Rotgoriel woke in a human body.

It took him a second to realize it, took him a second to wonder why it was warm in here, and why his field of vision was so much larger than normal. For a second he thought his eye might have grown back, and he felt a surge of joy...

...a surge of joy that turned into a cramp in his nether regions. He had to piss.

And that told him all he needed to know. Dragon anatomy was different, his kind neither required nor drank as much water. He'd pissed last week, so he wasn't due for days yet. No, annoyingly, this meant he was human again.

And this was unusual.

By mutual agreement they had hammered out a schedule, and brought Geebo in as the minder. From the daylight Rotgoriel could see through the... the window coverings, the window curtains, the... blinds? Blinds, yes. From the light visible through them, it had to be well past dawn. Rich was supposed to be back before now. After the training exercise, Rotgoriel was to have his own body for the rest of the day.

First things first. He went and pissed, letting muscle memory take over afterward and washing his hands almost automatically.

It seemed strange to waste water so; he was clean, the parts he used to piss were clean, and he'd used them properly so there was no mess. But it was easier to step back and let this body take care of it through habit than it was to ponder the weirdness of it.

After his bladder was relieved, his stomach started in. Hungry, again! Humans were such gluttonous creatures, that had scant hours between meals before their bodies required more. It was no wonder they were ambitious little twerps... with such crude and demanding drives, how could they be anything less than impatient and rash?

Still, this wasn't the first time he'd dealt with it. And at least their food was good. Perhaps the cafeteria had some of those crunchy hard potato slivers again? Those were salty and satisfying.

He cracked the blinds and looked out the window. Yes, it was well into mid-day, and—

The glass shattered.

He stood there for a second, surprised.

Thunder rolled.

No.

Not thunder.

He hit the ground as the wall behind him cracked, and a hole blew open in the drywall. From the next wall over, someone screamed.

Someone is trying to shoot me.

Rotgoriel rolled away from the window seconds before another bullet blew in through the wall beneath it. Okay, I'll give them a second to think I'm down, before I charge through the window, fly over, and blast them with... No, wait, human. Shit. Uh...

A wail rose outside, then fell. Then it repeated. Searching his memories, he thought it to be an alarm.

Another shot ripped through the window, and cratered the wall beyond. More shouts came from further in his building, and he could hear feet hitting the floor as people ran. Most were heading away from the bullets, which was only sensible.

And though his human ears were a pale shadow of his true flesh, he could hear one set of footsteps getting closer.

He had no gun. He had no fire. He had no claws. He could do nothing about the human shooting through his window.

But he rather thought he could do something about whoever was running toward his door.

Though it was locked it slammed open, splintering around the area of the knob. A smaller form staggered in, and Rotgoriel was on it before it could regain its balance. It squeaked and curled into a ball as he took it down, desperately fighting off his grip, trying to keep its face away from his teeth. “No! Wait! Boss!”

He froze, his stiffened fingers inches from its eyes, smelling sweat and unwashed flesh, staring down at a face that slowly gained familiarity.

Cole.

“I'm here to help! I need you alive!” Cole rasped, struggling to get Rotgoriel's other hand away from his throat. “Stop!”

“Why?” Rotgoriel snarled. But he let his grasp loosen a bit, so the youth could breathe.

“You don't throw away a dragon just because of past differences! That's bad business! Burning assets before they pay off is just stupid!”

Weirdly enough, he had a huge, shit-eating grin on his face. But the fear in his eyes was very real, and Rotgoriel thought he was telling the truth.

Another crack, and a different part of the wall blew open.

“We can't stay here,” Cole whispered, as the shot pealed and the thunder faded.

“Let us go,” Rotgoriel decided, and released the slender young man. The two of them crawled to the hallway, then scrambled up and ran for the stairs.

“No!” Cole said, as Rotgoriel halted his motion. “This way!” he slapped his hand against a nearby door lock, and it opened. Cole headed in first, held the door open.

Rotgoriel hesitated for a second, then followed. It seemed empty inside, another room just like his, only the bed had no coverings, and there were no personal possessions around. He stood in there, feeling the rage and fear pump through him, that human stuff... adrenaline? Yes, that was the word. Rotgoriel focused on rising above it, bending it to his will. This body would serve him. He would not be its slave.

Cole didn't seem to need a second to collect himself. Cole marched straight up to the window, cracked open the blinds, and stared through. “There's the bastard!” he said, beckoning Rotgoriel over. “The proctors are coming in, and he's scrambling. I think we're safe.”

“He. It's a he attacking me?”

“Sure is. That's Cutter out there.”

That drew Rotgoriel to the window. He peered through, saw a tall form running along the wall. It could have been Cutter, perhaps. He didn't have time for closer observation as the figure leaped over and vanished from view. Heading towards the forest beyond, no doubt.

Rotgoriel felt his body trying to shake now, and bent his will toward controlling himself. It took long moments, and he was aware of the smaller youth staring at him, eyes white in the darkness, teeth glinting in that loose smile he always seemed to have. Something tugged at Rotgoriel's mind then, but it was lost in the chaos. Something familiar.

But he had more pressing matters. Outside the window, the proctors reached the wall, scaling up it and kneeling, rifles outward, looking for the shooter. Too little, he thought. Too little, too late. They would be useless if the assassin stepped up his game.

He had questions. Rotgoriel turned to Cole...

...and the world went gray.

For a second, for a split second he'd thought that Cole had killed him. Betrayed him, suddenly but inevitably.

Then a voice rang out through the grayness. “Well, that could've gone better.” Instantly it was answered by jeers and random shouting.

And after a moment, the words materialized in front of his vision and floated by.

HARDLUCK: Well, that could have gone better.

3DG3LORD: Then uninstall, beta bitch.

CUCKURMOM: Shit, a name like that's asking for it.

SIRPELLINORE: What got you, man?

WISEWAFFLE: I'm more interested in where you died. Disland or Datland?

EREBORSTRUELORD: The fuck?

WISEWAFFLE: No, I'm serious, that's the name of the continents.

ARISTATTLER: Two of them. There's at least five, but only Disland and Datland are close enough to each other and lacking widespread magical wards to have any real interaction without years of travel.

HARDLUCK: Hey Aris, long time no see.

ARISTATTLER: You were here yesterday, kid.

HARDLUCK: Some days are longer than others.

CUCKURMOM: I'm longer than others.

NAKSABBATH: God, shut it already.

CUCKURMOM: You shut your vagina if you're getting sand in it, bitch.

VALHELSIA: Good old deathchat. Reminding me why I need to go buy more tokens again.

Instantly Valhelsia was besieged by a torrent of requests, begging for tokens or offering to sell them some at “Best price$$$!”

Tokens, Rotgoriel thought. I still have some, do I not?

A quick check showed that he did.

But something gnawed at his mind again, some memory, and this time he wasn't dealing with a human body's pathetic little panic attack. This time he could think and chase it down while it was fresh.

One of the names in here was familiar to him.

“Aristattler. I remember you,” Rotgoriel said.

OLDMEMER: Pepperidge Farm remembers...

BRIGHTBLADE: Oh Jesus, you got him started.

SWORDEDAFFAIR: Swear to god if he gets on about those stupid cat pictures again I'll scream.

Oldmemer spat out a series of random words that Rotgoriel recognized as punctuation. For a second he was mystified. Then a picture of sorts formed, looking vaguely like a cat.

OLDMEMER: /\_/\

OLDMEMER: ____/ 0 0 \

OLDMEMER: /~___ =o= /

OLDMEMER: (______)_)_)

Half the grayspace exploded in laughter, while the other half started screaming in frustration. A few of the dead responded with symbols that when added together, resembled stylized human pensises.

But Rotgoriel ignored it, and stayed focused, watching for one specific response.

ARISTATTLER: It's been a while. What've you been up to?

RUTGER: Things I should probably not talk about here.

ARISTATTLER: You've come far, if you've learned that lesson. I'm proud.

Rotgoriel felt a flush, and fought it down. He was a dragon. What did he care that some dead human praised him?

But the impulse passed. There were no bodies here. To the rest of them, he seemed human as any of them. This afterlife was horrible, but given how the ancestors had scorned him the last time he dreamed, he didn't think he'd do too well in a dragon afterlife.

Still, Aristattler was here. This human had been helpful before, and it was good to see a familiar touchstone in such a horrible place.

RUTGER: Thank you. I wonder, though. You have been here each and every time I arrive. Are you a minion of death or something of the sort?

ARISTATTLER: No. I just enjoy the peace of it.

MASTIGATER: Your mom enjoyed a piece of it!

RUTGER: This is peace?

ARISTATTLER: Compared to what I'm used to, sure.

RUTGER: You must be from hell.

ARISTATTLER: Ha! No, no. Not yet. I mean, it's not hell, but you can see it from where we're at. The world I was born into is pretty fucked up, will be for at least a few more years. This is a cakewalk by comparison.

RUTGER: But why spend your time dead?

ARISTATTLER: Oh, the first few times weren't by choice. I got griefed, and got griefed hard. But as time went on, I realized that this place... this isn't so bad, here.

Rotgoriel tried to tune out the jeers and the chatter and the random nonsense. He ignored the conversations that had nothing to do with him, and listened only for Aristattler's voice. He had no ears; his perception wasn't a factor. In death all were equal, it seemed.

But his focus paid off. And he chose his words carefully.

RUTGER: What is good about this place?

ARISTATTLER: You know how Generica has only one world instance? It doesn't separate its players by nationality?

He hadn't known that. But a few moments brought the memories he had gained from his brother to mind. Yes, he had learned that years ago.

RUTGER: That is true.

ARISTATTLER: Everyone from all parts of the world is here. It's a true globabl community, that puts together people who might never meet in real life.

RUTGER: This is also true. I still do not see the good of it... death, I mean.

ARISTATTLER: Because all the dead go to the same place. A place where they can't hurt each other, or hide from each other. Where they cannot silence each other. They are stuck talking to each other.

CATO9TAELZ: Ari, dear, we CAN silence each other. Easy enough to block people.

ARISTATTLER: Yes, but you need to do it at the network level. Not the game level. Which means logging out of the game briefly to take care of that. And the weird thing is, even in deathchat, most people don't. Well, unless the Nazis are around.

STURMDRANGER88: Fuck you, old man.

ARISTATTLER: Find Hitler's dick and we'll talk. I'm sure the Russians have it preserved in a bell-jar somewhere, they like doing that sort of shit.

STURMDRANGER88: YOU FUCKING JEW!

THAT inspired a cacophony. Tons of people shouting at each other, then unifying, and heaping scorn and bile on Sturmdranger88, as he grew more incoherent and finally fell silent.

ARISTATTLER: See? People work through stuff. In the world we come from, you don't get this. Which is why the dead philosophy of a mass-murdering sociopath is still catchy, in some places that really ought to know better. Here? That Nazi is probably off rethinking his life. Or at the very least, having a really bad day. Keep this up and eventually he won't be a Nazi. And that's magic of a sort that my world has forgotten; uninhibited, uncontrolled, free-range discourse.

RUTGER: I saw one man standing against a crowd.

ARISTATTLER: Yes. And the crowd was right. Society dealt with a person who was determined to be a threat, to work against the common good. A dangerous barrier to progress. And they dealt with it without violence, or any lives being risked or ruined.

RUTGER: All I saw was a mob going after one man.

ARISTATTLER: See, that's the argument that a lot of problems to society use back in the real world. That or the “both sides are bad,” lie. But let me ask you this; did he not just seek to insult and offend me?

RUTGER: He did.

ARISTATTLER: And what happened?

RUTGER: He was mocked and shamed into silence.

ARISTATTLER: Would you have preferred that I found him in real life and killed him, to avenge myself?

RUTGER: It would have demonstrated your power and superiority, so yes. That is the appropriate way to respond to weaker fools who challenge you.

ARISTATTLER: Not the reply I was expecting.

RUTGER: It is foolish to rely upon others to defend yourself. Especially in a place this unstable. The mob may turn upon you, if they deem you a threat to society.

ARISTATTLER: They might. You know what I'll do if that happens?

RUTGER: Defend yourself and fall silent?

ARISTATTLER: No, I'll think over what I've done, and apologize if it's warranted and try to do better. If I'm accused of being something I'm not then I'll ignore it. Why should lies cause me to worry? I have nothing to prove. Eventually they'll get over it and move on. And that, that's how a mature society grows. That guy who named himself using Nazi code words, and used Nazi slurs? He was declaring his unwillingness to grow, to change, to adapt. He is clinging to weakness, and doing so in a way that drags everyone else down. That way was not an effective path to a functional society; that got disproved over a century ago. His obsolescence is not helpful, not even to himself.

RUTGER: This is a strange way of looking at things.

ARISTATTLER: It's a mercy, is what it is. In the real world, when people like him have power, they shoot and kill and beat and oppress whoever they need to, to preserve their power. And they lock down free speech, so no one can shout them down, or tell them how wrong they are.

RUTGER: Are you certain that's a bad approach? It seems to work.

ARISTATTLER: You a Nazi?

RUTGER: No.

ARISTATTLER: Okay, just making sure. Here's the problem with relying on force to govern; it only works so long as the people you're governing are either okay with it, or don't have enough numbers to take you down. If either of those things shifts, then so does the power.

RUTGER: I come from a place that seems to bely the truth of this matter.

ARISTATTLER: You'll have to narrow it down. The world's shitty right now.

RUTGER: The Ministry.

Aristattler didn't answer for a moment. Then Rotgoriel found out why.

HELLFIGHTER: Oh fuck me, we got a church nazi.

JE$U$: You're not one of MY faithful. I do not know you.

RAINBOWRAIDER: You assholes killed my cousin!

CUCKURMOM: Hey, how much to buy a slave from your camps? I heard you guys got good prices.

FALAFELWAFFLE: It's the fake religion that bothers me. They're not just evil fuckers, they got that holier-than-thou thing going on.

This, and much worse, followed.

Rotgoriel bristled... but held his tongue. He had seen what shouting back at the mob had done for the Nazi. And after a time, he came to realize that Aristattler was true. It didn't matter. Some of the insults and slurs might apply to his brother, but he was a damned dragon. He hadn't had a part in building the Ministry's society. And given that it kept trying to kill his brother, it was a pretty shitty society at that. So he couldn't fault the crowd's rage.

It was hard to pinpoint where the mob shifted, but eventually the shouting died down and the tone of their words changed.

CURTISKEY: Hey dudes, he's breaking their law by being here. Might be this guy knows his country is a fascist paradise.

GROUNDPOUNDER: Not his fault if he was born there.

LADYKESSEL: Want out, Rutger? Message me if so. I know a guy.

Eventually something else caught the crowd's attention and only then did Aristattler speak up.

ARISTATTLER: See my point? The Ministry is at the end of its cycle, and falling. They just haven't realized it yet.

RUTGER: Perhaps. I am not entirely convinced that this afterlife is helpful.

ARISTATTLER: It is. I watch people. I learn things not just about the game, but about where they come from, who they are. I don't track or use this information, but I watch them grow. And I see what they say when they have a forum without consequences or control. And it gives me hope, hope for the world I'm born into. And I mourn that we don't have anything as unified back in “the real world.” Not any more, at least.

RUTGER: Who are you?

ARISTATTLER: You haven't earned that information yet, Rotgoriel.

RUTGER: How did you— he clamped his mouth shut.

RUTGER: Are you a god?

ARISTATTLER: Heh, no. But I'm on first name terms with a few.

RUTGER: If you know that, you know what I face. Are my foes helping society?

ARISTATTLER: In their own way, yes. Though they're going about it in a pretty bad way. I'm not sure the ends justify the means. Nor am I sure that they will be good custodians, should they get ahold of the power they seek.

Rotgoriel thought. Something in him was drawn to this human, something told him that this Aristattler could help make sense of an increasingly complicated situation.

RUTGER: They will not. Will you help me oppose them?

ARISTATTLER: That's a big request. Especially to someone who's essentially neutral right now. Shifting my position could cause me a lot of trouble. Why do you want my aid, anyway?

RUTGER: I have too many questions and not enough answers. You have information, and answers.

ARISTATTLER: And too many ears in here to be of any real help to you. You realize your foes have a lot of allies? The chance of someone listening in and passing it along to them is significant.

RUTGER: Perhaps a meeting in the realm of the living?

ARISTATTLER: No.

RUTGER: A message in real-life? Your... Echo address, so we can correspond?

ARISTATTLER: Hell no.

RUTGER: Is there nothing that we can do?

ARISTATTLER: Tell you what, kid. From what I know of you, from what people have seen, you should have some skill. So I'll give you a challenge.

RUTGER: I will rise to it.

ARISTATTLER: Hack the game. Find a way to get a message to me, even through the security and privacy settings that try to prevent this. Then we'll talk.

RUTGER: Done.

He had no idea if he could do that, but his brother was skilled. If anyone could, it was Rich.

ARISTATTLER: Good luck.

There was nothing more to say, and much to do. Rotgoriel nodded, headlessly, then spent one of his tokens.

He was done with being dead, for now. There was far too much to do in the realms of the living.