“Every single one of my sponsors is on this wall,” Vonn Senior says. “Vonn 1 through Vonn 656, who was just advertised yesterday, after the unfortunate death of Vonn 354 in a highly random and unlikely mass shooting at High Times.”

Each pic is framed, and above each frame is a plaque with a number. In typical narcissistic fashion, my gaze floats to 19. Below the number is my profile pic. I wonder how many followers I’ve gained since I unGlassed. Probably thousands. Which is hella cool, I have to admit.

Some of the profile pics have an X over the face. 1, 5, 13, 24, 58, 69...And I guess, judging from the fact that 354 has an X over her face, that these Xs represent vaporized Vonns.

“The sponsor program is highly efficient,” Vonn Senior says. “In its infancy – no pun intended – it was conceived as a way to control population size. And then I had the brilliant idea to monetize the test tube babies. Auction off the names and DNA, I said, to generate revenue. It was a stroke of genius. It paid for the program and then some.” Vonn Senior glances at his watch. “Oh, time for another round of supplements.” He snaps a finger, and one of the security guards brings over a tray. Vonn Senior takes a bottle and a glass of water off the tray. The bottle says Six O’Clock Supplements. Vonn Senior starts swallowing the pills one by one. As he does so, he keeps talking:

“This was before I started researching immortality, of course, [swallow] and at the time, the thought of living on through my children really appealed to me. [swallow] Of course, I was a very busy man [swallow] overseeing the largest and most successful corporation in human history [swallow] and since I’d never known my own father, having lost him to the third world war [swallow] I didn’t think I’d make a very good parent. I therefore decided to remain hands off when it came to my sponsors. I fund my sponsors generously, of course [swallow] and make sure that they have all the best opportunities in the world, as you can surely attest to, but my involvement is strictly practical [swallow] When the program first launched, I purchased a very generous allotment of sponsors – three hundred in total – and we keep that number optimized by advertising a new one whenever an older sponsor dies, most often through random and entirely unexpected mass shootings.” Vonn Senior sighs. “I’ve lost a few to overdoses as well [swallow] and a handful to cancer and other diseases. It’s always hard, when you’ve invested so much money into these sponsors, to see them die young, but such is the life of a generous philanthropist [swallow].”

Vonn Senior finishes his last pill and tosses the plastic bottle on the ground. One of the security guards scurries over to pick it up.

“And the glass!” Vonn Senior shouts, holding up his empty water glass.

“Of course.” The security guard kind of cower bows before taking the glass from Vonn Senior. “I’m sorry, Mr. Vonn Senior.”

“Not very efficient,” Vonn Senior says, “making me tell you to take my glass. This process needs to be automated.”

“Yes sir,” the security guard says. “I will talk to the automation team about doing so.”

“Thank you,” Vonn Senior says. “Your job is to make yourself redundant, Smitty, so that I can fire you. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir,” Smitty says before cower walking back to his place by the door.

Vonn Senior whips back to me. “Did you notice how I thanked him, Vonn 19? Did you hear me say thank you? If I, the great Mr. Vonn Senior, can say thank you to one of my direct reports, then I’m sure it’s not too much to ask of you, Vonn 19, given all that I’ve done for you?”

So he hasn’t forgotten about his tirade against my ingratitude…Well, he’ll just have to keep waiting, because I’d rather eat my own shit than thank this simul…

“Not to worry,” Vonn Senior says. “I think you’ll be showing me gratitude soon enough, once I show you what I have in mind.” He looks across the room. “Smitty! The moon model! Now!”

Smitty runs over to the far wall and pushes over a table. Even in the dim aquarium light, I can see that it’s a layout of the moon’s surface with all these plastic dome replicas.

“Automation,” Vonn Senior grumbles, as Smitty steps away. “I need your job to be automated, like, yesterday.”

“I’m on it,” Smitty says, once again cower walking across the room.

Vonn Senior glare watches him cower walk. Then he turns back to the moon model.

“I’ve just returned from Vonnville,” he says, “and progress is running very efficiently. Within the year, I expect that we will be transporting our first civilian cruiser to the moon’s surface. And what I would like, Vonn 19, is for you to be CEO of Vonnville. How does that sound to you?”

He whips around, his dead eyes staring at me.

I’m so confused. Just an hour ago, I attempted to overthrow his entire operation, and now he wants me to be CEO of Vonnville?

“I know this is unexpected,” he says, “but I’ve given a lot of thought to the matter. In fact, for years, I’ve been toying with the idea of handpicking one of my children to be not just a numbered Vonn, which is an honor in and of itself, but to be Vonn Junior. My successor. My heir apparent. How does that sound to you, Vonn 19? Would you like to shed your number and become Vonn Junior?” His eyes light up, his smile broadens.

He strokes his chin, clears his throat, checks his watch. “Twenty more minutes,” he says, “before I need to go to the cryochamber. You know, I can see you’re still a little perplexed, Vonn 19, and I understand that. After all, I bet you’re wondering why I picked you to become CEO of Vonnville. It’s not as if I don’t have tons of sponsors to pick from.” His arms sweep across the framed NFTs. “Well, I’ll tell you why, Vonn 19. The one thing you’ve shown, which your brothers and sisters haven’t, is independent thinking. Now, independent thinking in a vacuum can be a dangerous thing indeed. But when independent thinking is done in a controlled-environment, well, that’s how innovation happens. It’s remarkable, what you pulled off out there, initiating the Kill Switch Protocol. Think what the two of us could do together. If we put your ingenuity to good use, we could build the best moon this world has ever seen.” Vonn Senior’s teeth chatter.

“Is Vonnville going to be glassed?” I ask.

“Naturally,” Vonn Senior says.

“So Vonnville is what? The Within 2.0?”

“Well,” Vonn Senior says, “I wouldn’t describe it as The Within 2.0.”

“How would you describe it?”

“It’s Vonnville,” Vonn Senior says. “Plain and simple. You should know, having worked at a content machine, that a new venture’s branding needs to be fresh and original. Nobody likes a copycat.”

I take a step back and look toward the security guards. “I see how it is. Now that The Within has been exposed, you want to rebrand. Is that it?”

“Well…” I can see that Vonn Senior’s patience is wearing thin. “Vonnville will be an extension of The Within. A new, exciting, fresh take on a familiar theme. That’s the key…”

“But how can that be,” I interrupt. “I mean, how can Vonnville be an extension of something that doesn’t exist?”

Vonn Senior’s eyes narrow, and I watch him compute what I just said. Then he bursts into laughter, nearly falling over the moon model. His laughter travels down to his belly, then comes back up to his throat before dissipating with a thrill hiss.

“Do you really believe that The Within doesn’t exist anymore?” he asks. “Do you think, Vonn 19, that your little stunt – what did you call it, Digital Disruption? – had any real effect on Withiners, aside from killing their vibe and pissing them off royally?” His eyes implore me, but I say nothing. “Oh, this is too good.” He snaps a finger. “Smitty! Push my cryo time thirty minutes. I need to show my son something.” He turns back to me. “Follow me, Vonn 19. It’s time for you to get a lesson in human behavior. The knowledge will be invaluable when you become CEO of Vonnville.”

He claps his hand. “Shall we get started?”

I want to spit in his face, but I have a feeling that it’s going to take more than saliva to solve my problem, so instead, I cross my legs and say nothing.

Somebody is shouting outside. Mr. Vonn Senior crooks his neck like a vulture, stands, walks to the tall glass window overlooking The Without.

“Poor wretch,” he says.

I stand so I can see better.

Cosmo is stumbling toward the exit, yelling at a guard to let go of him.

“All I want is a glass of water!” he yells. “Is that too much to ask? How am I supposed to swallow these pills without water? My mouth is dry as a desert!”

The guard presses on a panel of the laserproof dome and tosses Cosmo to the ground. “Go get your own water, simul.” He closes the panel and returns to the mansion.

In the distance, Cosmo works his way up a hill before dissipating into the valley. Moments later, the hovercraft surfaces and darts away, dissipating into dusk.

Vonn Senior turns. “Nasty stuff, Jaz.”

“You oughta know,” I say. “You invented it.”

Vonn Senior’s mouth makes the shape of an O. “Me? No, I didn’t invent Jaz.”

“Yes, you did,” I say. “Jaz was created by Younder, which is a Vonn Industries subsidiary. Ergo, as CEO of Vonn Industries, you are responsible for Jaz.”

Vonn Senior smirks. “I’m afraid you’re wrong, Vonn 19. You see, all I do is enable efficient innovation. I can’t be held responsible for everything that the free market produces. And hell, even if I were responsible, well, that’s just the price of progress. You’ve gotta crack a few goo eggs to make a goo omelet. Am I right?”

“No,” I say. “You’re not.”

Vonn Senior shrugs. “Well, I’m afraid it’s not for you to decide. And, in fact, we’re off topic. I brought you here…”

“Where are my people?” I ask. “Yide, X, Claudette, Bunnfield, Elijah? And what the hell are you doing with them?”

Vonn Senior strokes his chin, then takes something off a long concrete table before moving over to the aquarium. “As for Elijah, my understanding is that he died during the Withouter Hunter attack, but maybe Cosmo lied to me about that?” He swings an eye toward me, smirking.

Well, at least Cosmo had the decency to cover for Elijah…

“No, Cosmo didn’t lie,” I say. “I forgot. I think I’m still suffering from the after effects of Jaz.”

Vonn Senior makes a tsk tsk sound. “Don’t worry, Vonn 19, I’m not going after Elijah Mitchell. He can be a pain in the butt, what with all the monkeywrenching and all, but I’ve found a way to repurpose his shenanigans to my benefit. In fact, Elijah Mitchell is worth more to me alive than dead. As long as he’s out there, spouting out his righteous pacifism, brainwashing the masses into non-violent disobedience, he’s helping Vonn Industries remain productive and efficient.”

Sounds like Bunnfield. Does that mean Bunnfield is on his side? My paranoia is running rampant.

“Fine,” I say. “Then what about the rest of them? What are you doing with my colleagues?”

Vonn Senior turns his head, as if he’s about to say something else, but instead of saying something, he sprinkles what looks like dust into the aquarium. Fish dart toward the floating speckles.

“I’m afraid we’ve started off on the wrong foot, Vonn 19. In fact, I’m sensing a little ingratitude from you. You haven’t thanked me once since you walked into my office. It’s very disrespectful, given everything I’ve done for you, to waltz into my office without a single word of gratitude.”

“First of all,” I say, “I didn’t waltz into your office. I was handcuffed and forced into your office against my will.”

Vonn Senior swings toward me, holds up a finger. “Just say thank you, Vonn 19, and then we can move on.”

“Thank you for what?”

“You were the one who entered headquarters, uninvited, so don’t talk to me about being forced here against your will. In fact, I could have easily had you killed. My advisors were begging me to kill you. But you see” – he makes an odd gesture with his hands, as if he’s never used them before – “I am a man who is willing to make a deal. And that’s why I brought you here. To make a deal. But you haven’t once said thank you, have you? In fact, you’ve never once thanked me for giving you life. I checked the files. Many of your brothers and sisters – Vonn 76, for instance, and Vonn 54 – write me regularly, thanking me for the wonderful life I’ve given them. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even be here. I was the one who invested in the technology that brought about sponsored births. I was the one who made sure you were raised in the best incubator, attended the best prep, and got a good job at a top-level content machine. Not to mention that I–” he pounds his chest like an ape – “created The Within. If it weren’t for me –” he thrusts his hand toward The Without – “you’d be living out there, in the elements, subject to all kinds of deprivations. So just say thank you, Vonn 19, and then we can get down to business.”

He crosses the room, places the jar of fish food on the concrete table, and then looks at his watch before walking over to a stand of pill bottles. He starts unscrewing the tops and placing pill after pill on the stand.

“I’m on a strict regime,” he says. “It’s important to stick to a schedule. Right now” – he checks his watch again – “it’s time for my nightly supplements. Sixty-five pills in total.”

He starts swallowing one pill after another. Silence overtakes the room. Apparently, he’s either waiting for me to thank him, or he’s forgotten that he asked. Either way, I’m sure as hell not thanking him for a damn thing. In fact, if it weren’t for two security guards by the door, I’d choke him with my handcuffs and enjoy every second.

I walk over to the aquarium. The fish food is gone. The school has dispersed. A baby fish swims through what appears to be a streak of oil.

“Beautiful,” Vonn Senior says. “Aren’t they?” He’s by my side, apparently having swallowed all sixty-five pills. “They’re called killifish.”

“Killifish?”

“That’s right. Kill, from the dutch word for small stream. They’re a special species of fish, very resilient. Their genetics have mutated to be able to withstand extreme levels of toxicity. Over the past decades, so many species have died from all the pollution, but not the killifish. No, the killifish have adapted, found a way to thrive. That’s why I have this aquarium in my office. The killifish is my spirit animal. Like them, I have found a way to thrive in a world of toxins. Sure, when the world went to shit, I could have just thrown my hands in the air and given up. Plenty of people did back then. All the nukes going off. The flooding. Extreme weather events. It was understandable, you know, the people who threw in the towel. But that’s not what the strong do, Vonn 19. No, no, no. The strong find a way to thrive. They adapt. They innovate. When I started Vonn Industries, it was just a humble plastic factory with a single, modest government contract to produce 3D guns. I was twenty-five years old. Fresh out of business school. With just a three-million dollar loan from my father. And look where I am now? I not only created an entire subterranean world to guard against the harsh elements of The Without, but in addition to a million other innovations, I have pioneered space travel. In fact, I am just now returning from an expedition to the moon, which brings me to the reason I brought you here, Vonn 19, the reason I decided not to shoot you the second you stepped inside headquarters.” Vonn Senior cracks his neck. “But first, I want to show you something. Follow me.”

He gestures toward a wall across the room. I follow him, not sure what else to do. At this point, I’m just trying to stall for time, certain that the uprising in The Without must be gaining momentum. Now that The Withiners know the truth, it won’t be long before they find a way to put Vonn Senior’s head on a platter…

“Have a seat,” Mr. Vonn Senior says, gesturing toward a concrete chair.

Cad Man shoves me down in the chair.

Vonn Senior smiles. “Cosmo,” he says, “you can put the girl with the others. For now, I’d like to have a conversation with my son.”

“Where’s my end?” Cosmo asks.

Vonn Senior’s head jerks, as if he’s just been slapped. “I’m sorry?”

“My end,” Cosmo says. “We had a deal. I did what you asked. Now I want my end.”

Vonn Senior wipes his face again. “In fact, Cosmo, you haven’t done what I asked, have you? Because I asked you to put the girl with the others.”

Cosmo grinds his jaw. “And then?”

“And then what?”

“Don’t make me say it,” Cosmo says. “This is already humiliating enough.”

His face is pale, his eyes bloodshot. He looks like I did when…

Vonn Senior turns to Cad Man. “You take the girl,” he says. “And then, once she’s in the cell with the others, get Cosmo his drugs.” He waves a dismissive hand. “And then, send him on his way, please. He’s of no further use to us.”

“With pleasure,” Cad Man says, grabbing Yide by the arm. “On the double, you two. I’m due for a glassing. This shit in The Without is…boring.”

The trio walk out the door, Cosmo taking up the rear, scratching at his neck.

And that’s when everything clicks: Cosmo found the bottle of Jaz in my jumpsuit and took the drugs. And then he made a deal with the devil to get more. I do the math in my head. If he’s raw dogging, which his pasty skin and bloodshot eyes suggest he is, that means that he’d taken that entire bottle, fifty pills in all, in three or four days. Sounds about right. Almost my exact timeline. And I was out of my head by the end.

I turn my gaze toward Vonn Senior, who’s over by some beeping mechanism. He’s holding a syringe, approaching me. I raise my hands.

“No!” I scream. “I don’t want it!”

Vonn Senior smiles.

At the top, I turn around and survey headquarters. The laser-proof dome is still lowered. The bots are still motionless. A cloud of security guards scamper around a warehouse, running in the opposite direction of the mansion. I can’t see the center from here, so I have no idea if the guards who chased us returned to the elevator or not. My eyes search for any signs of X, but he’s nowhere to be found. That’s a good thing, I think. It means he might be at the rendezvous.

We run past the stairs leading into the mansion, turn a corner, and find ourselves on the edge of headquarters, at the lip of the laserproof dome. I take a deep breath and step over the protrusion.

The rendezvous is less than one hundred yards away, in a small valley full of tall boulders.

“It’s a great spot to hide a hovercraft,” Cosmo said. “Behind the boulders.”

As we approach the valley, my stomach turns. This is too easy. I was expecting a shootout. But as it stands, we’ve been able to waltz out of headquarters with no resistance whatsoever. I glance back. No sign of security. Headquarters is still killswitched. I shrug off my apprehension. After all, I’m due for a little good luck after all the shit that’s happened the past week.

I grab Yide’s hand and walk with her down the slope of the valley.

My other hand rests on my blaster.

The slope levels out, the ground turning to sand.

We approach the boulders.

The backside of the hovercraft juts out of a rock, the red metal fin gleaming in the sunlight.

Our sandals crunch in the sand.

We round the boulder, and that’s when I see it: the hovercraft is unmanned.

Where is Cosmo? Where is X?

I glance around. Nobody in sight.

I let go of Yide’s hand.

“This isn’t right,” I say. “Something is off.”

The barrel of a blaster jams itself between my shoulder blades.

“End of the line,” a voice says.

I recognize the voice, but I can’t place it.

“Drop the gun or the girl gets it.”

I do as I’m told, the gun hitting the sand with an anticlimactic fizzle.

“Alright, now hands up,” the voice says.

Again, I do as I’m told, my eyes locked on the hovercraft, so close and yet so far away. Where is Cosmo?

I turn.

The first thing I see is the blaster. My eyes follow the barrel up to the scope.

Cad Man takes a step back. “Cuff ‘em,” he says, “and then take them to the mansion. Senior would like a word.”

Cosmo steps out of the glare of the sun. His expression is hangdog. He won’t even make eye contact with me.

“Are you fucking serious,” I say.

Cosmo clamps on the handcuffs. “I’m sorry, Vonn. I really am. It’s nothing personal, believe me.”

The handcuffs click into place.

I look at Yide, who’s already been cuffed. She’s standing there, doused in sunlight, motionless, almost like she’s braindead or something.

Something buzzes overhead.

I see a UFO surface over the horizon and hover above headquarters before descending.

“The eagle has landed,” Cad Man says with a grin.

The dome groans out of the ground and consumes headquarters like a whale biting down on a boat.

“You handle the girl,” Cad Man says to Cosmo, “and I’ll get the guy.” He grabs my arm and shoves me forward.

Sunlight batters the glass surface of the laserproof dome like so many useless bullets.

It’s only a matter of time, I think, before The Withiners storm headquarters. If I can just survive the next few hours…

My mind keeps drifting to useless shit. The amount of unread emails in my inbox. The fact that I probably don’t have a job anymore because I told my supervisor to go fuck himself. My empty wallet…

Which reminds me…

“You owe me money,” I say to Cad Man.

Cad Man grunts. “I don’t owe you shit, simul.”

“A thousand coins,” I say. “That’s how much you owe me. Because that’s how much I invested in your stupid little ponzi scheme.”

Cad Man laughs. “I don’t think you’re going to have much use for coins where you’re going.”

“And where is that?”

“The deathbeam,” Cad Man says.

We walk in silence for another hundred yards or so.

“And what about you,” I say to Cosmo. “What’s your story, you traitor fuck? Has this been your plan along?”

Cosmo keeps his eyes to the ground, as if something down there is controlling him.

I kick a rock at him. It bounces off his leg. He turns, looks at my feet.

“I told you, Vonn, it’s not personal.”

“And what about Claudette?” I ask. “I take it she’s part of your scheme too? What is your scheme, by the way?”

“This has nothing to do with Claudette,” Cosmo says.

“Which one is Claudette?” Cad Man asks. “The sniper?”

Nobody answers.

We reach the mansion. A spiral staircase juts out of a concrete slab, twisting its way to the top of a narrow backdeck. The sun is setting, casting long, sharp bars of shadow across the flat, angular surfaces. Two security guards appear behind a tall, sliding glass door. They open the door and stand aside.

“Mr. Vonn Senior is in his office,” one of the guards says.

Cad Man nods. “This way,” he says to Cosmo, pointing him in the direction of a sloping hallway with marble flooring.

A motor whirrs, the rushing sound growing louder as we slant down the hallway. Yide has still yet to say a word since we were captured. I want to reach out and touch her, to tell her everything is alright, even if I don’t believe it. I think about X and Claudette. Were they in on the scheme? Then my mind turns to an even more disturbing question: is Yide a traitor too?

We come to a tall oak door.

Cad Man pushes it open.

We step inside a room of smooth surfaces. Marble, glass, steel. Water shadows dance across the floor. The whirring noise is coming from the corner. A silhouetted figure is running in place. A beep sounds. The figure stops and turns. Cad Man shoves me forward. The figure steps off what I now see to be a treadmill. It’s Mr. Vonn Senior. He wipes his face with a towel and takes a step forward. He holds out his arms.

“My son,” he says. “We meet at last.”

“Well,” I say. “It’s working. Should we get out of here?”

“Yes,” she says. “Let’s go.”

We leave the tank plugged into the blue server and exit through the kicked down door.

The complex is still eerily quiet.

“We need to find X,” I say, “before we meet Cosmo at the rendezvous.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Vonn.”

I swing around. “You can’t actually mean that?”

Yide throws up her arms, exasperated. “I mean, what are the odds he actually escaped the guards?”

“I don’t know,” I say, “but we can’t just leave him.” I start walking back toward the elevator.

Yide grabs my arm. “Vonn, stop. I know that X is, like, your best colleague, but if the roles were reversed, wouldn’t you want X to save himself?”

I put my hands in the labcoat. “It doesn’t matter what I would want. I’m not leaving behind my best colleague.” I try to escape Yide’s grasp, but her grip is strong, and I end up just kind of dragging us forward a couple feet.

“Listen,” Yide pleads. “In all likelihood X is at the rendezvous point waiting for us. He knew that we didn’t need him to install the device, so it makes sense that he would run in a different direction from the mainframe, and then, once he lost the guards, doubleback to the rendezvous.”

“I’m not sure,” I say, but I can feel my defenses crumbling. Unable to hide anything from Yide, I say, “I see what you’re doing, you know.” And then I add: “And it’s kind of working.”

Silence hangs between us for a long second.

“You have to admit,” Yide says, “there’s at least a fifty-fifty shot he’s at the rendezvous, so why not commit to the scenario with the most upside?”

I stare into her beautiful brown eyes, losing myself in their luster.

“Or we could split the difference,” I say. “You go to the rendezvous, I go looking for X. And if I don’t find him, I’ll meet you two at the rendezvous.”

“That literally makes no sense,” Yide says. “You’re complicating things. We don’t have much time. If you run off looking for X, and X is actually at the rendezvous, then you’re putting all of our lives in danger, because now we all have to wait for you. Don’t you see that the cleanest solution is to go to the rendezvous point and hope for the best?”

Of course, I know she’s right, and the thought of her dying because of my stupidity is too much for me to stomach, so, in the end, I fold beneath the weight of her common sense.

We curve around the mainframe, heading toward the northside of headquarters, up by the mansion, where Cosmo said he’d be waiting for us in his hella rad hovercraft.

“It’s kind of like a pastel blue,” Elijah said. “You’ll see it. Toward the back. Can’t miss it. It’s the only one painted blue.”

“Over here,” Yide says.

Sure enough, stuck between two non-descript servers on the back wall, is a server covered in blue paint.

I take off The Tank, unwind the cord, and plug it into an outlet on the back of the blue server.

Nothing happens. No blinking lights. No whirring fans. I stand, check the power switch. It’s in the on position.

I look at Yide. “Fuck,” I say. “It’s not working.”

She strokes her chin. “Did you try unplugging it and plugging it back in?”

“Wasn’t it unplugged to begin with?”

“Just try it,” she says.

I shrug. Unplug the cord. Then plug it back in. Still nothing.

I flip the switch on and off. Still nothing.

I look down at the pack.

“Is there, like, a power button or something on this?”

I examine the big black box. No buttons. Just a cord running out the back like a snake.

“Cosmo tested it. He said it was fine. I think either he or Orson would have told me if there was some special trick.”

Yide runs her hand down the side of the server, as if trying to coax it into compliance.

I look down at the pack, gutted. After everything – the escape from The Within, the battle with The Withouter Hunter, the daring trek up to Orson’s Cabin, the showdown with Mama Bear, the confrontation with the guards, the confrontation with the other guards – and this is how we fail. A technological malfunction. I am absolutely livid.

“It must have gotten hit by a laser or something,” I say.

My fists clinch. Tears well in my eyes.

“After everything we went through!” I kick the generator. “Bunnfield is dead! X is dead!” Another kick. “And soon, we’re going to be dead, and for what?!?!!?” I kick the shit out of the generator several more times before collapsing into the fetal position, rolling into a ball of despair, sobbing uncontrollably.

And I’m down there for I don’t know how long, just totally wailing, before Yide gets my attention by shaking my shoulder and yelling my name.

Her face surfaces through the blur of my tears. She’s smiling, Efficiency knows why.

“Vonn,” she says. “Stop crying.”

I wipe the tears from my eyes. “I can’t, it’s just too tragic.”

“It’s not,” she says. “It’s really not.”

Her eyes dance with joy.

“Yide, I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but objectively, how is this not, like, the worst thing ever? We got this far just to have this damn generator break down.”

“But it’s not,” she says.

“It is,” I say. “It’s absolutely…tragic.”

“No, I mean, look.” She points, and I follow her finger upward.

At first, I can’t believe my eyes.

I stand. Take a step back.

Pixel by pixel, the image of the blue server comes into focus as my tears dissipate.

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Lights are blinking on the front of the console.

“But…how?” I ask.

“It was your last kick,” Yide says, “before you fell to the ground. Your last kick fixed it, I guess, because I heard it boot up, and then the server turned on.”

My eyes widen. “Which means that dNet is back up.”

“Exactly,” Yide says.

I reach inside my pocket, step toward the server, and find the slot.

I stick the device inside.

The server groans, the blinking lights turn from red to yellow and then back again to red.

“I think that means it’s working,” I say.

“How can we know for sure?”

“Cosmo said there would probably be a feed helmet somewhere.”

I look around, then see a tableful in the corner. I grab two, hand one to Yide, and then strap on mine.

I haven’t glassed for several days. Probably the longest time I’ve ever gone unGlassed. Even babies are glassed for most of their infancy.

A jolt of light overtakes me as dNet boots up, and I’m brought to the universal feed, where I’m greeted by a vid of myself, and I’m amazed that it’s working, that the entire Within is watching what I’m watching.

I glance at the comments rushing down the sidebar. I see the word vibekill several times. My stomach drops.

“It’s not working,” I say.

“You don’t know that,” Yide says, but her voice isn’t convincing. I know she sees what I’m seeing.

“Just give it time,” she says. “The video just started.”

I watch myself talking, explaining what happened when I killed The Withouter Hunter, absolving any of the other Withouters from guilt, taking full responsibility for the murder. Then I tell the audience what they’re about to see: footage that shows what’s really going on in The Within and The Without. I tell them that the footage will likely be disturbing. That, in fact, it should be disturbing, and that’s ok. I explain that the algo has been spliced in such a way as to show the footage that’s most relevant to each individual, which means that most of the audience will see footage of themselves. I encourage them to keep an open mind.

And then the real show begins.

I turn left, Yide turns right, and X keeps running straight.

I skirt around a warehouse. A door opens. It’s a man in a lab coat. I point my blaster at him.

“Don’t shoot,” he says.

“Give me the coat and I won’t.”

He looks down, as if just now realizing he’s wearing a coat.

I step forward, jab the gun at him. “Give me the coat,” I say, “or I shoot.”

“Fine, fine.” He throws me the coat, which I slip over my security guard uniform.

“Alright,” I say, jabbing the gun in the direction of the door he just exited. “Go back inside, and stay put. Understand?”

“Yes,” he says, eyes wide. “I understand.”

“Good, go.”

I wait for him to slip back inside, and then I run past another couple of warehouses before reaching the mainframe building. Yide is already there, rattling the doorknob. She takes a step back and kicks on the steel door. She hears me approach, turns, her gun aimed at me.

“It’s me!” I yell, raising my hands in the air.

She pushes a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Oh, right, sorry. Where’s X?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping he’d already be here. I had a run in” – I point at my lab coat – “with a scientist.”

The word scientist feels rusty on my tongue.

“I can see that,” Yide says. “Well, what should we do? This door is locked.” She points at the keycard swipe. “I thought the locking mechanism was supposed to shut down with the kill switch.”

“There must be some kind of manual lock as well,” I say. “Here, step back.” I wave Yide out of the way with my gun. I shoot the knob. Once, twice, three times. Then kick the door. Once, twice, three times. And then, finally, on the fourth kick, it groans open.

I look back. No guards.

“We should go look for X,” I say.

Yide shakes her head emphatically. “We’re here, we need to finish the job.”

I turn to Yide, stare into her pleading eyes, and then look back at the rows and rows of warehouses, and listen to the inexplicable quiet.

“Alright,” I say. “You’re right. It’s time to disrupt some shit.”

And I step inside the warehouse.

I keep expecting something awful to happen.

Footfalls shuffle, the gravelly sound echoing off the surrounding warehouses. Every once in a while we catch a glimpse of a guard, but our uniforms keep us hidden in plain sight as we dart around the stationary bots. Somebody shouts in the distance. It’s hard to make out the words. Another shout answers. Then all is quiet again, the air eerily bereft of electronic beeps and pneumatic hisses. We step over the train tracks.

Another shout.

I glance up at the mansion. No movement in sight.

We cross through the center of the complex. I glance down the elevator shaft. A trail of wires dissipates into darkness. I can only imagine what’s going on below, the panic and chaos. dNet down. No feed. No pharmas. No goo. It must be utter mayhem. And then I think about Bunnfield, and my stomach drops. Did he make it to the entry point that Elijah and I had dug? It was always a possibility that he wouldn’t make it, that he’d be shot dead after killing Switch, but it was a risk he was willing to take, he said. The last scenes on the monitor rush through my mind – the rapid montage of wall, floor, ceiling, as if he was falling down, the pew pew pew of the laser pulses, the yelling and screaming, all those button pusher running around, panicked – I can’t shake the sense that he didn’t make it, and the thought paralyzes me as I stare down the empty elevator shaft. We’ve made a huge mistake, I think. A massive mistake.

Yide grabs my arm. “Vonn, what the fuck are you doing? Let’s go. We’re wasting time.”

Her voice knocks me out of my trance.

I wipe my eyes. “Right,” I say. “Sorry.” I look around. The complex looks just like Elijah described it, which means that the mainframe is about a hundred yards away, on the opposite side of the complex as the launch pad, which, at the moment, is nothing more than a circular concrete slab with some wire framework.

“It’s this way,” I say, pointing toward a row of warehouses.

“Obviously,” Yide says, looking back.

She and X are already several steps ahead of me, walking in that direction.

Guards run around one of the warehouses, barrelling toward us.

X raises his gun.

I rush toward him and put my hand on the weapon.

“Not yet,” I say.

Several guards run past us, then the one pulling up the rear stops. He’s the only one wearing a hat.

“All hands at the elevator,” he says. “We’ve already secured the perimeter. Next step is to spelunk down to The Within. Go, go, go.” He’s pointing frantically over our shoulders.

“We were told to guard the mainframe,” I say. “So that’s where we’re heading.”

The guard raises an eyebrow. “Who told you to guard the mainframe? Wait…what’s that on your back?” He steps forward and glances at the name badge on my uniform. “You’re not Nebulus 99.” He glances at Yide’s name badge. “And you’re not Younder 47.” He reaches for his blaster, but before he can get his finger on the trigger, Yide fires off a shot, sending him spinning to the ground.

“Hey!” One of the guards at the elevator points in our direction. “It’s the Inbetweeners!”

I look at Yide, whose face is drained of all color, and then at X, who’s staring wide-eyed at the approaching horde of guards.

“Run!” I yell.

And we dart toward the mainframe, laser beams ricocheting off the steel warehouse siding, the click clack of combat boots pounding on the concrete, the fear and the panic coursing through every inch of me as I unholster my blaster, point it behind me, and return fire.

And the clock still keeps ticking.

Cosmo is yelling in my earbud. “Vonn, what’s all the ruckus? The molly guard is down. I repeat, the dead man’s switch has been pulled. What are you seeing? Over.”

I glance down at the monitor. Bunnfield’s gaze is all jostled and grainy. A few laser beams dart through the static. His body cam shows a flash of wall, a floor, a ceiling. Yells erupt through the speakers. Button pushers run every which way. Another series of laser pulses hiss out of the monitor.

“What’s that?” the guard asks, bending down at my feet, and just then, the dome collapses, the bots stop in their tracks, the train halts its progress.

“Huh?” The guard grunts, turning his head toward headquarters.

I kick his chin. His neck cracks. He drops the handcuffs on the ground.

I reach for his taser.

Pew, pew, pew.

“Ahh!!!!”

An electrical burn sears my thigh, and I fall down, clutching at my leg. Blood coats the fabric of my robe.

Yide plows into the guard who took our guns, and the two fall over X, stirring him back to consciousness. Blasters clutter the ground. I reach for one, turn off the safety, and start firing at the three other guards, hitting two of them. The third returns fire, but before he can land a shot, X barrels into his knees, sending them both to the ground.

Now Yide is wrestling with one guard, and X is wrestling with the other, and I’m just kind of sitting there, watching, too nervous to take a shot at either of the guards because I’m just as likely to hit my colleagues.

“Vonn,” Yide hisses, grabbing the guard’s wrist. “Quick, the taser.”

“But I might hit you!”

“I don’t give a fuck! Do it!”

I grab the taser and aim it at the guard. His broad back is about five yards away. Yide’s legs are wrapped around his hips. I scootch forward and shoot. The probes zap out and arc just above Yide’s knees. They land with a buzz that makes my teeth chatter.

The guard lets out a squeal, his head pops back, and his body heaves forward. Yide tosses him off her and stands.

“Well,” she says, nodding toward X. “What are you waiting for?”

I retract the probes and aim the taser at the final guard. I pull the trigger, and right as I do so, X kicks the guard’s stomach, sending him reeling out of harm’s way, opening up a perfect passage for the probes to strike X right on the forehead. His eyes roll to the back of his head as his arms dart out, and he falls back, unable to move for the second time in less than a minute. The final guard runs toward me, and he’s just about to tackle me to the ground when Yide sticks out her leg and trips him. His head smacks concussively on a rock. Yide takes a pair of handcuffs off his belt and snaps them on his wrist. I follow her lead, handcuffing the other two guards who are still alive.

Then I walk over to X and stir him back to consciousness.

“Yo, simul,” I say, “you alright?”

His eyes open dimly. “Nice shot, buddy”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” I help him up, and when I do, a scorching pain shoots down my leg.

I look down. My robe is charred all to hell. The fabric is melted into my skin.

“Good Efficiency,” Yide says. “You alright?”

She kneels down to examine the wound. “This needs some serious balm. It’s going to get infected.” She looks around, eyes darting frantically, as if some malWard is out here, in the middle of The Without, just waiting to take in an injured Inbetweener.

I brush her hand off my leg. “It’s alright,” I say. “I can walk. It’s just gonna have to hurt a little.”

“Some Ope-A-Dope would be nice now,” X says, squinting into the sun.

Yide swings toward him. “Why the hell would you say that, X??!!?!?”

X, shocked at her reaction, throws his hands in the air. “For Efficiency’s sake, I was just making casual conversation.”

Which reminds me that I never answered Cosmo. I push the earbud into my ear. “Cosmo,” I say. “Can you hear me? Over.” No answer, no sound at all. “Cosmo,” I say again. “We got attacked by a few guards, but we’ve neutralized them.” I glance toward headquarters. The dome is still down. “The Kill Switch Protocol worked. We’re about to move to Phase 2. What is Bunnfield’s status? Over.” Again, no sound, no nothing.

Yide takes the bud out of my ear and taps on it. Then she turns it around. “Here’s your problem,” she says, showing me the backside of the bud. “This thing got smashed all to inefficiency.”

I look at the exposed wires. “Probably happened during the scuffle.”

Yide nods, her lips pursing sardonically. “Probably a fair assumption.”

I take back the bud and toss it in the bushes. “Well, let’s go. We don’t have much time.”

“Wait,” Yide says, pointing at the bodies. “What do we do with them?”

I take count of the situation. Two guards are dead. The other three are incapacitated, at least for now, and handcuffed.

“That’s a good point,” I say. “When these three wake up, they might be a problem.”

“I have an idea,” Yide says. “First, let’s handcuff all of them together, in a circle, making it practically impossible for them to move, especially with so much dead weight, and then let’s take off their clothes.”

X nods. “Kinky. I like it. But do you think this is the best time for an orgy? We don’t even have sex suits.”

Yide rolls her eyes. “Not like that, idiot.” She moves over to one of the guards and picks up his legs. “Here, Vonn, help me move him.”

I walk over and grab the guard’s shoulders, my heart pounding, knowing that every second is precious, that we have no time to lose, that the dome could rise at any moment.

We heave up the body and throw it down on the ground.

And meanwhile, the clock in my head goes tick, tock, tick, tock.

“Alright,” Yide says, after we handcuff the guards together. “Strip ‘em.”

“Um, why are we taking off their clothes?” I ask.

“So that we can wear them,” Yide says. “Duh.”

“Ah…To blend in.” I slap my forehead. “That probably should have been the plan all along.”

“It’s been a rush job,” Yide says. “We can forgive ourselves for not thinking of everything.”

We dress in silence. I catch X kind of sneaking a peek at Yide, but she doesn’t say anything, so I don’t say anything either.

After we get dressed and holster our weapons, we make our way down the hill, toward headquarters. I squint into the blinding sun.

And the clock keeps ticking.

My earpiece hisses.

“Bunnfield just got through security,” Cosmo says. “He’s making his way to the holding cell. How are things from your vantage? Over.”

“We’re positioned on the hill. Clear view of headquarters. I’m turning on the livestream. Over.”

I reach inside my robe and take out a screen that Cosmo gave me. I turn it on. Black and white footage flickers. The unsensored plastic walls of HR come into view. Button pushers walk the halls. Bunnfield’s stilted breathing is audible. He says hello to a few button pushers. He stops to talk to someone about his weekend. He bullshits about bingeing some Taco Goo Muck Bang.

“What the fuck is he doing,” X says. “He’s wasting time.”

“He’s trying to be normal,” Yide says. “He doesn’t want to draw suspicion. Be patient, he’ll get there.”

My hand nervously flitters down to the blaster hanging off my robe. I check the strap of the tank, making sure that the generator pack is still secured to my shoulders. I’m fidgeting, antsy as hell, and I’m relieved when Bunnfield finally finishes his bullshit conversation with this rando button pusher that he’ll probably never see again.

He approaches Switch’s desk.

The bot turns his head, approximating a smile. Harsh electric light reflects off his bald pate. His eyes blink twice. Long, slow blinks. Bunnfield places his elbows on the desk.

“Hi, Switch,” he says. “Good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you as well, Colleague Bunnfield. What can I do for you?”

Bunnfield’s gaze jostles…

“Freeze!”

My head spins around. Five security guards stand before us, blasters pointed at our heads.

I drop the monitor, but before I can grab my blaster, one of the guards steps forward and takes it off my hip. Then he takes Yide’s and X’s.

“Hey!” X yells. “That’s mine!” He reaches for the gun.

Another guard steps forward, takes a taser off his belt, and aims it at X.

“No!” I yell.

But it’s too late.

Two probes dart out, attach themselves to X’s chest, and send a high voltage current surging through his body. He lets out a yelp, spazzes, and then drops to the ground like a sack of goo.

“Fuck,” Yide says.

The guard looks at her. “Shut your trap, or else you’re next. Now, both of you turn around and put your hands behind your backs.” He flashes some handcuffs.

And meanwhile, all is bustling at headquarters, the bots going about their business, the train leaving the station.

I wake up, breathless.

Yide grabs my arm.

“Vonn,” she gasps. “What’s wrong?”

I sit up, wipe the sweat from my brow. My chest is heaving up and down. I reach for a glass of water. I’m starting to enjoy the sensation of the cold liquid hitting the back of my throat.

“It’s nothing,” I say, taking a sip. “Just a nightmare.”

Yide strokes my arm. “You’re just stressed. It’ll be alright. In a few hours, the world is going to look very different.”

I set the glass down on a plastic sidetable. “I think that’s what’s stressing me out. Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

“Yes,” she says, immediately. “We don’t have a choice. The Within is a nest of lies. We have to expose the truth.”

I take a deep breath. “I’m not so sure. I mean, is the truth worth killing people over? Is The Within really that bad? Think about it, people are safe down there. They’re taken care of. They live in abundance.”

Yide snorts. “An abundance of lies.”

I shrug. “Who’s to say what is and isn’t a lie?”

Yide rolls her eyes. “We all know that The Within is bullshit. They keep people locked in a gilded cage, doped up on tech and sex and drugs. They make them sick and then give them an antidote to treat the symptom, not the disease. They’ve turned an entire population into remote assassins. They’re ruining the land one game at a time. It can’t go on like this. Something has to change. Don’t you want to be that change, Vonn?”

I’m silent for a long time, thinking about change.

“All I know,” Yide finally says, “is that I can’t play the game anymore. I mean, for Efficiency’s sake, Vonn, I was using an auto-response synth to interview for jobs that I found so meaningless that I couldn’t even feign interest. That’s no way to live. I want more. I deserve more. Everybody does.”

Once again I’m silent for a long time, thinking about everyone. “But is it worth it? Risking everything? I mean, people could die tomorrow. Do you think that the truth is worth killing people over?”

Yide sighs, as if disappointed in me. “People are dying every day in The Without because thousands of Withiners are addicted to the dopamine hit of a high score. We’re the good guys, Vonn.” She pats me on the leg. “Don’t forget that.”

“Ok,” I say, leaning back, “you’re right,” but I’m not actually convinced, and when Yide falls back asleep, I get out of bed and walk to Elijah’s chamber. He’s asleep, so I shake him awake. He doesn’t look startled to see me. In fact, I’m reminded of Orson, the way he turned so nonchalantly and said, in a calm and assured voice, “I’ve been expecting you.”

Elijah puts on his spectacles. “It’s good to see you, Vonn. Bunny told me about your trek up the mountain.”

“I wish you could have come,” I say.

Elijah shakes his head. “I don’t think the trip would have been as successful with me present. I would have just held you back, not only because of my bum leg” – he slaps his knee – “but because of my anger toward my father. Now that he’s dead, I’m just now beginning to see that my anger toward him was blinding.”

“He loved you,” I say. “I don’t know much about love, but I know he loved you. And he was proud of you. And admired you. And, for what it’s worth, he knew he was wrong about dNet, that he should have never created it, that you were right to rebel against everything he stood for. He wanted to say that to your face, to apologize, for everything.”

Elijah nods, tears welling in his eyes. “Bunny said he died a noble death. He sacrificed himself so that the three of you could escape. I suppose our trajectories are crossing in that sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’d like to think that my father lived an ignominious life and died a noble death. But me? Well, I’ve at least strived to live a noble life, but I’m afraid that I’m headed toward an ignominious death. I don’t think I’ll make it out of this cave alive, Vonn, and I’ve come to see my inability to fight with fists and bullets, as Bunny put it, as a sign of weakness. I wish I had your strength, your killer instinct. It would come in handy in a moment such as this, with death biting at my heels.”

“I’m not proud of myself,” I say, “if that’s what you think. In fact, I’m haunted by what I did to The Withouter Hunter. I just had an awful nightmare about it. Which is strange, really, because I’ve killed many times before, down in The Within, plugged into dNet, and never once did I have a nightmare about the lives I took. Never once did their ghosts come back to haunt me. So what’s different this time?”

“Knowledge,” Elijah says. “That’s what’s different. There was always evil in the Garden of Eden. It just wasn’t until the snake tricked Adam and Eve into the apple that they came to know about it. And that’s when everything went to shit. You see, Vonn, evil isn’t the problem. Knowledge is.”

“Adam?” I ask. “Eve? I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Elijah adjusts himself in his bed. “Look at it this way, Vonn. Before, on dNet, you were killing people, but it wasn’t really your choice, because you didn’t have all the data, for lack of a better term, to choose between good and evil. But with The Withouter Hunter, you knew what you were doing, and you chose to kill him. Whether or not that choice was the right one, well, that’s for you to decide. But it was a choice nonetheless, and a choice you’ll have to live with.”

I stare at a spot on the cave. “Operation Digital Disruption is kind of like the apple you were talking about. The one that Adam and Eve ate.”

Elijah’s eyes alight with amusement. “I’ve never thought of Digital Disruption that way, but yes, I suppose you could say that.”

“Which makes me the snake,” I say. “I don’t want to be the snake, Elijah. But what else am I supposed to be?”

“Yourself,” Elijah says. “That’s all you can be. Because wherever you go, there you are.” A faraway stare overtakes his gaze. “In the end, Vonn, if you choose to go through with the plan tomorrow, you shouldn’t do it out of anger or a sense of injustice, or to defend some ideal, or even to save anyone else. You should do it to save yourself. Plain and simple. If you save yourself, the rest will follow.”

Elijah blinks, and there’s a great deal communicated in that blink, so much so that it will take me years to process, to understand, what it is he has just told me.

But for now, it’s enough to give me the answer I needed.

I clasp his hand and thank him.

“I’m not going to say goodbye,” I say, “because I refuse to believe that this is the last time we’ll see each other.”

He smiles wanly, and I’m grateful when he doesn’t argue the point.

On my way back to Yide, I run into X, who’s looking more harried than usual.

“Yo, simul,” he says. “I just talked to Cosmo about the plan. I want in, yeah? I want to come with you. Fight the power, you know.” He pumps his fist, jowls vibrating. “We cool?”

“Yeah,” I say. “We cool.”

And instead of going back to bed, I show X the shaft wall, and we climb to the top and stand among the spindly trees, watching the sun rise in the distance, bombs scattering the sky with bursts of white.

And I’m like, “yo, simul, you need to mega chill, we weren’t trying to ditch you, we were just trying to be efficient.”

X runs a hand over his face. “It’s just so boring here. There’s nothing to do. I’ve been having to talk to these Withouters about, like, ideas. It sucks. I hate it. I want to go home. I miss the pharmas. I miss the sinny. I miss my harem of sexSimuls. I miss dancing at High Times. I even kind of miss my job. You know?”

X’s eyes plead with me, and I don’t have the heart to tell him what Yide ends up saying.

“We can’t go back, X. They know who we are.”

His head turns, his face drops. “They? Who is they?”

“Upper Management. Vonn Industries. The whole incestuous military corporate complex that is The Within.”

“I don’t understand,” X says. “I thought the footage was too grainy. That’s what the news feed is saying.”

Yide shrugs. “They’re lying to us.”

X is speechless for maybe the first time in his life.

I step toward him, put my hand on his shoulder. “Look,” I say. “I’m sorry we left without telling you. We won’t do that again. From now on, you’ll be the first to know everything. In fact, there’s something we want to talk to you about. It’s a plan to break into headquarters. You’re my best colleague, X, and I need your help.”

X glances at my hand. Then, with disdain, he brushes it off his shoulder, and his eyes bite into me like a snake. “Go fuck yourself, Vonn.”

He storms off, and I turn to watch him leave. Walking through a narrow stone corridor, he bumps into a silhouette, spins, and tells the silhouette to go fuck itself as well.

Cosmo surfaces from the dark surround.

“What’s wrong with him?” He asks.

I shrug. “He’s just pissed because he wasn’t included in our jaunt to find Orson. But don’t worry. It’s X. He’ll get over it.”

Cosmo nods.

“How’s Bunnfield?” I ask.

“A little shaken, but overall, not bad. He has a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing a little balm can’t fix. How are you two doing?”

“Fine,” Yide says, “A little tired, but overall, not bad.”

Cosmo is holding a laptop. He sets it down on a slate of rock and opens the screen. A bright blue surrounds the dim candlelight.

“Bunnfield has brought me up to speed,” he says, “and I’ve been reviewing the contents of the floppy disk.”

“What’s a floppy disk?” Yide asks.

“It’s this olden time way of storing data. Orson handed one to Bunnfield before he slipped out the back of the cabin. It has a lot of useful information on it about the Kill Switch Protocol. I have some ideas about how we can infiltrate headquarters.”

He clicks around the laptop as we discuss the plan.

I glance at my watch. It’s two in the morning.

“Seven hours until nine am,” I say. “How far is it to headquarters from here?”

“An hour on foot. If you leave by eight, I think you’ll be fine. There’s a whole processing protocol at the holding cell. It’ll take some time before Bunnfield reaches Switch.”

I nod. “We should get some shut eye then. We’ve got a big day ahead.”

Cosmo closes his laptop.

“Wait a second,” I say. “Could you do me a favor?”

“Depends,” Cosmo says.

“If I typed up an email, would you be able to schedule it to send to my boss at nine am?”

“Sure,” Cosmo says. “I can do that. What’s the email about?”

“It’s my letter of resignation,” I say.

Cosmo grins as he hands me the laptop. “Go for it.”

I type several versions of the email, deleting each one as I go. The first is a diatribe against Beehive. The second is a diatribe against Zed. The third is a diatribe against corporate culture, toxic bosses, bullshit jobs, and, ultimately, the entire Within. After getting all that off my chest, I settle on this:

Dear Supervisor Zed,

My performance improvement plan is as follows: go fuck yourself.

Sincerely,

Vonn 19

The racket of a machine gun echoes over the hill, the bullets zooming over our heads.

Yide grabs my hand, and we roll out of the swath of grass and burrow behind a generator.

“Shit,” I say. “My blaster is in my robe.”

I double back, retrieve my robe, and slip it on with this really cool ninja move before tossing Yide her own robe and returning to the cover of the generator. Yide slips on her robe, removes her blaster from its holster, and pokes her head above the generator. Quickly, she falls back.

“Who is it?” I ask. “Bots?”

“No, worse than that.”

A tall, burly figure walks past us, the muscular calves flexing in the moonlight, the combat boots shining.

“Fuck,” I say. “It’s Mama Bear.”

“She’s here to avenge her son’s death.”

“Fuck,” I say. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Mama Bear blasts the side of the cabin, shattering the windows, splintering the rocking chairs.

Through the shattered glass, I see Orson and Bunnfield crouched behind a couch.

“We should run,” Yide whispers.

“And leave Orson and Bunnfield to die? No way.” I stand, wielding my blaster.

Mama Bear turns, and I press down on the trigger. Pew, pew, pew. Red pulse beams rush past her. She returns fire. I duck. Bullets ricochet off the generator. Clang, clang, clang. Yide swings her blaster around the edge of the generator and lets loose. One of her laser beams makes contact, and Mama Bear, who is seriously really fucking ripped, stumbles backward, her long blonde hair flying every which way. She catches her fall on a generator and straightens her back before taking a step forward.

“Fuck,” Yide says. “She has laser proof armor.”

Mama Bear’s dirt smeared mouth curls into a malicious smile.

“You killed my son,” she croaks. “My beautiful, burly, gentle son.”

My head tilts because I wouldn’t describe a mass murderer as gentle, but then again, I have to remind myself that The Withouter Hunter was, like, her actual son, i.e., not a sponsored baby, and it’s my understanding, based on my studies at prep, that a mother’s feelings toward her children are very inefficient, which goes a long way in explaining the mischaracterization.

“You killed my son,” she croaks again, “so prepare to die!”

She empties another clip into the generator. Cling, clang, bang.

“She’s going to hit the fuel tank,” I whisper. “And then we’re toast. We need to get out from behind here.”

I look around. There’s really nowhere to run. If we return to the tall grass, the bullets will rip right into us. At least, behind the generator, we have a little protection.

Mama Bear reloads the clip, and I take the opportunity to shoot off a few more laser pulses, which just kind of ricochet off her armor and blast into the dark surround.

“You think you’re so clever,” she says. “All you piece of shit InBetweeners. But you can’t even cover your own tracks. I picked up your trail at the waterfall.” The new clip clicks into place. She cocks the bolt handle, raises the gun, and aims the barrel right at the fuel tank.

“Get down!” I yell, but the sound of my voice is immediately overtaken by the pew pew pew of a blaster. I glance at Yide, confused. We both whip our heads around the metal frame of the generator, and for a brief second, my eyes fall on Orson Mitchell, who is standing on the cabin porch, blaster blasting. A beam strikes against Mama Bear’s back. She swings around. Orson fires again, and then his gaze sweeps in our direction.

“Go!” He yells. “Run!”

He releases another spray of pulses, further distracting Mama Bear, who keeps reeling back with each hit.

Mama Bear ducks behind a generator, places her machine gun atop the metal frame, and starts emptying the clip.

Something tugs at my shoulder. “Come on, Vonn, let’s go.” I turn to find Bunnfield crouched down, eyes alight with red laser beams. Yide is behind him, on her feet, her hips turned sideways, ready to run.

“What about, Orson?” I ask. “We need to save him.”

“This is what Orson wants,” Bunnfield says. “Come on, let’s go.”

A huge rush of heat as a fuel tank explodes. Lasers dart through the smoke. Mama Bear is on the ground, the bottom half of her body engulfed in flames, the top half still clutching the machine gun, letting it fire indiscriminately into the cabin.

“Vonn!” Yide yells. “Let’s go! Now!”

I stand, stumble, and just as we’re about to dip down the hill, I look back and see Orson Mitchell’s arms flailing, his blaster falling to the ground, a look of grim satisfaction overtaking his eyes as they turn toward eternity, his body dissipating into the smoke of the burning cabin.

Yide grabs my hand and pulls me down the hill.

“Miles Davis, baby,” he says, shaking his hips. “This is the good stuff.”

I sit on the couch, tapping my foot to the beat. Yide is beside me, her skeletal leg rubbing against mine. Orson pours some kind of clear liquid into four plastic cups. He hands each of us a cup.

“To new beginnings,” he says, raising his cup in the air.

We clink plastic.

I glance inside the cup. “What is it?”

“Vodka,” Orson says. “It’s what people used to drink before xTonic monopolized the alcohol market.”

xTonic. I haven’t had xTonic for at least a week. Don’t mind if I do.

The first drink stings the back of my throat. I cough.

Yide laughs, slapping me on the back.

“Not quite as smooth as xTonic,” Orson says, “ but I think you’ll like the result.”

He fills my cup again and makes a gesture with his hand.

“Drink up,” he says. “For tomorrow, we die.”

Bunnfield straightens his back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Orson grins, shaking his hips again. “Oh, it’s just an expression. After all, these are uncertain times, no?”

As if on cue, a bomb thunders in the distance, shaking the window.

“Come, come,” Orson says. “Let’s dance. I haven’t had a dance party in a long, long time.” He offers his hand to Yide, who takes it.

Orson swings her around the room. I laugh. The way Yide moves, so smooth and graceful, fills me with a joy that I’ve never known before, and I realize that I prefer the way she looks without an avatar; in fact, I prefer everything about her when she’s unGlassed: her voice, her smile, her eyes.

Bunnfield stands and starts shaking his hips, moving around the cluttered room, and I do the same, letting the syncopated music move my body. I drink some more vodka. The liquid warms me, and by the time the second tune hits, I’m in desperate need of a toilet.

I step outside. At this height, above all the smog, the stars shine bright. The crescent moon is silver. I walk through the wet grass, weaving in and out of the scattered generators, but before I can even make it to the outhouse, I have to unzip my fly and let it all spray out on a concrete slab. It’s disconcerting, how clear my urine is. I’m used to a yellowish-brown hue. I wonder if something is wrong with me. I zip up and start back to the cabin. Then I hear something, a swishing in the grass, and my stomach drops. I crouch behind a generator. Who is it? A bot? A soldier? A ferocious animal? My heart beats wildly against my chest. My vision spins.

A voice says my name.

My nerves settle.

It’s Yide.

I straighten up. She’s walking toward me, about four generators away.

“Is it normal,” I ask, “to have clear urine? Because I just…”

She’s moving quickly, with purpose, and she reaches me in a few seconds.

“Shut up, Vonn,” she says, grabbing my face.

Her tongue, the real one, slips into my mouth, and it’s a sensation that’s at once strange and familiar. A jolt of electricity surges through my bones. There’s an immediacy, an intimacy, that I’ve never felt before, and we pull each other to the ground and roll into a tall swath of grass.

Her fingers grasp at the buttons on my robe. She works her way down, one by one, and then I do the same to her, and our robes drop to the ground. We stand there for a moment, unsure what to do next.

She looks away. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“They’re not, you know, as big as a sex suit.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t make me say it. I’m already embarrassed.”

“Well,” I say, looking down, “if you’re worried about size, I can’t say I have much to offer in that arena. Oh, and for the record, mine doesn’t vibrate either.”

Yide laughs, nestling her face into my neck. “You’re perfect,” she says.

And we sink into each other as the stars blink above our heads, and the earth and the wind and the salt of her skin mixes into a fragrance that smells like nothing Juicy Perfumes has ever produced, and I wish I could bottle it all up, this entire moment, and give it away for free.

We break apart, fall back into the wet grass, exhausted, our hearts beating and our chests heaving, and for once in my life, everything feels right.

“I love it here,” Yide says. “Let’s stay forever.”

I hold her hand. “We’ll build our own cabin. We’ll have real babies. We’ll live like the olden times, with real cows and goats and, like, plants and shit, and every night we’ll come outside and make love. What do you think?”

“The real thing is way better.”

“Yes.”

“Vonn, I’m glad we came.”

“Me too,” I say.

She squeezes my hand, rolls over, kisses me on the cheek.

And that’s when I hear it, the crunching of boots on the hill.

I sit up, crook my neck.

And that’s when the bullets start flying.

“The what?” Bunnfield asks.

Orson turns. “The Kill Switch Protocol.”

“Is that…” I move closer to the screen and study a picture of a man in a suit and tie. “Switch 1?”

“The one and only,” Orson says.

“Wait a second,” Bunnfield says. “I know Switch 1. He’s been a button pusher at Vonn Industries forever. What the hell does Switch have to do with breaking into headquarters?”

Orson smiles, puffing on his pipe. “Switch has everything to do with breaking into headquarters. He keeps the barbarians at the gate.” He turns back to his computer and scrolls through a page of documentation. “In broad terms, the Kill Switch Protocol was something we came up with as a way to guard against internal threats. As you know, the exterior of headquarters is incredibly well-secured. But what would happen, Mr. Vonn Senior asked me one day, if someone with security clearance – a security guard, for instance, or even an AI bot that had somehow developed sentience – were to overtake headquarters from inside the dome? At the time, I didn’t have a good answer to this question, because the logical conclusion was that, if this were to actually happen, Mr. Vonn Senior, and anyone else loyal to Vonn Industries, would be trapped in a prison of their own making. In other words, a defector could use the walls of headquarters in reverse – not to keep people out, but to keep people in. This scenario haunted Mr. Vonn Senior, and it began to haunt me as well, because I prided myself on my ability to solve problems, and this problem I simply couldn’t solve.” Orson clicks on a link, bringing up two overlapping circles.

“Here’s the situation in a nutshell,” he says. “On one side, you have The Without, on the other, The Within, and at the center of the two, existing in a kind of liminal space, is headquarters. Now, let’s say that Mr. Vonn Senior’s worst fear came true, and some entity, human or otherwise, was holding him captive inside headquarters. In this theoretical scenario, the overtaker would have full control of headquarters, and Mr. Vonn Senior would be trapped. Further, given that the barriers of headquarters are so well-fortified, we can reasonably assume that an attack against the exterior would be unsuccessful. So what does that leave us with?”

“The Within and The Without,” Yide says.

“Exactly,” Orson says. “The Within and The Without.” With a click of the mouse, he brings up a colored version of the diagram.

“Now, in this version of the diagram,” Orson says, “anything in red is unaccessible, which means that, in order to regain control of HQ, we would need to to do so from either The Within or The Without, but the problem with The Without –” I can see the gears turning in his head, the way the problem gives his thoughts shape and purpose – “or, at least, what Mr. Vonn Senior thought was the problem with The Without, is that The Without is too chaotic. There are too many variables. You’ve got all these Withouters running around monkey wrenching, and then the bots and the social media mercenaries, the bullets and the explosions and the fires, all of which creates a lot of unknowns, and what we were trying to do is minimize the unknowns, to create, in other words, a stable certainty.” Another click, another diagram.

“So, we had to eliminate The Without from our strategy, forming a binary world – headquarters and The Without on one side, The Within on the other – and it was at this point, with the equation reduced, as it were, to ones and zeroes, that the solution came to me. A simple solution, really. One might even say elegant. Occum would be proud.” Orson pulls on his pipe, building up the suspense. “The solution, of course, is an off-site kill switch which would allow someone in The Within to shut down all operations at headquarters with a simple flick of the wrist. Genius, right?” Orson shrugs. “Mr. Vonn Senior thought so.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Bunnfield says. “You mean to tell me that there’s this, like, button in The Within that you can press, and all of headquarters will shut down? How does that even work? The dome becomes, like, unlaser proof?”

“Not exactly,” Orson says, clicking around manically. “Here’s the full layout of a post-kill-switch-headquarters.” He zooms out, like a helicopter gaining altitude over an entire city. “As you see, the dome has retracted – we actually developed it this way for rocket launches – allowing for freedom of exit and entry, but it works for our purposes here as well. In addition, the power system is shut down, so anything electrical is effectively inoperative. Further, the kill switch mechanism releases an EMP, thereby eliminating any drones, bots, or AI weapons.”

“What about dNet?” I ask.

Orson turns. “Yes, dNet shuts down as well.”

I glance at Bunnfield. “Digital Disruption would be impossible in this scenario. We can’t flood the feed with our footage if dNet is down.”

“I might have a solution to that problem,” Orson says. He crosses the room and, stopping in front of a table, lifts up some kind of bulky backpack. “I’ve been working on this prototype for a few months now because, well, my electrical output has more than tripled in the last year or so.” He blushes, glancing around at the clutter. “I guess you could say I have a lot of time on my hands, and believe me, while I tried my hand at gardening and such, I just can’t shake my fascination with gadgets.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, the point is that I kept having to install these cumbersome generators around the property, and I’m running out of room, so I’ve been working on a way to create more electricity with less machinery.” He holds out the pack. “And voila, I call it The Tank. My initial tests suggest, if fully charged, that this little pack could power all of dNet for several days if you plug it directly into the mainframe. I won’t bore you with how it works. All you have to know is that it does.”

I take the backpack from Orson, and it’s so heavy that I nearly drop it.

“Easy now,” Orson says. “The Tank weighs nearly thirty pounds. Hence, the straps.” He takes the pack from me and puts it on his back. “Voila.”

“What I still don’t understand,” Bunnfield says, “is what Switch 1 has to do with any of The Kill Switch Protocol. Does he, like, know where the switch is?”

Orson shakes his head vigorously. “No, Switch doesn’t know where the switch is, my dear Bunnfield. Switch is the switch.”

“Switch is the switch?” I ask. “What does that even mean?”

Orson clicks a couple times, returning to the profile pic of Switch 1. My stomach turns, remembering how helpless I felt in Switch’s cubicle, the way he treated me like I was some kind of simul or something, just another number in his ledger, less than human. The way he flicked his wrist, dismissing me. The way he refused to give me any answers, even though he held, as Orson put it earlier, the keys to the kingdom.

Orson’s cursor floats over a legend of symbols. “We gave a lot of thought to the placement of the kill switch. In one sense, the switch needed to be accessible; in another sense, it needed to be hidden. We couldn’t very well have a huge button in the commons that said Headquarters Kill Switch. Dissenters would press it for political reasons; teenagers would press it as a prank. Hell, even if we hid it behind a wall of guards and security protocols, the sheer visibility of the thing would leave it vulnerable to tampering.”

“So how many people know about the Kill Switch Protocol?” Bunnfield asks.

“Not many,” Orson says. “We felt that the more people who were aware of the kill switch, the more likely it would be for someone to enable the Kill Switch Protocol, either through accident or malicious intent. Of course, somebody had to know about it – otherwise, who would enable it in the case of a takeover? For a time, that person was me. But then, when I retired, the knowledge was passed along to an operative named Cad Man 68.”

“Cad Man 68,” I say. “You mean, like, the crypto entrepreneur?”

“Yes.” Orson winces. “Believe me, Cad Man was not my first choice for the position, but Vonn Senior had become quite infatuated with him, because he was helping fund Vonn Senior’s quest for immortality.”

“Quest for immortality?” Yide asks. “You mean to tell me that Vonn Senior is trying to live forever? That would literally be the worst thing to ever happen to the human race.”

Orson shrugs. “Death, the last great frontier. The final problem to be solved. For a control freak like Mr. Vonn Senior, the thought that he can’t control the very nature of his own life and death is literal torture. He’s probably in his mansion right now, following anti-aging protocols, lifting weights and popping pills, injecting himself with all kinds of serums, running blood tests, plugging himself into fancy machines, trying his damndest to conquer death. And meanwhile, you know who’s helping him turn his body into a spreadsheet? Cad Man.”

Even though I already know the answer, I ask the question. “Are all of Cad Man’s crypto scams getting funneled into Mr. Vonn Senior’s bank account?”

“Of course,” Orson says. “How do you think Cad Man keeps getting away with scamming people? Why do you think the finance czar never charges him with a crime? Of course, Cad Man gets some kickback, naturally. A quid pro crypto, so to speak. And, I suppose, since Mr. Vonn Senior trusts him, it makes sense for him to know the Kill Switch Protocol. Plus, who would suspect him? There’s no real documentation of him being involved with Vonn Industries at all.”

“Hiding in plain sight,” Bunnfield says.

“Precisely,” Orson says. “Which brings us back to Switch 1. The most inconspicuous guy in The Within. Plain, boring, stodgy. Nobody is friends with him. But nobody really hates him, either. He’s a button pusher among button pushers. A lifelong bureaucrat. A cog in the machine. Nobody thinks too much about Switch, do they? He’s just kind of there. Which is precisely the point. We wanted the kill switch to be something that was and wasn’t there. Material, yes, but also unremarkable. Which is why we created Switch 1, a bot that looks like a man. ”

“Wait a second,” Bunnfield says. “Switch 1 is a bot?”

Orson raises an eyebrow. “Are you surprised, Bunnfield? We based his programming on career bureaucrats, given their proclivity for robotic behavior, but you have to admit, even by bureaucratic standards, Switch is rather…stale. I mean, have you ever heard him tell a joke? Or laugh? Or show any emotion at all?”

“No,” Bunnfield says. “But like you said, he’s a career bureaucrat, so I guess he just always seemed to, like, fit in at the holding cell. So how does the Kill Switch Protocol work? Is there, like, a hidden button on Switch that you have to press?”

“No,” Orson says. “We thought about that, but we were afraid that someone might bump into Switch and accidentally initiate the protocol, so we made sure a good deal of force was needed, and we placed him in an environment in which the thought of someone randomly applying that force would be unlikely.”

“In the holding cell?” Bunnfield asks, incredulous. “Among criminals? I don’t understand that. Isn’t there a high level of risk that a criminal might attack him in order to escape?”

“Perhaps,” Orson says, “but this risk has already been mitigated by the holding cell protocols, which act as a kind of safeguard against any criminal violence. Think about it, Bunnfield, what happens when someone is arrested? They’re stripped of all weapons. They’re heavily guarded. Chained. And not only that, they’re given sedative goo and unlimited access to the arcade. Have you ever seen a criminal attack someone in holding?”

“No,” Bunnfield says, “you’re right. We go to great lengths to ensure that something like that would never happen.”

“Precisely,” Orson says. “In fact, Switch is more likely to get attacked at a nightclub, or at an elementary prep, or just riding the line one day, what with all the active shooters out there. I mean, it might be counterintuitive, but the safest place for Switch is in the heart of the holding cell, surrounded by criminals.”

“But safe from what?” I ask. “You still haven’t told us how to initiate the Kill Switch Protocol.”

“Well,” Orson says, “I didn’t think I had to. The answer is in the name itself. Kill Switch.”

“Kill Switch,” I repeat, idiotically.

“That’s right,” Orson says. “In order to initiate the Kill Switch Protocol, you simply have to kill Switch.” He forms the figure of a gun with his thumb and index finger, raises his hand to his head, and lowers his thumb. “Bang,” he whispers, throwing out his arms like a magician. “Ding, dong, the switch is dead.”

Orson pours us each a glass of tea, takes out a pipe, and then lights it with a match. “I saw the lot of you coming up the hill on my security cameras.” He points toward a table lined with boxy screens. “I thought Elijah might be with you. At least, that was my hope.” He lowers his head, and I’m reminded of Elijah, the way his neck habitually tilts in disappointment.

“I thought you were off-grid,” Bunnfield says, gesturing toward the screens. “You seem pretty plugged in to me.”

“I’m off dNet’s grid,” Orson says. “All this electricity, it’s closed circuit. Which is to say, untraceable. I guess I’ve become rather private in my old age. But I still love my toys, you know.” A childish grin washes over his face. “Anyway, how is my son? You are his comrades, correct?” He says the word comrades with a hint of irony and disdain.

“Elijah couldn’t make it,” Bunnfield says. “We were attacked by a man named The Withouter Hunter yesterday, and your son was hurt during the altercation. He’ll recover, but for the time being, he’s bedridden.”

Orson takes a tug on his pipe. “You don’t have to bullshit me, young man. I know that Elijah hates me. He told me years ago, the last time I saw him, that he never wanted to see me again, and one thing I’ve always respected about my son is that he’s a man of his word. He has principles. So, when he said I’d never see him again, I believed him.”

“Then why’d you reach out,” Yide asks, “if you knew he didn’t want to see you?”

Orson squints into the smoke. “That’s a good question, young lady. I guess I’ve become optimistic in my old age. Or maybe foolish is the word I should use. Either way, I knew it was a long shot.” Orson scratches his beard as he turns his gaze toward me. “You’re the gentleman who killed The Withouter Hunter, aren’t you? They’ve been talking about you on the airwaves. Vonn 19, no? I pulled up your profile earlier. You did a good job flying under the radar. No signs in your feed of radicalism. You must have been playing the long game.”

“Not really,” I say. “I more or less stumbled into this way of life about a week ago. Anyway, how’d you know that I was the one who killed The Withouter Hunter? I didn’t think they’d identified me.”

Orson’s smile dissipates, and his eyes grow wide. “Oh, young man, you can’t believe everything they say in the feed. In fact, I would encourage you to believe none of it.” He turns toward Yide. “They know who you are, too, as well as your friend, X, but they’re keeping their cards close to their chest. That’s the thing about information mongers. They like to capture information, but they don’t like to share it, because they know that information is power, at least when it comes to The Within and The Without.” Orson turns toward Bunnfield. “You have somehow found a way to go undetected. When I saw you coming up the hill, I ran a facial recognition algo. You’re a Middle Manager, no? Bunnfield 58?”

Bunnfield’s blank expression neither confirms nor denies.

“Impressive,” Orson continues. “What’s your trick?”

Bunnfield shrugs. “My boyfriend is pretty good with computers, and he puts a lot of effort into scraping my data.”

“I see. And what’s the name of this data scraper?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

Orson crosses his legs and puffs on his pipe. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

“Not really,” Bunnfield says. “After all, you’re Orson Mitchell, the architect of dNet, and a long time associate of Mr. Vonn Senior. Why should I trust you?”

Orson uncrosses his legs, leans forward, and smiles. “You can disabuse yourself of the notion that I have any loyalty to Mr. Vonn Senior. He can rot in inefficiency for all I care.” Orson walks across the room and stares into the grainy CCTV footage on all the boxy screens.

I scowl at Bunnfield, like, what do we have to gain by pissing him off? Then I stand.“Mr. Orson, I think what Bunnfield is trying to say is that we’re not sure where your loyalties lie. On the one hand, you were in the C-suite of Vonn Industries for years. On the other, you’ve made contact with the rebels. So which side are you on?”

Orson’s voice, tinny and folksy, breaks into song:

Come all of you good workers

Good news to you I’ll tell

Of how the good ol’ union

Has come in here to dwell

My daddy was a miner

And I’m a miner’s son

And I’ll stick with the union

‘Til every battle’s won

Oh, workers can you stand it?

Oh, tell me how you can

Will you be a lousy scab

Or will you be a man?

Don’t scab for the bosses

Don’t listen to their lies

Us poor folks haven’t got a chance

Unless we organize

Orson tilts his head. “My father used to work the derricks. He was employed by a company called Drill Baby Inc., but he also belonged to the union. Ask me how that turned out for him, playing both sides of the fence.”

“What’s a union?” I ask.

Orson rubs his eyes. “A union is an organization that supposedly represents the rights of workers, but unions can be just as corrupt as the corporations they stand against. In the case of my grandfather, he paid his union dues for years, and never once did he get ahead. Sure, the union would help him here and there, but they’d just as soon screw him over when it meant an extra buck in the president’s pocket. Same thing with Drill Baby Inc. I grew up watching this song and dance, disgusted by the way my father put so much faith in these organizations – whether it be a company, a union, a political party, or the church – and then, when I was just sixteen, a derrick came crashing down on him, and that was it, he was dead, leaving behind nothing but debt for me and my mother. The union was no help, and neither was Drill Baby. If it weren’t for the debt collectors, I might have thought my father never existed.” He takes a long draw on his pipe. “Anyway, when my father died, I got a job as a software engineer at a data mining company called Astrix. It was a bullshit job, but I was good at it, and I learned everything I could, determined to strike out on my own. I was fiercely independent, hellbent on self-reliance, like some kind of computer-age Thoreau. The Desire Network was my Walden. I believed that, if I could create a technology that fulfilled my every desire, I would free myself of the turmoil that arises from human greed and hubris, from the tyranny of the individual and the crowd, because technology has no ego. It has no aspirations of its own. It has no purpose outside of the purpose that we, as humans, give to it. At least, that’s what I believed at the time, when I was a young man, and that was the thinking behind dNet. A panacea. A techno utopia. A total and complete technology which would cater to every human whim, whether that be in terms of medicine or entertainment. A life without pain or suffering. A noble cause, no?” Orson squints into a cloud of smoke. “Well, you know what they say about the road to hell…”

Now Bunnfield stands up. “Look, Orson, we really appreciate the history lesson, but we already know all this. They beat it into our heads in prep. The reason we’re here is that we could use your help. You see, Vonn Industries is threatening war. In fact, they’re already bombing the hell out of this mountain.”

“I’m aware,” Orson says. “I’ve been listening on the airwaves. You’re right, you’re in grave danger. So what’s your plan?”

I step forward. “We want to take over dNet,” I say, “so that we can flood the feed with the truth.”

Orson puffs on his pipe, the gears in his head turning. “Hijack dNet? That would require access to the mainframe. And once you’re in the mainframe, you’d have to inject the hardware with some serious mal.”

“We already have the mal,” I say, holding up the device. “It’s access to the mainframe that we need help with, because we can’t figure out a way to break into headquarters without getting torn to shreds by an army of bots.”

Orson smiles, his eyes turning bright and wide. “So you came here to learn more about the security algo I wrote for headquarters. Is that right?”

“Yes, exactly.”

Orson nods. “If you bring me to Elijah, I’ll tell you how to steal the keys to the kingdom. I’d like to talk to my son face to face, mano a mano, so that I can apologize for being a shitty father, buried in my work.nTime has shown that I was wrong. The world would be a better place without The DesireNetwork. I see that now. All the technology has done is create more problems. Instead of freeing us from our desires, it’s made us more reliant upon them, addicted to pleasure and instant satisfaction. Of course, Elijah already knows this, but I’d like for you to bring me to him so that I can ask for his forgiveness IRL. Is that something you’d be willing to do for me?”

I glance at Bunnfield, who looks skeptical.

“I don’t know, Orson,” he says. “If we were to bring you to Elijah, he might kill all of us, pacifism be damned.”

Orson laughs. “I understand. But, you know, I think he might surprise us. Elijah is stubborn, but I also know my son well enough to know that he has a good heart, and I’ll tell you what: if, after he hears me out, he still says he never wants to see me again, I’ll never make contact again. And that’s a promise.”

Bunnfield’s skeptical mien turns toward me. “What do you think, Vonn?”

“I think…”

“Hold on,” Yide interrupts. “The reason I’m here is for a little common sense, and common sense tells me that the lives of thousands of people is more important than Elijah’s little pissing match with his father. So I don’t even care what the two of you have to say –” she points at me and Bunnfield – “I’ll carry this man to Elijah myself if it means we can take down Vonn Industries. And just try to stop me.”

Yide’s passion is, well, hella hot, so instead of arguing, I’m just, like, kind of turned on, not saying anything. Bunnfield doesn’t say anything either, so that settles that.

Orson looks between the three of us, kind of getting the picture.

“Great,” he says. “Then let’s talk about Kill Switch.”

At the top, the land sprawls upward, punctuated with spindly trees and scattered rock.

Bunnfield, with his headlamp and GPS, leads the way.

Halfway up, we stop at a waterfall and drink. Overhead, helicopters chatter in the sky, dropping bombs indiscriminately. We trek upward, until we make it to a plateau. Bunnfield taps the GPS.

“We’re close.”

We push our way through a thick row of hedges, and then we come upon an open field with a cabin about fifty yards away. An outhouse stands to one side, a well to the other. We walk through the grassy field, weaving in and out of a maze of generators. The cabin porch surfaces pixel by pixel. A yellow light illuminates two windows. Something creaks. A rocking chair sways in the harsh wind.

Bunnfield looks through one of the windows. He puts his hand on his blaster. Then he looks back at us.

“I’ll go first.” He pushes open the door and steps inside.

Yide and I are just a step behind.

Over Bunnfield’s shoulder, I see a gaunt figure leaning over a table full of beakers and scales. The man turns, flashing a long, grey beard and a toothless grin.

“It’s about time,” he says. “I’ve been expecting you. Put down your guns and have a seat. I know you’ve had a long journey.”

“Feel any better, Yide?” Claudette asks.

Yide sits up, putting on a brave face. “Better,” she says. “I think the balm is helping.” She glances down at the bandages on her arms and legs. “I got lucky, you know. The shrapnel didn’t pierce any vital organs. Give me a day or two, and I’ll be good as new.” Her face drops as she tosses her glance toward me. “Although, if what Vonn says is true, it doesn’t sound like any of us will be alive in a day or two.”

“That’s what we came to talk about,” Bunnfield says. “We didn’t want to say anything in front of Elijah, but we might know a way we can break into headquarters. It’s a longshot. And damn risky. But we think it’s worth a try.”

“Alright,” I say. “I’m listening.”

“It has to do with Elijah’s father,” Claudette says.

“Elijah’s father,” Yide says. “Didn’t he design dNet?”

“Yes,” Bunnfield says, sliding into an ergonomic chair. “And he also designed the security apparatus that guards headquarters.”

“I think I see where you’re going with this,” I say. “Elijah reunites with his father and tortures him into shutting down dNet. Easy peasy.” I brush my hands against each other. “Problem solved. Let’s do it.”

“Well,” Bunnfield says, scrunching his forehead, “not exactly. Elijah refuses to be in the same room as his father, and what’s more, I don’t think we’d need to torture Orson to get the information we need. He might just willingly hand it over. You see, a couple weeks ago, when Elijah’s cover was blown, Orson reached out to us in The Vacuum. He wanted to talk to Elijah.”

“But Elijah refused,” Claudette says. “Because he thought it was a trap.”

“How do we know it’s not?” Yide asks.

“We don’t,” Bunnfield says, “which is why we didn’t push the point at the time, but now, with war on the brink, I think we should make contact. The message said that he lives in the hills. He sent the coordinates. Cosmo plugged in the location to a GPS, and it looks like we could make it there in a couple hours.”

A rumble rattles the walls, sending dust falling to the ground. “That is, of course, if we don’t get hit by an explosion on the way,” I say.

Another rumble, and then quiet.

I cough to break the silence. “Well, alright, I think it’s as good a plan as any. We can’t just sit around, waiting to die.” I glance at Bunnfield. “It might be good for the two of us to go together. What do you think?”

“Yes, that’s what I was thinking,” Bunnfield says. “Claudette can stay back, just in case something happens to us, and Cosmo can be on the SAT Phone, acting as our eyes and ears.”

“What about me?” Yide asks. “What am I supposed to do? Just sit on my ass? I don’t think so.” She throws off the covers. “I’m coming too.”

I glance at Bunnfield, and then Claudette.

“Oh come on,” Yide says, “Efficiency knows that you two need some common sense out there.”

“I tend to agree with Yide,” Claudette says. “Imagining the two of you out there alone, making decisions, does not inspire confidence.”

Yide claps. “It’s settled then.”

And I don’t protest, because even though I don’t want anything bad to happen to Yide, the thought of her beside me fills me with the warmth of a thousand suns.

“One last thing,” I say. “Last night, when I was making me way up the mountain, I saw a strange green monster out there. Is that something we should be concerned about?”

Claudette glances at Bunnfield.

“Sounds like you saw Abzu,” Bunnfield says. “He has a habit of appearing when you drink his magic tea. He’s not real. Just a hallucination.”

“Who’s to say he’s not real?” Claudette asks.

Bunnfield rolls his eyes. “Now is not the time for a religious debate, Claudette.”

“All I’m saying, it’s weird, you know, that half the people who drink his tea end up seeing him.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that everyone who drinks the tea sees the same thing,” Bunnfield says. “I mean, you have to account for the variations.”

“What variations?” I ask.

“Well, you know, like, some people see him as blue, some as green. Some people see him as a monster, others as a bright light. What I mean, we use the word Abzu to describe a whole host of hallucinations.”

“He morphs,” Claudette says. “He changes. He’s a god, after all. He has the ability to shapeshift.”

“According to you he does,” Bunnfield says. “But that’s your personal interpretation. Me, I think it’s all just drug insanity.”

“To be insane in an insane world is a sign of sanity,” Claudette says. “That’s always been my take on the matter.”

“Here’s to that,” Yide says, raising a glass of water.

“You think I’m an idiot,” I say, “because I killed The Withouter Hunter, but you know what? I think you’re spineless for letting him massacre half of your village on a near daily basis.”

Elijah clenches his fist, his gaunt face scrunching. “You need to understand, Vonn, that your actions have endangered the lives of everyone in The Without. Bunnfield has been monitoring Upper Management’s chat, and it’s clear that Middle Management is planning an airstrike tonight. Any stragglers out there will be scorched. And if the bombs happen to hit this cave system, we will all be dead. Vonn Industries plans to set an example, that much is clear, an example written in blood, and what’s worse, we have compromised our moral position.” Elijah breaks eye contact.

“I don’t see it that way,” Claudette says. “The thing is, Elijah, that The Withouter Hunter has killed hundreds of Withouters over the years. He had it coming. That’s just karma.”

“Exactly,” Bunnfield says. “At some point, we have to fight back, Elijah. And not with words and ideas. But with fists and bullets. The people out there –” he points toward the mouth of the cave. “–are hungry for war.”

“We’ve been at war for years,” Elijah says. “A war against the machines.”

“It’s not the same,” Bunnfield says. “Monkey wrenching derricks isn’t going to change anything if the enemy is willing to kill in return. We have to fight fire with fire.”

Elijah straightens his back. “So let me get this straight, Bunny. You’re suggesting that we become everything that Vonn Industries has described us as: blood-thirsty killers?”

“What I’m suggesting,” Bunnfield says, “is that we take destiny into our own hands. Who gives a shit what Upper Management thinks of us? Or what Vonn Industries says in their PR reports? Or what influencers say in their feeds? We know who we are.”

Elijah scratches his beard. “Does everyone here agree with Bunnfield?”

“Nobody is questioning your good intentions,” Claudette says. “We are all very grateful for your devotion to the cause. Your books have given voice to the movement. Hell, you devoted years undercover, climbing the corporate ladder at Vonn Industries, and even though Operation Digital Disruption failed, we gained a lot of valuable insight into the inner workings of Upper Management, insight that we can use in our fight against The Within. But here’s the thing, Elijah. What Vonn did last night, it resonated with everyone in The Without. That’s not nothing.”

Elijah hangs his head. “I’m willing to admit that my monkey wrenching methods might be too benign to be effective, but at the end of the day, I’m still able to sleep, even with the noise of bombs going off in the distance.” He lifts his head. “Perhaps I’m selfish, but I cherish my sleep, and I know, if I taint my soul with the inequities of murder, that I will never sleep peacefully again. Human life is sacred, and I’m afraid I might lose something vital if I forget that, so, it is with great sorrow that I am stepping down as unofficial leader of this motley village. Put simply, I don’t agree with the direction that our clan is headed in, but I’m wise enough to read the writing on the wall, and to not impede the inevitable. So consider this my final peaceful protest” – Elijah pumps his fist in mock triumph – “Elijah’s Last Stand, as it were.” Then he sits back and sighs. “Anyway, that’s all the spirit I can muster for the time being, so please, if you all don’t mind, get the hell out of here and leave me the fuck alone. It’s time for this old man to mope.” He eases down, shuts his eyes, and flicks his hand dismissively.

Bunnfield looks at the rest of us, his eyes wide and alert. He stands and gestures toward the exit.

“Wait a second,” I say. “Operation Digital Disruption.”

Elijah opens his eyes. “What about it?”

“Now that we’re in the news cycle, it might be a good time to deploy it.”

Elijah scowls. “I thought you wanted to go to war. Fight fire with fire, as Bunnfield put it. Go out and kill.”

“If necessary,” I say, “but before that, why not offer our side of the story? Give peace a chance, you know?”

Elijah waves a dismissive hand. “Even if we were able to break into dNet’s mainframe, nobody would be swayed by our calls for peace, not when we’ve just murdered a Withiner. We would be tagged as hypocrites and cancelled.”

“I think I know a way to deal with the backlash,” I say. “My only question, how do we get inside the dNet mainframe?”

“It’s practically impossible,” Claudette says. “You have to pass through all these security checks, then ride an elevator up to headquarters. There are armed guards everywhere. AI machine guns. It’s a suicide mission if you don’t have clearance. That’s why Elijah worked so hard to climb the corporate ladder, so he could install the device without suspicion. Then walk out and never return.”

“Do we have maps?” I ask.

“Yes, sort of, based on what Elijah saw at headquarters, but he only had access to certain sectors.”

I scratch my chin. “Why not dig an entry point?”

Claudette scrunches her forehead. “What do you mean, dig an entry point? Like, through the ceiling of The Within?”

Ceiling. I’m now as confused as Claudette looks. “Like the hole Elijah and I dug earlier, except, instead of just digging a random entry point, we strategically dig straight into the mainframe?”

Claudette looks from me to X, and then back to me. “They don’t teach y’all shit at prep, do they?”

“What do you mean?”

“Headquarters isn’t in The Within,” she says. “It’s in The Without.”

My understanding of the world crumbles before my eyes. I look at Bunnfield and Cosmo, who both nod.

“It’s true,” Cosmo says. “The elevator goes all the way to The Without. According to Elijah’s reports, there’s a military base, a launch pad, a bunch of warehouses, some barracks. Vonn Senior’s mansion overlooks the entire operation.”

“Can I see the maps you have?”

“Sure,” Cosmo says, tapping away on some olden time iPhone. “Here you go, mate. All the maps we have.”

The maps have been drawn up with the same software that Icon Games uses, so I’m able to familiarize myself with headquarters rather quickly. According to the first document, the ground beneath the complex is undergirded by a huge block of steel, which explains why The Withouters have never tried to dig their way into the mainframe; the top is meanwhile covered by a laser-proof dome, so entry from above seems equally unlikely. I flick to the next document. A series of overlapping grids and detailed drawings paint a stark picture: bots surveil the perimeter, sentinel towers crenellate the dome; sensors, cameras, and AI machine guns jut out of the walls. Claudette was right. It’s guarded like crazy. I hand the phone back to Cosmo.

“We have to find a point of weakness in the exterior,” I say. “It’s the only way. We can’t outmuscle Vonn Industries on the battlefield. They have an entire army. Weapons of mass destruction. They would demolish us in less than a day.”

I catch Claudette and Bunnfield exchanging a surreptitious glance.

And then Elijah, rolling his eyes, says, “they’re going to demolish us anyway, Vonn. That’s why you should have never killed The Withouter Hunter. I’ll be amazed if we live to see tomorrow.”

“Watch your step,” X says. “I slipped earlier. Took a nasty fall.”

We make our way toward the square of light. A head surfaces. A neck crooks. Cosmo’s profile – the side of his face, I mean – flashes.

X’s flashlight illuminates a rickety plastic table. Atop the table, an olden time computer.

“Water proof,” Cosmo says, tapping the side of the computer. “Bullet proof, as well. That’s why we keep it in the panic room. Pretty clever, huh?”

“Panic room?” I ask, looking around the cavern.

“That’s right.” Cosmo stands. “This is where we hide whenever The Withouter Hunter strikes.” Cosmo crosses his arms. “Although, after what you did last night, this panic room might very well turn into a war room.”

“I don’t understand,” I say.

Cosmo gestures toward the computer screen. “Take a look.”

I lean forward, squinting into the light.

A grid of news articles covers the screen.

Vonn Sr. Meets with Advisors, Says Retaliation Against The Withouter Hunter Killer Will Be Swift

Memorial Service for The Withouter Hunter Takes Place Tonight, Auditions For His Replacement Already Underway

What To Stream Now That The Withouter Hunter Is Off Air

The articles are punctuated by advertisements for Daft Designs, Vonn Industries, and Elysium.

Narcissist that I am, I click on an article entitled Who Is the So-Called Withouter Hunter Killer? The Top Five Things We Know About this Inbetweener Terrorist

The article is a simple list:

1. We don’t know that much

2. The killer reportedly escaped into The Without through a rope ladder system in Pod 57, located in a rarely visited sector that consists almost entirely of an ancient server farm. Footage of the killer’s escape, which was captured by simulBots, can be viewed here.

I click on the link. A video pops up, dark shadows in a narrow shaft, lasers shooting every which way, a blur slipping into a bright light.

I return to the article.

3. Enhanced footage could not confirm the gender of the killer, not that we would assume such things anyway.

4. The Killer has two accomplices. Footage of the three Inbetweeners was captured by a drone on the night of the assassination. Watch here.

I click on the link. Grainy drone footage of a raging fire, a field of tents, and a bunch of little dots, antlike, running toward Lookout Mountain. The footage pauses, then zooms into an even grainier image of a horde of people. A red circle appears over a body. It’s Yide, I think, or maybe X. Hard to tell. But definitely a Withiner, given the bald pate. Another image flashes, this one of a slack body being carried into the foothills. That’s when I remember that X said that Cosmo had carried Yide up the mountain. Which means that the first image was of X, and this one is of Yide, although you can’t make out her face, since it’s buried in Cosmo’s chest. An advertisement flashes on the screen. It’s Cad Man, the tech genius who invented doseMoon. He’s pitching a new crypto, something called Half Moon. I glance at X.

“Is this guy serious?” I ask. “Didn’t he just rug pull Dose Moon? Who the hell would invest more coin with this joker?”

X shrugs. “I don’t know, looks pretty cool to me. Every day the supply gets cut in half, thereby raising demand. Basic Economics 101, bro. Seems safe to me.”

Footage of Cad Man at High Times, drinking Vodka Sauce in a private area with influencers. Footage of Cad Man in a huge persy with all the latest overlays. Footage of Cad Man riding a tricked out scooter bot through a crowded stretch of Vonn Way; he sticks out his tongue, does the sign of the horns, and then runs his scooter into a coin handler, who falls to the ground with a moan, leading Cad Man to laugh out loud as he speeds off, the words halfMoon streaking across the screen, followed by the claim: 1000% Daily Gains Guaranteed.

“Who cares if the supply is cut in half?” I ask. “Half of nothing is still nothing.”

X shrugs again. “All I know, the minute we get back to The Within, I’m buying a bag. I need me one of those scooter bots.”

I run a hand over my head as the advertisement for Half Moon ends, leading into footage of me scurrying into the tent. Luckily, all you can see are my feet jutting out.

I return to the article.

5. Mr. Vonn Senior has called for the death of The Withouter Hunter Killer and his two accomplices. Want to get hella coin? Vonn Industries is offering rewards for any credible information pertaining to The InbetweenThree. Text 2545433 for more details.

I click out of the article. “I think that’s enough doom scrolling for me. Where’s Yide? I’d like to see her.”

“She’s resting,” Claudette says, stepping out of the shadows, “but Elijah wants to meet with the rest of us.”

We follow Claudette through a narrow corridor before coming to a candlelit chamber. Elijah is on a cot, sitting up, sipping on a glass of water. He waves me over. Claudette, X, and Cosmo stand behind me. Bunnfield is sitting beside the cot, his eyes averted from my gaze. Elijah gestures with a finger for me to draw closer. I lean down, my face almost touching his.

“You’re an idiot,” he says.