Striker already took out the Dwarvia… said Clean. He's not messing around. Maybe he's going to win this whole thing, after all.

–He's a savage, said the second Dwarvia. I saw him up close. Had a whole guard around him.

–He was in the thick of the battle? asked Clean.

–Well… no. Our Champion, a guy named Iffy, thought our best chance was to bum rush their leaders and take them out. Iffy got some of the players that had appeared with him, and a few others, and charged. But we didn't get far. Striker's guard killed most of us. And Iffy couldn't get past the Meria champion. He was just too powerful. Huge shield, huge sword, heavy armor. Cutting through players like… cheese… or whatever. Just destroyed poor Iffy. I barely managed to get away.

–I don't understand, said Lunar. What exactly is a Champion?

–You haven't heard? Dead players came back to spawn with a Champion that was taken at the start of the game. Each species gets one.

The Dwarvia endeavored to explain at length everything he knew of the Ascended and the Champions.

–That's why Andy was alive, said Beb. The patch brought her back to life.

–It's like in those books we found, said Clean. We should have expected this.

–Who's the human champion? Lunar asked.

–I don't know, said the Dwarvia. I only know Iffy and the Meria guy.

–Who's the Meria guy?

–What was his name? Something weird. DDOSer. DDOXer? Something like that.

Lunar went ice cold.

Chapter THIRTY-FIVE

Willy of the Whales

The argument: Hell is hot. Don't be a thot.

–Imma Wut, you have to meet Frederick! He's our Champion, he's going to get us out of the game!

–I don't understand…

So far below the sea, in the heart of that in-the-ocean kingdom. They were too deep, deep in Wisteria. The light shouldn't be able to pierce that deep. The pressure should crush them. And yet…

–Frederick will be so happy. He's been asking about you and Pinkie. Where is Pinkie, by the way?

–The humans… they…

It was a fortress, not a city. Built into a great coral structure, impregnable. The area around it was all lit up, nobody could approach without being clocked. Sharks circled far overhead. NPC Wisteria patrolled for miles around. Was this Aquaman's domain? The fishy fellow's fierce fortress.

How could they talk? Imma Wut stared at the Wisteria escorting him. They moved their lips and bubbles came out but so did sounds, clear, discernable, as if they were speaking in the above.

–That's awful, Imma. We'll get them for what they did to Pinkie. Frederick says we're going to destroy them, then turn and destroy the Meria.

Into the fortress, through the dark, crystal lit corridors. It seemed like every Wisteria they passed stared at him. As they proceeded inward the Wisteria grew better armed. Soon they carried weapons that Imma Wut had never seen before. Exotic, bizarre, the sort of weaponry the most garbage F2P game would sell in their cancer cash shops. Triple barrel harpoon guns, submachine guns with drum mags, double barrel sniper rifles, huge golden waraxes, chainsaw halberds, underwater flamethrowers (how?), gauss pistols, explosive boomerangs (boom!), shark cannons, singularity shooters…

Imma Wut was practically pushed into a wide, open room, dimly lit by crystals in the fortress' fashion. Wisteria players lined the walls. At the end of the room, on a seat made from pearls, the Frederick he'd heard so much about in such a short time.

Frederick_Faceroller. A tall, dark scaled Wisteria with glowing eyes. He resembled a deep sea fish, something that would lure other fish to their fishy finale. He wore a set of outrageous plate armor, black, with intricate gold patterns. A long purple cape was bundled up behind him. Leaning against the pearl-throne, a long, black rapier. He sat half horizontal, leaning to the side, his face resting in his palm, exuding an aura of better-than-it-all. Almost bored. He smiled when he saw Imma Wut approaching.

–Imma Wut… yer a wizard, Harry! he said, snorting.

Imma Wut almost stopped his approach, so taken aback was he by Frederick's voice. It was high and nasally, grating, a pinch pathetic. Way out of sync with his otherwise deep-sea persona.

Frederick sneezed. Loudly, violently. Once he recovered, he resettled into his casual sprawl.

–So you're Pinkie's friend? asked Frederick.

–Boyfriend, said Imma Wut.

–Oh, yeah, boyfriend. Fine, fine. We'll keep that discussion for another time.

–Discussion?

–I'm Frederick, as you probably already gleamed. My username is hovering above my head, after all. The Wisteria Champion, that's my title. Sent here to lead our species out of the game. We have a good chance to do that successfully. But we need money. It's all about money, right? Money, money, money, it ain't funny, in a rich man's world. Is that how that goes? Anyway, I heard you have access to Pinkie Pound's significant fortune.

Frederick sneezed again. Imma Wut looked at the Wisteria lining the walls. They stayed stone-faced, staring straight ahead. Did they really regard this sputtering spaz as their leader?

–They explained the details to you while they brought you here, didn't they? asked Frederick.

–You mean… about the species war?

–Yeah, yup, yessir. About the whole big race war we have to fight to get out of here.

–Yes… they explained most of it-

–So you see why we need your friend's money? Pinkie Pound was one of the richest players around, so I've heard. But his money is locked in accounts we can't access. So… you need to access them. That money is the final thing we need. We already have myself, yours truly, the one and only I, and all my Ascended armed and armored thanks to FreeWilliam, but we don't know how long his credit card is gonna hold. We need that Pinkie Pound moolah, big money, to pay for our NPC army and everything else.

–I'm sorry, said Imma Wut. Who is Free William?

–Oh, you haven't met Free William? Free William, come here and meet Imma Wut.

From the corner emerged a short, busty Wisteria outfitted in a sparkling dress. He nodded to Imma Wut.

–Nice to meet you, he said. I'm sorry about Pinkie Pound.

–Yeah… thanks… the pleasure is all mine, said Imma Wut. Then,

–Can I ask… what her credit card has to do with anything?

–His, said Frederick.

–Oh… sorry.

–My credit card is what bought most of the gear you see, said Free William.

–The cash shop, blurted Frederick, unable to remain silent even for a sec. You are familiar with the cash shop the Developers recently added?

Imma Wut nodded.

–Well, Free William here happened to have his credit card information memorized. Good for us, because it got us all this sweet gear. Most of the cash shop stuff is really overpowered.

–Your credit card works? said Imma Wut. To buy things?

Free William nodded.

–The cash shop rotates items every week, said Frederick. We don't want to max out Free William's credit card in case a bonkers OP item comes up for sale. So for the bulk of our costs we want to use Pinkie Pound's money.

–That's fine, said Imma Wut. I can get you the accounts.

–Great. Wonderful. Absolutely perfecto-mundo. With that money our plans are almost complete.

–What's this plan? asked Imma Wut. You're going to attack the humans?

–Destroy the humans, said Frederick. Annihilate them, render them unrecognizable. That's the first stage. We take out the humans then advance on the Meria. The Meria are the real big bad in all this. I've heard all about Striker and his little cult, and they've been joined by DDOXer and his Meria Ascended. I'll admit, until Free William here got his credit card information into the shop I doubted our chances of beating them. But now I'm sure. But before we get them we have to go through the humans. Easy peasy targets. Complete non-factors. Their Champion is a coward and a pansy. They only have a few players worth the food they eat and I can crush them without much problem.

–What about the Frostia and the Dwarvia?

–Irrelevant. The Meria have probably already crushed the Dwarvia and the Frostia, as far as I'm concerned, don't exist. Somebody can destroy them when they have a free minute. No, we have to get the Meria.

–So what's the plan to do all that?

–Attack. Right now, as soon as possible. Attack, attack, attack. We attack the humans. Destroy them before they even figure out they're being attacked. We take all their stuff, get as many human NPCs into our service as we can. We turn everything we have towards the Meria. Everything. Attack, attack, attack. Don't talk to me about turtling. It won't work. We have to attack.

–The humans aren't gonna be beaten so easily, said Imma Wut. They have-

–Nada, nothing, not a thing. They don't have a Champion, basically. Even when we tried to help little Captain Sparrow he was worthless. DDOXer is the only one I'm afraid of, and he's a Meria. And with Free William's credit card we can take him easily.

–I hope you're right.

–Of course I'm right.

Frederick sneezed.

–Anyway, get Pinkie Pound's accounts. I need that money. We're going on the move as soon as we can. Attack! We're gonna get them before they can react.

Free William had a little room in the fortress he kept for himself. Sparse and spartan, with only a sea-shell bed, a light crystal, and a small dresser. But he needed some space to call his own. A tiny slice of the world to retreat to. He swam into the room and floated above the bed. He carefully took off his heels, his skimpy blue dress, his bra and panties, until he felt the cool, dark water fully enveloping his scale-skin. One might expect that wearing conventional clothes underwater would be a massive discomfort. Nah. One might also expect that a Wisteria wouldn't sport the same anatomy as a human. Sort of. Wisteria had gills. Their hands and feet could become finned at will. Their skin was scaly and most (but not all) boasted fins on their heads instead of hair. But they had breasts, cocks, and coochies just like humans. These parts were the only parts of them that were smooth, with skin more skin than scales. If you could get over Free William's vagene being dark blue and brown, and slimy, like raw fish-guts, you could pound it like any other puss. If you had a fish-fucking fetish (not uncommon) Fanget would be the one-stop shop for your fantasy.

Free William had been gallivanting around with the fortress guards. He'd led three of them into a storage closet and gotten three-fucked. The guards couldn't figure out why such an attractive young Wisteria would want them, but they didn't look a free-fuck in the face. As for Free William, he AGPreciated them all the same. He was perpetually disappointed that under water their fish sticks shot the sea-sons lamely, like a bullet hitting the water and stopping suddenly. Not the same effect as the stuff hitting your dry face.

Free William, since his credit card caper, got to do more or less whatever he wanted. He reported to Frederick, kept track of how much money he thought they could spend before maxing out his card, bought what Frederick told him to, and… that was it. A professional cash shopper, and the most valued Wisteria behind Frederick and Imma Wut because of it.

On his bed, late that night, it hit him that they'd rolled over into another week. The cash shop should have shifted stock. He opened his menu and began browsing. All the normal stuff: overpowered utilities, costumes, supplies, potions… To Frederick's disappointment the cash shop hadn't yet offered EXP potions for sale. The potions it did sell were useful (and Free William and bought a bunch) but nothing game breaking.

Free William checked the armor section. Same old overpowered bullshit, nothing significantly better than the armor he'd already bought. Same story for most everything else. Finally he came to the weapons, his favorite section. He didn't expect to see anything outrageously OP, but he enjoyed browsing the wacky weapons on display. He scrolled past a vampire bat shooter, an invisible mace, and a flaming whip before his eyes settled on a purple short sword. Other than its unusual color, the sword seemed to boast nothing new. Just a short sword, with a standard hilt and pommel. Free William clicked on it.

The No Skill Sword

Tired of all those no-life sweating nerds talking shit? You need the No Skill Sword! This one of a kind weapon lives up to its name. Just swing it at your enemies and watch them fall. It looks small and pathetic, but so did Prussia before it ate up half the world. Try this bad boy today. You won't regret it, but your enemies will!

Free William couldn't believe the price. One thousand dollars, on the dime. But the stats were unprecedented. Ten, twenty times what anybody had seen, in the cash-shop or out of it. He started throwing on some basic duds. Minutes later, as Frederick was frantically messaging him, he'd already be swimming down the corridors, towards Frederick's chambers.

Imma Wut and Free William stood on the balcony, nervously watching the scene far below. Frederick, armed with that strange, short purple sword, stood before fifty player prisoners, all chained to the ground, their chains controlled by the same central mechanism.

–If you kill me, you're free, Frederick was telling the prisoners.

–That's not fair, you're armed, yelled one. Give us weapons too.

–There are fifty of you, said Frederick with a laugh.

Then he sneezed. The prisoners looked shocked as he recovered.

–Fifty of you should be able to overpower me, he said. All I have is this tiny sword. Okay, do it, release them!

The nearby Wisteria hesitantly pulled the lever. At once fifty sets of shackles fell from fifty prisoners. The prisoners wore peasant garb. The group consisted of all four non-Wisteria species. They'd been given rudimentary breathing devices to keep them alive. Their usernames bobbed above their heads as, all at once, they burst into action. Some started swimming right for Frederick, others tried swimming in the opposite direction in a desperate bid to escape.

Frederick, squealing in delight, slashed once with the sword. The entire sea seemed to shake and everyone in front of Frederick was cut clean in half. All fifty players, whether they were charging or fleeing, cut in half just below the belly-button. Their lower bodies, still contorted in a paddling pose, and their upper bodies, most with shocked but dead expressions, began floating away from one another. The sea was turning red. Frederick was a wreck, laughing and sneezing. The more he laughed, the more he sneezed. Harder and harder, on and on.

–Let's win this war and get the fuck out of this bloody nightmare, said Imma Wut to Free William.

Free William nodded.

–A Khan of the plank, a king of the sea, a great lord of Leviathans, said Pfo.

–I know, she's a beauty, ain't she? said Captain Kidd.

–I was talking about you.

–Oh, well thank you. I'm quite accomplished myself.

–I was talking about you sarcastically, Pfo corrected.

–I don't understand.

Slick and Brostein put up in a cheap inn while Captain Kidd gathered his crew and equipment for the trip. A few days before they were set to depart, Slick received a message from Pfo, now within range. Overjoyed, she met him, Doughy, and Oxie at Shoretown's edge.

–I'm glad you left that SNAFU stuff behind, she said.

–You don't understand, Slick, what Chump was doing…

They made their way through Shoretown. Past the shwacked sailors, the fishermen that smelled like fish-flesh and the warehouse workers with their aching backs. The whole town, even in the noon brightness, seemed dark, damp, and dank, covered in a pervasive seaside smog, like industrial London at its worst, crowded and rancid, its toxicity seeping into its residents' brains, clogging the connections between the neurons. You had to be half brain-dead to put up with such a place.

–The whole human government is looking for you two, said Pfo. They're pissed as hell that you took LadMan's money.

–Yeah, guess they would be, said Slick. Well, we don't have to worry. The Law has a tough time operating in Shoretown, and we'll be gone soon, anyway.

–All we can do, huh?

–We'll find another way to escape the game, don't worry. Find these special libraries and escape.

–It'll be nice to be out, said Doughy.

CKS Gloria.

–What's CKS stand for?

–Captain Kidd Ship.

–Of course.

She was long, 25 meters, with a beam of 20. Painted a worn and chipped red, with her name poorly painted in black on the side. Her steel hull was covered in rust, as was the outside of her wheelhouse and deckhouse. She had a mizzen for stabilization and several woodbines to spit smoke. A steam capstan and mast-crane seemed suspiciously designed for hauling and raising fishing nets, but no nets could be seen. Kidd had taped off the capstan and stuck on a sign that read "please ignore."

Pfo, Slick, Bro, Oxie, and Doughy boarded. The deck seemed to creak beneath them, liable to give way. In addition to themselves and Captain Kidd, there was a driver, a fireman, and six "marines." Nobody appeared armed, but several of the marines were working hard to nail a half-century-obsolete swivel gun to the deck towards the bow. Captain Kidd, in his seaman's getup, stood near the wheelhouse, arms crossed, nodding as the marines scurried to prep the ship for steaming.

–You know, I've never been on a boat before, Oxie remarked.

–Really? said Pfo.

–Never in real life. Nothing bigger than a canoe.

–Don't let this sour you.

The Wisteria camp stretched over the sea floor for miles in every direction. Thousands of players and NPCs had settled onto the sea floor, dug right into it. The Wisteria pitched blue tents and scavenged rocks, sand, or wood to fashion seats, which they placed around glowing blue orbs they lit up in place of campfires.

Free William thought the whole thing asinine, indicative of poor game design more than anything. This was a typical land-camp superimposed on a sub-sea-scene. A microcosm of all of Fanget's flaws. The camp displayed no real understanding of underwater life; it was no more than the common convention given a sea-blue skin. Soldiers pitch tents to keep out of the elements; stave off the rain, cold, snow. The Wisteria were underwater, in comfortable conditions. The water was pleasant. Why pitch a tent when the water is as much inside as out? And how does one even pitch a tent underwater? The soldiers did it by the book, with rods and rope and stakes, hammering the stakes into the soft, sea-floor sand. The soldiers would walk on the seafloor like one walked on above-ground dirt. You had to consciously swim up to experience underwater as it actually was. None of the furniture, much of which should have, floated away. Some of the soldiers, apparently out of habit, actually began constructing a low wall around the encampment before Frederick found out and put a stop to it.

–Like… they could swim over it. Do you… is that not something you understand? he asked the bashful engineers.

–Sorry, sir, they replied. Just fortifying like we've always done.

–Don't do anything else without orders.

Army command installed themselves in an inn carved into the side of a coral reef not far from the camp. Frederick marched in and requisitioned the place from the irate innkeeper, who left only after Frederick drew his sword and threatened to cut him in half.

They'd been camped a few days, gathering their forces there in the shallow water not far from the shore, when Frederick gathered his command and gave them his final pre-battle briefing.

–We got this, guys. Fellas, I'm serious. All our armies are rallying right as rain, the NPCs all tell me their soldiers are itching to fight. We're going to advance, advance, advance up the River Chancellor. Gonna use our swimming speed, shoot up the river, and take Chancellorsburg before the humans even know what happened. Crush that city, crush their spirit. It's where most of their people are. Then we keep roll-rolling up the river to Brandonville. Of course, we're going to have plenty of forces on land, watching our flanks. And we gonna have scouts, and some people in the air. But our main thrust is up that river. We'll be speedier than speed, and buffed… they won't know what hit them.

–They're not going to fight us in the river itself, said Imma Wut.

–Yeah, obviously. They got a few river boats and some stuff, but they won't dare do much in the river… where we would destroy them. But that's the thing, Imma Wut. If they try to fight us in the river, we crush them. If they don't, but sit up on land like a bunch of pussy ass bitch-tits… then we get free control of the whole river. That's a straight shot to both their biggest cities. All their important stuff is along that river. Having it is way better than rolling down Saddam's highways with impunity. And if we get into trouble during the fighting on land, we fall back to the river. These are the sort of big plays we need. 400 IQ operations over here. Going to get them with this attack. Just have to keep it up. Keep it up, keep it up. Right, children?

The sky and sea seemed to slosh and slip together, confounding the boundary between them, like two colored paints poured into a single container and mixed together. Once they're mixed you can't separate them.

Pfo, fit and shirtless, stood on the deck of the little trawler, near the bow, peering out into the morning fog. The easterly Sun shone at his back, piercing the fog like it was a white cloth, bathing the world beneath in soft, natural light. Pfo stared forward, dead straight, his gaze forming with the tip of the brow a line into the distance. It was like the ship itself was following his eyes, rushing forever to catch up to what he was seeing, like a brute beast chasing a carrot on a stick.

But soon the little ship would get there. Pfo would set his eyes on a coastline and they'd pull up and anchor along it. They'd lower their rowboats and go ashore; arrived.

Doughy snuck up behind him and grabbed his arm. Pfo nearly jumped off the ship in surprise.

–Jesus, Doughy, you scared me.

–Sorry…

Doughy joined him. Pfo could see him twitching, dying to say something. Doughy felt that etiquette required he not interrupt Pfo's pondering further, but keeping the kid quiet for more than a minute was akin to torturing him.

–What's up? Pfo asked him.

–What do you think the West Continent is like? Doughy asked. Slick says it's all jungle.

–That's what we've heard.

–How many NPCs will be there?

–Not many, I guess.

–And no players?

–Not that we know of.

–Geez, so we'll be the first to see it.

–Yeah, I suppose we will.

The duo stood in contemplative silence until Doughy said,

–I wonder if this is how Columbus felt?

The statement shocked Pfo to his core. How had Columbus felt, venturing into the unknown? Setting off with nothing more than three ships in search of India. To think he'd make it around the world with his rinky-dink operation. Lucky he made it as far as he did. Well, lucky for him, anyway.

Pfo and friends had a map. They knew that the West Continent was there. Columbus sailed truly into the unknown. Nobody in his hemisphere, save for (sorta) the Vikings, had set foot on that west side of the world. Shame Columbus was such a dick.

Pfo had tried applying all his limited epistemology to the NPCs, but couldn't come to a decent conclusion. Did Doughy mean to imply that his epistemology was at fault, that its inability to account for the NPCs demonstrated its critical flaw? Would history condemn him? Does the future's history exist, given our pseudo-present? If-

–What do you mean by that, Doughy? Pfo asked.

–Oh… cause we're exploring. And he was exploring.

Chapter THIRTY-SIX

The One Hit Wonder

The argument: The Wisteria meet the humans on the field of battle.

It's all a game, if you're up high enough. Someday wars'll be fought exclusively between robots. Two countries with a dispute could meet on a field and their mechanical men could duke it out until only one side remains. Hang on, wouldn't that lead to runaway industrial production of the bots? Would countries build so many bots that their people populations would start to starve? First off, yes, it would. Second off, yes, they would. Also, if the robots fought wherever and whenever we'd have 21st Century collateral damage, unacceptable for any civilized society.

So, consider this. Each country gets a set number of robots, say… five. The five robots meet in an arena and fight it out till one country remains. If that's too simple, add an objective. Make it a base fight. Destroy the enemy's base without losing your own. For added fun, you could have the robots be human controlled, piloted by that country's best if not brightest. Hell, turn it into a sort of sporting event. Sell tickets, curate celebrity, coax out concession bucks, broadcast live. It could be a lot of fun.

[A36] Mission Thirty Six "The One Hit Wonder"

Special Strat Guide to "The Sparrow Shuffle"

7 turns

This is the hardest stage in the game. Some people say that 40 is the hardest but clearing it is more RNG than anything else. 36 takes real strategy to clear. Just like the last few stages, you wanna rush your inf and hold your arty as far back as possible. It doesn't matter how many enemies your arty or inf kills. As long as your inf and arty are buying time, you're good. Keep your arty as far back as you can while still having them hit the Wisteria. Make sure to spec your inf with Religious Fervor. They might move without orders but that's okay because they'll always move towards the enemy, which is what you more or less want them to do anyway.

General Info

You can cheese pretty hard with Lurch's regiment. When the mission starts, move him to the fort to his south. Then, when the two enemy regiments come out of the river to attack the fort, move him in and out of the fort several times per turn. Both enemy regiments will get confused and get stuck aggroing and de-aggroing Lurch as long as you do this. You only need to use a few AP per turn on Lurch to pull this off. I won't do it because I'm doing the mission legit.

Some people say that if you don't spec Sparrow then Frederick won't aggro onto him, but that isn't true. Frederick is scripted with a high chance to aggro onto Sparrow no matter what. I've tested this while putting no points into Sparrow the whole game, and this strat still works. Don't waste anything on Sparrow.

Doing this strat will make you lose Jean for the rest of the game. While her Divine Favor buff helps clear 40, this strat is ultimately the most efficient way to clear 36. You'll lose more if you try to clear 36 while keeping Jean. It's the same as trying to keep Beb and Charles in 31. It costs too much to do, so it just isn't worth it.

Deployment

You have 10 numbered inf regiments for this mission. Put all of them in a vertical line to the west of Chancellorsburg. You don't need to hold any in reserve. Put any two of your special inf regiments to the south, near the fort. I used Burns and Lurch. I held Taylor in reserve in Chancellorsburg. Have one biplane unit ready to take off at the airfield and keep the other in reserve. Put your cav to the north, just in front of the earthworks. KEEP YOUR AIRSHIP ON THE GROUND. So many people try to bumrush it at the enemy and drop the powder. IT WILL GET SHOT DOWN. Don't worry about your river boats, there is no way to save them. Just stick them anywhere in the river you want. Put your Ascended and Begotten behind the numbered inf, just outside of Chancellorsburg. Put all your arty in the same place.

Make sure to put Sparrow, Andy, Mufferson, Outrage, and Deus in the center of the Ascended. It doesn't matter where you put the other heroes, as long as you MAKE SURE to put Jean somewhere far away. You have to deploy her, so I put her way up with the cav. If she's too close to Sparrow then she'll turn hostile during the mission. (She'll 100% proc a reaction event and the speech check it triggers always fails). Otherwise, she'll just become unavailable to use in the next stages. I would also suggest keeping x86 in a safe place. Things get much harder later on if she dies here.

(Note: Some people think that you can't deploy Vac Effron near Sparrow for the strat to work. It actually doesn't matter. He will not go hostile like Jean even if he's near. And since he becomes unavailable later (when Jean does) whether his reaction event procs or not, it doesn't really matter how he reacts to the strat. We don't need him in later stages. I didn't actually deploy him in this stage anyway, so it double doesn't matter).

Speccing and Items

You can spec and gear how you want, but there are a few things you have to do for the strat to work.

Give all numbered inf Religious Fervor, but don't give it to anyone else, including named inf.

Make sure Andy has the following items: rope, Chump's powder, vest, and big bomb. Make sure she has the following specs: at least 2 in crafting, at least 1 in stealth. (Note: if you put Chumpchange near her, he will passively boost her crafting by one, giving you an extra point to put into something else).

Make sure your airship has at least 2 in speed.

Do not equipt Jean with wings. If you do, she'll make it to Sparrow before the strat works. She'll want to have wings, but you can pass a pretty easy speech check in the prep stage to get her to give them up.

Also note that Deus will get +1 to morale if he's near Cycler.

Turn 1

Use 1 AP for each to get Lurch and Burns to the fort. Have their posture set to defensive. They will automatically man the fort's AA.

Use 2 AP for Andy to craft a stealth bomb vest. Then use 1 AP to have her equip it on Sparrow.

Use all the rest of your AP to buff your numbered inf's defense. Set them all in a defensive posture and end your turn.

(Note: even if the numbered inf attacks without orders the defense buff will still apply as long as you keep them in a defensive posture at the end of each turn. Since you will never manually order them to actually attack the enemy, it's fine to keep them in the defensive posture permanently.)

Enemy Turn 1

Two enemy inf regiments will move out of the river and position to attack the fort. Lurch and Burns might proc certain buffs, but it's fine if they don't.

The most important thing is to watch how most of the enemy inf moves. This is somewhat RNG based but, in general, most of their numbered inf should move halfway to where your numbered inf is.

The Wisteria will probably destroy your river boats. This is okay. Have the boats do as much as they can before they die.

Turn 2

Use 1 AP to move Sparrow forward. You want to put him behind your numbered inf but in front of all your Ascended and Begotten. Put him in a defensive posture. You want him to trigger his Scared debuff as soon as possible. Assuming you didn't spec him in the preparation and keep characters that buff his psyche stat away from him (Vac and Jean are the two big ones) he'll have a 50% chance to trigger the debuff every turn. Once he gets it, you can keep him Scared by intentionally failing the saving throw he'll activate at the end of each turn he's debuffed. It's critical that you keep this debuff on him.

Use 2 AP to move your cav to the north of the enemy inf. Have them set to a skirmishing posture.

Use 2 AP to have Lurch and Burns attack the two enemy regiments from their position in the fort. Make sure they don't leave the fort if you want to do this mission legit. If you want to do the Lurch cheese, this is when you start it.

Use the rest of your AP to move your numbered inf right in front of the enemy inf. You want your inf to make a line that is parallel with the enemy inf line. If the enemy inf isn't forming a perfect line, that is okay, just make sure your inf are evenly spaced so that no enemy inf can slip through your line.

Enemy Turn 2

Some of the enemy inf will probably attack your numbered inf. The two enemy regiments to the south will almost certainly attack Lurch and Burns in their fort. None of your units should have real trouble holding against the enemy attack. At this point you'll probably see Frederick, Imma Wut, and Free William appear out of FOW behind the enemy inf. They almost always stay grouped with each other. Enemy arty will also often appear with them and start shelling your inf. An enemy regiment might move to the north to contest your cav. It's fine if they do or don't.

By this point your river boats should be completely destroyed.

Turn 3

Some of your numbered inf might break and charge the enemy. Remember that this is okay. Let them fight.

Use 1 AP to get your first biplane unit in the air. Use another AP to move them the shortest possible distance to the east. Set them to patrol. Use 1 AP to deploy your second biplane unit (should be in reserve) to the airfield.

Use 2 AP to rush your cav down south, towards the enemy arty. If the enemy sent any units up towards them, have them circle around and bypass them. The enemy will almost never put any units fast enough to catch your cav up north.

Use 2 AP to have all your arty attack the enemy inf line. Don't worry about friendly fire.

Use 2 AP to have Lurch and Burns attack the enemy regiments to their south.

Enemy Turn 3

More enemy regiments will probably come out of the river and move to attack Lurch and Burns in their fort. Lurch and Burns will take a lot of damage but will still hold the fort. All they have to do is buy time.

The enemy will almost always move their air unit (they only have one) towards your cav to the north if your cav is threatening their arty. This is exactly what you want.

Turn 4

Use 2 AP to hit the enemy inf with your arty. Don't worry about friendly fire.

Use 3 AP to put Andy, Mufferson, Outrage, and Deus into a stealth posture behind where you put Sparrow.

Use 2 AP to attack the enemy air with your first biplane unit. Use 1 AP to take off your second biplane unit. Use another AP to move them as close to the enemy arty as you can.

Enemy Turn 4

Lurch and Burns will get very close to losing their fort. This is okay. Your numbered inf will also be suffering. This is also okay. You also might lose your cav. Frederick and friends will start to move into your inf. He will cut through the center of your line. Anyone he engages he will kill in one hit. If you followed this guide, you won't have anyone important in his way.

Turn 5

Use 1 AP to get your airship into the air. Make sure not to move it. Just set it to defensive posture and keep it above where it took off.

Use 2 AP to attack the enemy arty with your second biplane unit.

Use the rest of your AP to have your arty attack everyone they can. They might be able to hit Frederick. It won't do too much but you might be able to proc his Disoriented debuff, which does lower his attack somewhat.

Enemy Turn 5

You will probably lose the south fort at this point. Lurch and Burns will automatically retreat with their men once it falls.

You will probably also lose your first biplane unit and probably your cav.

Frederick will cut through all your inf and see Sparrow. By this point, Sparrow should have the Scared debuff, which makes Frederick more likely to attack him. If Sparrow doesn't have the debuff, Frederick should still attack him, though there is a small chance that he might not. If Frederick does not, the strategy becomes more difficult but still possible. You have to sacrifice Deus/Mufferson/Outrage to drag Sparrow over to Frederick and aggro him that way. But if you followed the rest of the guide then it is overwhelmingly likely that Frederick will see Sparrow and attack him.

Frederick will kill Sparrow in one hit and trigger his bomb vest. The bomb vest will explode and stun Frederick for a single turn. It might stun Free William and Imma Wut too. It's fine if it doesn't.

Turn 6

Use 1 AP to break Andy out of stealth and move her next to Frederick. Then use another AP for her to use her Chump's Dust. Normally Frederick would kill her before she can get close enough to use it, but since he is stunned her success chance goes way up. The powder should knock him down to where he has to retreat or you might kill him outright.

Use all of your AP to dive everyone you can on Frederick, Free William, and Imma Wut. I prefer putting Mufferson and Outrage onto Imma Wut, Deus and the rest of my Ascended on Free William, and Andy and all of the other Begotten onto Frederick. Don't worry if you can't kill Frederick, you just need to damage him enough so that he can't heal.

Enemy Turn 6

Frederick should retreat if he's still alive.

The enemy regiments to the south will advance past the fort in pursuit of Lurch and Burns. It doesn't matter.

The enemy inf will try to come together to cover Frederick's retreat. If you're really lucky, Frederick will gain the Panicked debuff as he retreats. If you kill him or he ends the mission with the Panicked debuff you'll get his sword, the No Skill Sword.

Turn 7

Use 3 AP to move your airship over the grouped enemy inf and drop Chump's Powder all over them. Nothing should be left that can shoot down your airship. If you're worried, you can use 1 AP on whatever biplanes you have left to have them cover the airship.

Use the rest of your AP to advance everyone you can until the enemy routes. You should be able to route the enemy forces on this turn or, if things go poorly, the next turn.

If anybody you want to keep is low health, you can hold them back. Your numbered inf and a few Ascended should be enough to route the enemy.

You can set your numbered inf to attack posture if you want, since having them in defensive posture decreases their attack power. You don't have to. I was able to win the mission on Turn 7 with them on defensive posture.

Congratulations, you've cleared the infamous Stage 36!

–I need to see X. Let me in, let me in right now!

–We can't, Empress Xia is very busy.

–Tell her it's Jean. It's critical. Tell her I can't find Sparrow. Go, tell her!

The guard slid inside the tent. A few moments later he emerged.

–Empress Xia says that she is sorry, but that she can't see you right now.

–Why not? I don't understand. Does she know where Sparrow is? He was supposed to be in his tent. Where is he?

The roar of battle reached them from the horizon. Planes dueled far in the distance. Smoke rose into the sky.

–I'm sorry, ma'am, but you have to leave. Empress Xia can't see you.

–Does nobody care about him? said Jean, storming off. He's just a child!

There was nothing left of Sparrow for Jean to find. She stood amidst the scorched plain, looking down into the small crater that was once her little friend. Imma Wut lay dead nearby, peppered with bullet holes. A few meters away: Free William, decked out in ludicrous armor that couldn't save him as he was cut down while he tried to flee. Littering the plain, the corpses of thousands smoldering Wisteria, burned alive. Jean could hear the shouts of the human army chasing the routed Wisteria back into the River Chancellor. They'd probably chase them down it. The Wisteria no longer had the humbers to hold, even in the river.

Andy was there, somewhere. Leading them on, chasing down Frederick. Jean stared at the smokey crater, slowly piecing things together. Once she got enough of the picture she fell to her knees, unable to keep thinking. She was still there when Andy returned, wielding a purple shortsword she hadn't had when the battle started.

–Was this worth it? Jean asked her.

–Sorry, Jean, said Andy. It was the only thing we could think of.

–He was a child.

–He was our Champion. He was supposed to help us win the war. In the end, he did.

–Winning this war won't save you.

–Do you oppose us now, Jean? We could still use your help.

–I will never help you.

Andy sighed. She motioned to Mufferson.

–Go ahead and restrain her. Find that Lad… Vac Effron… and get him, too. And his friend, the scripter… Coke. Also Ted, if he gives you any trouble. That kid was kind of a dick, anyway. I'll figure out what to do with them later.

Chapter THIRTY-SEVEN

Cyberspace Cowboy

The argument: A neon aesthetic doesn't make your movie cyberpunk.

Of course Striker seized it.

The tea house was built atop a hill overlooking the Meria fishing village. A single dirt road, flanked by little business-buildings, led from the modest wooden dockyard up the hill. The tea house itself was a squat, single-story structure built from weathered wood. Nevertheless, it was the most impressive structure in the village. A wooden deck stretched out beside it, supported by stilts driving into the heart of the hill. On top of the deck the tea house owners had placed their finest furniture: handcrafted wooden tables, ornately decorated zabutons, and delicate paper lanterns hanging from the edge of the building's roof. Every night, after closing, they'd lug the furniture back indoors.

The village bigwigs liked to sit on the deck through the long evening hours, sipping tea and watching the village peasants pack up their fishing gear and return to their houses, little wooden shacks dotting the landscape for miles around. They'd watch the peasants' little lamps shake as they flew home, the dim lights getting dimmer until finally they disappeared. Then, when the whole village had settled in for sleep, the bigwigs would stumble back to their own homes. They lived, without fail, above their businesses on the main dirt road. They were a modest aristocracy, as far as aristocracies go: the inn owner, the master smith, the cobbler, the tailor.

But that particular night, in this little village on the East Continent's far west coast, none of the regular bigwigs sat on the teahouse deck and stared at the stars. They sat inside, staring at the four intruders that'd taken the deck for their own use. A tall human with a long beard and a strange hairstyle; a small, busty human with short black hair hastily tied up; and two human boys, similar in appearance and armed to the teeth.

Lunar, Beb, and Charles struggled with the zabutons. Beb and Charles blatantly demanded chairs. When the teahouse owners, an old, kind couple, told them they had none, Beb and Charles took to pulling up a table and sitting awkwardly on that. Lunar at least tried to sit seiza, but his knees started to ache and he eventually adopted a modified criss-cross style. Only Clean sat comfortably in the expected fashion.

The party ordered a platter of sesame cookies, a plate of kuzumochi, arare, miso soup, edamama, and dorayaki. For tea they got sencha, genmaicha, hojicha, jasmine, and matcha. Clean ordered an umeboshi sour. Lunar got awamori mizuwari. He'd intended to drink it neat but it came out way stronger than he expected. Beb asked for some Genesee. The owners didn't understand. Eventually Clean got them to bring him something akin to Nodogoshi. The owners looked almost embarrassed to hand Beb the bottle, but the boy sucked it down and asked for seconds.

Once the party had sucked down their fill of tea house fare, they got to interrogating the owners.

–You two have to know something, said Lunar.

–We don't, we promise, said the Meria woman. We're just a small fishing village. We're not involved in big city affairs.

–Bet Striker got her as, like, a sleeper agent or something, said Beb with a burp.

–Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary? asked Clean. Surely everything that's been happening means-

–Oh, Mer, said the woman.

–Mer?

–The floating city, Charles muttered.

–Yeah, that dope city in all them trailers, said Beb.

–What about Mer? Clean asked.

–For years, Mer followed the same route, said the Meria man. A rough circle around the continent, starting to the east of Merse, heading up to the continent's northern point, coming down and passing Pamiria, skirting the coast and passing overhead us, then looping back around to the south until it's back to the east of Merse. But we've heard recently that the city has begun veering off course. It was just over Pamiria when it turned due west. Now it's going straight to the coast, well to the north of here. We… we thought at first that the Elders ordered it to stray from its route in order to protect it from the violence that has erupted around the world. But… if they keep west they'll leave our continent and begin crossing the sea.

–Right towards the Central Continent, said Clean. Why would they go there?

There's only one reasonable answer, isn't there?

An impenetrable darkness. Vastness unknown. The West Continent was all jungle. Just past the sands the jungle began, dark, thick, teeming with strange life. Pfo, as Gloria approached the landmass, tried to peer into the greenery, to discern some sense of purpose in its vast entanglement. The exercise left him tired and ashamed. Why did he assume it was his eye that was worthy of discerning a continent's purpose. He might as well order Kidd to start shelling the jungle. A little trawler training its gun and brazenly blasting a continent. The sort of hubris that kills three a day.

Pfo's mood was not helped when Kidd, standing precariously atop the wheelhouse roof and staring through his binocs, said,

–I'd be careful if I was you all. Only savages are natural to these parts.

Despite Kidd's protests, Gloria put in a couple hundred meters from a coastal village. The biggest inhabitation in the region, the village was home to several hundred tan-skinned humans and a healthy community of Wisteria. The war hadn't reached out here; the humans and Wisteria lived as they'd always lived: fishing in the sea and hunting in the jungle. They lived in handsome houses built from thin wood and palm leaves. A large pier jutted out into the ocean. Kidd could have pulled Gloria beside it, but he refused.

–If you're going ashore, that's your choice, said Kidd. But be warned, if any of them savages tries to come out here and get aboard Gloria, we'll be quick to shoot them off.

Pfo saw no reason why the natives, who operated long, sturdy, wooden sailboats, would want to board the rusty, listing Gloria.

Brostein volunteered to stay onboard to ensure that Kidd didn't shoot or shell anything. Pfo then ordered Doughy to do the same. Doughy made a show of protesting, but Pfo could tell he was relieved. He'd been nervously eyeing the dark jungle ever since it'd come within sight.

Kidd had one of his marines row Pfo, Oxie, and Slick ashore in Gloria's one rowboat. The trio hopped out of the boat and fell onto the sand, grateful beyond belief to be back on solid land. Pfo, aware of how cliché he looked, took a handful of sand and let it slip through his fingers.

A few curious villagers stood staring at them. One of them carried a bag of harpoons. He stepped forward, set the bag on the ground, and said,

–Welcome to our village, seafarers.

–Good to be here, said Pfo, rising and extending a hand.

Oxie and Slick followed suit.

This villager was tall and skinny, with long brown hair and dark eyes. He wore tight brown pants and a loose vest that flapped gently in the wind. He wore a necklace of seashells. He exuded an honest and calm aura.

–Not often we get Meria out here, he said to Oxie. A long way from home, aren't you?

–Even further than you'd think, Oxie said.

–Anyway, my name is Jeremiah Elks. Born and raised right here in Sandtown. Mother and father were natives of Brandonville. Came here to get away from the Empire… I'm sure you know the story.

They didn't.

–Can I ask your purpose for visiting our village? Some of the people here are… suspicious of outsiders, especially ones who come bearing arms.

–We mean no harm, said Slick. We'll give you no trouble.

–Let's hope, said Jeremiah. You're not here in a warship, at least. A little strange to go this far in a… fishing trawler, though.

–Yeah, we know, said Pfo.

–We're looking for a library, said Slick. A great library that is said to be on this continent.

–Oh, you mean that place with the funny name?

–The Nanahuatzin Camatl, said Pfo.

–Yeah, that's it. The Nana- whatever you said. We've got a number of people around here interested in that.

–Really?

–Sure, it's an old Forestia ruin, right? Most of the people who come through here, those that aren't imperial dogs anyway, are eggheads interested in some Forestia ruin or another. As for the library, there's that cooky professor who lives way down the coast. Been there for years, looking for that library. Then there's that research team. They say they were sent by the new empress herself. They seem like some imperial bootlickers. Went for a day into the jungle then got scared and scurried back here. Been put up in the inn ever since.

–This team is in the inn here? In this village? said Pfo.

–Sure. It's Martha's place, bout two minute walk.

–Would you mind taking us there? Slick asked.

–Well… all right, said Jeremiah. I can spare a moment before I have to go.

Jeremiah led them inland. The village only extended inland about a quarter mile. That's how much jungle the villagers had been able to clear away. Still, the inland section of the village was dark, covered by the long shadows cast by the tall trees and rough foliage of the jungle surrounding it. Cries and shrieks of all types echoed around them, mingling unnaturally with the village life bustle. Pfo had only felt this way before at zoos, separated from the animal-domain via a thin sheet of glass, or maybe just a railing. Who's really trapped? Geez…

As they walked Pfo asked Jeremiah about the Forestia.

–They used to live all over this continent, the NPC replied. Built huge cities deep in the jungle. They had palaces, roads, ports, temples, everything. They were, from what I understand… very leafy.

–What happened to them? Pfo asked.

–Annihilated, said Jeremiah. Legend says they angered the one true God. Guess that means they angered Logos. Their Nana guy couldn't save them.

–The lore in this game is getting worse and worse, Oxie whispered to Pfo.

He nodded.

–It's very upsetting, he said.

–Here's Martha's place. Pretty sure that team sits in the dining room getting drunk all day. Good luck getting anything useful out of them.

Tourists swarm to see your face
Confucius has a puzzling grace
Disoriented you enter in
Unleashing a scent of wild jasmine…

Martha ran a two story inn built in the village's general style. Big and airy, constructed from the same light brown palmwood as everything else. Inside, half-passed out around a big corner table, sat four pasty pale humans in tan shorts, buttoned shirts, and pith helmets. Pistols and machetes hung from their hips. All four of them were sprawled out, their faces resting on the table or against the wall, half-drunk beers and liquors spread before them.

–You the research team? Pfo asked them.

–You the reinforcements? one of them drunkenly asked.

–Uh… yeah, said Pfo. We're the reinforcements. We're here to take over for you in searching for the library.

–The Nana- Nanaut- Nana-

–The Nanahuatzin Camatl, yes, said Pfo.

–It's hopeless, said the human. That jungle can't be breached. Too dark, too big, too treacherous.

–We heard you went in for a day, said Slick.

–A terrible day! thundered another researcher. Pfo thought he'd been asleep.

–I almost got bit by a snake, he said. And a… a little monkey took my map.

–What did you expect? asked Pfo.

–I don't know… Empress Xia told us to look… we looked. But nobody knows the horror of that jungle. You… I don't care what the naturals say… let it all to that professor, I say…

–So am I correct in assuming that you didn't find anything? said Pfo.

–How could we? We were given an impossible task.

–Let's go see this professor, said Oxie.

–You think we're pathetic? asked one of the researchers.

–You are pathetic, said Pfo.

–Why? Because we sit around and drink rum all day?

–Yes. And because you- nevermind, it's a waste of time. We don't care how much rum you drink. Where is this professor we keep hearing about?

–I don't know, ask the naturals.

Pfo ended up asking Jeremiah. He found him back on the shore, sitting on a log, sharpening his harpoons, and humming a nautical tune.

–Didn't you have to do something? Pfo asked.

–Huh?

–When we asked you to take us to Martha's, you said, "I can spare a moment before I have to go." That implies that- you know what, this doesn't matter, either. We want to visit this professor character.

Professor Ikes. He lived in a shack at the edge of the jungle. A half-burnt bonfire smoldered on the shore in front of his shack. Like Ikes had built it, lit it on fire, then regretted his decision and rushed to put it out. Other than that, he had a crappy canoe, a drying rack with some fish, and a crumbled up sleeping bag beside the bonfire.

His shack's interior wasn't much better. The obligatory maps and charts nailed to every free inch of wall space. A desk, a stack of books. Ikes himself was old but spry, like an anime grandpa, ready to jump into hijinks at the slightest provocation. He rushed around like a madman while he talked to the trio of players.

Initially, when Gloria had appeared off the shore, they'd seen him on the beach, stringing up a makeshift bow. Pfo, Oxie, and Slick, approaching in the rowboat, had weathered several of Ike's flimsy arrows. He'd made them himself, breaking off twigs, sharpening their tips, and tying bird feathers onto their backs. His arrows proved ineffective, veering wildly off course and splashing harmlessly into the water. The players yelled at him all the while, imploring him to cease fire. By the time they arrived on the beach, he had.

–You better not be here to steal my research! he shouted. I will resume fire posthaste!

They couldn't gather from Ikes where he'd actually studied. Some college somewhere, presumably. Either way, he'd come here fifteen years ago and had been looking for the Nanahuatzin Camatl ever since. He'd initially had an assistant, but he'd… died, or something. Nothing Ikes said was very clear.

–It's the manifestation of the knowledge held by the Forestia at the moment of their demise, he said. Logos smote them but didn't want the knowledge they'd cultivated to go to waste. He wanted to bestow it upon His children. So He condensed it and put it in this library. Once I find it… oh, boy, once I find it…

–The Forestia represent a sort of pseudo-precursor species. Is the forest not the cradle of mankind? Are the trees not the first place we lived? Do we still not rely on them to build so many of our homes?

–It's the unconscious memory. They might not even have been aware of the knowledge they had. Do you understand? We can access knowledge in its clearest form that was lost to even the Forestia. Who came before the Forestia? What did they know? Did the Forestia get access to that knowledge, possibly via a similar mechanism? Did they then forget it? Has Logos been preserving the knowledge of every sentient species in preparation for His true children to inherit it?

–Look, said Pfo. Do you have any idea where the library is? We want to go look at it for ourselves.

–That's just it, said Ikes. The library is hidden. Logos has not seen fit to bless me with the sight to see it. But He will. As long-

–Do you know or not?

–The physical location is a triviality. All the evidence I've gathered over fifteen years points decisively to a single spot. But the entrance is not there! Logos has not seen fit to reveal it to me!

–He's clearly insane, said Slick. Can we trust him?

–We don't have any other leads, said Pfo.

–It could be dangerous to follow him on this wild-goose chase, said Slick. And we don't know what we'll find in the jungle. Or the library, for that matter, if we ever do find it.

–I agree. But the question isn't whether or not following him is risky. The question is whether or not we have another choice. What do you think, Oxie?

Oxie scrunched her brow.

–This was always going to carry some risk. We knew that all along. I say we try it. We keep vigilant, stay together, and follow him.

–I agree, said Pfo. It's our only option.

–You're right, said Slick with a sigh. I don't like it… but nobody said I had to like it. Okay, let's get Bro's input. But I already suspect she'll agree.

Pfo, Slick, and Oxie figured, the way Ikes made it sound, that journeying to the library's alleged location would take days. They went back to the ship and deliberated deeply on who and what to bring. They eventually settled on them three heading in. Brostein and Doughy would stay on the ship. The party gathered guns, ample ammunition, flares, enough provisions for a week, medicine, and heavy tents. They'd asked Ikes to give them the coords so that they could go by themselves, but he'd refused. He claimed that Logos would be angry with him if he gave that information away. He'd show them, but they'd have to follow him on foot.

Warily, the trio gathered at his hut, encumbered by supplies and suspicion, for the lengthy expedition. But after a forty-five minute hike into the jungle the expedition was over.

–Here we are, said Ikes, motioning to the light of a large clearing.

The players emerged from the dark jungle and into the blinding Sun. A huge swath of the jungle had been cut away. The clearing was ancient; it was as if the jungle had been cut away and never bothered to regrow. In the center of the strange clearing stood a tall stone tower. Built from huge blocks of white-washed stone, the tower rose at least twenty meters. It appeared to have been larger before its top started crumbling. Stone debris littered the ground around it.

–This is it? asked Pfo. Really? We're already here?

–That's right, said Ikes. This is the location of the library. Once Logos sees fit to reveal-

–What's that? asked Oxie, pointing to a huge doorway built into a mound a few meters from the tower. Like the entrance to a massive bunker. The entrance led to a long corridor that descended at a steep incline into the deep, dark ground below.

–What are you referring to? said Ikes. That's a mound.

–What about the entranceway?

–Entranceway? What are you talking about?

Oxie, Pfo, and Slick exchanged looks.

–Can you not see that giant entrance leading belowground? Pfo asked.

–You know, I don't appreciate being the butt of the joke like this.

–Do you see that mound?

–Of course I see that mound.

–Walk straight towards it.

Ikes hesitantly did so. He walked up to the base of the mound. He stood directly in front of the underground entrance. The dark corridor stretched before him, like it was threatening to suck him up. Like standing at the top of the stairs, staring down into a dark basement. The bottom of the stairs barely visible, then the basement floor abruptly disappearing into the darkness. Except this corridor was worse, as they could not see its bottom. Could not see where it leveled off. It went down, down into the darkness. For all they knew it went down forever. But Ikes stood directly in front of this terrifying sight, right at the threshold, where the jungle dirt turned to the entranceway's stone, staring right into it, perceiving.

–It's a mound, he said.

–How does he not see that passage in front of him? asked Slick.

–Keep walking forward, Oxie told him.

–Um… okay? said Ikes.

He walked until he was about to step onto the stone. And he kept walking. And walking. But he stepped on the stone. An invisible wall had stopped him, and he walked forever into it, completely in place, his legs moving naturally as if he was on a garden stroll, but failing utterly to move. How he perceived this walking in place, the players couldn't tell, because he turned to them (still walking in place) and shrugged.

–A mound, as I said.

–Do you realize you're walking right now? Pfo asked.

–What are you talking about? asked Ikes, still walking.

The players spent several minutes trying to get Ikes to stop. Eventually Pfo walked up to him, picked him up, and turned him around. He walked three steps before he came to a stop. He stared at them as if nothing had happened.

–I guess we go down there ourselves, said Slick. Should we get Bro to help?

–No. I don't want Doughy down there, and I don't want him on the ship by himself, said Pfo. Besides, we need someone responsible on board in case Kidd decides to do something stupid.

–From what I understand, the Meria library wasn't dangerous, said Slick. Hopefully this one won't be either.

–How bad can a library be? asked Oxie. All the libraries I know are pretty pleasant.

–Okay, said Pfo. Let's do this. At the first sight of danger, we retreat and regroup. Fall all the way back to the ship if we have to. Our lives are more important than anything we're going to find down there.

The two ladies nodded. The players stepped across the threshold, onto the stone. The dull thud of their boots. Already, only inches in, they could smell the musty, humid, earthy air.

–Where'd you go? shouted Ikes. What happened? Where are you?

The players turned and stared at him. They saw him clearly, not two meters away, out in the Sun, flailing around as he scanned.

–We're right here, said Pfo. Still can't see?

–What? Was that you? shouted Ikes. I can hear you but… where are you?

–We're in the mound, said Pfo.

Ikes turned and stared. All at once it hit him. His eyes went way wide. His mouth fell open.

–No… No! How can this be? Logos has revealed the library to you? Why? Oh, why Lord Logos? Why not me? Please, reveal the entrance to me as well! What have I done to displease you? Logos?!

The players lit their lanterns and descended into the dark, leaving a wailing Ikes in the clearing. He'd ripped half his clothes off and was prostrating himself before the fat, smiling Sun.

Go. Go! Salvation is there if you can seize it. Somewhere else. Go get it. The crypto-threads that, when weaved, constitute current century reality are a replication of the digital strings preceding and succeeding them. The real world is a copy of the online one. The so-called real world exists as infrastructure for the digital awakening, the manifestation of pure reality. Not as filtered as you think. The photons leap.

The Akashic Library has the power to manipulate time or space. Go west. Far west. So far west that west as a direction ceases to mean anything. Just go. Outside the world. Outside it all. Beyond the boundary. Here are the coords. Yes, they are correct. Hurry. The space between you and it is stretching, doublin, stretching all the time, like a rubber-band or a loaf of bread or a balloon or…

Chapter THIRTY-EIGHT

Creusa Was Pushed

The argument: Your fantasies can't ever be quenched, can they? You frickin fricks. When will you learn? When will you learn that your actions have consequences?

The human navy had been crushed. The Meria airpower was too much. Several dozen warships sat mangled at the bottom of the sea, joined by thousands of the sea's new men. The remaining ships limped away, lucky to be steaming under their own power.

The age of the big gun was over. All hail the great blue sky. Empress Xia was irate not that her navy had lost, but that it had suffered so and failed to inflict real damage on the enemy. She demanded to know why any ships had survived. She clearly ordered all of them to fight to the death.

Fine, fuck it. Let the ships sink. Man'll meet them on the land.

Are the nanobots inside them? Blood-cell-big bots, hanging around the neurons, waiting for the signal to set off the simulation. Shut down the real, rev up the reee reality. You can reee move, but why would you want to?

Things spin out of control, past Lattice QCD, into the perfection, 1, 2, 3, put plasma in its place, 4, 5, 6, time crunches. Minutes stop meaning anything. Everything feels accelerated. Once you can perfectly simulate a person's perception, reality has to hop off its high horse and admit banality. The physicalism preservers, any Allattempt falls into factorials.

How is capital to cope? Huge segments of the population derive their worth from globe-trotting. But the exotic destinations can be perfectly simulated. Copied, actually. Even calling them copies feels dishonest. A whole-life local couldn't ID the original. Put both in a cup, shake it up, and there ceases to be an original at all. So the travel agencies et al need to do something to keep the real reality better than the other real reality. Some spooked souls will trot for authenticity's sake, but it seems unarguable that the touristing'll tank. So take reality and enhance it…

Mer was a mess of gears, spitting steam, staying afloat to spite physics. It ran via its own mechanisms, which, previously, only the NPCs running it understood (did they?), but now Striker also understood or had people under him who understood well enough to dictate the thing's destination. He'd kicked out most of the Meria NPC civvies and filled the city with soldiers. Converted it into a fortress, like a Civ-city with all defensive enhancements, but on legs, stomping around and blowing shit up. Watching the city from a distance, the quatro could barely comprehend it. It was escorted by hordes of flying Meria, dots from this distance. Already somebody had spotted them, tiny on the shore, the wind sweeping their hair, the crashing waves crushing their eardrums. Lunar knew that floating cities weren't far-future fantasy. They'd come about quicker than anybody figured. As Bangladesh sinks under the sea, and the world's great cities feel the water wetting their toes, a carbon-neutral migrant sea-city won't seem like a terrible idea. Fully facilitied, all the amenities of the modopolis. Meticulously upkept arboretums and nature reserves with real (real!) foliage and wildlife. You'd spend your time diving, unaware you were even on the water, not unlike a modern cruise ship (minus the puffing atrocities that make modern cruises ship). All the bloated bodies bander about atop it, stomping, puffing, spewing…

Lunar opened his menu. Something seemed to click inside him. He softly sighed. DDOXer, Shane, his kid-brother, was in friending range. Lunar thought about how much time had passed for the kid. For him it'd been a month. For Shane it'd been well over a year. Lunar slowly typed his message. A small squad of Meria was getting bigger, gliding towards them.

Dude, I thought you said you were gonna meet up with me right after you spawned?

Little Lunar peered at the distant sky-city. He imagined his message flying towards it, an imperceptible package of pixels, or whatever the smallest thing in this game was. Is it always string bits?

The squad of Meria arrived. NPCs, well armed. Three landed while two circled overhead.

–What are you doing here? said one, screaming over the wave-roar.

It seemed like the sea was getting louder.

–They're spies, sir, said another. Let's arrest them.

–I want to see DDOXer! shouted Lunar. Shane! Shane Berkshire! Doxy!

–Who's he talking about? said an NPC. Doxer, the General's man?

–Who's the General? Is that Striker? Is Shane with Striker? Take us to see them.

The Meria NPCs dove into thought. They couldn't bring any old spy to see their leader, could they? Beb's fingers hovered above his sheathed daggers. Charles tightened his staff-grip.

–We know them, said Lunar.

He strained his voice to be heard over the waves. It seemed like all the sounds of the sea were crashing onto the shore with each wave, the ocean bringing its whole mass to bear. Lunar's ears rang. The salty sea air clogged his nostrils. His beard fluttered in the wind. Deep in his face, past the sea-stained skin, his squinting eyes glared defiant. Had this soggy creature recently rose from the sea? Not from the foam, like Aphrodite, fully formed, confident in her soft skin, but from the dark, murky depths? He'd been tangled in seaweed. The deep sea horrors feasted on his innards until, roused awake by the world's primordial rumbling, this paleolithic presence rose slowly from the salty sea and came to hover, naked and brutal and savage, over the slamming waves.

Mer the mess, avian flavoured but still sickly; steampunk run its course. The cells can't sustain themselves forever. They break, turn tail. Mer lay on its deathbed, a cackling corpse, coughing up blood and spittle while its body ate itself away. How many gears and steam-leaking pipes could a city need? Did these nominally Japanese birdy boys run out of wood, cloth, and everything else? When Lunar used to play building games, Minecraft, Terraria, etc., he'd try to make his structures look good. He never could. Everyone around him seemed to innately grasp aesthetics, they'd create gorgeous pagodas while he'd stick together a brass disaster: metals madly mixing, no unified style, absolutely no sense. At his worst he could barely manage a brutalist square. We can't subsist on Soviet cynicism.

Mer not only shouldn't have floated. It should never have been built. Its existence defied cosmic structure. Nothing so sick should survive. For a people so sky-eyed as the Meria to build a floating city but make it so dark and twisted that somebody could live a life and never see the stars…

In the center of Mer sat a palace. Positioned atop a stone structure, a sort of ziggurat, the palace was constructed out of, what else, brass and other metals. It's pillars shot into the sky. But not straight. They bent and curved. The palace looked like a hand that'd punched a concrete wall. Its fingers, like the palace's five big towers, broke and bent every which way, still trying in vain to grab the sky. Lunar half expected blood to come pouring from the palace's pores as they approached, following two Meria NPCs and trailed by three. Flying above the city; the metal guts looked like an artificial digestive tract. Lunar could spot microscopic Meria running about, feet floor locked. Nothing added up.

The city was moving in the opposite direction as they were, effectively halving their journey to its center palace. They landed and got led in. Inside a wide waiting room they waited almost an hour. Then out emerged forty armed Meria, a mix of NPCs and players. Lunar recognized their leaders. So did Charles and Beb.

–Dingo? Jupit? When y'all get here? asked Beb.

–I think you being here is more surprising, said Jupit nervously.

–I'm surprised you remember us, said Dingo Dave.

–Playing milsims under you ain't something you forget, muttered Charles.

–We wanna see Doxy, said Beb. We heard he was here.

–Yes, we know what you want, said Dingo Dave. But do you understand the situation? We're at war… and you show up… right in front of us…

–We ain't at war with nobody, said Beb. We ain't got nothing to do with all that.

–It was those two that told the humans everything, said Dingo, pointing at Lunar and Clean. They practically started the war.

–Are you serious? You're blaming us for all this? said Clean.

–We wanna see Doxy, where he at? said Beb.

–Ugh… my God, said Dingo, rubbing his temple. This is beyond ridiculous. Of course you end up being Doxer's brother.

–Not like I wanted him to be your Champion, said Lunar.

–Yes, nobody wanted anything to turn out like it did. Come on, then, let's go. But we do have to disarm you.

–No you ain't, said Beb.

–I knew they'd make this difficult, said Jupit.

–It's already difficult, Jup! thundered Dingo. It's already impossible.

–We ain't gonna kill nobody, said Beb. Swear.

–We want to see Shane, said Lunar. We don't want to fight.

–We can't exactly trust you, can we?

–And we can trust you?

A Meria burst outta the big door and into the waiting room. Immaculate, shining, tall and steadfast, like a too-perfect paladin, wearing shiny silver armor. A shield and hammer slung on his back. A sword at his side. DDOXer. Shane.

–Belton! he cried, rushing at his brother.

The boys embraced. Awkward, around their armor.

–I was going to go looking for you, said Shane. I was afraid you were still with the humans. I… I…

–It's good to see you, kid, said Lunar.

Tears fell freely down Shane's face-feathers. He moved in to embrace Beb and Charles.

–We missed you, Doxy, said Beb, pulling him in close, squeezing him tight.

–Do you guys know what happened to Kat? Shane asked.

Lunar looked down.

–It was Andy, dog, said Beb, speaking quickly, unaware that Shane probably didn't know who Andy was. She went psycho on us. Her and the Sad Lads. We tried to save her… Ricardio, too…

Beb broke down. Shane turned. He sniffled loudly.

–I'm really sorry, said Lunar.

–It's not your fault… said Shane.

–It is, though. I should have saved her.

–No, Belton, I'm sure you tried.

Shane's face was a mess of snot and tears. Beb, between sobs, stammered out,

–We fought her, dog. We shoulda beat her too. We had her two friends down. We… we had her. I dunno, she was hacking or some shit… we had her… we could've…

Another Meria came through the big doors. This one, tall and skinny, with a ragged mess of red hair atop his head, like a shitty wig glued on. He wore peasant garb and carried a sword. The humans froze when they saw his name.

–Doxer, what are you doing? he demanded. I told you to wait for me.

–This is my brother, Shane said. And my friends.

–Yes, Striker scowled, I'm aware of that.

–Striker, we haven't disarmed them yet, Jupit hissed at his leader.

The humans could hear him.

–I'm aware of that too, Striker said.

He stared hard at Lunar, Clean, Beb, and Charles. Here stood the manifestation of his will denied. Reality wasn't supposed to bend this way. But against Shane, the sparkling boy, even Striker stumbled.

–Well… Striker finally said, as I was telling Doxer, you four are not… particularly liked around here. Nevertheless, we've set up a place for you to stay, and I personally saw to it that it would be well guarded. For your own safety.

–Come on, said Shane, wiping away his tears. Let's go.

Striker stood amidst the Meria mass, the forty some armed players and NPCs, watching, stone-faced, as his four most hated fellows followed his Champion away from him.

What did Striker tell you, Shane? What lies did he bang into your brain? Shane, the shining paladin, the Champion, the couch-stain kid who sat and watched whatever was on. Lunar counted countless times coming down the stairs and seeing Shane, half asleep, browsing something on his phone out of sheer habit, while Wolf Blitzer or Anderson Cooper blabbed on in the background. Sometimes Shane set the set to sports, strange sports he'd never played: cricket, volleyball, rugby, curling. Sometimes he'd have the TV on public programming, half watching some local yokel yell about whatever C'villain they took issue with.

–The city council has gone too far this time. Wes better get it through their head that they can't do whatever they want…

Shane watched dramas in languages he didn't speak (with no subs), nature documentaries, period pieces, sitcom reruns, soap operas. All while he browsed his phone. Mostly he trawled Lukia forums, keeping up to micro-minute date on the meta, reading patch-note breakdowns, feeling out the general state of the game's community. Was the TV purely on as background noise? Sometimes, usually when he was eating, Shane wouldn't be on his phone, but staring straight at the television. Then, at least, he seemed to perceive the images on the screen in front of him. But how much did he get? How much of the television's blue blurs blasted into his boyish brain? Any amount was too much for flailing Lunar.

Shane brought the quatro to a compound deep in the city. Squished between two huge apartment complexes, the little compound looked the product of a forgotten age, an epoch of geographical space, in which things didn't exist in the exact same spot, fighting over the same matter, clipping into each other.

It turned out that the compound led into an underground tunnel network. They snaked through it for a time until arriving at a suite of several well furnished rooms, all behind a big metal door. Lunar almost couldn't believe Shane didn't see through Striker's outrageous ploy. Sticking them underground, in a place with one exit, and posting guards all around "for their own safety." Did Shane take Striker at his word? Or did Shane agree with him?

–You guys will be safe down here, Shane said. Striker got the best guards available. They'll keep you safe if I have to go and do something.

–What would you have to go do? Lunar asked.

Shane didn't respond.

–Fair weather ahead, said Captain Kidd. I can feel it.

The next day found Gloria stuck in a storm. The crew rushed about, trying to keep the little ship from capsizing. Huge waves crashed over the deck, threatening to sweep the marines clear off. Rain pounded against them. Water fell down their faces, stinging their eyes. Thunder fired off in the distance. Lighting darted down the sky. Visibility was nothing. Pfo thought that any moment a wave would hit them the wrong way and the ship would capsize.

Kidd stood in the wheelhouse, bracing himself against a wooden table nailed to the floor. He had maps and charts strewn out on it, but they slid around too much to read. Kidd had tried to nail them onto the table, but then the wind, rushing through some crack in the wheelhouse wall, would catch them and rip them away from their nails, sending them fluttering around the wheelhouse until Kidd could catch them.

He'd been on the deck for a bit, directing his men. He'd lost his hat in the storm, and now his dark hair was matted and wet. Water dripped down his disappointed face.

The players huddled belowdecks, around a lantern, listening to the creaking and groaning of their ship. Suddenly, a crash. The whole ship shuddered. The harsh sound of metal bending and breaking. Like the ship itself was ripping in two.

–Captain! shouted one of the marines, bursting in on Kidd in the wheelhouse.

–What was that? Kidd demanded.

–The gun. The storm ripped her off the deck. She's gone overboard.

–Our gun?

–Yes sir.

–Good Logos, how embarrassing.

The Gloria, battered but not beaten, and only listing a bit more than before, steamed peacefully along. The storm had passed and the sky was blue, cloudless. The Sun shone down. The wet deck seemed to shine. The sailors, wet and relieved, sat against the railings, huffing and puffing.

Kidd, in the wheelhouse, stood before his ruined maps. The players looked at them with some alarm, but Kidd seemed unperturbed.

–I don't think a lesser ship would've weathered that, to be honest, Kidd was saying.

–I don't think any other ship's captain would've steered straight into a storm, Pfo muttered.

–We lost the 6-inch, Kidd continued, blissfully unaware of Pfo's remark. It's a blow, I won't lie. We're going to have a tough time winning a naval engagement without it. Going to take some clever seamanship.

–Let's try to avoid naval engagements entirely, said Brostein.

–What about our course? said Slick. Did the storm screw us up?

–Not too bad. We're still steaming roughly towards those coordinates you gave me. Though I'll say again, I'm not sure about our destination. Those coordinates don't technically exist.

–Yes, you've said, said Pfo.

–The world ends before that point, said Kidd. And my men, they aren't happy about sailing off the edge of the world, either.

–All evidence points to the world being round, said Oxie. It's not likely that we're going to sail off.

How was Kidd steaming towards these non-existent coords? Fanget, as the players quickly found, followed no real-world mapping precedent. The world map had a coordinate system, but the coordinates weren't what they should be. The world's northernmost point had the coords 40, 14. Easternmost 20, 60. Westernmost 13, -27. And southernmost -10, 11. It was as if somebody took a slice from our Earth's surface, a big bite out of North Africa, and called it everything. Thus, the Akashic Library's coords (38, -78.5) should be possible to get to, assuming Fanget's world actually mirrored Earth and the player-map only showed part of it. To set Kidd towards those coords, all Oxie had to do was tape a much bigger sheet of paper to the top left of Kidd's world map and tell him to sail towards there. But it wasn't lost on anybody, least of all Oxie, that they were literally sailing off the map.

There was some evidence that the known world was surrounded by a huge ice-wall. If that was the case, they would have to abandon their ship. Possibly proceed on foot. But they would keep trekking forward. Cause they didn't know what else to do.

Hazy rumors abound. The Wisteria defeated, routed, sent back to the water from which they rose. Their forces crippled beyond repair. Their best players dead or missing. Their Champion injured and fleeing, humans hot on his heels. Captured or killed was the only question left in regards to him.

Andy got a sword. Outrageously overpowered, able to one-swing slay a whole platoon. How'd she get it from its OG owner, then?

What's Striker's plan? Take Mer straight at the humans, it seems, and crush them in a climactic battle. The human Champion is confirmed KIA, not that the humans seemed to care. And the humans should've suffered some in their fight with the Wisteria. So now is the time. Strike them before they can pivot their forces to face east. If the humans fall, Striker and his Meria will remain the only power in play. Free to mop up the survivors at their leisure.

The ice-wall rose a hundred meters into the sky and extended along the world's edge until, presumably, it looped all the way back around and met itself. Kidd and his marines were in awe.

–The edge of the world, Kidd said. I… I guess it doesn't drop off. You know, my old buddy always said it was a wall. Guess he was right.

The Gloria put in off a little landmass, no more than a few acres, that clung to the bottom of the wall like a frightened child clings to his mother. It was arid and barren, boasting no trees, no life. Just hard, cold dirt. Slick, Pfo, and Oxie went ashore and came to stand before the wall. Staring straight up, Pfo felt like he'd felt the first time he went into the city and saw a skyscraper. Standing at its base, bending his neck, watching it rise into the sky. If anything, the wall was more impressive. Oxie reached out and touched it. Cold, slick ice. Remarkable, but nothing fundamentally different from the ice she knew.

–What's on the other side? Slick asked.

–Could be anything, said Pfo. Could be more ocean. Could be land. Maybe there's an invisible wall at the top that you can't fly past.

–It'd be a real dick move to block the Akashic Library off with an invisible wall, said Slick.

–There could be an opening in the wall somewhere, said Oxie. Or a cave? Some kind of entrance to a dungeon. A real endgame dungeon that leads to the library?

–Could be, said Pfo. But let's fucking hope not. We don't have time to sail around the whole edge of the world looking.

–Guess the first thing to do is fly up and see if we can see what's on the other side, said Slick.

–I'll do it, said Oxie.

Pfo looked bout to protest.

–I won't go past the wall, Oxie said. I'll just get a look over it.

–I don't know where this is coming from, Shane said. You guys are hitting me with this all at once!

Lunar, Beb, Charles, and Clean, sitting in their suite's drawing room, had, for the last half hour, barraged Shane with every Striker-atrocity they could think of.

–Shane, listen, said Lunar, trying to speak softly to his distressed brother, Striker is obviously not going to tell you this. But he's done a lot, I mean a lot, of messed up stuff. You can't fight for him.

–But I'm the Meria Champion, said Shane. It's my job to fight for the Meria.

–Just don't fight, said Lunar. Just refuse to fight. Striker can't make you, you're too powerful. And you have us on your side.

–But it's how we get out of the game. And… the humans killed Kat. You said that. They're the enemy. You guys were fighting them.

–Not all of them, said Lunar, softly.

He felt that if he spoke any softer his voice would disappear.

Oxie flew several hundred meters up and did her best to float, scanning beyond the wall with a pair of big binoculars. She struggled to place them comfortably on her face, given her beak and feathers.

The wall kept going. An endless white. Like a perfectly flat sheet of land, covered in a thin layer of snow. Extending for as far as Oxie could see. As if Fanget's whole world was nestled inside a cylindrical hole in a huge ice-sheet. Once you got to the top of the wall, you would have nothing to do save walk or fly forever across that white expanse.

She mounted several more expeditions, each more daring than the last. After her recon, she flew past the wall itself, arriving overtop the white. This confirmed that there was no invisible wall. Finally, she landed on the wall's top itself. Just as she'd thought: solid ice covered in a thin layer of powdery snow. The soft crunch. Slipping a bit as she struggled to get her bearings. But solid. Something they could work with.

Captain Kidd was ecstatic. His and his crew devolved into an almost crazed elation. Weeping, screaming, whooping around the deck of their ship.

–I knew I was destined for greatness, Kidd shouted. Imagine what they'll say? Captain Kidd, leader of the first expedition over the edge of the world! They'll put me in all the books. I'll be rich, famous.

He turned to his crazed crew.

–There'll be enough riches and fame to go around, boys!

They erupted even further, stomping along the deck, almost as if part of a coordinated dance, stomping around in a rough circle, circumambulating the wheelhouse, shrieking and beating their chests.

As for the players, they'd gone to the little landmass. One by one they all flew up. Pfo, standing over the wall's edge, staring at the world spread before him, broke down into tears. Slick and Bro hugged each other.

–We're going to get out of here, Bro whispered.

Doughy took some cajoling to get to the top. He flew up but wouldn't land. He hovered just above the wall's top while his four friends urged him on. Finally, his feet touched down. He shimmied to the edge, an inch at a time, and peered over. He leapt back, shrieking at the sight.

–We set up a camp here, said Pfo. One camp at the bottom, one camp up here. From here we base our expedition. We take it slow, see how far we can get. We aren't really sure how things work up here. Remember, we're out of the world.

For the bigger supply-items Oxie fashioned a rudimentary pulley system with which they could pull small crates up the wall. Most of the items proved easier to simply put in their inventories and fly up themselves. By and by they got a camp built. Several tents and a supply depot at the wall's base, and more tents and a research station at the top.

Slick, once she got Kidd calmed down enough to give him orders, gave him a buttload of cash and told him to find the nearest friendly port and stock up on every manner of supply.

–Come back as quick as you can, she said. We need those supplies. Remember, you'll be the captain of the first ever journey out of the world.

Kidd, mind reeling, set off. The players, minds reeling for entirely different reasons, set in.

Clean, cross-legged on the couch. Her black hair fell in front of her face. She peered pensively at the door, a thick wooden one, out of place among the copper and brass. The door that led into one of their bedrooms, the one she and Lunar had been using for the last few days. Beb and Charles sat across the room, each in their own armchair. They too peered at the door. Beb was sunk into his chair. Any lower and he'd slide out of it, onto the floor. Clean got the feeling he wouldn't mind. Charles sat straight, clutching his chair's armrests, his whole body taut. Too much stored energy. This was true for everyone. But what mechanism released it?

Behind the door the brothers: Belton and Shane, the Berkshires. Their heated debate broke easily through the door, reaching the sitting room beyond.

–You want me to kill him? Kill him? Belton, you're acting crazy!

–You don't have to kill him, necessarily, just get rid of him.

–He's the leader of the Meria.

–Hitler was the leader of the Germans.

–Oh come on, dude, don't… don't do that…

–He's a bad guy. It's not your fault you don't know about all the things he's done. But he's done them. He tried to trick most of the players in the game, he kills people who he can't control. He tried to kill me and Clean.

–No… he explained that to me… that was just a misunderstanding…

–A misunderstanding? Are you serious? He's crazy. He's evil. You can't let him do whatever he wants.

–But without Striker the humans will win the war.

–Nobody is going to win the war! We're not going to fight the war.

–The humans killed Kat… you… do you not care-

–Of course I care! But it was the idiots who thought they had to fight the war that killed her.

–I mean… it's the way out…

–Do you not realize how inconsistent you're being? You do know that if the Meria win the war, that would mean you'd have to kill me? And Beb and Charles. And Clean.

–I would never do that! You don't… you don't think I'd do that, do you?

–Then you can't win the war. Striker wants to kill us. He absolutely would if you weren't around. The war is a no-go. It's been unwinnable from the start. Either you win it and kill everyone you care about, or you don't win it. Either way, you don't really win, do you? Everyone is just hoping that death in the game means something other than real death. Everyone hopes that those little bots in our brains won't go berserk and fry us when our health hits zero. Maybe they won't. But are you willing to risk that?

They could hear Shane's muffled sobs. Lunar, his voice growing soft, said,

–I know you don't want to think about all that. I know you want to believe Striker. But you can't. Look, I'm willing to stay in the game for as long as I need to. I'm not going to fight this stupid war. Maybe we find another way out, maybe we don't. But we don't kill each other. I would never kill you, and I know you would never kill me. But for all that to work, Striker needs to go.

Shane didn't respond. All they could hear were his muffled sobs for minutes after the conversation concluded.

Ideas of distance begin to break down the further you go. Time seems meaningless when every step you take gets you nowhere. The great white, like an infinite unrendered plain. Once you get out of the map you can walk forever and never arrive anywhere.

That can't be the case. They can't see themselves on the map, but they can still see their current coords at the bottom. They're moving, getting somewhere. With agonizing sluggishness, admittedly. But they are moving. The coords tick off.

First Slick and Bro fired up their mechanical wings and flew for as long as they could. They flew for hours but made almost no progress. Still unbelievably far from the Akashic Library. Despondent and low on fuel they flew back to camp. The return journey seemed to take even longer. Must be the mind playing tricks.

Then Oxie, Pfo, and Slick set off on foot, seeing if they could discern a sense of distance from the ground. The same problem. No matter how far they went, the area in front of them seemed to be getting forever further.

–These numbers don't make any fucking sense, said Pfo once they arrived back at camp.

Never good at math, Pfo figured that some whacky mathematical mysticism was fucking with them. But Oxie, who was very good at math, couldn't understand either. The numbers didn't make any sense. Measuring distance on Earth goes as follows. Take one point. Take another point. Measure the distance between them. If you want to find out how long it will take to travel that distance, divide the distance by your speed. If you're going 200 MPH, and traveling 100 miles, it will take you half an hour to arrive. Doughy could do that math. But things weren't working like that. They could roughly calculate the distance to the Akashic Library via what they knew a degree on the coord-system to be. They could calculate their average walking/flying speed pretty easily. So they should be able to calculate how long it would take to arrive. But beyond the wall the time to travel a degree stretched. And it seemed to stretch the further they went. And coming back got just as fucky.

–Are we being debuffed? Slick asked Oxie. Like… our speed is being slowed down. Maybe more slowed the further we go?

–That's possible… Oxie muttered.

More troubling was the discovery that prolonged time spent beyond the wall resulted in health-drain. It wasn't much, but it got worse the further you went. So far the players had been able to offset it with healing passives. But Oxie calculated the expected rate of drain near the Akashic Library. By her most conservative estimates, the health drain that far in would kill Beb in half a second.

Morale plummeted. The players gathered at their wall-top base, where the health-drain was next to nonexistent, and settled in to wait for Kidd to return with their supplies. Oxie spent hours in the research tent crunching numbers. Slick and Bro ventured into the vastness every few hours to see if conditions ever changed. They never did, and the duo always came back tired and defeated. Pfo, feeling more useless than he'd ever felt, sat in his little tent and brainstormed. They clearly weren't equipped to do this on their own. Maybe if they had all of SNAFU, in addition to the A-Team…

Pfo cursed circumstance. Always screwing with him. Left with nothing else to do, he took to sitting in the research tent, watching Oxie bent over her big desk, muttering and mumbling. Finally, he asked,

–Can I… help with anything?

Oxie almost looked surprised to see him there.

–Uh… yeah. How's your arithmetic?

–Fine, I guess.

Oxie scribbled several problems on a piece of paper and handed it to Pfo. Several long divisions, long multiplication, and some long addition and subtraction. A few fractions, ratios, and conversions.

–If I had a calculator I could fly through a lot of this, Oxie said. As it is, most of this is just menial stuff I have to do manually. It would be great if you could help with some of that sort of thing.

Pfo stared at the first problem on the page. Division. Five digits into seven digits. Elementary school stuff. Pfo pulled from the haziest recess of his brain the memory of learning this. Some old woman with a too-long scarf standing at the chalkboard, scribbling something. Take… pull down the first number? Divide that into the first digit of the… then subtract? Then what? Pfo had no idea how to solve the problem.

–I can't do this, he said, his voice hoarse. I can't… I don't know how.

Oxie smiled.

–Come here. I'll show you.

Pfo pulled his chair beside her. She showed him how to solve the problem. Then, for good measure, she showed him how to solve the rest of the page's problems. The math came flooding back to Pfo. How absurd, for this much-muscled man, this Miltonist, this veritable academic (MA pending) to be taking lessons in long division from a thirty something year old woman with a doctorate in astrophysics.

–You don't have to know everything, Oxie said. You just have to be willing to learn. You know I've never read Homer? Or Milton. Or most of Shakespeare, even. You should have heard Healthy Man when he found out I'd only read a third of Ulysses. He was going on and on. Telling Jmar and Dead Dude that everyone should read it. Of course, you could tell neither of them had read it either. He went away acting high and mighty, this man of math and letters. Then, the next day, we learn he had no idea what a proton was. Thought it was the "light particle."

Oxie gave Pfo another sheet of problems. He sat and slowly solved them. One by one, digit by digit. From the corner of his eye he could see Oxie flying through math twenty times as complicated as his. But still he sat happily solving. Just working through them, finding peace in the process. This is what Conrad was talking about? Out here, literally off the map, finding peace in long division?

–It's moving, I swear, Doughy whined. Somebody is messing with my furniture.

–Doughy, who's moving your furniture? Pfo asked. I'm not. I asked Slick and Bro and they're not. Oxie definitely isn't. She's way too busy.

–I… I don't think any of you guys are moving it, but somebody is.

–There's nobody else up here.

–It… it's definitely moving. My chair was not that far from my bed yesterday.

–It really doesn't look like it's moved to me.

–No offense, Pfo, but you don't have an eye for this sort of thing.

Pfo actually thought his interior design was decent if not outright good.

–You know what else? Doughy said. My tent is stretching.

–Your tent?

–Yeah, the stakes are moving. The whole thing is getting stretched. I have to take out the stakes and move them back in.

–How about we go off the wall for a bit? You wanna walk around down there?

–I'm not crazy, Pfo. I'm serious. Something is messing with my furniture. And my tent!

Oxie, who'd stepped out of the research tent for a brief break, was watching Dough and Pfo with interest. Curious eyes, one eyebrow raised.

–Okay Doughy, said Pfo. Just… hang in there, all right?

Chapter THIRTY-NINE

Guess We're All in Trouble, Huh?

The argument: FloriDADA: Florida as the garish expression of modern DADA and Florida as the representation of "dada," the infant's father-name. The sea will overrun the state, castrating an entire country. Florida is a phallus because it is strange, divorced, a source of shame, but also a source of pleasure. Also, it looks like one.

Oxie took a wooden stake. With the most advanced techniques she could manage, she measured precisely one klick from camp. She tied a bright red ribbon to the end of the stake and jammed it into the ground. Then she returned to camp.

The next day she headed back out. A curious Pfo followed her. She measured exactly one klick in the exact same direction. Nothing. The stake was gone.

–You sure you got the measurement right? asked Pfo.

–Positive, said Oxie.

A pervasive fog had descended over the white expanse. This wasn't abnormal, but it did cripple their visibility. Oxie and Pfo poked around until, in the distance, Pfo spotted a red ribbon flapping in the wind.

The players rushed to it. Oxie's stake. No doubt.

–It's further away, said Pfo. It moved?

–Oh my God, said Oxie. I knew it. Doughy was right. This is catastrophic.

–What? What is it? Pfo asked.

Oxie gathered the players in the research tent. She held two stakes in her hand. One with a red ribbon tied to the end, the other with a blue ribbon.

–Doughy's furniture is moving, she said. And his tent is stretching.

–I knew it, Doughy cried.

–How? asked Slick.

–The ground, said Oxie. The ground itself is moving. No… that's not quite right. It's expanding. The land outside the wall is expanding. The stake I set was a kilometer away from camp. The next day it was a kilometer and a fourth. If I set these two stakes in the ground (she held up the stakes) and measured their distance to the millimeter, then came back a day later and measured it again, they would have gotten further apart.

–That's… how is the ground expanding? asked Pfo. How does that work?

–I don't know the mechanics, said Oxie. I just know the results. What's happening here is almost exactly the metaphor scientists often use to describe cosmic expansion.

–So if I nail my feet into the ground and stay like that for a while, my body would eventually get ripped in half? asked Doughy.

The players stared at him.

–Um… yes, said Oxie. I suppose. Or the nails would… that's not really the example I'd use, but yes, you are more or less correct.

–So the individual coordinates stay the same, but the distance between them is becoming greater? asked Bro.

–I appears so, yes, said Oxie. With a few notable differences, it's a rough representation of cosmic expansion. I'm not sure how the numbers line up… again, I need to run a lot of tests…

The players sat while Oxie's info sank in.

–The Akashic Library is getting farther away from us, said Pfo. Farther and father. Every second.

–Yes… it seems so, said Oxie. There are many, many unknowns. But… yes… that's what appears to be happening here. We barely notice Doughy's furniture getting farther apart because the expansion over that distance is so small. But over a large distance… I have to run numbers.

–But the Akashic Library is speeding away from us? That's the gist?

–Yes, that's the gist.

–How is the… ground expanding? asked Bro. Is new ground getting created? Wouldn't we notice?

–Again, I don't know the mechanism, said Oxie. If it's really analogous to cosmic expansion… and, again, the analogy would be a rough one… then the ground is… stretching… I was never great at explaining this to my students… think of a rubber band. If you have two ants, one on each end of a rubber band, and you stretch the rubber band, the ants will be farther apart from one another, even if the ants themselves don't walk anywhere. No more rubber band is being created, the rubber band is just expanding. Now imagine if the rubber band never stopped stretching. The ants would get very far away from each other. And, eventually, if they did start walking towards each other, they would never be able to reach each other, because the rubber band in between them is stretching faster than they can travel. If you substitute the ants for galaxies, and the rubber band for the Universe, then it becomes a rough analogy for cosmic expansion. If you substitute the ants for us and the Akashic Library, and the rubber band for this… snow… ice… ground stuff… then it becomes a rough analogy for what's happening here.

Slick and Bro slumped down into their chairs. Brostein bent over and put her face into her hands. She looked ready to cry. Slick began rubbing her back. But she too stared, stared at the tent canvas, a blank look on her eyes.

–I can figure out the rate, Oxie said to Pfo. It's pretty trivial, actually. Using these stakes and our maps' coordinate system.

–It's only happening here, right? said Pfo. It's not happening down there? In the world?

–I imagine we would have noticed already, said Oxie. Besides, I went down to the camp at the wall's base and ran my stake test there. No movement that I could perceive. Anyway, I'll calculate the speed that we'd need to travel to get to the Akashic Library. At least now that I know the exact nature of all this strangeness I can get us some hard numbers.

Oxie would take some solace from having hard numbers. And the others as well. A bit. But only a bit. Cause they'd already tried traveling to the library. Whatever speed Oxie came up with, nobody imagined they could hit it.

Mer crosses the continent. Its lazy float betrays its intention. The city is armed beyond belief. Overflowing with Meria players and martial-minded NPCs. The NPCs, almost to a T, seemed ecstatic to die for their salvation. One wonders what mass lunacy has overcome them. What about those with doubts? Surely there are some Meria NPCs who got swept up in all this and are desperately looking for a way out.

The problem of NPC-awareness was discussed often in the early-game but got shelved as things progressed. No conclusion was reached. Do the NPCs exhibit enough emotion to be considered sentient? From a behavioral standpoint, the answer is an authoritative "aye." They exhibit all the emotions the players do. The utilitarian, who looks to see evidence of suffering, finds it. The battles that have recently raged are rife with it. The NPCs cry when they die. They act scared before the battle and relieved after it. They suffer the loss of their friends, and cheer the death of their foes.

Still, it is impossible to argue conclusively that the NPCs possess inner narrative. Are they internally human, or closer to plants? Or something else: cold, hard machines. But nobody has convincingly put forward a theory to explain machines. In the end, you can't prove internality for anyone but yourself. Speak to the solipsists, if you believe in such things.

Subjectivity reigns oh so supreme. Most of the still-alive players have been in the game for a matter of months. The Ascended have been in it anywhere from months to over a year. Shane has been in for well over a year, closer to two than one. But to Lunar, the ordeal has spanned several weeks, a little over a single month. A few days of post-patch chaos, a few hours in the Shadow Realm, a while in Merse, then war. Time could never be trusted anyway.

You have to get rid of Striker. Lock him up, or something. Kill him if you can't. We'll figure out what to do with Andy after that, but Striker has to go.

It wouldn't matter. Somebody else would step into his place. Striker isn't a person. He's not a person in the same way that Cheeto Benito isn't a person. He's a vaguely defined mass of flesh held together by hundreds of years of nonsense.

But that removes accountability. These people (and they are people) need to pay for their crimes. The striker needs to be struck.

It doesn't matter. Destroy what's holding them together and they'll fall apart.

Fall right back onto their yacht. And stop saying that it doesn't matter. It does matter. But maybe you're right about Striker. Killing him probably wouldn't change anything at this point. But wouldn't it be worth it simply to dish out justice?

Maybe? But I think you know what I'm going to say.

Fine, but that doesn't mean you have to be his bitch-boy. You have this guilty asshole telling you to slaughter countless innocents. Surely you aren't going to do it?

DDOXer, Frederick_Faceroller, CaptainSparrow, BigJoel, and Iffy. Big Joel, the Frostia Champion, was the oldest of the bunch. Around fifty, he'd gotten into gaming amidst a mid-life crisis. He had a wife and several sons. He was heavy, hence his username, an exact copy of his real-life nickname. He was the type you'd expect to run a shore-side crab-shack, but he worked in insurance. He was balding, but kept good care of his thick mustache. His hobbies included furniture restoration and watching television. He particularly enjoyed Bigfoot documentaries and the Rays. Every year he entered into a depression around October. His sons had varied interests. He tried to support them all, though he struggled to understand his youngest's theatre productions. When his older sons played ball, he could yell words of encouragement. But he wasn't supposed to yell at his youngest when he was on the stage. He hoped the kid still knew he was there and proud of him. He usually voted R, but had shifted to independents as of late. He cared about climate change, but thought the threat exaggerated. He went to church, but more out of social desire than anything else. He'd chosen a Frostia cause he thought it'd be fun to be a yeti. He made his character huge and hairy; covered in black fur, only the littlest bit of his face peeking out. He looked forward to trekking through the frozen north, admiring the sights, kept warm by his fur coat.

Iffy, the Dwarvia Champion, was younger than Big Joel but older than the others. Mid thirties, he had a serious girlfriend and a cat he doted on. He'd lived in China for several years, teaching English. He got Fanget on a whim, looking for something to do while he applied for jobs in the States. Every moment he spent in the US made him eager to go back to Asia. He figured that if he got into Fanget he could, if he went back over the Pacific, transfer his character to the East Asian servers when they launched (they were scheduled to a few months after NA). His girlfriend was likewise hoping to go. He'd been slowly teaching her Mandarin, and she'd gotten to the point where she felt confident enough to communicate in the country. Iffy's username came from a joke his school friends made about him. They always said he was so indecisive they should call him "iffy." Whenever he had a decision he would go, at length, through all the hypotheticals. "If this, then that, but if that, then this." If if if. Everything was iffy. He deliberated on making a Dwarvia for a while, but eventually decided that he wanted to dig. Digging deep into the dirt, down dark mines, into dank dungeons. Nothing but a helmet, a pickaxe, and a short sword to accompany you. Iffy had a skewed perception of dungeon raiding.

Frederick Faceroller was in his mid twenties. He'd gotten hardcore into Lukia during its final few months. The first game he got really good at was a kickass Hundred Years' War sim popular some years ago. His username derived from his love of Frederick the Great and his somewhat mistaken belief that he held Prussian ancestry. He admired the plucky Prussian. Small, surrounded, they always seemed to gobble up half of Europe before anybody knew what'd happened. Frederick conveniently ignored what always happened to Prussia when they tried to hold their conquests. But besides a few blunders, Prussia was something to admire. Frederick worked for a local start up (aren't all start ups local?). He made decent dollars but worked way more than he wanted. He was worried he wouldn't have time to properly dive into Fanget. He had a degree from some accredited university and fancied himself smart. He tried to pepper his speech with witticisms but his awkward personality often meant they fell flat. He made a Wisteria because he enjoyed the ocean in video games. Not enough games make proper use of underwater, he always thought. Water levels are often hated, but they don't have to be. Good game design and lots of love could make the ocean the most interesting place in a game. He hoped Fanget would deliver. And if it didn't, he could always delete his character and roll a Meria.

Shane was in his very late teens. He'd played games for as long as he could remember. He grinded Lukia like a madman, becoming somewhat known among the hardcore of that game in the process. His little guild held several records upon the release of Fanget. He had a girlfriend he cared for, and lived with his brother and mother in a house in the suburbs. But you know all this already, don't you?

Shane caused trouble in school. He couldn't focus. His mother thought he might have something, but never bothered getting a doctor to diagnose him. His grades were all right, but he got academically outshined by those around him. He was generally lazy, but obsessive about his hobbies. He-

Why wouldn't you play a Meria? They get to fly. I mean, technically everyone can fly, but they get to fly right off the bat. No cumbersome jetpacks or wing-sets, they spread their built-in wings and off they go. One of their cities is way up in the mountains, the other literally floats. Yeah, the underwater is cool, and the Dwarvia capital is sick, but Mer floats.

Is this all you do? Play these games all day? Imagine what you could accomplish if you took your game time and put it towards something else? You could be polylingual by now. You could learn an instrument. You could get through the whole Western Canon (whatever that is) with the time you spend grinding bits of bytes.

Captain Sparrow was very young. Like, twelve. Barely in middle school. He spawned as a human because that's what his sister told him to do. She was playing a human, so he should too. She didn't want him rolling some crazy species and getting into all sorts of fucked up shit. He came from a slightly religious family. He liked to watch shitty anime and let's plays. He could often be heard quoting memes several months deceased. He played soccer but was shitty at it. Here is a list of things that Sparrow has never done: filed taxes, driven a motor vehicle, lived by himself, painted a room, kissed someone romantically, graduated high school, graduated middle school, read a book with more than three hundred pages, eaten lobster, seen the ocean, had sex, stood in line at the DMV, had a passport, paid for gas, drank alcohol, been by himself overnight, caught a fish, shot a gun, flown in an airplane, ran a marathon, gone on a date, mowed a lawn, jumped off a diving board, sent snail-mail, smoked a cigarette, had a credit card, had a debit card, used an ATM, gone to a baseball game, ridden a horse, used a DVD, owned a mechanical keyboard, played chess, been on a boat, been on hold, been to a concert, voted in an election, rented a car, listened to The Clash, answered a landline, gone through puberty, owned a dog, crossed the Mississippi, crossed the Rockies.

Shane didn't kill Sparrow. That was Frederick and, certain people would claim, Andy. But Shane did kill Iffy. Those dreadful early days in the Other Realm, when it was just them five. Shane sat with Iffy and told him all about his girlfriend, Kat, and his brother, Belton.

She's so great. You have to meet her. Really funny and smart. But not as smart as my brother. He's like a genius. He stays up all night reading. Seems to know everything. I could never do that. He's going to be a history professor, I bet.

–What are you fighting for, Shane? You don't know if Kat is outside. What is outside that you want?

–I want to see mom! I want to go to college. I want to live… to do stuff. I don't understand how you are fine just… being here. You're, like, a genius. Don't you miss your books, all your stuff? Weren't you working on… something about the French and the Germans?

Of course Lunar wants to get out. But, assuming current theories on game-escape are correct, both Lunar and Shane can't get out of the game. Besides… that's a slight mischaracterization of Lunar's out-of-game life.

Oxie calculated the rate. Way, way too fast. Faster than they could walk. Faster than they could drive, or fly. Faster than any vehicle. Faster than any OP player. Beb and Charles couldn't get there. Andy or Frederick or Shane. An X-15 at top speed could do it, but only barely. And not for long. Cause the speed they'd need to go was increasing by the minute. If they waited long enough there'd come a time when light itself couldn't make the trip. The Akashic Library would be beyond the reach of casualty itself. Lost to them forever. That's right, the rate of expansion was accelerating. Oxie in awe. Even in-game she couldn't escape that fucking expansion.

Shane went worried down the corridor. The rapid tipper tapper of his big silver boots against the metal floor. At the end of the hall, dead or stunned, the dozen NPC guards. He rushed past them and burst into the suite. Nobody nowhere.

Chapter FORTY

But He Talks Like a Gentleman

The argument: NUCLEAR WARHEAD. HANDLE WITH CARE.

Striker stood silent in the palace's top tower. His hands clasped together behind his back, like a boot straight from basic, his body brought painfully straight. Striker wasn't meant to stand this straight. Dingo Dave and Jupit flanked him, peering.

Mer looked like a mothership. Thousands of little winged Meria circled her as she crept ever closer to the vast human encampment. Biplanes, little zeppelins. At the top of the tower, in his little room. A knock.

–It's Akagi, sir.

–Enter.

An NPC slipped inside. He bowed then said,

–Sir, General Swiftwing says all preparations are in place. He is ready on your command.

–Fine, said Striker. What about those four humans?

–Searching for them, sir. No luck yet, but nobody has reported humans flying away from the city.

–They can't escape, said Jupit.

–I'm not worried about them escaping, said Striker.

–We'll strengthen palace security, said Dingo Dave. Akagi, get more-

–I'm not worried about that, either, said Striker.

His voice was high, nasally as usual, but took on tones of anger, a raspiness that rendered it something between threatening and pitiful. More than anything it sounded painful, like Striker was fighting to force every barbed word through his throat.

–Keep looking for them, said Striker. Tell me the minute you find them.

–Sir, said Akagi.

–Jupit, said Striker.

–Yes?

–Message Doxer. I want him right beside me when the operation starts. Get him here.

–I'll get it done.

–Everything the humans have is out there, said Striker. Let's hope it's not enough.

Mufferson wore a puffy brown bomber jacket, thick pants, heavy boots, a black pilot's cap, and bulging goggles. On her chest Chump had attached a modified air tank filled with his miracle dust, grounded down and vigorously mixed in water to produce a glowing green, miracle healing liquid. A hose led from the tank to a mouthpiece. Like a dumbass beer-dad with his two cans attached to his hat, all Muff had to do was suck and the healing liquid would fill her up. It was a cumbersome system, ineffective for ground combat, in which swift movement determined victory or defeat. But Muff wasn't going to be on the ground.

On her back they'd given her a set of end-game mechanical wings. Under her chest-tank she had a parachute, deployed with a vigorous pull. Holstered at her hip, a small pistol.

She sat in a big tent. On the same wooden bench: Outrage, in the exact same getup. In front of them: a detailed area-map. Mufferson sat hunched forward. Her mouthpiece hung down, almost touching the grassy ground. She stared at it. Every few seconds she'd tap it and watch it swing slowly until it came to a stop. Is this how the astronauts felt, when they geared up to shoot into the sky? Shoot past it, all the way to the Moon. Armstrong and Aldrin, the first two men to touch the Moon, with Collins running lonely orbital support. And so many named and unnamed others, the vast human infrastructure coming together to get two fellas' footprints on the thing. The Moon has always been so nice to us. The Sun wouldn't let us land on it. Couldn't even get close.

But Muff won't no lunar leaper. It was the Sun's power she was trying to unleash. And that's not that bad, you know, but you gotta… really, you gotta vet these sorts of things.

Mufferson and Outrage had been comprehensively briefed. This wasn't no one time thing, with them both sauntering into the tent and learning that they, yes, they, were the ones who were gonna drop it. That's not how this works.

Mer is expected to enter the operation area at 13:50. At this point Mer will be approximately 14 kilometers from the outer edge of our defenses. Mer will be immediately met by 70 decoy, NPC flown biplanes. At M+5, assumed to be 13:55, AS1 will engage the city with the objective of dropping its payload. The success or failure of AS1's operation has no bearing on the overall operation. At M+10, assumed to 14:00, AS2 will engage the city with the objective of dropping its payload. The success or failure of AS2's operation has no bearing on the overall operation.

At M+15, assumed to be 14:05, another 70 decoy, NPC flown biplanes will engage the city. At M+20, assumed to be 14:10, MO will arrive at the drop point and release LBJ according to data received. LBJ's expected detonation time is M+21, assumed to be 14:11.

[…]

LBJ is expected to produce a yield of 15 kilotons. Everything within 1.6 kilometers is expected to sustain heavy damage. These structures, based on information currently available, are expected to be largely gutted by the pressure of the blast. A firestorm is also expected to form in this area within 20 minutes, though the exact composition of Mer (how much of it is made of metal, and what type?) could reduce the impact of the firestorm overall. Estimated wind conditions should not negatively affect the firestorm. Mer's interior composition is the only unknown variable.

LBJ will not be detonated at an altitude appropriate to produce a crater, and thus no local radioactive fallout is expected. However, radioactivity still needs to be taken into account […]

–It's a careful medium between leaving too early and giving them too much time to be discovered, and leaving too late and not giving them enough time to get into position. The airfield is 20 kilometers away from the target. Traveling at 200 kilometers per hour, they will take approximately six minutes to arrive. Therefore, they should leave no later than 14:04, or M plus 14. We propose that they leave at 14:00, giving them four minutes leeway. I wish we had time to get some kind of radio equipment… Anyway, Outrage will message us every 30 seconds with updates. Our observation craft will message us Mer's information, it's location, altitude, trajectory, and we will compute the necessary numbers, and then we will feed those numbers to MO. MO will require a final affirmative from us before dropping the bomb.

Mufferson and Outrage made their way solemnly through the camp. The odd human NPC or player looked at them with some limited interest. Gucci gear by in-game piloting standards… still, they assumed the two were no more than aces strutting self-assured to their planes.

Even Shooketh, who ambushed the pair midway through their route, didn't know the true nature of their mission.

–Muff, I heard you were doing something dangerous.

Mufferson took Shooketh in her arms. He struggled to get close to her. He couldn't maneuver past her bulky chest gear. She stroked his hair.

–We're all doing something dangerous, she said.

–But what's with all that gear?

–It's to keep us safe, she said. We'll be fine. We have to do this. But that doesn't mean we're going to die.

–I don't want to lose you again. Do you know what it was like… without you?

–I was without you much longer than you were without me, said Mufferson.

–Oh… yeah… I mean… that's right…

–We'll be back, dude, don't worry. Just stay in your tent and wait for me, okay?

Shook nodded. Mufferson and Outrage left him behind. She couldn't shake how sad and pathetic Shooketh seemed.

&c &c &c

The Enola Gay dropped Little Boy at 31,060 feet. The bomb fell for 44.4 seconds before it exploded 2,000 feet over Hiroshima. The Enola Gay was over 11 miles away when the bomb exploded. Still, the shockwaves hit and shook the plane.

Mer floats about 2,000 meters above the ground. LBJ is gonna detonate 580 meters over that. Max altitude is 10,000 meters, give or take. MO will be flying about 500 meters below that, at approximately the same altitude as the Enola Gay (31,060 ft = 9.47 km). LBJ will fall for just under 35 seconds. MO, flying at its maximum speed of 250 kilometers per hour, will be about 2.4 kilometers away when the bomb explodes. It's not that Chump knew this and didn't care. He honestly hadn't calculated anything involving MO past when they dropped the bomb.

–You probably think I'm a monster, don't you, Jean?

Amidst the pavilion's bustle, only Andy and Jean seemed to exist. Chumpchange, off to the side with Sleepr and half a dozen scampering world-destroyers; Dan, speaking in hushed tones with Emperor Bonaparte; x86, rocking steadily in a wooden chair she had her servants bring. She was motioning for an NPC, but he didn't see her. She scowled. It was beneath her to shout.

But they were blurs. The remnants of a forgotten world. Like wisps of another reality warping in and out of our own. Does gravity penetrate everything?

–Deus sends a scouting report, somebody shouted. Mer at 30 kilometers. They've increased speed from 10 kilometers per hour to 15 kilometers per hour. We're calculating new predicated arrival time.

Andy had a detailed map of the area spread before her. Easier to interact with than the menu-map. She liked being able to reach down and touch it, stick stuff on it, move the little models she'd had made, write with a pencil. In another life she could've been a navigator, hunched over her charts and maps, her compass jittering with the rise and fall of her wooden ship. She'd stick her compass on the map, feel the pencil's smooth, circular slide.

She stood with both hands on the map table, leaning over it. She wore some armor and carried her sword, but hadn't bothered with a helmet. Her hair fell over her face. Next to her, hands and legs bound, sat Jean. She'd been stripped of arms and armor. She wore spawn clothes: brown pants, a loose tan shirt, and a brown vest.

–I'll pray for your soul, Jean said softly.

–You won't have to, I'm not going to die.

–You will eventually.

–We'll have time to repent once the war is over. That's how it works, right?

Jean didn't respond.

–MO cleared pre-flight checks, Sleepr shouted in his shaky voice. Standing by to deploy.

–AS1 and AS2 are also cleared. Standing by.

–Deus reports skirmishes between our scouts and theirs. Casualties negligible. He's holding everyone steady.

x86 was still trying to get the NPC's attention. Why couldn't she just shout? She'd almost resorted to throwing something at him when he turned and saw her motioning. He rushed over to her and leaned over while she angrily whispered something in his ear.

–Weather report, said Dan. No change, conditions are good.

–Air Alpha is cleared and standing by. Air Bravo encountered unexpected delays. Will keep us informed.

–What delays? said Dan.

–Delays, Dan. Don't worry about it.

–Why shouldn't I?

–It doesn't affect you.

–Of course it affects me!

Jean stared forward. Outside the pavilion, past the armed guards: the hustle and bustle of a huge camp. Beyond that: Deus and his defenses. Then 30 some kilometers of scout-peppered no man's land. Then Mer, bearing down on them.

–Do you think you're some kind of martyr? Andy asked her.

–I don't have regrets, if that's what you're asking.

–That's not what I'm asking.

–Then I don't know what you're asking.

Andy stared at her map.

–Why'd you drag me out here? Jean asked her. You made me watch as you sacrificed Sparrow. Why make me watch you drop this bomb? Why restrain me? Do you think I'm going to take revenge on you? Do you think I'm the type that would take revenge?

Andy didn't know.

–Sparrow has nothing to fear. Wherever he went, it was a better place than this.

–That's very much up for debate, whispered Andy.

Shane came loudly stomping into Striker's chamber. The clang of his armor had echoed down the hall, preceding his physical appearance by several seconds. When he entered Striker sat facing the door, his arms crossed, leaning back in his chair. Dingo and Jupit stood nervously to the side.

–Glad you could join us, said Striker sarcastically. I'm pretty sure I asked for you some time ago.

–I was looking for Belton, said Shane.

–Yes, I know what you were doing. Don't worry about that right now. Come here, we're ready to begin the operation. Jupit, tell Akagi he has the go-ahead.

Jupit nodded and rushed out. Shane came to stand beside Striker. Striker spun his chair around and faced the room's one window, looking out at the cityscape stretched before them, and the wide world beyond that.

–How am I not supposed to worry? Shane asked. Belton is my brother.

–I know, I know. But I have some of my best people looking for him. They'll be able to cover more ground than you could alone. Besides, we need you for the operation. It wouldn't benefit your brother if this city was destroyed, would it?

–Did you really want to kill him?

–No, of course not. I don't want to kill anyone. If your brother isn't a threat to us, then we have no reason to kill him.

–He's as much of a threat as the Dwarvia were. As Iffy was.

–No… no, that's different. Completely different. Don't think about all that right now. Focus on the operation. That's the best thing for all of us, including your brother.

–We are M minus 5. I say again, we are M minus 5.

–Air Bravo is cleared and standing by. All forces are confirmed cleared and standing by.

–Weather conditions unchanged.

–Deus reports successful deployment of all scouting parties.

–Sierra Charlie One, Two, Three, and Four have entered positions successfully. Five, Six, and Seven are standing by.

–Air Alpha en route. On schedule. No opposition as of yet.

–AS1 and AS2 are en route. On schedule. No opposition.

–We have reports of an enemy regiment to the south, approaching via air.

–Jonathon, said x86.

–Your Majesty?

–Tell Burns to take the 1st Guard south. Deploy along the Luden River with AA. Update me when it's done.

–I'll do it at once.

–Mer's speed is steady at 15 kilometers per hour.

–We are at M minus 4. I say again, we are at M minus 4.

–My God, muttered Andy. You don't have to keep repeating yourself.

–Mer has arrived!

–Air Alpha is requesting permission to engage.

–Permission to engage? said Andy. What are they talking about? Tell them to follow the operation unless I tell them otherwise.

–So… permission granted?

–Yes, dammit, granted. Tell those dumbasses to attack!

The biplanes descended over Mer like a mass of buzzing locusts. Screaming, diving. They yanked back their triggers, their guns took a micro-moment to heat to life and began spitting lead in front of them. A mass of Meria flew head-on to meet them. Explosions erupted throughout the sky. Shredded wood and metal seemed to float before it fell. Mer's many AA guns sputtered to life and coated the biplanes' approach in flak.

The planes, one by one, veered off before turning around and coming in for another attack. Meria chased humans and humans chased Meria. In the distance, a huge airship gave everything it got speeding towards Mer, coming in from the opposite direction as the planes.

–Take it out. It's got that fucking dust they use! Shoot it out of the sky!

The airship erupted into flames. Before you could blink, the flames had spread along its entire length. In less than half a minute the ship's outer skin was gone, leaving only a tangled mess of flaming girders falling out of the sky. Some of its unfortunate occupants, preferring it to the flames, leapt out of the control cabin. Hundreds of little Meria buzzed around it, escorting its flaming corpse to the ground, like so many little bugs buzzing around a falling lamp.

No sooner had the airship settled into a heap on the ground than another airship appeared on the horizon, this one much higher up and with a 90 degree difference in approach from its predecessor.

Much further away, from a third direction, seventy more biplanes soared low to the ground.

–We're fine, we have the reserves. Top priority is that other airship. Get rid of it. Those planes are clearly trying to fly under us so our AA can't get to them. Get the third reserve force to meet them… Can somebody explain to me why those morons over there are still circling that ship? It's destroyed, what are they doing? Get them off of it, send them towards the second one. They'll make it if they go now. Doxer, you stay here for now. I might need to send you if a third airship appears.

Striker's orders were unnecessary. Shane had made no indication that he meant to move.

–I can't let Andy down again! We have to do this!

–No, it's fucked! We have to go back! Turn around! We'll ditch the bomb and turn around!

–No! It's the only one we have! We're staying on the run!

–Mike Oscar reports major malfunctions!

–With what? screamed Chump. Tell them to be more specific!

–Everything… they're saying its everything!

–That's impossible. What are they doing? What are they doing to my system?

–Mufferson is trying to stay on the run! Outrage requests permission to abandon the mission.

–What are they going to do with my bomb?

–Who cares about your fucking bomb, you pyscho?

–Be quiet!

–Stop! Shut up!

–Keep on the run. We don't have another chance at this.

–The bomb is going to explode prematurely.

–Alpha Sierra Two is confirmed KIA. Air Bravo is at 50% strength. Air Alpha is at 5%. They're withdrawing.

–They're not supposed to withdraw. It's supposed to be suicide mission. What part about that do they not get?

–Outrage needs orders!

–Everything should be working. There's no reason it shouldn't work.

–It's not working. Abandon the mission, now. Andy, order it!

–Empress Xia-

–This doesn't involve you, Jonathan.

–Empress, are you in danger?

–Call it off!

–God, this whole thing is fucked. Ever since you retards got here-

–Mike Oscar is turning around! They are not ditching the bomb. I say again, they are not ditching the bomb.

–That's fucking insane. Tell them to get rid of it!

–Don't waste my bomb!

–Tell them to kamikaze into the city if they have to.

–That's not how it works. Don't… they must have done something. We need different pilots!

–Their plane has sustained heavy damage.

–We need firefighters, medics, and mechanics ready.

–Don't land here with that fucking bomb!

–Outrage requests bomb disarming instructions.

–There's no reason it shouldn't be working!

–Can you say anything else?

–The bomb can't be disarmed from the plane. But it shouldn't drop without Outrage purposefully doing so.

–They're going to crash into us while carrying a fucking nuke!

–Turn them around, keep on the run.

–Andy!

Andy almost felt someone touching her back. She whisked around. Pure silence. Not a soul. The screaming was never of this world, anyway.

Should she have gone good-wife when Hector died? Married Neoptolemus then Helenus while weeping for Hector all the while. Was she right to battle men, to cut off her breasts so she could shoot straighter? Or had she been doubly duped? Girl-power only amounts to so much when you use it to try and nuke somebody.

First the flash. Extreme heat. A fireball. Things in flames. The cloud curled into the sky, like a terrible tree, life breathed into it via God's unholy wrath. Or man's ascension. The force seemed to rip apart reality. Split the world in half. Nothing would ever be the same. Those whose eyes hadn't melted wouldn't forget the sight.

The pavilion was destroyed. The whole canvas construction collapsed into chaos. Debris and bodies flew through the air. Half a dozen fires seemed to erupt at once.

Dan was thrown back and buried under a pile of furniture. Both his arms were burned. Something knocked into his head.

Jonathan managed to jump on top of x86, shielding her. A huge chunk of wood crashed into his back, breaking his spine and killing him. x86, underneath him, struggled to push him off her. She felt the heat around her, but her armor kept it at bay. Something seemed to rattle inside her head.

Jean jumped away before a stone crushed her skull. She fell into something on fire. Her shirt erupted. She dove onto the grass and, smothered under the half-burning, collapsed canvas, rolled desperately.

Sleepr suffered two broken legs and lay immobile while a rogue fire ate him alive. Jose Jefe met a similar fate, buried under the canvas and crushed by debris.

Vac Effron and Coke, in the center of the vast encampment, had been under watch in case they should try something subversive. They were flung through the grass and badly burned. Them and the nearby Lying Ted survived thanks to sheer dumb luck. Most of those around them, including Urban and Richard, posted to watch them, died of burns or debris.

Deus, at the front, died trying to shield Cycler. Cycler, half of his flesh melted away, kneeled over his leader, weeping, until he also died from his wounds. Mufferson and Outrage no longer existed, they'd become mere memories.

The collection of tents that housed the remaining SNAFU contingent was hit particularly hard. A fire had consumed every tent in the area, and only two or three of the scholars managed to limp away.

Not far from the pavilion sat Bobby, Di's dead body in his arms. The little Lad looked almost peaceful. Not too badly burnt. Not too bloody. Bobby wasn't sure what'd actually killed him. He had Di's head in his lap, and quietly stroked his hair as everything burned around him.

–Why did they come back? It would have worked if they kept going.

Chump, half naked, coated in blood and barely alive, stopped and stared. He opened and closed his mouth several times, unsure of what to say. Smoke burned his eyes and filled his lungs, but still he could see Andykey, sprawled on the ground in front of him, a massive piece of sharp metal right through her stomach. Several empty health potions littered the ground around her, but they hardly helped. She had less than a tenth of her health, and what she did have was dropping.

Andy's eyes were bloodred. Her chest was covered in blood and vomit. Still she managed to look at Chump and stammer out words,

–Chump, you retard, you doomed us all.

Chump said nothing. He stood and watched the blood pour from Andy's chest. Watched as her limbs lost their color. Watched as her health bar ticked down.

She tried to take a vial of Chump's powder from her inventory and pour it over herself. With shaky hands she undid the lid. The dust fell on her stomach but did nothing save mix with the blood. If her health went up it wasn't noticeable. She leaned back and rested her head against the debris against which she sat. Her whole body screamed in pain, pain that shouldn't have existed.

As Chump turned to leave he swore he could hear, over the screams and the cackling of the fires, the soft sounds of Andy praying.

It was too late. They'd blown God to bits.

Chapter FORTY-ONE

Free They Must Remain

The argument: It didn't have to happen like this. But it was always going to.

The players had descended the wall for a night of rest. At the wall's base, on the little landmass, they sat around a fire, sipped Slick's soup, and waxed nostalgic.

Oxie gave a riveting account of her finest speedrun, an RNGesus blessed Lukia-labyrinth run. Not one, but two minibosses had failed to proc their second forms, and she'd gotten a speed buff in the very first shrine she offered sacrifice to. Then Doughy told a meandering but comical story of the time he stole, and then lost, Dan's favorite sword. Doughy had gone to Pfo for help, and the pair schlepped all over Lukia trying to find a replacement before Dan got back from work and logged on. They ended up failing to find one, but it hardly mattered. Dan logged back in and immediately blamed Vac for stealing it. Vac denied it but Dan didn't believe him. It wasn't long before a PvP brawl had broken out between the boys. Ted, Scream, and Soren got pulled in. LadMan and Douglas wanted to stay out of it, but Bobby ended up joining Dan's side when Vac dropped the n-word. With Bobby came Di. Bobby and Di beat up on Vac and his boys. But Dan wouldn't let it go, and insisted on humiliating Vac further. This drew Rufus and Jil in on Vac's side. Then Di's mother pulled off his headset. Bobby got Slick and Aditi to come to his aid, but that, for some reason, pulled x86 in on Vac's side. Woman joined Vac, and Erectio followed. Phat and Pbbbbbbb&j joined Dan. It wasn't long before the only neutral Lads were Ty, LadMan, Douglas, and Pfo. Pfo, while watching all this play out, had glanced around for Doughy, only to find that he'd logged out.

The players around the fire laughed long at the tales of the Sad Lads' stupidity.

–I remember one time in Scavenge, said Slick. Aditi and I had been ambushed at our camp. A group of four boys, all idiots. Terrible usernames too. They had us at gunpoint, and were laughing like vultures, trying to decide what they were gonna get us to do. I considered just logging, my stuff be damned. I didn't want to give those trogs the satisfaction of fucking with me. But then… so, they parked their car on a hill overlooking our camp. Then, while we were healing, they'd snuck down on us. But I guess they forget their emergency brake or something. Because just as they were about to order us to strip or something stupid, their car comes rolling down this hill and slams into them. Kills two of them outright. Gave Aditi and me time to get our guns and take out the other two.

–Reminds me of a time in Lukia, said Oxie. Fighting with another player deep in a dungeon. I was low health, about to lose. Just as this guy was about to take me out a huge ogre flies in and smashes him with its club. Took out the poor guy in one hit. I managed to get away. Didn't lose any gear, either.

The players sat in quiet contentment, sipping their soup. Brostein thought that, once they'd finished, she'd fire up a pot of coffee. Way above the world the stars shined bright. Pfo noticed Oxie was looking at them.

–You miss your university? he asked.

–Some, was her eventual response. I had a comfortable job. Enough money, enough time.

–Sounds nice, said Pfo.

Then,

–I couldn't even get through my MA.

He looked away from Slick and Doughy. The first time he'd told anybody that. What would they think of him, Pfo the intellectual? An imposter. High at SNAFU, but lacking even that simple degree. Only in a dumb game could Pfo rise to academic importance.

–Real world academia isn't for everyone, Oxie said.

–But… that's the thing. If it's not for me, then what is?

–Honestly, Pfo, you're one of the most decent people I've met in this game. I think you could do anything you want.

Pfo didn't believe her, but he happily blushed all the same. The fire cackled. Bro rose to start roasting her coffee. Oxie loudly sipped her soup, still, after all this time, struggling to eat with her nose being a beak. Bro, while she set up the coffee, absentmindedly thought to Captain Kidd. He should be steaming back with their supplies. Not that it would help them. Still, there were certain sanitation items she desperately needed. What a game, that puts you through that.

Pfo glanced sideyed at Slick. She was smiling. She understood. She thought no less of Pfo. If anything, she thought better. Maybe she should confide to him about Aditi? He'd understand. He'd known Aditi. He was sympathetic to the difficulties of human life. What was Aditi doing, out there in the world? Whatever he wanted, Slick supposed. Of course that wasn't true. But it was nice to think so. Douglas, Mary, Aditi. Out in the world, doing whatever they wanted…

Pfo looked at Doughy. The boy stared at him with the same big eyes. The same affection. Pfo would always remain to Doughy a model. A genius. Pfo needed no MA. To be honest, Doughy didn't know what an MA was. He just knew that if Pfo didn't have one, how important could they be?

–Was that a nuke? Did somebody nuke them? Who has nukes?

Dingo and Jupit messaged furiously. Shane stood motionless, still watching the cloud curl in the sky.

–Akagi!

–Sir?

–I want you to… actually, I'm not sure what to do. Who has nukes?

–Nobody knows anything, said Jupit. They're just as confused as we are.

–Did it do anything to us? asked Striker.

–Too far away, said Dingo Dave. Looks like it exploded just outside the human camp. We lost a few scouts, but that's it.

–Is the radiation… going to cause a problem? Is there radiation?

–That's gonna be an "I don't know" from me, chief, said Dingo Dave.

–Okay… Akagi, get all our units to hold current positions. Jupit, have the engineers hold Mer here. Um… is Ishii's regiment still trying to flank to the south?

–I think so, said Dingo.

–Tell him to halt and hold. Report conditions in the human camp if he can. Get some scouts over there too. I want the fullest report possible before we do anything. Is somebody helping us? Is it another species? Do you think it's the Wisteria? Are they going to try and nuke us next?

The realization struck him.

–Jupit! Change of plans. I want Mer moving north as erratically as possible. Have every air unit available fan out. I want the city fully covered. Any unidentified craft is to be destroyed on sight.

–We should go somewhere safer if you think we're going to get nuked.

–Fine, said Striker. We're relocating to the panic bunker. We'll resume command from there. I'll tell security to relocate.

A Meria burst into the room. He was panting, wide-eyed and terrified.

–Sir, intruders in the palace!

–What? Who?

–Two humans! They're cutting through security.

–Dammit. It's those fucking twins. Get everyone you can, we're moving.

–It's not safe to go through the palace, sir.

–I'm aware of that, said Striker.

Striker picked up his chair and with a grunt tossed it through the window. The glass shattered and fell, sparkling as it did so.

–Get all the security you can and follow us… go!

Striker awkwardly tumbled out of the window. He extended his wings and caught himself. He glided shakily away from the palace. Never had gotten used to flying in this game. Dingo Dave and Jupit went right after him. Shane, unsurety racking him, followed.

Akagi had climbed onto the window sill and was prepped to jump when an explosion racked the room. It shredded the Meria and sent him spinning out of the air, like a bird suddenly shotgun-shot. Out of the smoke and fire Beb and Charles burst, speeding at missile-speed. Their mechanical wings were bent like diving hawks. Some unknown force propelled them forward.

–Doxer, stop them! screamed Striker.

Shane could hardly hear him over the rush of the wind in his ears. Either way, he couldn't stop the barrage of bombs that Beb sent at Striker.

They exploded like AA, flinging flak, ripping the sky apart. Shockwaves and flak pummeled Striker and sent him careening out of the sky. Dingo and Jupit, shook but alive, dove after him.

–Beb, don't! shouted Shane.

After a second's indecision he dove towards Striker. Jetting at supersonic speed, he yanked the tumbling Striker out of the air. The pair came to a hard landing in a forgotten alley. Shane was fine, but Striker had only a fourth of his health. His wings were shredded and bloody. Feathers that'd come free fell in a pile on the pavement. Dingo and Jupit landed nearby. They'd drawn weapons, but didn't look like they knew what to do with them.

–Do you see? We should have killed them when we had the chance, Striker stammered.

–Doxer, get over here, said Dingo. You have to stop them. You're the only one who can fight them.

Beb and Charles smashed into the ground. They stood scowling. Beb had his daggers pointed at Dingo and Jupit. Charles held his staff above his head, as if he was about to smash it into the ground.

–You done, dude, Beb shouted at Striker. Dingo, Jupit, did you know Striker was tryna pull this?

–What are you talking about? said Jupit.

–Doxer, get over here, hissed Dingo.

–Striker nuked them, said Beb. I knew he was crazy, but he nuked them.

–That wasn't us, said Jupit.

–That seems unlikely, said Charles.

–My great-granddiddy didn't fight the Japs so the same thing that happened to them could happen to us, said Beb.

–What are you talking about?

–We taking you out, kid, Beb said. Lunar was right all along. You a menace.

–Belton? muttered Shane. Where is Belton?

–Doxer, get them, hissed Dingo.

–You're going to defend me, aren't you? Striker said softly. You're the Meria Champion, after all.

Shane looked away. Stared at the cold pavement.

–I see, said Striker.

–Doxer!

Shane rose and moved in front of Dingo and Jupit. Facing Beb and Charles. The two FLEEK fellas felt their morale surge. Then, before they knew it'd happened, Beb had leapt forward and knocked Shane's sword clean out of his hand. The blade banged against the pavement and skidded to a stop some ways away. Before Shane could draw his hammer Charles' spell smacked into him. A terrible surge of power shot through his body. Every nerve tensed up and he fell to the ground, completely paralyzed.

–Thanks, dog, Beb whispered.

Dingo and Jupit exchanged a glance. They dropped their weapons and fled. Like cartoon characters, legs wheeling, carrying them down the street. One half expected them to kick up dust behind them.

–I did everything I could, said Striker, still lying on the ground.

In the deepest recesses of his mind, he desired only to die with dignity. Not squealing and begging, like so many of those war-boys. Accept the inevitable and face it. Fight till the end but, once you're beat, see yourself off with a smile. He closed his eyes and said,

–Go on. I'd ask that you make it quick.

Nothing followed. No stab, no slash. No fire or shock consumed him. He opened one eye to see Beb and Charles standing nearby, arguing violently.

–No, dude, you taken so many kills from me. I deserve this one. I did way more to take him out than you did.

–Are you serious? Without me we woulda died years ago. My shields saved us so many times.

–Okay, but why is he on the ground right now? My bombs did that.

–I could've hit him with a spell just as easy as you got him with your bombs.

–But you didn't. Dude, you always taking kills. You supposed to be a healer, it doesn't even make sense for you to get this kill.

–I'm kinda sick of you thinking that just cause you're an assassin means you should get all the kills.

–Dog, I'm an assassin. You a healer. If Lunar was here, he'd-

Charles flicked his staff and Striker burst into flames. He couldn't even scream before his health hit zero. Beb stared at the burning corpse, mouth hanging open.

–Did you actually… did you actually just do that? Are you serious? Dude, you such an asshole!

–Whatever, this is stupid, said Charles, throwing up his hands.

–Oh my God! You always do this! You such a freakin kill stealer. Doxy, don't he always do this?

–Do you have a spell that speeds this up? Shane asked.

He was sitting on the pavement, rubbing his legs as feeling was slowly restored to them.

–No, sorry, said Charles. Honestly, it's going really fast. Your stun resist is crazy high.

Beb was stomping around nearby, swinging his daggers at the air, cursing up a storm and whining about his brother.

–I get his loot, he said, going over to Striker's black corpse. Don't even try to take it.

He bent over the FLEEK fella, opened a menu, and started rummaging.

–Aw, he don't even have nothing! Dude, what the fuck?

–Where's Belton? Shane asked Charles.

–Him and Clean flew off somewhere. After the nuke. I don't know where they went.

The rhythm of rock n' roll. The sound of sex, then silence. You stare into the descending darkness, wondering why you debased yourself so.

What an antiquated idea. The shame of sex only exists in the muddled old maid's mind. Sex is the ligaments that underlies creation. It is the reverberation of reality. Everything is sexual tension. How can free love exist when love costs so much?

Stop being stupid.

Why are the streets so hot on a summer day?

Because the asphalt observes the heat. Every grade schooler knows that. Observes? Don't you mean absorbs?

I…

If sex is so shame-free then why, after ograsm, did he feel such deep-seated shame?

Sex isn't a real thing. It's a reflection of everything else.

Bam, Bobby. Bam Bam. Poor boy. Limping through the scorched camp, looking for nothing. He'd covered Demarion in a piece of ripped tent he found and headed out, searching, maybe, for something that'd kill him too. Instead he found Chumpchange, similarly wandering the carnage.

Really blundered this one, didn't you, Chump? Nuking your own guys isn't a great look. Now Dem and how many others are dead. Striker's victory is all but guaranteed.

…but we know Striker didn't make it even this far…

–Your fucking shit went too far, Chump. I was telling you from the start that you needed to calm down, now look what you done!

You never knew half of what I was doing. It's tough to care anymore. Nothing is really fair. How can you know anything for sure, when you're trapped inside a universe whose rules you can't access?

No, Chump. You relied too much on Fanget being a game. You made too many unwarranted inferences. The real world is just as complicated. Your fundamental problem is that you tried to be science incarnate. An entire system of how many humans… you thought you could embody the whole bloody thing. Simply put, the issue all along was that you're a shitty scientist.

–Maybe that's right, muttered Chumpchange. But I had to try. Any idiot can dismiss things as unknown and declare ultimate subjectivity. I might have messed up my inductions, but at least I tried to know something. Forgive me if I tried to fight, instead of laying down and dying like a dog.

Chump… did you listen to nothing I just said?

Bobby… bam! Bam!

Mer had stopped moving. Almost as if Striker's death had sucked the life out of the city. Had they gotten his order to zig-zag north? Evidently not. The city seemed to be waiting for something. A swarm of Meria, like a dyson swarm swarming their star, swarmed, circling the immobile city in wide loops. The last of the human biplanes booked it to the west. They disappeared into the setting Sun. The Sun that struggled to shine its last day-rays through the nuclear cloud that continued curling into the sky, refusing to dissipate, like a graphics glitch, a huge particle effect lingering long past when it should've been rendered unrendered.

Shane hovered above the city. He equipped his magnification goggles and scanned for Lunar. Nothing, just the long God rays peeking through the odd hole in the curling nuclear cloud.

–Jean, you're okay!

–Vac, thank the Lord.

–Jean…

–Oh, Coke, good to see you too.

–Do you know what's going on? Here, let me get those restraints.

Vac stood, sawing at the rope that bound Jean's hands. She was half topless, and Vac struggled not to look. Coke openly stared.

–Give her your shirt, idiot, Vac said to Coke once he'd freed her.

–Oh, right, said Coke, removing it.

–Thank you, said Jean. It's so good to see both of you okay. The whole human command is destroyed. I saw Andy get impaled by a piece of metal. I think x86 survived, I saw her stumbling through the camp.

–Honestly, fuck them, said Vac. After what they did to Sparrow and you…

–Don't hold hate in your heart, Vac, Jean said.

–Was it the Meria who dropped that bomb? asked Coke.

–No, said Jean. The bomb was ours. Andy and Chumpchange. I'm not surprised it went wrong like it did. Live by the sword, die by the sword.

–Either way, we should get out of here, said Vac. It's not safe. Let me message Ted. He was poking around… oh, there he his. Ted!

Ted was trudging through the debris, practically dragging a sobbing, burnt Shooketh.

–Found this poor kid trapped under a tent, said Ted.

–Mufferson's gone… she's gone, isn't she? sobbed Shooketh.

–Oh, come here, said Jean, grabbing Shooketh and pulling him close. Mufferson isn't gone. Nobody is ever really gone. You'll see her again, I promise.

–Tell me about another Saint.

–Hm… how about Saint Lucy?

–What did she do?

–Let me see… Well, she was a Roman. This was when the Roman Empire controlled the whole Mediterranean. Most of the world, to the people at that time. And all of the Christian world. Lucy had very rich parents, but her mom was sick. So Lucy prayed to God and he told her that he could cure her mother. And, of course, he did. Her mother was so happy that she let Lucy give much of her money to the poor and the needy.

–Now, originally her mother thought it would be best if she put the money in her will, but Lucy convinced her not to do that. You shouldn't leave money to the needy in your will. That just shows that you are only giving it because you don't need it anymore. Instead, you should give the money now, when you're healthy. Generosity is not giving what you don't need, or don't want, it's giving what you do need, and do want. Nobody ever got into heaven because of what they left in their will.

–Anyway, back to the story. You see, Lucy didn't want to marry. She wanted to give her body to God. But her family made her get engaged to a rich young man. And when this young man learned that she was giving all her family's money away, he was furious. So he reported her to the Romans. The Romans told her she had to perform a pagan ritual to prove that she wasn't a Christian, but she refused. So the Romans then tried to bring her to a brothel, where she would be raped. But God wouldn't let that happen. No matter what the Romans did, they could not get her to budge. They even tried to use horses and oxes to pull her apart, but nothing worked. So then they tried to set her on fire, but even that couldn't harm her. They brought a sword to cut her with, but before they could hit her, God whisked her away, all the way up to His side, where she has been ever since.

Shane was still circling over Mer. Beb and Charles flew up and joined him.

–I don't understand, Shane shouted. There's nowhere to go? Where did they go? It doesn't make any sense!

–Jerome? What is that racket out there? All that banging!

–How should I know, gramps, I'm not outside.

–Well go outside and look, you useless boy. That better not be your friends out there, scaring away my customers.

–Customers? All five of your customers are inside- oh, six tonight. I guess you do have someone new.

The newcomer, a cloaked Wisteria with a half-shrouded, serious face, sat in the corner, jealously guarding the bowl of soup he'd ordered only seconds earlier and was now scoffing down. His cloak was soaked through from the heavy rain. He looked exhausted, sick, like he'd been infected and dragged through the dirt. Jerome couldn't see it, but he held a loaded revolver in his off hand. Under the table; ready to whip it out at a moment's notice. He had another holstered at his hip.

–Go outside and see what that noise is!

–Come on, gramps, I don't wanna go out into all that wet.

–Get out there. If it's your friends again, I-

–My friends aren't going to be out in that rain.

–Go, Jerome, or I swear-

Jerome huffed and went to the door. He threw it open. The sound of fat raindrops smacking into the mud echoed through the inn. Jerome peeked his head out to find himself facing thirty rifles, all pointed straight at him. Their wielders were standing, kneeled, or prone. They were being drenched by the rain, their ponchos doing little to stop them from getting soaked. But these veterans didn't care about a little wet. They kept their rifles steady.

Jerome wasn't sure he'd actually seen anything. He rubbed his eyes. Yes, at least thirty soldiers outside the inn. He was looking down their barrels. One of them, the only one without a rifle, was motioning for him to come outside. Jerome peered back into the inn. The bartender watched him.

–What is it, boy? What's out there? he shouted over the rain's roar.

Jerome looked back at the soldier. His face was fierce. He had a finger over his mouth and used his other arm to violently motion Jerome forward. Jerome slowly stepped out into the rain. His boots squished into the mud. He made his way forward, watching the soldiers slowly move their rifles to keep them trained at his chest.

–You, said the rifle-less soldier, some kind of officer, once Jerome had gotten close enough to them for the officer to whisper and be heard over the rain.

–Is there a Wisteria in there?

–Um… what is going on?

–Answer the question. We're here on imperial business, under the orders of Empress Xia herself. Is there a Wisteria inside that inn?

–Uh… yes.

–Male or female?

–Male.

–What does he look like?

–Dark… he has dark scales… and glowing eyes. I don't know… he's wearing a cloak.

–That's him, said the officer, licking his lips. Does he know we're out here?

–I don't… think so.

–Okay, I need you to listen carefully. Go back inside and act like nothing is out of the ordinary. We have this inn surrounded, we're going to go in shortly. We don't care if he takes hostages, we're going to kill him at any cost. If you can, get everyone else away from him. Don't alert him. Again, we don't care if he takes hostages.

–Um… okay.

Jerome went back into the inn in a trance. Before he closed the front door, he peered back out just to make sure he hadn't imagined the encounter. No, the soldiers still had their guns trained.

He shut the door and shuffled over to the bar.

–So, what was it? demanded the bartender.

–It was… a buck, said Jerome.

–A buck?

–Yes… I think I scared him away.

The Wisteria in the corner had stopped eating his soup. He stared at Jerome. The boy felt the Wisteria's glowing eyes bore into his chest. His heart felt like it was going to blow up. He was sweating, but nobody noticed, the sweat was too intermixed with the rain that dripped off him. The Wisteria made a square shape with his hand and stared at the air in front of him. Every few seconds he'd make like he was tapping something. But there was nothing in front of him.

Jerome walked as casually as he could behind the bar. He leaned in to whisper something to the bartender. With a quivering voice,

–We need to get out of here.

–What are you talking about? the bartender thundered. I'm not going to leave. This is my bar! Boy, have you lost your mind?

The Wisteria's tapping sped up.

–There is going to be a fight, Jerome whispered. We-

–Not in my bar there isn't, said the bartender. Anyone who starts a fight will get-

The Wisteria shot out of his seat. In a flash he had two revolvers pointed at Jerome, the bartender, and the five shocked customers on their barstools.

–These people are my hostages! the Wisteria screamed. If anybody outside moves I'll kill them all.

–Do it! came a shout from outside. Do you think we care if you shoot a couple of country hicks?

–Oh God, said Jerome, dropping to the floor, trying to take cover behind the bar.

–What are you doing? the bartender shouted at the Wisteria. Drawing guns in my bar? Who is outside? I won't allow this!

The bartender reached for something under his bar. Frederick put two bullets into his chest and he dropped. The bar patrons screamed. One of them darted for the backdoor. Frederick put a bullet into his back.

Then the whole inn got lit the fuck up. At least a hundred rifles, firing at the building from every angle except straight up. The bullets tore through the wall, sending splinters flying. Frederick dove to the ground. Bullets thudded around him. Two of the bar patrons were hit. The other two practically fell off of their stools and sat huddled, cowering, trying in vain to use the stools as some sort of cover.

After several seconds the barrage of bullets ceased. Frederick checked himself as he rose. Hadn't been hit. Maybe his luck was turning. He'd gotten some food in him, had avoided this cannonade…

Earlier in his flight, after an ambush cut him off from his remaining Wisteria troops, he figured his luck had run out. He fell further in morale when he tried to use the cash shop to buy ammo and supplies only to find that it'd started declining Free William's credit card. William had warned him that he thought they were close to maxing the thing out. Frederick hadn't listened. He'd figured the No Skill Sword would be the last weapon anybody would ever need. Until fucking Andy stole it from him. What a cunt. He'd only saw her a few times in the Other Realm, her being such a late arrival, but he could tell just from looking at her that she was a fucking bitch. Frederick had an eye for these sorts of things.

Sparrow had begged for his life.

–Fred, no! Please, it's me, Sparrow!

As if Frederick didn't know that. It was the main reason he was rushing to kill the kid. But even Frederick felt a little pang when he sliced him in half. For Andy to stick him out as bait… despicable.

Could he run out of the inn's backdoor? No, his assaulters were sure to have the place surrounded. He could try to use his wings to blast through the roof. His wings were pretty fucked up, he might not be fast enough to make it, even with his God-tier gear. And whoever was attacking him clearly didn't care if he had hostages.

Maybe make a distraction? Kill a few enemies and dart the other way? That's the best plan he could think of. But as he stood he felt the full blast of a double barrel smack into his chest. His health fell and he stared in shock at the bartender's helper, who'd grabbed the under-counter shotgun and emptied both barrels into him.

Jerome, for his part, was shocked to see the Wisteria not only survive that blast, but standing upright, staring at him with something akin to surprise.

Jerome ducked behind the bar just before two bullets whizzed over his head and shattered two whisky bottles on the shelf behind him. Frederick was about to leap over the bar and execute Jerome when the door burst open.

The first soldier to storm in took a bullet to the chest and tumbled. Frederick fell back as a second stormed in. He managed to hit the soldier in the arm but the soldier kept coming. Then a third rushed in after him. Then a fourth. Frederick could hear crashes coming from upstairs. Then the backdoor burst open and another soldier rushed in through it. Someone had stuck a rifle through one of the ground floor's few windows and fired a shot that narrowly missed him.

Frederick tried to dive for cover but slipped up. A soldier, rushing forward, managed to get his bayonet into Frederick's leg before Frederick could raise his pistol and blow the soldier's head off. Frederick stumbled and somebody else put a bullet into his back. Then two more, one in his leg and one in his shoulder.

His health was plummeting. His whole body screamed in pain. He tried to rise off the floor but several more bullets slammed into him. Then the searing slice of blades, several of them, entering and exiting him rapidly. He slumped to the ground while the soldiers finished him off. They kept stabbing him long after he was dead.

Jerome, behind the bar, shook violently, feeling himself for holes and staring in shock at his late-boss bleeding beside him. The two surviving patrons couldn't move. They sat while the soldiers kept swarming in, securing every inch of the inn. Then,

–Stop, stop it already, he's dead, for God's sake.

The officer had entered. He pulled his bloodthirsty men away from Frederick's corpse.

–Stop stabbing him. Please, have some taste.

The officer, a regal, older man with a wonderful mustache, poked Frederick with the tip of his muddy boot.

–Treat our wounded and cover our dead, the officer, Lieutenant Colonel Lurch by rank and name, said. Do the same for the civilians. You, turn this Wisteria over.

The soldier bent over and turned Frederick over so that he lay on his back. His eyes had lost their glow. His face seemed somehow darker.

–That's him, said Lurch. He matches the description exactly. Good work, men, Empress Xia will be pleased. Commendations for everyone, I imagine. As for the Wisteria, get him bagged and put him in the truck. And be quick about everything, please, I don't want to stay in this backwater inn longer than I have to.

Jerome, behind the bar, was sobbing.

Dan came across Andy's pierced corpse. He stared at her dead eyes for a bit before he moved on. Nearby, he could see Sleepr, similarly deceased. The flames threatened him so he moved on.

Past the pavilion was a supply depot. Its ammunition had all exploded, leaving nothing but a huge crater in its place. The crater offered some respite from the flames and the smoke, and so Dan slid down into it. Already in it were half a dozen wounded and dying humans, sprawled out in something resembling a line. One of them had a canteen of water that he was sipping from. The others were muttering and motioning for him to pass it along.

Dan stood over the water-wielder and looked down at him. The man paused his sipping.

–You've had enough, Dan said. Give the others some.

–Fuck off, the man said in a hoarse, pained voice.

Dan reached down and ripped the canteen from the man's weak grasp. The man tried to protest but decided it took too much effort. He slumped back down, lying limp, looking at the smokey sky with shallow eyes. Seeing nothing. Dan handed the canteen to the man next to him.

–Make sure to share it, said Dan. I'll try to find some more.

–Dan?

At the top of the crater was Emperor Bonaparte.

–Glad another Lad survived, said Dan with a slight smile. Come on, we gotta try to get these guys some water.

Schlepping through dungeons in the early days of Lukia. LadMan, Dan, and Douglas. They built the Sad Lads. LadMan as the leader, Dan as the number-cruncher, Douglas as the diplomat. He was so chill, always amiable, able to deal easily with people. LadMan freaking loved him. They'd joke and josh, rib and rub in ways Dan didn't understand. Phatphuck, pbbbbbbb&j, Womansrights, Tyranisoris_Sex, Erectio, slick, Pfo, BobbyBamBam… they seemed to get it. What was Dan missing? He was LadMan's right hand Dan. Did Douglas have a right?

Douglas claimed he got an internship. LadMan never questioned that. But Dan knew it was bullshit. Douglas didn't want to play Fanget because Dan had pushed him away. Dan had won. Yipee.

Dan couldn't see through the smokey sky. A terrible pang pierced his heart. Was he fated to fall this way from the start? From the second he and Lad spawned in? Could he have been nicer to Douglas, more supportive of LadMan? Less toxic to the assorted Lads, less confrontational with the non-Lads?

He and Emperor Bonaparte wandered the smoky waste. All that was left. He missed LadMan terribly.

Where is the function R(x) = (x+1)(x-2)^2 increasing? Where is it decreasing? Calculus class, boys. Hope you remember them high school mathematics. Mrs. Gretchen sat behind her desk, wearing a long scarf, a thin sweater, and cheap, artsy earrings she probably got at some flea market. Her hair was grayed, hastily tied up. How does she do it?

The class sat and waited. Lee lumbered in and sat down. Jia entered after him. Who are these people? They're ghosts. Cosmic wisps warping between realities.

–Everyone, said Gretchen, rising slowly, carefully preparing her words like she was about to deliver a sermon. Serving up the knuckleheads some knowledge.

–I know things have been… upsetting, lately… in the country, I mean…

Lately? Things are normal. Been this way since Belton was born. We've lived the last eighteen years in 2001.

–With our soldiers in Afghanistan… and, of course, the trouble with China… and the tensions with Iran… and Russia… and the violence in Africa… and South America… and our problems at home… and the standoff in Antarctica…

–Australia still solid, doe, whispered Lee.

–Yeah, but Australia is Australia, Belton replied.

–Wait, do we still have troops in Afghanistan? some secondary student asked.

–Yeah, didn't they leave? Didn't Obama bring them home?

–That was Iraq, idiot.

We are referring to the function's rate of change. First, find the derivative. Multiply the function then derive it.

R(x) = x^3 - 3x^2 +4 → R'(x) = 3x^2 - 6x = 3x(x-2)

We factored the derivative for later. Set the derivative equal to zero…

Gretchen, hard of hearing, kept rambling.

–I remember the draft during Vietnam… and how difficult that was to live through. While I detest war in all its forms, somehow… the draft made it worse…

–What did Gretchen have to worry about? whispered Lee. She wasn't the one getting dragged off to the jungle.

–What… what country did we just invade… in Africa? asked Gretchen.

–Eritrea, said Jia.

Gretchen grappled with Jia's accent.

–Say that again, Jia.

–Eritrea.

–Is that a real place? someone asked.

–Sounds made up, said Lee.

Mary jittered. She tapped her foot. A nervous habit. Final class of the day. How much attention was she paying?

–I just want you all to know, if you need someone to talk to, you can always come and see me. And there are others available too.

R'(x) = 0 → 3x(x-2) = 0

The derivative will be zero at:

x = 0

x = 2

Did anyone ever take Gretchen up on her offer? She made it all the time, after every school shooting, local suicide, war, whatever. What would she say? What could she say to make you feel better bout your pill-chugging sister or your older brother's Blackhawk getting blown up?

As follows:

R' (-1) = 9

R'(1) = -3

R'(3) = 9

R' (x) > 0

R'(x) < 0

R'(x) > 0

Gretchen once told them about her boyfriend, her first love, a pot-minded pacifist with a puppy dog crush on Grace Slick and a sick-ass psychy van. Checked the mail one day and never recovered. Not long later he got Huelaid in north Nam, popped by some commie kid who probably got BBQed not long later. Gretchen cried every night for a week until, one day, she woke up and decided to make the world a better place. She put marker to sign and headed out.

–Okay, said Gretchen, eyes misty, let's do some calc.

Thus:

Increasing: - ∞ < x < 0, 2 < z < ∞

Decreasing: 0 < z < 2

Gretchen grabbed her notes and started writing on the board.

Belton wore shorts that were far too short (as was the style) and an old T-shirt. He stood in the doorway, watching Mary lounge on the deck, leaning back in her favorite lounge chair, an old yellow one she stole from the public pool. She wore her summer clothes: short shorts, flip flops, a loose shirt. Her hair was tied up and on her face sat her pink, heart shaped aviators.

–You see the clouds? she asked. Look how wispy they are. Aren't they beautiful, Belton? Just floating up there, doing nothing, caring about nothing.

Belton stepped onto the deck. His bare feet struggled to adjust to the hot wood. He looked up at the blue sky but the Sun blinded him. Tried to look, to truly look, but every attempt to open his eyes was beaten back. His eyes became a water-ridden, mushy mess. He bent over and wiped them with his hands. Opening them again, he saw Mary grinning at him.

–I can't do it, he whined. Look… I've… I'm not mad at the Sun. I'm really not. But I can't stay out here. This is your place, it's not mine.

–You aren't supposed to stare right at it, she said with a chuckle. You look to the side. Not at it, at the stuff around it. All the stuff it shines on. Look at the clouds.

Belton tried, but still the Sun's rays found their way into his eyes. Watery again, he rubbed them.

–Here, take these.

Mary lifted her sunglasses off her eyes and offered them.

–What about you?

–Don't worry about me, I have plenty. You need some.

Belton slid the glasses over his eyes and stared up at the clouds.

Shane, Beb, and Charles circled the sky as night started to fall upon the game. Activity still buzzed around Mer, all the little buzzers unsure of what to do. The human camp burned. They couldn't make out the camp itself, but they could see the light of the flames flickering over the horizon, see the smoke rising dirty and black before dissipating into the night sky.

The huge Moon rose in the opposite direction. The trio stopped gliding and floated, flapping rapidly to keep themselves aloft, staring at the huge white glowing celestial rock. So massive, the biggest thing that's ever hung in the sky. Full of craters but beautiful despite it. They swore the thing had gotten brighter.

Over one hundred for graduation. Why would the school decide to have graduation outside on such a dreadfully hot day? Don't they know that June weather will never be reasonable again?

Belton sat with his class, all five hundred of them, pouring sweat beneath the suit he borrowed from his diddy and the black gown his mom insisted he not cut holes in to cool himself off. The stupid Sun beat down, searing the back of his neck, roasting him alive. It wasn't this hot to the west, was it? Weren't things more temperate over there? Belton didn't actually know, he'd never left his overcrowded coast.

Mary sat a few rows behind him, next to her new boyfriend. Some crewcut, Juul sucking jock. How was she sitting next to him? Didn't they arrange themselves alphabetically? Were their last names really so close?

Belton peered at the audience but couldn't see anything. The Sun's glare was too strong.

–I knew you should have brought these.

Clean sat beside him. She wasn't wearing a robe, but a yellow sundress. Her black hair fell to her shoulders. She held out a pair of sunglasses; the heart-shaped aviators.

–Where'd you get those?

–They're yours. Didn't your ex give them to you, or something?

Belton took them and put them. He peered at the audience again. He could make out his little family, smiling and sweating. His father, wearing the beat up polo he always used to wear to work at the used car lot. His mother, fanning herself with a program and drinking from a comically huge water bottle. And Shane, eyes wide and full of admiration.

Sure, it sucks to sweat. But… I don't know, deal with it.

Clean put her hand on his. Belton looked up at the Sun. Straight at it. Even with his sunglasses the ball burned his eyes. He closed them. He could feel it heating up his eyelids. Kinda crazy. Kinda pleasant. For a ball of gas at such a distance to send its energy at us at a rate of-

Belton smiled.