Red Wraith's reflection was that of a lithe-looking white man of about forty with chrome-pupilled eyes and wavy brown hair that had receded to leave a widow's peak. The back of his neck was horribly scarred, as if from some ancient injury. The tip of one of his fingers-the right index-had bent back at an odd angle, like an opened hatch. Projecting from the stump was a needle-thin bit of steel.
Bloodyguts… Well, what had Dark Father expected? The troll's reflection was that of a living man, rather than a rotting zombie, but Dark Father was willing to bet that he still stank. He was perhaps in his mid-twenties, wearing a sloppy track suit with sweat stains under the arms. The hair between his horns was uncombed, and his jutting yellow teeth looked as if they could stand a good brushing…
As if sensing that Dark Father was looking at him in the mirror, Bloodyguts turned. Dark Father felt his cheekbones go hot, as though he had flesh there that was capable of holding a blush. He turned, flustered, trying to step between Bloodyguts and the reflection of his ghoulish self.
"Hey, look!" Bloodyguts shouted. "The mirror's reflecting our meat bods!"
Dark Father felt a prickle of dread run through him as the others stared at his reflection in the mirror. The ghoulish gray pallor was pronounced now, and his claws were several centimeters long. He saw that his reflection was grinning in fear, revealing sharp, feral teeth. He quickly pursed his lips shut and tucked his hands behind his back, but it was too late. The others had seen. They knew.
"Spirits be fragged," Red Wraith said in a hushed voice. "You're a ghoul. I didn't think it was possible for ghouls to run the Matrix."
Anubis took a step back from Dark Father, as if he were a leper. Steel blades shot out of the arm of her reflected image. She raised her arm defensively, as if about to fend off an attack.
"Yup," Bloodyguts said. "He's a ghoul, all right. Nice suit, too."
"No!" Dark Father shouted. "I'm not a ghoul! The mirror is a lie. I'm human! Human!"
"Do you think we can trust him?" Red Wraith asked. "I wouldn't turn my back on him in the real world, but here in the Matrix…"
"Doesn't matter to me if he's a ghoul," Bloodyguts said with a shrug. "One of my best chummers is a ghoul. Poor fragger has to keep it under wraps, though, so the bounty hunters don't get him. I know how it feels, always having to watch your back. And how it feels to have people judge you by the way you look, rather than the programming power of your wetware. I can understand why…"
"I don't want your pity!" Dark Father screamed.
He turned, cringing from the looks he saw in their eyes. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. They'd found him out. They knew. If only there were a way out, some place to hide…
Four cracks appeared in the mirror, forming a door-shaped frame around the reflection of Winston Griffith III. Inside the rectangle of cracks, a round dark circle appeared just to the right of his hand-a door handle. Dark Father lunged toward his own reflection, grabbing for the handle. He wrenched the door open and leaped into the mirror, into the reflection of himself…
The virtualscape shifted.
He was in a jail cell with concrete walls. There was no door. Only a tiny window high in the rear wall, its grimy glass set well back behind a thick iron grill. The floor was bare gray concrete, as was the ceiling. A foul-smelling toilet sat in one corner, next to a chipped ceramic sink. The opposite wall held two metal bunks.
A child sat on the upper bunk-a boy about twelve years old. His head was shaved bald except for two tiny tufts of electric blue hair that had been gelled into hornlike points. He was human, but his features were a mix of racial groups. His skin was white and freckled, but his eyes had a slight fold that hinted at an Asian ancestry, and there was a slight thickening of the lips and nose that suggested Afro. He was dressed in one of the bright yellow, laminated paper suits they gave to mental patients at the hospital-a jumpsuit without sleeves or pant legs, made of tear-resistant material that could not be ripped up and made into a noose.
As the boy looked him over, Dark Father nervously fingered the noose at his own neck, adjusting it like a suit tie. He glanced around, looking for an exit, but didn't see one. He was stuck here-temporarily, of course, until he found a way out. But at least the mirror was gone.
"Hello, Winston," the boy said.
Dark Father felt his hands tighten on the noose. He'd been almost ready to relax after escaping his reflected image. But now he felt real fear. This decker knew his name. Was this Serpens in Machina in a different persona-or one of his accomplices? Dark Father took a nervous step back, stopping only when he felt the sink on the wall pressing into his back.
"How did you know my name?" His voice was a dry croak.
"I know everything," the boy said. "In the moment that I re-created you, I uploaded all of your memories, all of your secrets. I am a god."
"A what?" Dark Father's mind was reeling. Should he send his smart frame after this decker, who seemed to have accessed Dark Father's secret? No, that wouldn't work. He'd modified that program to search and retrieve data on the otaku; it no longer had its original search and destroy coding.
Maybe he should attack…
"No, you shouldn't," the boy said. "I told you-I'm a god. I'm all-knowing and omnipotent. I can do anything."
He flicked his finger in an idle gesture. Instantly the noose that Dark Father was wearing cinched tight around his own neck. Dark Father's vision blurred as the attack program did something it had not been programmed to do-attack its own user. Stars appeared before his eyes and the prison cell narrowed to a tunnel. Any moment now, Dark Father would lose consciousness…
The noose suddenly loosened and he could breathe again.
"See what I mean?" the boy asked.
Dark Father nodded mutely. "Yes," he gasped. "You're a god."
"Don't you dare try to use a complex form against me."
"I won't," Dark Father promised. "But who are you?"
The boy smiled. The glint in his eyes gave the smile an evil cast. "I am the leading player," he answered. A hard-copy printout whose cover was emblazoned with the word SCRIPT appeared in his hand. He tossed it contemptu ously at Dark Father, who tried to catch it. But the script disappeared halfway across the room.
"The what?" Dark Father asked.
"The officer in charge," the boy said. Heavy gold epaulettes appeared on the shoulders of his paper jumpsuit. They sagged, and large rips appeared in the supposedly untearable fabric. Then they disappeared.
The boy jumped down off the bunk and stood in front of Dark Father. "I'm the sysop," he said. He mimed drawing a rectangle, and a cyberdeck appeared in front of him. Its keyboard began clicking madly while he held it in his hands. Then he crumpled the deck up like a piece of paper and tossed it into the toilet. Dark Father heard the sound of the toilet flushing.
"The sysop," Dark Father said, a note of hope in his voice. "Then you can show me the SAN that will allow me to return to-"
"Nope," the kid said. "You're stuck here. Just like me. We're SAN-less in Seattle."
"But if you're the sysop…" Dark Father shook his head. "If you're the one who programmed all of this, you should be able to… I mean, you'd think-"