“I expect you're happy to hear the news, Richard,” Mister Alvarez said.

“News?” Rich leaned back in his chair. It wasn't truly there, just another virtual part of the virtual chatroom he was in. Meetings with Mister Alvarez were always through his ECHO, never face to face.

“From the Ministry. You haven't been watching?”

“Not really,” Rich shrugged. “I have some friends who are into it and keep me informed. I'm pretty busy with my own stuff these days.”

Mister Alvarez studied him for a long moment. His eyes glittered, black in his light brown face. He was the first hispanic person Richard had ever met, and he was pretty certain that was by design. Eascan had learned what happened when you let racism run rampant.

To be honest, as tests went, it was pretty easy. Rich spent half his waking hours as a dragon, and to dragons humans generally all tasted the same, regardless of their skin color.

“Well. The camps are being shut down,” Mister Alvarez finally said. “The people responsible for it are being punished, though the media over there isn't going into too many details on what's happening there.”

“That's because most of that is probably a lie,” Rich shrugged. “Most of the blame is going to trickle down to convenient scapegoats, and the people who profited from it will get away with some fines, hush money, and favors owed.”

Mister Alvarez stood from his own chair, walked around the desk.

Rich froze, wondering if he'd been too honest.

But the middle-aged man walked to the window, adjusting his suit as he went. Blue, well-made, and too reminiscent of another acquaintance's fashion for Rich's comfort.

“You know, Richard, you're not the first youth from the Ministry that I've worked with,” Mister Alvarez said, looking out the window. “A lot of these kids before you, you wouldn't believe the shi— the stuff that comes out of their mouths.”

“Good recovery,” Rich said, and instantly wondered if that had been a mistake. He glanced away, over to the bowl of marbles on the coffee table, over to the ornamental fountain next to it, that provided the soothing sound of trickling water. All tools to get him to relax, and he was worried that they had done their job too well.

“But all of them were honest, in their own way. You, though... you've got one hell of a mask.”

Rich shifted in his chair.

“You're seventeen, and you have better composure than some of my colleagues,” Mister Alvarez said, turning his head a bit, considering him with one eye, birdlike. “I know you grew up hard. I know you went through stuff no kid your age ever should. But that's over now. It's safe to relax. You're safe now.”

“I know,” Rich said, lying.

Mister Alvarez turned to face him fully now. “Do you? I wonder. Well. I wondered.”

Rich tensed, but the man was smiling, and not in a malicious way.

The counselor continued. “You know I saw that mask slip today? Just now? Holy hell, Rich, that's cynical. Bitter and beautiful. That's who you are, and I'm seeing it for the first time now.”

Somewhere in the back of Rich's skull, his father's ghost sneered at the notion of a man calling another man beautiful.

But his father had been an abusive and stupid asshole, so Rich pushed the instinct away, and focused on meeting Mister Alvarez's gaze.

“It's good the camps are going down, don't get me wrong,” Rich said. “But there will be something along to take their place, sooner or later. The Ministry has to find ways to torment people and keep most of their 'flock' blaming each other or they'll lose their power. It's how the country works.”

“You don't think it'll get better? You think people are gonna keep being okay with that forever?”

“No, not forever,” Rich said. “But when a revolution finally hits, there's a pretty good chance that whoever ends up in charge is going to make a few minor changes, then keep doing the same sort of stuff that the old guard was.”

“Ah. Both sides are the same, hm?” Alvarez moved back behind his desk, eased his lanky frame into the chair. “I have heard that one before. Usually from people who discovered that their supported side was doing horrible things but don't want to stop them. Not that I'm saying that's what you're doing, but it can be a fallacy. Sometimes the different sides of a problem are entirely different at the heart of it, you know?”

“That's the problem,” Rich shrugged. “There aren't two sides when it comes to the Ministry. There's one side and their victims, and a fictional other side that the one side uses to keep the victims afraid and gullible. The place is set up so that potential leaders, people with the right mix of charisma and vision, they all get funneled into the churches, and showered with benefits. The ones that don't go into churches are profiled and watched until the first chance that they can be quietly packed off and disappeared.

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“The guys in charge know that every revolution needs a spark, and those get stamped out before they can light a proper fire.” Rich sighed. “The biggest chance for a revolution is a power struggle between the bureaus and the churches that support the divisions that end up at odds. They'd make some noise, make a big deal about changes that didn't actually mean much, and then quietly tighten things back up again.”

Mister Alvarez had been nodding throughout Rich's monologue, hands folded, eyes tracking Rich's lips. He waited a moment to make sure Rich was done, then spoke again. “You know, most kids your age are nowhere near that erudite.”

“I really don't have much in common with the other kids I've met around here,” Rich said.

“Would you like to?”

“I... are you going to suggest another class adjustment? Or more hobbies, that sort of thing?”

“No. No, I'm just wondering. Your course load is fine, you're actually pretty ahead of the class. And you have made friends, since you've got here. Everything's within bounds for this sort of case. No, I'm wondering if you envy your classmates a bit. Because they haven't gone through what you have.”

Rich considered. “I don't grudge them this. Sometimes it makes it a little hard to relate to their problems and all. Hard to care about who's dating who, or who didn't make the team, or who got to travel to the safe parts of Europe over the summer. All that's not so much when I think back on the stuff I saw back there, the folks who didn't make it out. There are so many real problems in the world they'll never have to face, but... I couldn't wish any of that on them with a clean conscience.”

“I know how it is. Did I tell you my parents were from Lone Star?”

“Yeah.”

“But my daughter, she's not going to have to grow up with that. Not going to have to see the stuff I saw. And that's okay, you know?”

Rich nodded. “It is okay.”

Mister Alvarez smiled. He opened his desk, pulled out a paper and stamped it. That was all for show, of course. The digital document he was signing required no physical action on his part. But it was a little touch, and that was one of the things that made this particular counselor a good fit for Rich. Attention to detail soothed his nerves, made the sessions go by faster.

“You're good to go, hermano. Keep your nose clean, keep doing good in class, and I'll see you at the next appointment. Oh, and one more thing...”

Rich paused, about to log out of the room. “Yeah?”

“That game? You've been logging a lot of time. I know it's legal now, but still, be careful. If you think it might turn into an addiction, you let me know, okay? There's no shame in it, and I got a few peers who specialize in rehab counseling. They can help. No judgment, no fault.”

“No fault,” Rich smiled. “I'll be careful,” he lied, and logged off.

The man went well.

It wasn't his fault that things were... complicated.

Rich opened his eyes, and sat up from his bed.

There was a moment of dysphoria, as he looked at the walls around him. Bare, mostly empty of decoration, even AR decorations. He'd moved around so much in the last year or so, that there didn't seem like much point adding anything to his personal space. The few physical possessions he cared about were tucked away neatly in the shelf to the side of his bed, and a single chest of drawers held his clothing.

There was a window, and it showed a snowy, lonely mountain, with the lights of an alpine town glowing warmly through the clouds. Neither town nor mountain existed, it was just a view that he'd chosen from one of half a million options when he'd moved into the place.

Rich rose and headed out into the hallway, listening for sounds of life. No sign of Frederick, and no surprise there. He was probably working late again. But he heard his mother humming from the living area, and when he poked his head around the corner, sure enough, she was over by the kitchenette, fussing with the oven.

She was a small woman, with mousy brown hair that had greyed noticeably over the last few years. She'd put on a bit of weight, and the lines in her face had gotten deeper, but that was just life. Life she'd almost lost years ago, when she'd attempted to flee her home country, and gotten caught and imprisoned for it.

But now they were free. She'd gotten her wish. It had just taken a while, that was all.

“It's my turn to cook dinner,” Rich reminded her.

“Is it? I lost track.”

He was pretty sure she was lying, but decided to let it slide. “Okay, I'll just take your spot tomorrow. Spaghetti sound good?”

“No, you've got that thing tomorrow with Greg, right?”

Rich grimaced. “Right. Right, the tryouts.” He had absolutely no interest in team sports, but Greg wanted him there for moral support. “Look, I know what you're trying to do here. You already do so much, there's no need to—”

“You don't.”

Rich shut up. That was the tone she used when she wanted to make it clear that he couldn't interrupt her.

“Frederick has his job. You have the trust fund to draw on. I don't have any income right now.”

Rich opened his mouth to protest, tell her it didn't matter, they could take care of the bills... then he shut it again, as she glared him down.

“There aren't enough jobs up here for unskilled labor, and it'll take me another eighteen months to finish out my degree and certification. Until then, I'll handle the chores and housework. I don't mind. I was raised expecting to do this my whole life. It's comforting, in a weird way. Let. Me. Cook. Dinner.”

Rich waited a moment, then shrugged. “You know we don't mind either? It's not a knock against you. We just wanted to share the load, you know?”

“I know honey, and I love you for it. But I'm doing this, and that's final.”

“Does Fred know that?”

“He does. Though for him I didn't have to spell it out so bluntly.”

Rich nodded. “All right. Your choice. Don't be afraid to ask if you ever change your mind, or need a break. Okay? We love you.”

“I love you too.” Her arms were tight around him, and she was warm as she hugged him. He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of her hair, hugging her back for all he was worth.

Almost a year ago he'd sounded the alarm, and gotten them out of the Ministry in the face of looming danger. Then he'd stuck it out a few more days, for the sole purpose of giving them a headstart to the border. He'd almost gotten shot for that, and he regretted none of it.

His mother was safe. Fred, the man he'd never call father, was safe. And that was what mattered. He had a family now, a good one. He lived in a place that didn't persecute them, didn't commit atrocities on a daily basis. He had friends, had a life.

But that wasn't a guarantee in the long-term, not unless he won a war that they knew nothing about, never would if he was successful. So he patted Mom on the back until she let him go, ate his dinner in silence ten minutes later, and headed back to his room to tend to the other half of his life.

He lay down on the bed, and closed his eyes, logging into Generica Online once more.

And when he opened his eyes again, he was a dragon.