“You don't know what you're asking for,” Rich said, crossing his arms.

“I do. Which is why I'm here personally.” Cutter closed his eyes.

Rich hadn't remembered the myriad of wrinkles lining the man's face. There had probably been some, he expected, but the overall impression he got was that the older man had been through a bad time these last few years.

It was hard to find sympathy, though.

“My father died when I was in that game,” Rich said, softly. “Shot by one of your people. Maybe by you, for that matter.”

“For what it's worth, it wasn't me.” The agent opened his eyes, hard and blue and just as unyielding as Rich remembered. “But that doesn't matter. You ever hear the old phrase 'suicide by cop?' That's what he did. Your father chose his fate.”

“You're not wrong.” Rich said, staring back with a resolve that would have been alien to him before his psychotic break. “But you were the reason he was in that situation in the first place. You and M— you and our mutual friend.”

Cutter looked away. “If you don't want to take the job, I'll understand. But he won't care about your reasons. And I don't know what he'll do... or not do, if you get my drift.”

“I do get your drift.” Twice before, strangers had tried to kill him. Now a third one was here, eating dinner a scant few hundred yards from where he sat. Rich presumably had some backing and favor from the Minister whose name they were dancing around. What would happen if that Minister's protection, scant as it seemed to be, was withdrawn? “I didn't say I wouldn't do it.”

Cutter nodded. “That's good. You're the best candidate for what we have in mind.”

“Maybe you should tell me what you have in mind.”

The agent was quite for a moment. He glanced at his suppressor disk, then around the room. “You don't have much here. Not many personal touches.”

“I don't need many of those. And I've resolved to avoid hoarding. I used to have a tendency for that. My confessor said it was a coping mechanism.”

“Yes. Your confessor. You started going to church again, after you got out of the hospital.”

“We didn't know how our financial situation was going to go, for a while. And living with Fred meant that it was cheaper to go to his church than it was to pay the remote access tithe.”

“Fred.” Cutter nodded. “Not father? Not dad?”

“No.” Frederick Tassle, Rich's former computer science teacher, had married Rich's mother last June. They got along well, and Rich considered him a friend, but he wasn't Dad. That name brought a lot of baggage with it. Baggage that Fred didn't deserve. But Rich wasn't going to air that particular part of his heart to Agent Alvin goddamn Cutter.

After a moment more of silence, Cutter broke first. “All right. So what do you know about Generica Online?”

“Any information I have is three years out of date,” Rich told him. “But you knew that already.”

“Right. So tell me what you think you know,” Cutter said.

Rich stood up. “You mind? Easier on my back if I pace.”

“Not a problem. I am glad to see you've been working out since the last time I saw you. I figured you'd be twice your weight and with double the health problems by now.”

“I'm never going to be thin, Dad's genes decided that before I was born,” Rich said, walking across the well-worn carpet. “But it's up to me how much is muscle and how much is fat.” He shook his head. “We're getting off track. Generica Online. Three years ago it came to the Ministry through the darknet. It was around before then, got played in other countries. Two years? Three? I forget.”

“Two and a half. It first showed up in Cascadia and U-kor.”

“West coast and United Korea? Damn.” Those guys were serious about gaming. Probably one of the reasons they had such a booming drone industry. “Those are two of the major gaming testbeds. The right mix of disposable income, free time, and open-mindedness.”

“Yes. That's one of the things that makes it so hard to track down. It went in along with hundreds of other games, and didn't start attracting attention until it rose to the top. We weren't watching it then, and we're paying the price now.”

“The price...” Rich tilted his head, studied the agent.

“We let it in, against our better judgment.” Cutter sighed. “Do you ever wonder why we let the darknet exist? Why we pretend not to monitor it?”

“The usual assumption is that it's too widespread, and if you ever want an excuse to arrest someone, you can point to their illegal darknet access.”

“Please,” Cutter snorted. “We run this place. We don't need excuses. If we grab them it's because God wanted us to haul them in.”

“Which works, until you're trying to haul in the ones that God's supposed to love the most,” Rich said, softly. “Like, oh, the pastors, their people, and the ministers themselves.”

The agent's face twisted into a grimace.

Alvin was a bastard. He'd used Rich as a pawn, and though he wasn't the direct cause of his father's death, he was at the very best, an accomplice. But one thing was certain; the Agent knew who was responsible for the mess this shithole nation had come to. Even if he couldn't do a damned thing about it.

Still, it was a wound Rich didn't mind salting. And it tied into their mutual problem. “The Haskeens are at it again. I wasn't kidding about that third guy. If you want me to veg out in a game that renders me insensate to the rest of the world, then it's not going to help either of us if I wake up with a knife in my throat.”

“Is that all you know about the game?” Cutter's voice was a growl.

“No. The rest is mostly scattered facts, though. It takes a subscription, though I don't know where the money goes. It's got a weird character policy, where you can't delete any that you make. It charges a lot of money for alts... well, comparatively. A lot of money here, anyway. Not so much in other countries.”

“Prices have gone up since you last played,” Cutter said. “The game's been deemed legal in several American and Euro nations. North and South Africa are still arguing about it, but they're expected to let it through before Christmas. And it was never illegal in most of Asia to begin with.”

“I'm assuming it's still illegal here,” Rich said, half-asking.

“Of course. Even putting aside the adult content, it promotes heathenism and liberal ideas. Even sexual deviance and socialism in a few places.” Cutter's lips twisted. “The only reason we didn't slam the door on that filth is because it got protection from the highest levels. Simple math; the richest families have the best darknet setups, and got to try it first. All it took was a few days and the addiction set in, and our attempts to nip it in the bud got suppressed at every turn. And now it's too late.”

“Too late?”

“The game is too widespread. Too many vectors. Now that it's gotten legal status in most of the surrounding net hubs, we can't block it off entirely. And worse, thanks to the recent financial crunch, our darknet security is lagging. We're losing the ability to watch the traffic we need to watch.”

“I didn't know it was that bad,” Rich said, slowing his pace a bit, to watch Cutter more carefully.

“I'm not surprised. You haven't accessed the darknet once. Not once, ever since that day.”

“I couldn't. You were watching me. And you're not wrong about that game being addictive. I would have tried to save up money and start an alternate character if I went back. After everything that happened... I couldn't do that.”

“You went clean. Made a killing programming and selling apps on the marketplace.”

“All above board,” Rich lied. “I paid my church tithes on time and in full, when my income rose.”

Cutter smiled. “Part of me wonders if that's the real reason you started attending a physical church. The pastors are a lot less demanding to people who establish face-to-face relationships with them.”

Rich, who paid his pastor a good chunk of money under the table to keep his official tithes low, said nothing.

The agent continued. “Then you applied for Waverly Academy and passed each of the exams with flying colors. And here you are, looking to graduate and be an agent. With your own, unique color.”

“I didn't know what kind of job I'd be doing, or for which agency,” Rich said, calmly. “My best chance of surviving the Haskeens meant being prepared for any career at any time. No point in wearing one of the standard colors, if I'd have to work with one of their rivals later. Politics and rivalries are a problem I can't afford right now.”

“Well. We can help you with the Haskeens, at least. Justin's going to be busy with the mess down south. That gives us some leeway to cover you. I've got a few favors in Waverly I can pull in. You're still going to have to watch yourself, but if you do in fact have someone gunning for you we can be your shield.”

“I do, and I'll take the help.” Rich sat on the bed again. “You still haven't told me why you want me back in the game, or what I'll be doing there.”

“I'm hesitant to go into details outside the game.”

“I'll have a handler on the inside?”

“Yes. Me.”

That made Rich rock back in surprise. “You?”

Cutter grinned. “I used to play a lot of games back when I had free time. This will be almost like a vacation.” His grin faded. “One that might end my career.”

“Okay. I'll need your username. The messaging system in-game is weird. And I'll need to figure out one for my alternate character.”

“Why not stick with your main character? One of the reasons you're getting this job is because you play a dragon.”

Rich recoiled, and eyed the agent warily.

“It took us a while to figure it out,” Cutter said, smugly. “If that Cascadian girl hadn't streamed you, we never would have. It was simple to match timestamps and mannerisms to the footage... even if not all of it lined up. Anyway, once we knew what to look for, the rest was simple.”

“I can't play my main because he's asleep right now. Probably. Dragons sleep for a long, long time when they're... moulting.”

“Moulting?”

“He's evolving into a more powerful form. The skill description said two to four years.”

“Yikes.” Cutter chewed his lip. “But if you haven't checked, how do you know it wasn't done in two years? Or three? Your character could still be there, waiting for you.”

“This is true,” Rich admitted.

But it got into one of the reasons why he hadn't checked.

He feared the game. There was something off about it, something wrong. It had gotten into his head, read his thoughts, and made his body do things while he was playing. It had made him hallucinate, think he was playing while he was far, far out of range of any router that could carry his signal.

It had fooled him into thinking he was a dragon.

And the worst part of it...

...the worst part of it was that he missed that feeling.

That he yearned to be the Rotgoriel personality that the game had made for him. Bold. Brash. Uncaring of consequences.

And powerful.

But the agent was here now, and he had no argument that would persuade the man without revealing too many weaknesses.

The only way out is through, Rich thought. I'll log in, confirm Rotgoriel's still asleep, then purchase an alt from the store. “I'll need a secure Darknet router, one the Academy can't detect,” he said.

“Already in your desk drawer,” Cutter told him.

“I'll need money to cover purchasing an alternate if the dragon's still asleep.”

“Already in your account. Legally. We just purchased your latest app a few hundred times.”

“Huh. Thanks for the store ranking. Ah...” Rich paced. “I'll either need to play around classes, or a waiver of some sort to opt out of them depending on when you want me online.”

“You won't. The problem we're up against is urgent, but the timeframe is forgiving. At this point, anyway.” Cutter sighed. “We don't know enough yet to know how worried we should be. This shouldn't impact your classwork, not immediately. If things change, I'll see to that waiver.”

“Okay. Let me tell you about Cole, then.” Rich explained his worries about the green-suited youth.

Cutter squinted at him when he finished. “That's all? You just get a bad feeling from this kid?”

“It's a feeling I've only had twice before, and it saved my life both times. Look, I know it's not any sort of evidence... but you said it yourself, more or less. You don't need evidence. If you want to do a pre-emptive strike and stop his ass and it turns out I'm wrong, then oh well.” Rich knew he wasn't wrong, but he didn't have a good way to convince Cutter of that.

“We'll look into him. We lose nothing by watching him, but I want to know details before I take any major action,” Cutter sighed. “If he weren't an academy student, I'd have more leeway to act, here. One black bag and done.”

“Done. Speaking of that,” Rich said, lips tightening. “If I do this thing for you, will it repay my debt? Will our friend be satisfied with this one job, or am I on the hook until I die?”

“Your debt? Yes. You'll have a good career ahead of you in whatever agency grabs you. Assuming you can keep politics from coming down on your head.”

By politics he meant the Haskeens. Not good odds at dodging those, both father and son were vengeful and stubborn. Still, given time to build a power base, he could maybe withstand until it became too much trouble to kill him.

But something in the agent's voice made Rich ask. “There's a 'but' somewhere in there, isn't there?”

“Yes. Your debt will be paid. But you're not the only one he's been shielding. Two people very near and dear to your heart have been enjoying his benevolence, even if they don't know it.”

There it was.

“Mom and Fred,” Rich whispered.

No more Honey, boy. Here's the vinegar, he thought, hearing Justin Haskeen, the second's, voice in his head.

“We're not going to do a thing to them, before you ask,” the agent reassured him. “But it's taken a fair amount to shield them from the less-obvious attacks that your enemy has sent their way. They have an intact credit rating, numerous hacks on their accounts and online profiles have been defeated, and at one point our friend stopped the city from rezoning their district and flagging your house for uncompensated demolition.”

“The fuck? Seriously?” Rich asked. That last one sounded absolutely ridiculous.

“It's the reason I'm not dismissing your bad feeling about this Cole freshman. They've done stupider and worse in the past. The point is, we can't be square with just this one repaid favor, because it's going to be an ongoing problem until it's resolved. One way or the other.”

“All right. I see where you're coming from. I don't like it, but... all right.” He rubbed his eyes. “When do you want me to start?”

“Now.”

“Now? This second?”

“Not this second, but tonight. I'll retire to my own room and log in. My character's name is Nerguin. Do you need to write it down?”

“No, but I do need you to spell it.” A few repetitions, and Rich knew he had it memorized. “Okay. I'll give you ten minutes then I'll be in.”

“Make it half an hour. I need a drink before I go back in there.” The agent grimaced. “Damn game's a little too real.”

“You're not lying.” Rich fought down a wave of nausea. Nerves, the worst he'd felt since that day.

After Cutter was gone, Rich simply sat on the bed, mulling things over. A few minutes later he restarted his monitoring programs, and spend some time working them back into the dorm's security net. Cutter was here legally, there was no reason for them to go shake down the system for that. His hacks would probably be safe.

Time enough for a shower? He wondered. Heading to the bathroom, he flipped on the lights, instead of the white brightness he was expecting, everything stayed dark. Dark, with white flecks of light...

...and right before him, where the bathroom mirror should be, was a dragon's face.

“Brother!” Rotgoriel boomed. “How long has it been?”