Almost every knight is one of a few roles in Knights of the Apocalypse.

  They all have different names and movesets, but almost every one of them is a tank, healer, or DPS. Occasionally, there’s a non-healing support class, but they’re not very common, and people usually figure out how to do damage with them. But there’s one—Tarra Deadfall—that’s unique.

  She operates traps. Only traps. It’s almost impossible to play her with a full group because no one knows how to work with her, but she solos better than ninety-five percent of the other Knights. Why? Because she never attacks herself. She never acts like a threat. And she never draws attention. It’s all ambushes, traps, and not being anywhere near her kills.

  Tarra is the most boring experience I’ve ever had in KotA, and once I maxed her out, I never picked her up again.

  But I maxed her out.

  SHOCKS Olympia Administrative Wing, Washington, USA - June 19, 2043, 4:14 PM

  - - - - -

  The plan is simple.

  I need to get Alexander to a specific spot at a specific time. Not just a room in fifteen minutes, but ‘stand on these footprints’ school picture levels of specific. It has to be the perfect ambush—the best trap ever sprung.

  I’m glad I played so much Tarra Deadfall, because everything I’ve learned is about to come into play. And I’ll need a healthy dose of luck, all my Urban Combat skill points, and cooperation from Doctor Twitchy.

  His cell door opens when I push the button. “Do you know where Alexander is?” I ask. The Revolver’s in his face, and he’s sweating like a pig.

  He flinches, and his eyes shift back toward the director’s office. My Revolver follows his eyes, and I shake my head. “Don’t bother. James took control of the facility. He has access to everything now, and I’m only asking where Alexander is because he can’t find him.”

  “I don’t know.” Doctor Twitchy breathes in. He looks defeated, but he should have expected it—unless he thought the ICE would kill James. “He disappeared right after we came in. I’ve got a guess, though.”

  “Tell me about it,” I say.

  “I can’t. It’s infohazard-protected. If I get into any more detail than that with someone who doesn’t know, it’ll melt down my augs and pour the metal into my brain. SHOCKS isn’t messing around with this one—Alexander’s not supposed to know about it either. But he did, and I trust him because he knows.”

  He’s telling the truth. The Revolver’s barrel tilts up, removing a fraction of the pressure off him. So, if I can’t learn where Alexander’s gone, then I have to trust Doctor Twitchy. “Find him. James, keep track of Ramirez and make sure he’s following directions.”

  “Clarice, I’m not—“

  “Claire. It’s Claire.”

  “Okay. Fine. Claire, get the gun out of my face. You’re not the facility director, and whether the JAMES Unit has control over all of SHOCKS Olympia or not doesn’t matter. Where Alexander probably went, the JAMES Unit can’t follow.”

  “But you can, right?”

  Doctor Twitchy sighs. Then he nods slowly. “Give me my gun back, and I’ll go track him down.”

  “Why do you need a gun? Aren’t you two on the same side?” I ask.

  “We are, but not everything in SHOCKS Olympia shares our goals.”

  I’ve got the director’s office door locked.

  Technically, James has the director’s office door locked while I explore. It turns out Director White, the former director of SHOCKS Olympia, was a tiny woman, and she left a few suits behind. They’re about the right size, and my hoodie’s taken a beating. If the world was still in one piece, I’d be keeping an entire hoodie factory afloat by myself. Then again, if the world was in one piece, I wouldn’t be burning through so many of them to begin with.

  Either way, the suits look like they’ll fit, so I strip the tattered leggings and hoodie off and pull on tailored slacks and a white shirt. According to James, it’ll take a good half-hour before the trap’s ready to spring—longer if Alexander doesn’t cooperate with Doctor Twitchy. And even longer if Doctor Twitchy bails on it.

  There’s a good chance of that, and my backup plan is to follow the director—Ramirez, not White—based on James’s tracking.

  I’ve got the shirt on and buttoned, and I’m trying to decide what to do about the tie, when James interrupts. [I just lost all of Director Ramirez’s aug signals.]

  I half-expected it. “Mark the location he disappeared from. We’ll check it out in a few minutes.” Then a thought hits me. “Is he heading for the self-destruct?”

  “The on-site nuclear device? No. I have that mapped out. He’s almost certainly in a black sector, though, so there’s no telling what he’s got access to in there.”

  No worries, then. That’s what I wanted him to do.

  There’s a video of a four-in-hand knot. According to my aug, it’s the easiest tie knot, but it still takes me a few minutes to get it right. After my fourth try, I finally pull the jacket on. Then there’s only one more piece to the outfit; the director—White this time—has body armor in her closet, too, and it’s sized perfectly for me. It even has a holster, and while that’s not quite the right size for the Revolver, it’s a lot better than a hoodie pocket.

  I feel like a secret agent in my black suit with a black tie, body armor, and with a gun holstered over the right side of my chest. Or like a SHOCKS agent, I guess. No sunglasses, but other than that, I’m dressed for the part.

  And I’ve shed something, like a snake.

  I’m not sure if I’ll miss it or not, but changing out the hoodie for the suit and tie feels like a step toward something serious—and away from who I was before. A choice to be responsible—as if I wasn’t already.

  I stare at my reflection in Director White’s mirror for a few seconds. Then I turn. “Come on, James. Let’s go find Director Ramirez and his guest.”

  The hallway Doctor Twitchy disappeared down ends in a blank wall.

  Knowing he disappeared here, I pull out the Revolver, fire three gravity shots into it, and wait for the singularities to shred the drywall and reveal a solid steel door. It’s got a red light next to the keypad, a retina scanner, and wants at least three fingerprints—from different hands. Whoever designed this door didn’t want anyone getting through it.

  That’s fine, though. Once James knows it’s there, it only takes him about thirty seconds before the light goes green and the door opens. [That one had several unique tricks, and I spent most of the time cloning them to play with. Whoever designed it understood how to create a secure system.]

  I pull the Revolver from my pocket—from the holster, I mean. I’m not used to this yet, but it’s in my hand, and it’s ready. My boots don’t match the rest of the outfit. I’m not that interested in playing dress-up. They thump down the hall. If I’d worn Director White’s shoes, it’d probably be more of a clicking sound; she’s got those fancy dress shoes. But I wanted the boots, just like I wanted the cargo pants when I wore Mom’s dress.

  It’s just a hall. It feels infinite, but when I look back, the door’s right there. I walk down it for a minute, then for two, then check again. The door hasn’t moved. It’s still three steps behind me. “Anomalous?”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  [Definitely. Try turning around,] James says.

  I do, and I step back through the door with no problems.

  It’s identical to the SHOCKS administrative facility I just left, except for one small thing.

  [I have no data for this place.]

  So that’s interesting. We’re somewhere James has never been, that’s off every blueprint James could have access to, and that’s never been mentioned anywhere James can either hear or pull historical data from. This is a black sector, all right. But it’s one that’s way, way beyond the hidden passageway behind the black sector in the Geren-Danger humanoid containment wing. This one’s so dark that it might as well not be in Reality Zero.

  In fact…”James, where are we?”

  [Unknown. We didn’t change realities—at least, not by any metric I’m aware of. But we’re completely cut off from Reality Zero. I have no communication with any of my processing threads back home. This is very, very different.]

  “You know what? I’ll deal with it later. How are the reality levels here?”

  [They’re good. Perfectly in line with R-0. We should treat this like we haven’t left because we might still be somewhere on Earth—or in an asteroid or another planet. There are a million possibilities, and it’s impossible to predict which one it is.]

  “Thanks.” I push into the SHOCKS facility. It takes a minute to get out of the hallway, and the moment I do, it’s obvious that I’m not in the same place. This isn’t an administrative wing. The layout’s completely wrong for it. And it’s not a containment sector, either. If anything, it reminds me of the Experimental Sector hidden inside of SHOCKS Victoria/Vancouver Island, where I found James. The ‘containment cells’ are massive, but only the very center of each is a cell. The rest looks more like an overgrown laboratory built around each cell.

  Then, there’s the bridge over the bottomless pit.

  It’s huge. Easily a hundred—no, two hundred—yards long. And it’s thin. It’s so thin that there’s only room for one person at a time to cross. And there’s no other way to move from one side to the other. Only a thin steel beam encaged with what looks like chain link fencing but what James informs me is actually a Faraday cage. Whatever’s on the far side, SHOCKS doesn’t want it to get out.

  [I’m narrowing down possible explanations for this place,] James says.

  “Tell me later.” Right now, I’m more concerned about the crossing. That has to be where Doctor Twitchy and Alexander are.

  [Got it. One moment.] James goes quiet, and I wait, staring across the bridge. I’m unsure, but I think I might see movement on the far side. It’s too long of a shot with the Revolve—at least if I want to hit anything. But I could teleport across with a reality skipper or something. Once I’m over there, I could try out my plan to handle Alexander.

  It’s a good plan. It’s high-risk, but it’s good.

  [Okay. Your best bet is still an ambush. I’m Analyzing. Analysis complete. Up on top of the Faraday Cage.]

  That’s not what I want to hear. It’s a long drop over a bottomless pit, and there’s not much room for error up there. I hesitate. [The cage will shield you from any attacks Alexander makes. It’ll also hide you, at least a little. You can—]

  “Wait until he’s across and hit him from behind,” I finish. “I get it. I just don’t like it. If he does see me, I’ll be a sitting duck up there.”

  James re-Analyzes, but doesn’t have a better option. After a few seconds of thinking about it, I decide to commit. And then there’s nothing left to do but wait.

  Alice was ignoring Madame Baudelaire.

  And Madame Baudelaire was ignoring her.

  That was fine. Alice didn’t have the patience to deal with Claire’s invisible French housekeeper. She had important shit to do. Like packing. She needed to get ready to move because ever since Claire had invited Sidney into her Mindscape, it didn’t feel quite like home anymore.

  Not that it ever had been her home, but when it had just been her and Claire—and Madame Baudelaire, of course—it had been easy to pretend. Not anymore. Now, it was a reminder that she was a prisoner in someone else’s mind. Admittedly, her cell was a lot nicer than the one she’d lived in at SHOCKS Victoria or the basic living building’s bedroom she shared with Claire, but even so, it was a prison.

  Alice didn’t have much to pack. She hadn’t actually brought much of anything—a pair of rain boots and a raincoat, and that was it. But she’d been busy. She’d created a few new things.

  Old things, actually.

  The first was the Alice as Mom persona she’d had to wear for years. It felt loose. Too big for her. But she was only eight in the Mindscape, not eighteen, and she’d grow into it if—when—she left. It was the easiest of her walled-off personas to rebuild, since she’d spend the most time with it, so it had been first. She tried it on, pulled it off, and folded it carefully so it’d fit in its box.

  Then there was the soldier. It was new. She’d only used it a handful of times, and every time, she’d been on edge and uncomfortable. Not scared. Fear was something Alice knew all about. But uncomfortable, anxious, and worried.

  The third one, though? That scared her. It scared her a lot, because in creating it, Alice had to admit that the full-ride to the University of British Columbia was off the table, that she wasn’t going to find a boyfriend there, and that the best she could hope for was not being a laboratory experiment—and that was only if she was lucky.

  Her third persona hungered. Its cravings almost overwhelmed her, and she didn’t try it on. Even jammed in its box—even as just a harmless memory—the infovampire she’d bonded with fought for supremacy. If there’d been any other way, Alice wouldn’t have even considered rebuilding Li Mei’s persona.

  But she was stronger mentally now than she’d been, and it wasn’t really Li Mei. It was only Alice’s memories of being Li Mei, which meant she could stay in control. And based on where Alice’s body was, she’d need every ounce of power at her disposal—the infovampire, the soldier, and the mom together.

  Claire had told her where her body was. Once her sister returned to the Mindscape, Alice would say her goodbyes and try to make her way through the colorless, not-gray void—back the way she’d come. If she was successful, she’d wake up in her body. Not her sister’s mind, but her body—where she should be.

  SHOCKS Black Sector, Location Unknown - June 19, 2043, 4:14 PM

  - - - - -

  When it happens, it happens suddenly.

  One moment, the Faraday Cage’s chain-link bars are digging into my palms, knees, and stomach as I cling to it, fifteen feet above the narrow bridge and thousands or millions of feet above the bottomless pit. The next, all that minor pain’s forgotten. Someone’s coming across the bridge. Just one someone.

  [It’s him,] James says. [Last check.]

  I don’t bother checking. The Revolver’s in its holster, exactly where it should be. The body armor’s on, covering my chest. The Personal Reality Anchor at its center’s off, but my finger’s on the activation button; once it starts, I’ll have a few minutes of normal reality around me—unless Alexander crushes it instantly. If I do things right, he won’t be able to. That’ll be important where we’re going. Hopefully.

  James keeps talking. [Firewalls in place. Isolating necessary, reinforcing, and backup processing loops. Cloning personality. Personality—

  [—copied,] a second James says. [Erecting additional firewalls. Initiating self-deletion dead man’s switch. Dedicating loops to recovery and repair protocols.]

  Both Jameses go on for a while, explaining their processes to me as if I need to hear them. I don’t. The simple explanation James Prime gave was enough to know it’s safe for both of them—and to assume it’ll be safe for Sidney. The whole time they’re talking, I watch Alexander cross the Faraday Cage and bridge. He’s at full power, crystals circling around him like mad, and his eyes are locked on the lab behind me.

  I cling to the cage, leg muscles tensing.

  He passes right under me. I could take a shot right now if the Revolver was in my hand. It might work. But he also might be able to defend himself. If he bends reality to avoid my attack, I’ll blow my only chance. So I don’t draw the Revolver, and I don’t fire.

  Instead, I slide off the Faraday Cage just before he steps out of it, land on my feet, and hurl myself toward him like a wrecking ball. Alexander catches me. Or more accurately, reality does. It blocks me, and I can’t move as my feet sink into the cement.

  He’s got me beat. And he knows it.

  “Gun on the ground,” he says.

  I ignore him. I’m pretending to strain against reality, but in reality—har har—I’ve got everything I need already.

  “Fine.” He tries to grab it—to shift reality so he’s holding it. But it doesn’t work. The Revolver’s bonded to me. A shadow passes across his face.

  [Wait for it,] James Prime says.

  I wait.

  Then he makes a mistake. He steps in close. My finger twitches, and the Reality Anchor activates. He’s close enough for my boot-clad foot to lash out and touch his leg. The second I make contact, both Jameses start yelling and shouting, and I Mergewalk back to Reality Four Hundred Four.

  It hurts. The unreality presses around me. The Revolver’s in my hand, and my feet are on nothing. The wrong-resolution video game, pencil-sketched world’s the same as I left it. It’s the same non-ruled place it was before, with unreality levels threatening to stretch and shred me. The Revolver is the only thing that doesn’t feel fake. That and a tiny orb around me where the Personal Reality Anchor’s screaming and straining.

  I turn it off.

  I kick off from Alexander.

  He flies off toward nothing, then stops himself. The strain on his power is so high I can see the crystals shaking from that alone.

  I have him beat. And I know it.

  The plan was simple. Alexander is a reality shaper. He can bend reality to suit his needs, and that makes him incredibly powerful—even if the only things I saw were him re-shaping the ground to hold me in place or crushing my charge with nothing but his will. I can’t fight him. It’s impossible.

  But by going somewhere impossible and unreal, where the only thing that doesn’t feel like a lie is my gun, I’ve cut him off from his power.

  At least, from most of it.

  “James, you good?”

  [Yes. The processing loops I have access to are burning through, but at a vastly reduced rate,] James Two says. [We have between five and twelve minutes, depending on how efficient my repair and quarantine protocols are. Do what you have to do and get us out of here.]

  I nod. Then, I raise the Revolver and point it at Alexander.

  But I don’t pull the trigger. Instead, I use Truthseeker. I need to know who—and what—Alexander is.

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