“Dude!” Norm said, eyes wide. “What happened then?”

“The cops hauled me out of there and put me in a cell,” Rich replied, shifting in his seat. “Then they just left me there. I wasn't even sure I'd be here today, but the connection went through fine.”

“Shit, that's horrible. What did you DO?”

“Nothing!” Rich protested. Then his mind's eye flashed back to the dark crystal, to the tantalizing and forbidden link buried inside. No, that's impossible. I didn't even accept it, so it'd be on Midian, not me.

But still he felt a little guilty.

“Then if it wasn't you, it was one of your parents,” Norm said. “Have they been up to anything funny?”

“No! I mean...” An image of his Mom flashed through his mind. How she'd been insisting that he shouldn't swear, saying it was important for reasons he couldn't go into. “Maybe? I don't know. They don't tell me anything.”

“Ooooh, you're probably being recorded or monitored right now,” Norm said, leaning back in his own desk. “Guess I shouldn't tell you about anything I don't want them to hear.”

“Not that you could anyway,” Rich said, waving his hand around the virtual classroom. It was bare bones, with a chalkboard on the wall, a cross sat high above, and a flag right below. Around them, twenty or so other desks were set in orderly rows, each occupied by a child. A few of them were talking to each other, but Rich and Norm couldn't hear a word that the others were saying. Their privacy was absolute in the virtual classroom, they couldn't interact with each other without all parties agreeing to it.

It was the perfect school of the future; shootings were impossible, with no physical space whatsoever. Also, the overhead was much cheaper than trying to keep an oversized building habitable in the scorching climate of this new era. And there was no need for school buses or transportation; any child with an active Echo could jack in at the appointed time. They had to, to tell the truth. It took a parental or appropriately authorized override to keep a child from showing up at their class when it was in session.

But it came with a cost; all conversations in school could be monitored at any time, and much like the chatroom his mother had set up for him, certain words would get you on watchlists, or get your conversation reviewed by unsympathetic eyes.

But for Rich the worst had happened. He'd been jailed, and for what he was pretty sure was no fault of his own. So what could happen now? He decided to go for broke. “That game you were talking about yesterday, is the title Generic something?”

Norm's eyes slid left and right. “Yeah. You find a way to get in?”

“No, but that's where most of my Neverquest guild was yesterday. It was just me and the guild leader left.”

“I'm not surprised. It makes Neverquest look like fu... like fudging Pacman.”

“Pacman?”

“Old school game.”

“How many classes does it have?”

“Pacman doesn't have any.”

“Not that, I mean... the other one,” Rich didn't want to say the full name of it. They might be looking for the full name of it.

“Oh, you mean G.O. Right, right.” Norm said, catching his drift. “It's got like twenty-eight to start. Rumor is there's a lot of hidden ones you can discover as you go.”

Twenty-eight?

“And... races?”

“Well, everybody gets human, of course.”

Rich shook his head. “Human's boring. What's the weirdest thing they've got?”

“Um...” Norm looked uncomfy, which made no sense. “It's... different. I looked on the Readit, and basically everyone gets a different choice of starting races. Most people think it's random.”

“Oh? So what's the weirdest one you got?” Rich leaned in close.

Norm rolled his eyes. “Slime.”

“Slime?” Rich laughed. “Seriously?”

“Fu... fudge off!” Norm tried to shove him, but of course his hand went right through Rich's persona.

Which was rude, but it didn't do a thing to him really.

“Settle down, dude,” Rich grinned at his friend—

And then the cross on the ceiling flashed.

Words appeared in the middle of Rich's vision, and as he looked past them to Norm's suddenly-afraid face, Rich knew that Norm saw them too.

MINISTER OVERRIDE: CONFESSION ENABLED

All conversation is now private. God bless!

“Oh shit,” Rich whispered.

And then Joel was there, alongside their desks, big horsey teeth grinning wide. “Hey there deviants,” he said, his smile never wavering.

Joel always smiled. He had a lot to smile about, he was the son of a Pastor after all.

Joel was their Youth Shepherd.

And as far as Rich was concerned, he was proof that God either didn't exist or didn't care.

“All right, so that's attempted violence,” Joel said, glancing across the room to where his desk was now empty. Four of the girls over there were glaring angrily at the pair of nerds who had pulled Joel away from them. “And this is time I'm spending resolving this fucking issue and not talking with Tina. So... Twenty for the punch, and thirty for interrupting personal uh, prayer counseling time.” He held out his hand.

“It wasn't a punch,” Rich said.

“Rich, rich, richie bitch, what have I told you before?” He raised his hands, running them through his blonde crewcut. “God cares. I don't. Throw in another ten for lying.”

And heat started building inside Rich.

“Look, I've got twenty, can we owe you the rest?” Norm said. He held up a pay icon, palming it so the rest of the class couldn't see. Joel's smile grew, and he made it disappear.

“You don't owe me a thing,” Joel decided. “Richie bitch here owes me the rest. How much you got, fatty?”

The heat grew, and Rich stared at Joel.

Joel's smile faltered a bit. “Well? Clock's ticking.”

“I'm not in the mood,” Rich said, flatly.

Joel laughed. “That's what my mom told my dad last night! Denied him his husbandly rights! He sat her straight, though. He went biblical on her, and after he was done she was suckin' cock and praying at the same time, crying through two black eyes!” then he leaned forward, and clapped his hand on Rich's shoulder... off it a bit, since their persona projections couldn't actually touch each other. “She was his bitch. Just like you're mine.”

“Fuck you,” Rich told him, and damn wasn't that a surprise.

It surprised Joel too. His grin slipped, before regaining its sneering glory. “This isn't the time to grow a spine, you fat little turd. Fifty and this gets forgotten. You know what I can do if you don't.”

He did, and it sucked. But then...

...what could Joel do? What could he really do?

Rich was in jail already, and his parents were god knew where.

This... this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

“Your mom had to suck your dad's cock, huh?” Rich asked him.

Joel's smile slipped a bit. “Bitch, I just told you—”

“What's the matter, you weren't good enough for him yesterday? You didn't suck him off right?”

And Rich had the pleasure, the pleasure of seeing that shit-eating grin wither and die. But he pushed on, let the anger do the talking.

“You aren't worth shit, you worthless little asshole,” Rich told Joel. “You're a lying, extorting piece of filth that gets off on stealing money and abusing your position.”

“Last chance,” Joel said, but there was a quaver in his voice, now. “One hundred now. Or I report your fat ass and you get expelled—”

But Rich had enough now, had more than enough, and the anger wouldn't go away. It filled him like fire, made him powerful, and he found himself rising from his desk, rising to tower over Joel, who backed off a step out of reflex.

“Your dad is the only reason you got anything in life! You never did a damn thing to earn the power you wield! Go on and expel me, that way I don't have to look at you anymore!” Rich roared at him...

...and now the rest of the class was staring, staring at the confrontation. None of them could hear a thing thanks to the seal of the confessional. But oh, there was a show going on, and they aaaaaaallll loved the drama.

Dimly, he'd noticed that Norm was gone, gone the hell out of there, and some part of him felt saddened at that. He'd hoped his friend would have his back. None of the people watching him did. Not one. Either they were on Joel's side, or they were looking to keep their own skin intact.

Joel rallied then, folding his arms. His grin resurfaced, now a full on sneer. “You had your chance, you fat deev. Your ass is reported.”

And then he vanished.

Rich breathed hard, for a second or two.

It felt... good.

Half a year he'd been in class with Joel. Half a year he'd been pushing that anger down.

He didn't care what came. He'd let Joel have it, and it had been worth it.

But his traitor body wanted to cry.

He didn't know why. He didn't know why his eyes were burning, or his heart was pounding so hard, or why he couldn't calm down.

But a few minutes later it didn't matter. The world flickered, and the virtual classroom was replaced with a black field of view, and words pronouncing the effect of Joel's reporting.

EXPELLED PENDING REVIEW:

Reasons: Aggression, Blasphemy, Profanity, Vulgarity

There in his cell, Rich laughed and laughed. Then he cried, and wasn't sure why. If he'd known a bit more about biology and adrenaline, he wouldn't have wondered. But he was ignorant of that particular body of knowledge and so he wept unknowing. Eventually the anger and the weird sorrow left him, and he snuffled his nose on his sleeve, feeling the cheap polyester crinkle against his arm.

“Bitch had it coming,” he told the wall.

The wall didn't reply. He didn't expect it to. Every wall save for one was padded, though most of the oversized foam pads had at least a few rips in them. The tiled floor had a drain in the center, and light panels glowed in a metal ceiling above. The entire thing was ten feet by five, and there was neither a toilet nor a showerhead of any sort. The only non-padded wall was a solid sheet of black glass, and there were no signs of any sort of door.

Words appeared in his field of view:

Incoming Message >> Norman Sikowsky

Dude, that was epic. Teacher just showed up so Joel can't do much more, but you can tell he's seething.

Rich tried an outgoing message, and found that it worked.

To: Norman Sikowsky>>You gonna be okay?

>>Yeah. I'm rich enough he's not gonna exile a cash cow.

>>Moo muthafucka.

>>Haha! Seriously I'm sorry I got you into that. Look me up in game when you get a chance. Name is StormaNorm.

>>Will do, Rich promised. But there was no reply. Class was in session now probably, and Norm wouldn't be available for a bit.

So instead, Rich sat down and thought about his life.

And how he might have just blown it up.

Youth Shepherds had been established long before Rich was old enough for school. They were essentially volunteer positions, voted in annually. Officially, the job was there in order to help troubled teens get through stressful times... to give them a peer that they could turn to, who would understand the struggles that they went through on a daily basis.

Officially.

And to be fair, Rich had had a few good Shepherds. They had been willing to listen to him and keep secrets, even given him advice on getting along with his parents. Some of it had even worked. Some hadn't, but he knew it wasn't their fault. They'd meant well.

And then Joel Haskeen had shown up.

Joel had two faces. If you were a pretty girl or your parents were rich, Joel could be the best friend you ever had.

If you weren't... well. Joel found ways to charge you money for existing.

Youth Shepherds had a lot of power, and Joel used his to make his life better every way he could.

And now he'd gotten Rich in trouble. His case would eventually be reviewed, that was how it worked. But it was pretty much his word against Joel's. And Joel was a Youth Shepherd and the son of a Minister. There was no way his family wouldn't be fined, or given a penance duty of some sort, and oh boy wouldn't his father go off when he heard about that.

The hot core of anger started to build in him again. “So what?” Rich whispered through dry lips. “You always want me to stand up for myself? Well I fucking did.”

And then, just as he was riding the waves of righteous indignation, he thought of how disappointed his mom would be, and he burst into tears. Big old honking sobs, fatty sobs, as Norm called them. They made his whole body shake, and for once he didn't care. The cops could watch him cry, whatever. He didn't know them. They didn't matter.

That was what stung the most.

It didn't matter. He was in here through no fault of his own that he could tell, with no ability to change his fate.

Others had power over him. Uncaring strangers who had no love for him and no idea how hard his life was. How strong he'd been to get to this point. How tough it was to finally, finally stand up for himself and how much it hurt to know it wouldn't matter.

Rich had no power.

And oh, that burned. That burned worse than anything.

Well, almost anything. His gut ached too, empty and griping about it. They'd thrown him in this cell and they hadn't fed him or even given him water. That had been eight hours ago, going by his Echo's personal clock.

His tears were gone now. He was dry, and had little to spare on them. He stared at the corner of the cell...

...and with a clunk, it opened.

Rich blinked.

A door was revealed behind the padding, opening smoothly to show corridor beyond. A buzzer sounded, startling him. He jumped to his feet, stumbled a bit, and let his breath out in a hiss as his back protested. He'd been sitting too long, and that old pain in his spine was back.

“Richard Royal?” a man asked from the hallway.

“Um...” Rich nodded. There was no response, and Rich swallowed. “That's me,” he said, nodding again, feeling his neck flap against his chest.

“Follow me please.”

Rich padded over to the doorway, floor cold underneath his sock feet. Now that he was standing again his bladder ached, let him know that he hadn't pissed in hours. “I... is there a bathroom around here somewhere?”

“You didn't use the drain?” The man was middle-aged, going by the hair and wrinkles on his face and hands. He wore a blue suit, with a gold cross lapel pin and a badge hanging out of the shirt pocket. He was built lean and tall, and Rich envied him his fitness, knew he'd be nowhere near his shape when he was that old.

If he ever got to be that old. If his traitor body didn't drown him in fat before then.

Then the man squinted, and Rich realized he'd been silent and staring for too long. “No, I didn't use the drain. Uh, I didn't know if anyone was watching.”

One corner of the man's mouth tugged into a smile. “We were, but we've seen worse. Don't sweat it. Bathroom's this way. Goes without saying that there's nowhere to run from here, right?”

“Right,” Rich agreed before his mind muddled through the words. He'd agreed because of the man's tone more than anything. He wasn't thinking clearly, he knew that.

Three minutes later he'd done his business in a tiled green bathroom that smelled of piss and regret, and washed his hands dutifully under a stainless steel faucet. The water tasted rusty and good, and he slurped it down after his hands were clean enough to bear it to his mouth in leaky palms.

The man was waiting in the corridor when he returned, eyes distant and lost in his own Echo. Rich cleared his throat and put his back to the cool wall, feeling the water settle into his stomach.

He hoped he could keep it down. He was hungry and worried and stressed, and he had a feeling that too much more would make him spew like a volcano.

“All right, come with me, kid,” the man said.

They ended up in an old office, all cluttered and metal and worn wood with exposed pipes in the ceiling. The man pointed at a chair against the wall, and Rich settled into it with a grateful sigh. Even walking the short amount he had was more than he was used to.

Instead of sitting in a chair, the man leaned against his desk, studying Rich with sharp, flint-like eyes. After a second he nodded. “You don't have any idea what this is about, do you?”

“No sir,” Rich said simply. “I was playing Neverquest and then there was a guy with a gun in my face.” The man's badge said Cutter, and had little stars around the central cross. “Is your name Cutter?”

“Alvin Cutter. Agent Alvin Cutter.”

Oh, that was troublesome. He wasn't a cop. He was an agent. All of a sudden it got hard to breathe. Agents meant serious stuff.

“Relax,” said Agent Alvin Cutter. “You're not in any trouble.”

“Then... why am I here?” Rich asked.

His stomach chose that moment to rumble, and Agent Cutter paused, chuckled a bit. “You want some pizza? I think there's some in the break room.”

“Yes please.” Pizza was a rare luxury in his hab. It brought to mind celebrations, and good times, and his parents relaxing a little.

A minute later he was digging his teeth into a cold-but-good slab of cheese and bread, taking care to get every scrap of pepperoni he could find into his mouth. The agent watched him go, content to let him fill his belly.

Rich forced himself to stop after the first slice though, and put the plate on the chair next to him. “Thank you.”

“You sure you don't want more?” Agent Cutter raised an eyebrow.

“I don't need any more. One slice is fine, thanks.”

“If you're sure.”

“I am.” Any more would just make him fatter. Rich's body was merciless that way.

“So. You asked you why you were here,” Agent Cutter said, leaning one hand on the desk behind him, tilting a bit as he scrutinized the child before him. “I'm sorry to tell you that it's not a very good reason. Your parents are at fault. One of them, anyway.”

Rich swallowed hard. “What did Dad do?”

“Dad?” Agent Cutter stared at Rich, looked him in the eyes. “No. It's your mother.”

“Mom?” Rich croaked. He blinked a few times, couldn't meet the Agent's gaze. “What... no, that's impossible. She'd never... she didn't even...” She wanted you to stay clean, his inner voice told him. Didn't even want you swearing, not once. But now here you are, after cussing out a Youth Shepherd. Way to go, fatty!

“Your mother was making plans to emigrate illegally,” Agent Cutter told him. “And she was arranging to take you with her.”

“What?” Rich shook his head. “How could... no. That makes no sense.”

“She never said anything about that to you?”

“No! Where... where did she even want to go?”

“East Canada. She was making plans to cross the Pittsburgh line when we caught her.”

East Canada... Rich's mouth went dry.

They were supposed to have rules about politeness, there. Really strict rules.

Suddenly his mom's insistence that he avoid swearing made more sense.

Agent Cutter nodded. “Your Father seems to know nothing about this. We'll be watching, of course, but I'm confident that he'll come up clean. As have you.”

“I... oh man.”

The Agent smiled. “For the record, I had my suspicions about you. Then you got expelled for a conflict with a shepherd. Profanity, obscenity, vulgarity? No way that someone trying to get into Eascan would do something like that.”

“Oh,” Rich said, as realization sunk in. Then he laughed. “Oh. Yeah, I guess that wouldn't work out too well for me.”

“Anyway, we're sending you home. Your father is clear, so with at least one guardian left you're not going into juvie. Be glad for that, Richard Royal. It's not a good place for kids your age.”

“Okay,” Rich agreed. Then what the agent had said sunk in. “Wait. With at least one guardian left? What about my mom?”

That's when the agent stopped smiling.

And Rich listened, heart sinking and the pizza in his belly curdling into rot and twisting goo as he learned that his mother wasn't going to be coming back for a very, very long time...