“And then they let me and Dad go home,” Rich finished.

“Jesus man, I'm sorry,” Norm told him. They were sitting in Mom's chatroom again. “What are you gonna do?”

“What can I do?” he spread his hands. “My dad hasn't stopped drinking since we got home. My Mom... I don't know if she's coming back.” He swallowed, hard. “And now I'm expelled, so I guess I'm stuck at home.”

“Heh. About that,” Norm said, “Joel got called out of class in last period. He came back twenty minutes later, and he looked like he was gonna piss his pants, he was so scared.”

“Good!” Rich said, feeling the heat rise in him again. “Maybe they'll finally do something about him!”

“Not fucking likely,” Norm said, and froze as the red light clicked on. “Shhhiii— shoot. Sorry.”

“Don't worry about it. My mom's not here to review the logs anymore,” Rich said, and absurdly felt guilty about that. It wasn't his fault she was gone. He wasn't the one who had tried to escape the Ministry.

“Heh. Guess you're free. I mean you've got nothing left to lose. Except maybe your virginity. Want that game info now?”

Rich started to nod... then stopped. “No. No, there's no way the agents aren't watching our darknet traffic. It would be stupid to do something illegal right under their noses.”

“Maybe,” Norm said. “Maybe not.”

“Why wouldn't it be?”

“Well...” Norm tilted his head to the side, considering. “They aren't cops, right? They're MI, right?”

“Ministry Investigations? Yeah.” He'd seen that title on a few doors as he left the facility.

“Well... most of the cop shows I've seen show that they don't care about stuff like that. They only get called in for the big stuff.”

“Like when people try to escape the Ministry,” Rich said.

“Yeah. They won't give two shits if you play an illegal game. What'll they do at worst? Shut you down? You get online and move quick, you can bury your bone before they pull the plug.”

Rich swallowed.

It was tempting.

His life was over anyway. One of his parents was probably going to be put in jail for blasphemy, the sin of thinking she knew better than God where she should call home. And he'd been expelled on a Youth Shepherd's recommendation, which would stay forever on his permanent record.

What was left?

Why shouldn't he go for broke?

Norm was talking again. “I'm gonna get some tonight, and you should too. Got me a quest to kill goblins! Gonna go do that, turn it in and get paid, and go see that whore I banged. I set up an appointment and everything.”

“Kinda surprised you're here, dude,” Rich offered him a feeble smile.

“Bros before hoes, man. Bros before literal fucking hoes.” Norm leered. “No homo.”

“No homo,” Rich agreed, absentmindedly.

The temptation had been put in his mind again. Should he?

“Remember, my name's Stormanorm. Here's the link...” he stopped, mid-sentence, and looked up at the red light. “You know, I think you're better off finding it on your own. Just in case your Mom gets home early.”

“Right,” Rich agreed. And then Norm was gone.

Rich didn't linger either, logging out...

...and smelling the rancid scent of sweat and beer as he re-entered reality.

His Dad sat across from him on the couch in the living room, a firing squad of bottles filling the table. Some lay discarded on the floor, and a few had leaked onto the carpet. Not a whole lot of leakage, mind. They'd been pretty empty when they fell.

Dad's eyes were unfocused, but red, so very red. His beard was soaked with what was probably snot and tears, and there was a lost, resigned expression on his face.

He's off in his Echo, Rich knew.

But that look... that look was something he'd never seen on his father's face again. It made him look weak. Made him look vulnerable, and in that instant Rich took a hard look at his own desires.

No. No, he wouldn't play that forbidden game. His father had suffered enough, and if there was even a chance of bringing the agents down on what was left of their family, Rich didn't want to take it.

So instead he got up, went to the fridge, and sorted through the bugyums until he found a rice casserole that he knew they could both stomach. He popped it in the oven, and synched it to ping his Echo when it was done.

He was about to head to his room and play some Neverquest, when an incoming message stopped him in his tracks.

Incoming Message>>Frederick Tassle

Richard, do you have a minute?

To: Frederick Tassle>>Yes. Is something wrong, Mister Tassle?

>>I should be asking you that. I was surprised to hear of your expulsion.

>>I guess I had a bad day. And boy, wasn't that an understatement.

>>This shall pass. Probably sooner than you think. In the meantime, I have a question for you.

>>Okay?

>>Would you like to continue your coding exercises?

Rich thought that over. He'd actually been looking forward to going without homework or tests. It was kind of like a vacation, really. Why would he give that up?

>>Why should I? It won't count toward my grades.

>>No, it won't. It won't do a thing for you, academically.

>>Then why did you ask? Rich wanted to take the words back the second after he sent them. This was borderline rude, and Mister Tassle had been his favorite teacher.

Fortunately, he didn't seem to take offense.

>>Because you're the best coder I've ever had the privilege of teaching.

Rich gasped. He'd never heard anything like that before, except from his Mom, who didn't count. While he was trying to come to grips with the unexpected compliment, Mister Tassle continued.

>>You've got a future, no matter how much some spoiled little prick tries to take it from you. With a few more years and a lot of practice, you can have a career that'll take you anywhere you want to go.

Eastern Canada... his mind teased, and Rich snorted. He'd seen how well that worked out for his mom. But that wasn't what Mister Tassle meant, was it?

Still, he didn't think the basic stuff Tassle taught was in high demand.

>>I don't see too many corps shelling out big money for Peapod programmers.

>>Which is why I was going to send you senior year exercises. How do you feel about Chartreuse Plus?

Rich gasped again. Chartreuse Plus was the backbone for most apps on the US Net, and a lot of places on the outside, too. It was what Neverquest used to compile code. Rich already had the basic suite, but what Mister Tassle was offering...

>>Yes please!

>>I had a feeling you'd tell me that.

Rich's inbox chimed, told him he had a download waiting. A big download.

But he didn't have time to check it out, because Mister Tassle was messaging again.

>>You've got a gift, Richard. Don't let it go to waste. I look forward to seeing you again when things settle down again.

>>Thank you.

>>You're welcome. Oh, and here's a link to the tech forums if you need help.

Rich's inbox chimed again. And then Mister Tassle's name grayed out. He was gone.

Dazed, Rich sat down and started to read. And then, trembling with excitement, he took the massive software package that he'd just been given, given like a Christmas present.

And he installed it into his Echo.

You weren't supposed to do this, put third-party software on your Echo. Not a developer's kit, not anything so large. But he wasn't sure how legal it was for Mister Tassle to give him something like this, and with agents possibly monitoring his home network, he didn't want to risk getting his teacher in trouble.

It unpacked quickly, and Rich dug into the interface, pulling up links to the forums to figure out what he could do with it. In no time he had console mode up, and was browsing through some of his frequently-visited websites, checking out their code from an angle he couldn't normally access.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Most of them were locked down pretty tight. But a few? A few had left access open to some functions they shouldn't have.

He was tempted...

...then he remembered that he was probably being watched right now. Actually vandalizing publicly-accessible webpages might get him locked down.

Then the oven chimed. Had it been half an hour already? He swam back to reality, to dull, relentless mid-day heat, overwhelming stench, and an ache in his lower back that told him he'd been sitting too long. He got to his feet and wobbled, gasping at the sudden pain. It was bad now.

A low mutter from across the room, and Rich looked over to see his Dad staring at him. His eyes were still red, but they were focusing a bit now, so he was out of his Echo. Rich smiled. “Hey. Dinner's ready.” He was pulling the casserole out of the oven, when his Dad finally replied.

“She's gone.”

“Yeah,” Rich said. He got the tray to the table, hissed as the badly-worn metal burned his hand. Reflexively he let go, and the tray wobbled, clanged on the counter. Molten cheese and rice and protein flecks jounced out, about a tenth showering on the countertop.

“Shit!” His dad bellowed, grabbing his head like he'd been shot.

“Sorry, sorry,” Rich said, pushing the tray safely away from the edge, using only the tips of his fingers. His palm throbbed with pain. “It's okay.”

“No. No it's fucking not,” Dad rumbled. “Ruth wanted to run away. From me.”

“I...” Rich shut his mouth. “I'm sorry, Dad.”

“Sorry.” The man's bleary eyes turned on him.

Rich froze. There was no compassion in there, there was no sympathy, there was nothing but pain and rage.

“You're sorry. You have something to be sorry about, you fat little shit?”

Rich gasped. He took a step back.

“You sit here all day! You eat my fucking food, your shit costs me money, and you're sorry?”

His Dad rose to his feet, wobbling all the way. He didn't look steady, but the roiling anger seemed to give him focus, and his glare hit Rich like a punch.

“Dad, I... please,” Rich said, and stopped as his ass hit the refrigerator door. “Please stop.”

“Stop? I haven't... haven't even gotten st..started!” his words were slurred. Rich wanted to believe it was the beer talking, not his Dad.

But in his heart he knew it wasn't so.

“Your a... you're a... use-el-less sack of flab is what you are! Little fucking slug!” Dad said, relentless. “She's gone an' now, an' now I gotta raise you! Alone! No woman gonna want... want a man with a shitty son!”

And Rich felt his eyes burn. He'd though he was out of tears. He was wrong, as the world turned blurry.

His Dad lunged forward. “Don' you dare! Don' you dare cry you fucking deev!”

Rich shrunk back against the fridge....

...and his father stumbled, put his hand right in the hot casserole, and fell to the ground, shrieking, spraying rice and cheese and protein lumps all over the floor.

Rich ran for it. He darted around his father's screaming form, ignored the back pain, and ran into his room, slamming the door. Then he sat against it and sobbed, big heavy sobs that blended with his father's incoherent shouts of pain.

Eventually the shouting faded away, and he heard his Dad moving in the hall. For a second he was afraid that his father would come bursting through his door, but after a second he heard water running in the bathroom.

Then more footsteps, and the creak of his parents' bed. Then sobbing, deeper than his own.

Who's the deev now, crying like that? The ugly thought teased in Rich's head, but he pushed it aside. His own tears eventually stopped, and after a few minutes, the shaking did too. He sat there, feeling burnt out. Feeling dull and dead, and like a hole in the world.

And then, at the lowest part of his life, when he felt worthless and small and horrible, his Echo notified him of an incoming message.

Incoming Message>>Joel Haskeen

My life is ruined because of you and your lies! This isn't over. I'm going to make you wish you'd never been born.

“Too late,” Rich muttered, and laughed. What did it matter now? What did it matter that some rich guy's spoiled kid hated him? What could Joel Haskeen do to him that was worse than what had just happened.

Then he stopped. He'd laughed out loud. Would his Dad get pissed about that? The mood he was in...

Rich sat quiet, filled with dread, hoping and silent.

And then he heard a noise that filled him with relief.

Snoring.

The beast was sleeping. The ogre had gone back into its cave. Rich was safe... for now, anyway.

And in the darkness of his room, drained and feeling like he'd gone through a chipper-shredder, Rich felt his fear turn to something hotter.

“I'm not a deev. I'm not a f— I'm not gay,” he said to himself. His mother had never liked the word he'd almost said, forbade them from using it. His father, his vulgar, swear-addicted father had broken that when she wasn't even a day gone from them.

“I'm not gay, you're just an asshole,” Rich muttered again, feeling the heat grow. It was an ugly, horrid feeling, but it was better than feeling dead. “You asshole!”

And after a few minutes, feeling aimless, he struggled to his feet. His back screamed, and he ignored it. Tried to, anyway, but no, he'd been sitting wrong for too long and it was a red hot poker running from his ass to his neck. He grabbed the door and wheezed, breath oozing out in a low shriek until he felt good enough to straighten up.

“Asshole,” Rich said, as he opened the door and walked into his parents' bedroom. “You big asshole,” he told the snoring, massive lump that lay draped across the bed.

And his eyes fell on the baseball bat.

It had been a legacy of his father's last attempt to make a man out of him. A team sports signup that Rich had neither wanted nor consented to. It had gone horribly... he was pretty good at hitting the ball, but lousy at running, and he couldn't throw worth a damn. They'd played in a dusty field, one of the farm remnants that the owners rented out to make a quick dollar, and he'd almost died from coughing and wheezing for days after every “game,” due to the heat and dust and pollen. It turned out that thrusting a kid who'd been raised in a controlled environment facefirst into a raw, unforgiving and collapsing climate wasn't good for their health. After he'd been hospitalized and run up a big bill following the third game, his parents had given up on it.

He remembered the feel of the bat in his hand. His Dad had said he was proud of how he'd hit.

That was the only time he could remember his Dad ever saying that.

Rich picked up the bat. It felt good to him, and the thought came to him that his Dad's head was right there.

And some ugly, wicked little part of him wanted to bring the bat down on his fucking skull as hard as he could.

Rich shook. He wanted to... he wanted to so bad.

Then the moment was done, and he felt the impulse crumble and die.

No.

It was still his Dad. Even if...

His eyes found his father's hand, a crude bandage taped over it. The padding had torn loose from the tape, showing red and raw skin where the molten cheese had burned him. It was the beer talking. He wouldn't have said— all that, if he hadn't been drinking. It was the beer.

Rich put the bat down. Then, after a thought, he picked it up and went and put it next to his own bed. I earned this. I'll keep it.

Then he went back and stared at his Father.

He didn't hate him. His feelings were a complicated mess, and poking too hard into that wouldn't do him any good.

But...

After this, Rich was sure of one thing.

He really didn't give a damn if his Dad got into trouble.

That resolution he'd made? To stay away from the darknet? Yeah, that was gone. His life was ruined, his Dad hated him, so what did Rich have left to lose? He may as well try to get laid. What could they do to him that would make him feel worse?

So he went digging, checking under the bed and in the dresser, until he found what he was looking for.

A small box, about the size of a pack of vapesticks. Blinking lights ran up one side, and a USB port sat in the middle of the other side. And the instant he had skin contact with it, an interface popped up.

This was his parents' darknet router. They'd password locked it, but Rich knew their passwords, knew their habits, and after a few guesses he was in. He added his name to the whitelist, enabling remote access. Then he replaced it, and rearranged socks around and over it until he was sure his tampering wouldn't be noticed.

Then he cleaned up. His dad had dug out drawers, searching for the bandages. He'd left the contents scattered around. Rich didn't care to replace them, he just took a shower, did his business, and got back to his room. Dinner could happen later. He had lost his appetite.

He shut his door, and shoved his bed over in front of it. Then he lay down, and pulled up his interface.

And took his first steps onto the darknet.

He was expecting something impressive, maybe a marketplace full of porn and drugs and God knew what else. What he got was a simple featureless room... a default interface. There was a cursor flashing in the middle, waiting for him to tell the network where he wanted to go.

“Generica Online?” he tried.

Nothing.

He'd thought that might do a search, but nope. You had to know where you were going to get there in the darknet.

Midian, he thought.

He logged out of the darknet, and into Neverquest.

And of course, she wasn't there. He was alone among the standing stones, save for a group of muttering druid mobs. He called up the guild roster, hoping against hope...

...nope. He was the only one online.

Putting his head down, Rich started the walk home. There was no point in leaving Rutger in a potentially unsafe zone. World events were rare in low-level zones like that, but there was always the possibility one could pop up and drop a dragon on his head. Then he'd log in to a face-full of teeth and an unnecessary death.

He almost missed it, when he got back to the archway to his housing district.

The lone mailbox at the edge of the arch had its flag up, and was colored golden.

For the first time in a long while, he had mail.

Curious, Rich opened the box, and gasped in relief at what he found.

A black crystal. A familiar-looking black crystal, and a neatly-folded letter behind it.

Sorry you DC'd. Anyway I'll keep the same name for the other game, so look up Midian once you get on. See you there!

-M

Rich closed his hand around the crystal, and instantly a glowing string of letters and numbers flowed out into his Echo, resolving into a link.

A darknet link, he knew.

He hadn't missed out after all.

He could go and try the game right now.

Rich moved Rutger into his in-game house, then logged out. His hands felt clammy, and he felt a tense excitement. He was close, he was so close to the forbidden game. All he had to do was take that final leap, and he could say goodbye to his worthless virginity forever.

He could get laid.

He could do it now.

Hell, Norm had hired a prostitute with his starting money. All he'd have to do was create a character, start in a good-sized city, then do some looking around. If Norm could do it, Rich was sure he wouldn't have any trouble.

In the next room, his drunken father snored. He couldn't stop Rich, even if he knew what his son had done.

And his Mom wasn't there to stop him.

That thought almost did stop him. That thought alone, thinking of his mother and how disappointed she'd be if she found out, filled him with shame and guilt.

But she was planning to run away. She already broke the law, Rich thought, eventually. And the thought made him steel his resolve.

“I'll just go and get laid,” he said to the air. “And then I won't touch it again. They won't come down on us hard for one game. That would be dumb.”

The air didn't disagree with him.

His mind as made up as it was going to be, Rich settled down and logged back into the darknet. Then he copied the link from his Echo to the flashing cursor.

Everything went black, and for a second the thought came to him that he'd been tricked, that it had been a trap and Midian had set him up.

But then there was light, a white light streaking out of the darkness. Then another, and another, until they filled the void... he was looking at a night sky, he realized. At a view of space. He was moving past stars, angling in toward one. Gas giants whipped past, some with rings, others swirling in neon colors. His perspective whipped through an asteroid belt, where giant creatures roamed and screeched, flying between the vast spaces and snapping at him as he passed.

Then he was through, and a burning yellow sun filled his vision. He tried to squint but had no eyelids, no eyes, just a perspective. A planet whirled by, brown and barren. Then another, green and shimmering like water. No planets that he'd seen before, and he couldn't turn to investigate them, but that was fine because now a blue and white one filled his field of vision, growing larger and larger...

“WELCOME TO GENERICA,” boomed a voice that seemed to be almost right next to him, and Rich felt his meat-body jump a bit, on the bed. The shock made his heart pound.

And as he fell through the clouds, plummeting toward the planet below, all his agony and anger and self-pity and pain, all of that faded away and Rich knew that he'd made the right choice.