[CURRENT ZONE: FLEET MOTORWAY SERVICES] [MAIN SCENARIO TIME REMAINING: 7 DAYS, 22 HOURS]

  Fleet Motorway Services on the M3 was a depressing place to buy a stale sausage roll and use a damp restroom.

  To Kai's System overlay, the building was wrapped in a massive, glowing blue banner: [NEUTRAL ZONE – COMBAT AND MONETIZATION LOCKED BY LEGACY PROTOCOL]. It was an old slice of un-updateable infrastructure code written into the original read only memory. Even Sterling couldn't monetize ROM. Furthermore, the local physics engine strictly prevented hostile actions; if a Purist assassin tried to draw a blade here, the System would simply refuse to render the animation.

  But to the rest of the oblivious, un-awakened human population, it was just a regular Tuesday morning at a rest stop. Normal commuters drank their coffees, completely unaware that an Orc was bleeding red code near the WHSmith.

  "This is madness," Kai muttered, checking his wrist as they stood near the arcade machines. "We have a global timer. We shouldn't be held up by border control!"

  "System or no System, the French take their paperwork very seriously," Walter said.

  "Listen," a voice hissed from the shadows next to the Time Crisis 4 cabinet.

  Kai turned. Leaning against the arcade machine was a completely normal human teenager in a puffy black North Face jacket, grey track pants, and a matching balaclava rolled up to his nose. There was no glowing nametag. He was just a kid.

  "Wagwan," the kid said, nodding his chin at them. "Safe. I heard your boy talking 'bout borders. Brexit's moved mad, yeah? Bare feds at the tunnel. You need the passports. I got the plug. Say less."

  Sir Gideon stepped forward, dropping to one knee. "Ah! You speak the Old Tongue! 'Wag-wan' to you as well, noble Oracle of the North Face! Tell me, Oracle... what trials must we face to acquire these Physical Booklets of Passage?"

  The teenager blinked. He looked at the kneeling knight, then at Grom, and finally at Viscount Pigglesworth. Despite his unfortunate, porcine moniker, the Viscount was a very human, very arrogant Aether aristocrat currently shivering in a damp tuxedo.

  "You're a weird don, you know that?" the kid muttered, likely assuming this was a Comic-Con group. "Ain't no trials, bruv. It’s two-fiddy a pop for the premium fakes. Biometric chips, watermarks, the lot. You need four? That's a grand. Cash in hand."

  Walter sighed heavily. He unzipped his sensible satchel, pulled out a thick envelope of emergency pay, and counted out 50 ￡ 20 notes.

  "Corporate expense," Walter muttered, looking pained. "I expect a receipt."

  "Safe," the kid nodded, pocketing the cash. He pulled a cracked iPhone out of his track pants. "Right, stand against the white wall by the bogs. No smiling."

  What followed was the most agonizing ten minutes of Kai’s life. Grom had to hunch over so severely that his chin was touching his knees. Sir Gideon flat out refused to remove his helmet until Maya threatened to withhold his M&Ms, forcing the knight to reveal his surprisingly normal, middle aged face. Pigglesworth simply lifted his chin and looked down his nose at the smartphone lens with maximum aristocratic disdain.

  The flash went off. The kid pocketed his phone.

  "Sweet," the Roadman nodded. "Come back to this exact spot tomorrow. Same time."

  Kai’s blood ran cold. "Tomorrow? Wait. No. We have a global timer! The server gets wiped in less than eight days! We need those physical passports now!"

  "Bruv, do you know how long it takes to bake a fake biometric microchip in a microwave?" the kid scoffed. "Don't rush the art. See you mandem in 24 hours."

  The teenager gave Gideon a respectful two finger salute and vanished into the crowd of un-awakened commuters.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "Right," Terry grunted. "That's them sorted. What about you, IT lad? You got your little red book?"

  Kai froze. "My passport is in the top drawer of my desk. In my flat. In London."

  "We can't take the cab," Walter warned immediately. "Vance is tracking the vehicle's ten-speed bike anomaly metadata on the grid. If we drive back to Zone 2, they'll drop a Defragmentation Squad on your street."

  Terry sighed, tossing his car keys to Kai. "Don't scratch the paint. I'll go. I'm taking the South Western Railway commuter train from Fleet station to Waterloo. Costs 24 quid off-peak. The System ain't looking for a grumpy middle-aged bloke reading the Metro on the quiet coach."

  Terry turned and marched out the glass doors toward the train station.

  Kai sat down alone in a plastic food court booth. Above him, the apocalyptic red timer bled away, second by agonizing second. He rested his head in his hands, doing the brutal math. 24 hours lost to a printer.14 hours of driving. A 4 hour border crossing. They were bleeding their most precious resource, and he could do nothing but sit in a Burger King and watch the world end.

  [LOCATION: THE SHARD (PURIST HQ - TOP FLOOR)] [CURRENT DIRECTIVE: SANITIZE THE CHANNEL]

  Director Vance stared out the massive glass window of The Shard. Below him, the River Thames was completely devoid of traffic.

  "The Stonehenge Node was a failure," Ken reported from the terminal. "The Local Admin restored the previous geometry. He cleared the blocks."

  "Where is the vehicle anomaly now?" Vance asked, his voice a dangerous, icy whisper.

  "Stationary," Ken said, pulling up the map. "It is currently parked at the Fleet Motorway Services. A designated neutral zone. It has been there for nearly twenty hours."

  "He is waiting out a cooldown," Vance reasoned. "Or acquiring supplies. But the Ley Line path is locked. He only has one physical route off this island. The Eurotunnel."

  Before Ken could respond, the stark grey monitors of the boardroom flashed premium gold. Sterling’s hyper rendered yacht filled the screens.

  "Vance!" Sterling cheered. "I'm calling about synergy! Your boy broke the partition on the M25, remember? Well, all that leaked Aether code has flowed downhill. The English Channel is flooded with it. The Eurotunnel is currently infested with Level 40 deep-sea fantasy mobs."

  Ken paled. "The train tunnels are submerged in Aether code?"

  "Exactly," Sterling grinned. "The Aether leak made the tunnel structurally unstable. Monetizer Holdings just commercialized the instability. I’ve set up a series of Pay-to-Win turnstiles on the underwater tracks."

  Vance turned away from the screen, looking back out at the London skyline.

  "Let him enter the tunnel," Vance ordered, his voice echoing in the sterile room. "Let the Monetizers play with their commercialized flood. Once the anomaly is halfway under the ocean... Ken, I want you to trigger a hard-wipe. We will weaponize the flood and drown the virus permanently."

  "Sir," Ken swallowed hard, the blood draining from his face. "If we drown the tunnel while the anomaly is inside... What about the civilians on trains?"

  Vance didn't blink. He didn't even turn away from the glass overlooking the grey city.

  "Do it," Vance commanded.

  [TIME SKIP: 24 HOURS LATER] [MAIN SCENARIO TIME REMAINING: 6 DAYS, 21 HOURS]

  Kai sat at the sticky food court table, his eyes bloodshot.

  Terry slumped into the booth next to him, looking utterly exhausted. He tossed a familiar, burgundy UK passport onto the table.

  "Got it," Terry grunted. "Had to tell your landlord I was your uncle picking up your security deposit. Then my train back got delayed at Woking because of leaves on the line."

  "Wagwan."

  The teenager in the North Face jacket slid into the booth. He casually tossed four crisp, physical blue booklets onto the table.

  Walter picked them up. "The physical construction is flawless. Maya is legally registered as a Canadian expat. But Grom... Grom is registered as a French national named Jean Passportout."

  "I used a heavy Instagram filter on the photo," the teenager shrugged. "If the border feds ask about his height, tell 'em he plays rugby. If they ask about his face, tell 'em it's a rare dermatitis condition."

  "I shall answer to Jean!" Grom rumbled proudly.

  "Sir Gideon is registered as... Godefroy de Montmirail," Walter sighed.

  "A sturdy, noble title!" Gideon nodded approvingly.

  "And Viscount Pigglesworth," Walter finished, staring flatly at the haughty human aristocrat. "Is registered as Pigleas Foggybottom."

  "How dare you!" Pigglesworth gasped. "That is a mockery of my lineage!"

  "The Oracle delivers!" Gideon cheered, standing up and saluting the teenager.

  "Safe journey, you weirdos," the Roadman nodded. "Watch out for the feds at the tunnel."

  Kai grabbed the passports. His Sudo-tag was fully recharged, glowing a healthy, restored green. But the sky outside the glass roof of the rest stop was flashing with a severe warning.

  [6 DAYS, 20 HOURS, 55 MINUTES REMAINING]

  "Terry," Kai said, his voice tight with anxiety. "Start the meter. Drive as fast as you legally can. We're going to France."