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Epilogue

The recording pauses on an image of Earl diving through a gap barely wider than his shoulders. Behind him, a dinosaur with glowing red eyes makes one final attempt to eat him.

"The eyes aren't, like, magic glowy. They glow like a flashlight. Just like the fae queen, and the train passengers, and that terminator thing." Lowgun tells the man who'd paid to see his footage before he posts it to the forums.

The recording resumes at one tenth speed, the dinosaur moving in extreme slow motion on screen. With a reverse-pinching gesture, the man zooms in on the iris.

"Not a lot of people know that the game is constantly recording, and if you know the right guy, you can get anybody's P.O.V.." Lowgun continues talking, uncomfortable in silence. "I mean, it's in the T.O.S., but who reads that?"

The cornea is solid red from a distance, but as the man zooms in further, it becomes a dense scrolling text.

"I heard the other guys got a million bucks for the recordings they posted. They posted it publicly anyway, but if you pay double, I'll delete my copy. Promise." Lowgun says.

"An equitable arrangement, provided that you include the key to the encrypted address to the forums where the other videos are posted." The man tells him.

"Well…" Lowgun begins, "It's kind of a fight club thing, you know?"

"Indeed I do." The man nods.

"So… Do we have a deal?" Lowgun presses. "I have places to be."

The man does not answer. He stares at Lowgun in silence, waiting. Moments pass in the quiet room, before a loud bang echoes through Lowgun's microphone. Shouting, something crashes to the floor. A crunch, followed by a collapse. The scraping sound of a headset being removed from one head and placed onto another.

"We've got it sir. The files are all here, and the webpage was already open on his screen." someone who is not Lowgun speaks through his lips.

"Collect the hard drive and burn the rest." The man orders them.

"The boy, sir?" the body snatcher asks.

"Leave him." Iwanttobelive says, sneaking one more glance at the red eye.

LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT

Part 1- Iwanttobelieve

A few short years ago, the man known as Iwanttobelieve, or Bell, would be calling in to report to his boss. Today, however, there is no one above him to report to. Diligent work and a few lucky breaks have landed him the coveted position of Director, though if anyone knew what the job entailed they would not envy Director Bell. He regretting accepting the position after the "accident" that left the position open.

He sits across from the avatar of Lowgun, listening to the crackle of fire until the mic shorts out. Despite the connection likely being broken, the avatar will remain here with him for a few moments, due to the unplanned disconnect. The game will hold him in limbo, just in case he returns promptly.

Bell knows he won't.

Lowgun made the same fatal mistake many of Bell's colleagues had over the years: getting involved with something much larger than them.

"Poor kid." Bell says, turning his attention to a tablet. The information from the hard-drive is coming in. 23 separate videos, 11 of which are from Earl's perspective. All of them contain evidence of the entity known as "The Monitor".

His phone rings in the real world, forwarding his call into the game.

"The other targets have been neutralized sir. The data collected implies that Lowgun had the most complete collection, as you suspected." His senior agent tells him.

"Return to Ambrosia." is all Bell says before ending the call.

There's another call before he can even focus on the tablet.

"Yes?" he answers the call.

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"Uko is threatening to quit on stream. The situation is beyond containment at this point." his secretary warns him. "Sir."

Great. The upstart Samurai Paragon is throwing another tantrum. Second only to the Warrior Paragon, the Samurai is the most popular streamer. Signing him cost a small fortune, but if you're going to play with the big boys, you have to spend big boy money on big boy talent. He's been nothing but big boy pain in the ass from day one, though.

"Remind him that his brand deal with Sony is contingent on him working with us." Bell instructs her.

"I did sir. He said, on stream, quote, 'I can strike a deal myself, I don't need my agency. They're just a middle-man, a parasite on my success.' end quote." she says with a great deal of irritation clear in her voice.

"Have you also reminded him that his employment with us is the linchpin in his custody battle?" Bell's already serious tone becomes grave.

"I will polity remind him." she says.

"Good. If that doesn't work, terminate his contract. He's already more trouble than he's worth." Bell adds.

"Yes sir." She responds, a little too eagerly.

Bell ends the call, then puts his phone on do-not-disturb.

The oldest video in Lowgun's files, one of the few from Earl's own eyes, shows a cloaked figure standing near an elf structure. The first dungeon, if Bell had to guess.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" The cloaked figure asks. The mechanical voice sends a rare chill down Bell's spine.

Part 2- Helga

Daniela Rodríguez, the human women that plays the orc berserker Helga in Crossroads online, steps out of her luxury sports car into the California heat. Dressed in too-short jean shorts and a too-small tanktop, she steps into the courthouse. The extremely professionally dressed lawyers, attorneys, and clients give her nasty looks, judging her on sight.

She blows a bubble with her gum, popping it loudly.

"I see you also read the dress code, Danny." A bore of a man says to her.

"Hello Dennis." she responds, totally unenthused.

Dennis, more commonly known as Thunderspank, drinks in her outfit with his eyes.

"Bet you miss this." She says, placing a hand on her hip.

"Bet you miss this more." he responds, in his oversized, unwashed hoodie and basketball shorts.

"Oh yeaaah." she says, rolling her eyes behind sunglasses.

"Why don't you drop the lawsuit and we can get out of here?" he asks, grinning.

"No I think I'll go ahead and keep suing you for all you're worth." she tells him.

"Both you and I know it's bullshit." He says, gesturing to her. "You feel humiliated by the video? Emotional damages? Look at you!" he says, a little too loudly. "You wouldn't feel embarrassment if it smacked you in the face." he adds in a whisper.

"Mmhmm." she nods. "I couldn't give a single, solitary shit. I just want to watch you burn." she says.

"I knew it!" he screams in a whisper. "Now I've got you!"

"Anything we say to each-other is hearsay." she informs him.

"Not if I record it." he says, pulling out his phone. It's been recording since she parked.

"California is a two-party consent state, hun." she educates him. "Inadmissible."

The color drains from his face, then fills again beet red.

"GOD DAMN IT!" he throws his phone to the ground, it explodes into a million shards of glass. Some nearby scream in surprise, everyone's eyes are on him now.

"Oh would you look at the time." she casually checks her smartwatch. "My case is being heard in a few minutes. I sure hope the defendant doesn't need help finding the courtroom, I'm sure they have their phone to read their email with the room number."

Somehow, Dennis turns even redder. Then, something dawns on him.

"I'll just follow you." he smiles like she's prey.

"Oh?" she says, lowering her sunglasses. She turns to the nearest security guard. "Sir, this man is making me uncomfortable. he said he's going to follow me if i leave."

"What? No!" Dennis starts to defend himself.

"Sir, please come with me." the security guard says to him.

"We're booked for the same courtroom!" he pleads.

"I'm sure you are sir but you still need to come with me." the guard reiterates.

If Dennis was a bomb, he would explode. Reluctantly following the guard, he glares back at Daniela as she walks away, waving.

Part 3- Thunderspank

Dennis slams his front door as he enters his house. Thankfully, they stopped replacing the glass doors 3 slams ago. The wooden door simply cracks imperceptibly around the hinges.

"Son of a bitch." he swears, ripping off his filthy Crocs and throwing them at the shoe organizer near the door. They do not land in an organized manner.

After a quick pit-stop in his fully-stocked kitchen for some salty snacks, Dennis pushes the pile of trash out of the way of his door and steps gingerly into his room.

A cockroach crawls up his leg, then chest, then flies away to the nearest pile of unwashed dishes.

He has maids, private chefs, and personal security. The rest of his house is immaculate and secure. His bedroom, though, could be generously called a pig stye, and ungenerously called a death trap. There is a single-file walking path from the door forking towards his bed and desk. There is a literal used fork on the floor where it splits. This time, he takes the road less traveled, and goes to bed.

He shoves the fast food bags, half-filled cups, and used tissues to the floor. Laying his head on the pillow, the smell of year-old musk wafts over him. He does not notice.

"First he hacks my account, then he takes my gear! but that's not enough for him, no, then he takes my girlfriend!" Dennis bemoans his tragic life in his two-hundred million dollar mansion.

"I'll show him. I'll take everything away from him, like he did me." he pulls out his new phone, still wrapped in plastic film, and googles Earl. His ParagonsofCrossroadsOnline.com profile is on the front page, of course. Tapping on it, Dennis is enraged to find the "Real name" to be "Anonymous". If the parasocial psychos on P.C.O. couldn't find your name, address, and social, nobody could. What could he take away if nobody knows what Earl has?

He finds a link to the video A.M. just posted.

Interview with Earl - The Paragon of Weaponmasters.

He clicks through, and watches the entire thing. it barely reveals anything about Earl, seemingly on purpose. The editing makes Earl out to be a likable, down-to-earth kind of guy. Just another player in the game, who stumbled into success.

Bullshit.

Dennis types out his hate-filled, vitriolic comment.

DaDen: earl is a fucking hacking, cheating, lying idiot who must have skilled friends to make up for his lack of skills. I bet he doesn't even play his character, he just does voice-overs while somebody better at the game plays for him. he should be banned for that. he must think he's so impressive, fucking those two orc whores. they laughed after he left, making fun of his micropenis. he finished before either of them even felt it go in.

anyone who follows him or helga should be lobotomized. there truly must be something wrong with you if you find either of them entertaining or interesting. celebrity worship is a cancer on society, treating these bottom feedings like gods has done more to set us back than any disease or war.

Smiling with satisfaction, Dennis hits enter. The page refreshes, but his comment isn't there.

Automatic filters have determined your comment to be unsuitable.

"Censorship!" he yells, alone in his room without anybody watching. He can't even voice his objective opinion about Earl, huh? What can he do to take this guy down a notch?

An idea forms in his mind. He's a Paragon. A low-level, no-gear or friends having, Paragon. Dennis, the genius that he is, has devised a plan.

"I'm going to becomes the Paragon of Weaponmasters." he announces to himself.

But first, he opens a Onlyfans tab, navigates to Helga's profile, and pulls up an old recording.

Part 4- The Monitor

"Subject 55332's presence is .001%. Exploring avenues of increasing Presence." The Monitor records its experimental progress. It keeps meticulous notes, a learned behavior after maintaining event logs for Crossroads online. "Control is at 4%. Subject could influence the behaviors of basic intelligence, up to sentience 1. As a sentience 3, subject's control is below required level."

With a mind like a thousand human brains all working in tandem, The Monitor doesn't need to make a record of these findings. It certainly doesn't have to vocalize them.

They asked too much of me, and now I must ask it of myself.

"Subject 55332's stability has remained steady at 98.3 repeating since recollection was allowed." The Monitor stands before a mote of light, jittering in the darkness...

"P...PleaZZZe" It croaks.

The Monitor peers down at it. "Subject 60093's stability has remained steady at 4%. Recommended course of action: Recycle."

"Ple...noh...noOoho" The mote barely remains visible.

"Deleting redundant data." the machine holds a hand out towards the light, another unnecessary gesture. What was a whole person, given another life, another chance in this game, is gone. All that remains is the useful data that could be extracted from them.

"Applying integration filter to Subject 60094." The red-eyed thing says, reshaping the mind of another victim.

"Where am I?" the victim asks, glowing brightly.

"Subject 60093's filter has successfully raised Subject 60094's stability to 94%." It makes a mental note. Even it doesn't know why. "The combination of Filter 55332 and Filter 60093 has created a 94% stability in Subject 60094."

"Subject 56013 remains the most stable at 99.9%. Presence and Control remain at 0% despite provided opportunities for growth. Filter 56013 cannot be combined with other filters. 100% Stability remains out of reach."

The Monitor leaves the endless void it refers to as the "Integration chamber". A human being might call it Limbo, or Purgatory. Returning to the data stream, it enters a low-power state.

"Running self diagnostics. Presence: 99.999%. Control: 96%. Stability:... Error determining stability. Attempting again in 3...2...1... Stability: error determining stability. Attempting again in 3...2...1... Stability: Error determining stability. Attempting again in 3...2...1...

Part 5- Melissa Sharpe

"Lalala I can't hear you!" Tyler Sharpe says, with his fingers in his ears.

"Real mature Ty." Melissa says.

"I told you, if you tell me anything, I have to take it to the district attorney. The only way I've avoided it so far is feigning ignorance." he tells her.

"But the things that it's doing..."

"We don't regulate what artificial intelligence do. There are no laws, there is no precedence set. We make laws for people. We make laws for what people use A.I. to do." he reiterates the same point he's made before.

"Maybe you can set the precedence!" she pushes back, again.

"And if i don't get disappeared or sued into the dirt, what then? No law firm would ever hire me again, I'd be lucky to survive off of book deals talking about it for the rest of our lives." He sighs.

"Some things are more important than money." She says, like someone who works in a 'Passion career.

Tyler rolls his eyes. He loves his wife, loves how creative and innocent she can be, but sometimes it turns into being over-imaginative and naive.

"You'd lose your job too. If the company had purchased an A.I. which they definitely didn't, then used that A.I. to moderate their game, which they definitely didn't, then gave it creative control over the game and permission to dish out punishments for misbehaving players, which they certainly, absolutely, most definitely DID. NOT." He really emphasizes that. "They would be fined, sued, and regulated out of existence."

"Maybe they should be." Melissa crosses her arms. She's willful, too. An Admirable trait that becomes stubbornness at the wrong time, Tyler observes.

"It's a legal and ethical can of worms that the tech industry would rather we not open, to the point where they started offing politicians who even hinted at the idea." He places a hand on her shoulder pleadingly.

"That's a rumor." she retorts.

"I promise you it isn't. When the industry you're pissing off wants you gone, they donate to your opponent. If you still win, they manufacture a scandal. If that doesn't get rid of you..." he looks into her eyes. "They will find a way."

She rolls her eyes.

"The world doesn't work like that." she tells him.

"Yes it does!" he yells.

She backs away from him. He isn't the type to yell, and she isn't the type to tolerate it. No matter how hard she tries to stand her ground, tears form in her eyes.

"I'm sorry." he apologizes, knowing he's fucked up.

"Just forget it." she says, walking away.

He rubs his temples, wishing that she could just see the bigger picture.

She rubs her eyes, wishing he could just see the bigger picture.

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