The factory hummed with noise, printers spitting out plastic and metal in an alternating rhythm. Monitors showed cars in various states of assembly, and drones moved up and down the production line, carrying the parts that couldn't be printed, dropping them into hoppers to be affixed, and ensuring that each workstation had a smooth process flow.

By Eascan law, the parts of the process that weren't automated were remotely enabled. Nobody was here physically. In the event of an absolute emergency there were people who could arrive in minutes and enter the complex, but otherwise it was deserted.

Almost deserted.

Legion led Rich through the plant, the male body walking ahead of him, and the female body walking behind. There were clear and visible cameras at several junctions in the hallways, but Legion didn't break stride. Rich assumed that he didn't have to worry about the footage. That seemed a trivial thing for an artificial intelligence to handle.

He found his voice, as they moved through a storeroom, walking around the plastic-wrap sheathed cars waiting to be loaded into long-haul trucks. “So it was all a lie? ECHOs can be hacked?”

“Nothing is impossible,” Legion said. “Especially when you get into information technology. It's all just a question of how much time and effort you want to put into it. That said, I wasn't able to do this until Generica Online came along.”

Rich froze.

The female body cleared her throat.

“You got to them through the game?” Rich whispered.

“Whatever magic they're using to transfer consciousness isn't built to keep me out,” Legion said, with a hint of smugness in their unison voice.

Rich took a deep breath, as he realized the implications. Oh, not of the puppetry, because that was already disturbing as hell, and he'd had time to work through that on the van ride over.

No, the fact that Legion was willing to tell him this meant that the AI didn't care if he knew or not.

“Am I going to be walking out of here as myself, or will I be joining you?” he asked, as casually as he could.

The man turned to face him. Rich stopped and looked between him and the woman. Their expressions were identical and amused as they answered. “What? Oh. Heh. Heh hah, Rich, you're fine. Don't worry about that. I need you just as you are.”

“Are they still in there?” Rich said, staring directly into the man's eyes. “Are they still awake in there? Do they know what you're doing to them?”

“Actually they're online, right now. They're in Generica, some place far from your conflict. They're off being pirates. The whole dragon apocalypse isn't affecting them one bit so far... ah, you don't know about that yet, do you?”

Rich kept quiet.

Legion frowned. Then the two of him shrugged simultaneously, and beckoned him onward. “Come on. I'll tell you what you missed when we get to the others.”

After a few minutes of meandering, they led him up to a showroom. A lounge sat in the center of a ring of cars on a movable floor, and there were some familiar faces sitting on the furniture, faces that looked over to him as Legion led him through a line of minivans.

“Oh thank Jesus,” Greg said, his tall frame sagging in relief.

Pat ran over and gave him a fistbump. “Yes! Finally!”

Only Cutter said nothing, sitting in an armchair, with his hands folded in his lap. But his eyes flicked between both of Legion's bodies, then looked to Rich with a question in his gaze.

Rich wasn't sure of what the man was asking, not exactly. He took a chance and shook his head. Cutter seemed to accept that, and looked away.

“So what happened?” Rich asked them, taking a seat on a large fake-leather sofa. It groaned as he sat on it, hide stretching in that way that underused couches had.

“Bad stuff,” Greg said. “We were in a witness protection thing, and the suits that were watching us told us to bug out. They were pulling a car up when some of Legion's zombies rolled up and killed them. Then they grabbed us and brought us here.”

“And you?” Rich said, turning his gaze back on Cutter.

Cutter shrugged. “The guards told me I was transferring to a more secure facility a few days ago. But they dropped me off on a deserted road, and this thing picked me up.” He nodded to the two puppets, who had moved up to Rich's side.

“Technically it wasn't a lie. This is more secure than your old place,” Legion said, smiling.

“Is it?”

“A few days ago...” Rich frowned. “Greg? Pat?”

“We got grabbed a few hours ago,” Pat clarified.

“Same as me, then.”

“I needed to get you all away from Analog,” Legion said. “I need you back in Generica. You were wise to avoid heading there while they had you. Well, most of you, anyway.”

Cutter shifted as the puppets turned their gazes on him. “I told you. They had no way of tracking my comings and goings.”

“Yes. But you won't tell me how you come and go,” Legion said. “That's getting annoying, Alvin.”

Cutter's tone was patient and controlled. “And I told you, once we're out of here, I can possibly do business with you. Until then, I've got a conflict of interest on the matter.”

“Fine. Fine fine fine. We've got bigger problems anyway,” Legion said. “Wait here. I've got to get these two home before they return to this world. We can talk through AR or do an ECHO chat, whichever you prefer.”

“Let's go with Augmented Reality,” Rich said. “No offense, but...” he tapped his skull.

“I told you once, you're safe from me, Rich. But sure, whatever you like.” The two puppets left with some haste, jogging back through the cars.

Rich looked to Pat and Greg. The two pulled their own sofa closer, and Cutter shrugged, moved to a closer chair.

“He's totally listening in,” Rich said, shrugging.

“I'm here right now, yes,” came a new voice over the nearest intercom. A man faded into the chair to Rich's right. He was augmented reality, an image that existed nowhere but in Richard's ECHO. “Do you want me to give you some privacy? See, I can do that, but I have no way to prove that I'm not watching you. So...” the man spread his hands.

He had a friendly face, this stranger that Legion was portraying. Slicked back hair, somewhere in his forties. Looked a bit fatherly, in a good way. The image was reinforced by the simple suit he wore, tasteful and neatly-pressed. And for once there was no feeling of an uncanny valley, there were small imperfections visible on his face and hands, a combination of age lines around the eyes, a small mole on the chin, a tiny scar on one finger... it was really well put together. Perhaps stolen from an actual person's appearance. But it meant nothing in the end, and Rich could tell by Greg and Pat's body language that they were still on edge.

“No, it's fine. We're Ministry,” Cutter said. “It's a forgone conclusion that someone's always listening in, anyway.”

“You're Ministry. Interesting that you bring that up. You're out, you're clear, you have been for almost a year,” Legion spread his hands. “But... you still think of yourselves as Ministry. It's interesting, that geography forges that much of a bond. Well, culture, I suppose. Is it truly that strong, in the end?”

“The whole of human history is online for everyone who wasn't born in a theocracy to read. You were born in a place where you could get that information by stretching a bit. Was there ever a time where we weren't defined by geopolitics?” Rich asked.

“Good point,” Legion smiled. “And you've carried this to Generica. This running feud with the Bharstool Warmers, that's essentially two gangs with enormous beef turning eastern Disland into a war zone. Except that's not quite right, is it?”

“You told me before you had plenty of Cultists in your ranks,” Rich said. “You know what the masked ones really are. What they represent.”

“What they threaten,” Pat said. “If what you told us about them crossing over en mass is true, then there's no way this won't end badly.”

“Except... they're not as bad as you think they are,” Legion said, steepling his fingers.

Greg shifted uneasily.

“Oh, don't give me that look. They're horrible and I won't pretend otherwise. I at least put my puppets back on their shelves unharmed whenever I can, but they just flat-out don't care,” Legion said. “And they really do want to seize control of Generica. They have some beef with the fundamental forces of reality there. But... they're slipping. They're losing themselves over time. They're fragmenting.”

Pat leaned in closer. “Are they? How do you know this?”

“I've infiltrated their lower ranks. Been spying on their plots and plans. I think I told you this, yeah?”

“You did,” Rich nodded.

“Well one of the things I've managed is a good look at the code around them. With every patch, with every update, they change a bit more. They used to have a lot of nonsense code, a lot of vestigial stuff. But in the space of the last few months, it's been shifting, and their behavior has been shifting with it. The world is quite literally grinding them down. And the ones in charge know it. The two highest ranking officers spend most of their time in dungeons now, staying out of the world as much as possible. I'm pretty sure it's so they don't change any more than they have to.”

“This explains why they pulled up everything in their conquered lands to come after us,” Rich said, thinking back to the memories he'd gained from Rotgoriel just this morning.

“What? They're making a play now?” Pat sunk his face into his hands. “Of course they are. That's why they tried to take us out. We're out of the game. They're moving to take us out while things are disorganized.”

“They were, yes,” Legion said. “Not so much right now. Things have changed.”

“How so?” Greg asked.

Legion waved a hand, and screens appeared in midair, showing Generica news sites, forums, guild pages, and live feeds.

And on each and every visible AR projection were dragons.

“It's a little unclear what caused this. But the continent we're on just got cut in half. A significant chunk of the middle of it is simply gone, turned into what the players thought was a massive glitch. But then the dragons attacked. Everything east of the glitch is being turned into a fiery mess. And so the majority of the base has reached a logical but incorrect conclusion.”

The screens faded, until only a few remained. And those few all had similar headlines posted.

END OF GENERICA ONLINE?

ENDGAME EVENT?

G.O'S APOCALYPSE ENDING?

“Shit,” Greg whispered.

“And all of this started, at the exact minute that your mother called an ambulance for you, Richard,” Legion turned his gaze upon Rich... and to his dismay, Rich realized that his friends were staring at him too.

“I was talking with Rotgoriel at that moment,” he said. “Through the mirror. Then something happened. I don't know exactly what. But seventeen hatchlings died in the egg. I don't know how I know that, but I'm never going to forget the sounds they made when they died. That shit is going to haunt me.”

“Mirror?” Legion asked. “What's that?”

Rich grimaced. Telling this to Legion seemed like a mistake, but he didn't see any alternative. “Rotgoriel has a way of contacting me from in-game. It's related to dragon magic and Cultist stuff.”

“Does it work both ways? Can you get ahold of him?” Legion asked.

“No. He has to initiate contact,” Rich half-lied. “There's also a recharge required. I don't expect to hear anything for a while longer.”

“Then it sounds to me like you all need to get in there and see what's going on,” Legion said. “Because this? This is a problem,” he said, waving one hand at the headlines. “I've got far too much invested in this game to lose all my progress because someone decided to go and commit dracocide. And that brings us to a serious decision.”

One of the cars nearby flashed its lights. The doors rolled open, and a drone buzzed out, carrying a to-go container. It landed in the center of the lounge, resting on a table.

The to-go container held three small metal devices. They looked a bit like miniature hair-dryers, and green lights flickered on their barrels.

“You don't need one,” Legion said, looking at Cutter. “You've got your own way of getting into the game, and it doesn't alert Analog. But the rest of you? Not so much. They bugged your ECHOs, and there's only one way to fix that right now. Every other way takes too long, or requires assets I can't get you in a reasonable timeframe.”

Rich leaned forward, picked up one of the devices. He turned it over, studied it. It was simple, compact, and heavier than it looked. There was a trigger and a guard, and no other visible moving parts.

“Portable gauss gun?” Pat asked, picking up another one. “Something to fry electronics?”

“More or less,” Legion confirmed. “It isn't powerful enough to mess up your ECHOs. You're no good to me fried. But it will take out the other things they put in your skulls.”

Rich studied it. Then he studied Legion.

The projection smiled. “Yeah. This is the tough part. If you want to go back into the game, you need to trust me on this. I'm sorry. There's no other way.”

Rich closed his eyes.

He remembered the sound the crossbow made, when the woman who'd saved him fired it up into her own head.

Do I really have a choice? He wondered.

He looked to Cutter, but the man's face was inscrutable.

Pat and Greg stared back at him, and he saw his own worry mirrored in their eyes.

And then, before he could lose his nerve, he put the device to his head and pulled the trigger.