Sleep was not coming, that much was obvious. The pain in Enzo's chest was worse than it had been at any time since he could remember, each breath a rattling, clanking ordeal. Worse yet, weary as he was, the boy's mind refused to drift away. He was abuzz with thoughts, none of them pleasant.

He shivered, his alternating patterns of chills and burning rages having settled on a frigid grip. Bob was sleeping peacefully on the chair next to the fireplace. The youngster desperately wished he would wake, but he didn't want to be the cause of it. Bob was justifiably exhausted and it wouldn't be fair to wake him up – the Guardian had chosen to sleep on the stiff-backed chair rather than a comfortable bed in another room. Still, Enzo felt terribly alone.

A fit of coughing seized him, his ribs aching. The boy spat onto a handkerchief next to his bed and shoved it away, not wanting to see the product of his illness. He looked up hopefully but Bob was still asleep. Enzo fell back with a sigh. What would it be like to be deleted? Would he feel anything? Would he even still know who he was? Dim memories of his fall in the river flirted with his consciousness, terrifying and comforting at the same time.

The boy gritted his teeth and made a decision. Daunting as he found the prospect, he knew what he had to do. He gingerly inched a leg from under the covers, shivering as it came into contact with the cold air in the room. He slowly lowered his foot to the floor and almost passed out when he tried to put any weight on it, stunned by the depth of his weakness. A load groan escaped his throat.

The youngster heard Bob mumble and stir as he sat on the edge of the bed, fighting for breath. "What's the matter – can't sleep?" he heard the silver-haired sprite ask.

"No." the boy replied, shocked by the reedy, high-pitched whisper that his voice had become. He tried to shift his left leg off the bed to join his right, but every movement was torture.

"What're you doing?" Bob hissed, fully awake and rising from the chair.

"I…I…don't wanna...be alone…right now. OK?"

"Get back in bed!" Bob scolded him gently. "You're too weak to get up!"

"I'm...I'm sick of that…bed!" the youngster wheezed. "Can't…I…sit with you?"

"Enzo-"

"Please…Bob! I…really don't wanna…be alone…"

"Al right, all right." Bob sighed. "But you certainly aren't walking!" He picked the boy up, the youngster seeming to have no weight to him at all. "Are you sure you don't want to lie down in bed?"

"Sure." Enzo whispered, resting his head against Bob's shoulder as he fought for breath.

"You're cold. Lemme get the blanket." Bob said softly, staring at the boy with concern. He grabbed the quilt and settled down in the chair, spreading it over them. "There you go – just like in the snow cave. Except it's a lot warmer in here. Feel better?"

The youngster's only response was another fit of coughing. Each spasm of his chest felt like it was cutting him in half. Enzo felt himself choking. "Here – spit it out." Bob said gently, holding out a handkerchief. The boy complied, wheezing for breath. He could hear the fear in Bob's voice. "That's my boy. You're gonna be just fine…"

"Thanks…thanks for sitting…with me. I'm coughing…all over…everything and I…bet I smell bad, and…"

"Don't be silly!" Bob laughed softly. "I don't care about any of that stuff." He held the boy's head as he was seized by another bout of coughing.

"Rosa…Rosa told me…what was…wrong with me." Enzo whispered after he'd gathered enough breath. "She said I…I might…"

"Did she?" the Guardian sighed. "Well, I wish she hadn't done that – she doesn't know you like I do. You're going to be fine."

"I…I…made her tell me." The boy said, too weary even to lift his head and meet the Guardian's gaze. "I…wanted to know."

"Just try and sleep, all right? You're still very weak."

"Bob…I…"

"What?"

Enzo took a deep, strained breath. "I…really don't…wanna be…nullified. I…"

"You're not." The boy could feel the Guardian's tense intake of breath. "That's not going to happen."

"What…what…do you think…it'll feel…like?"

"It's not going to happen." Bob repeated. "First of all, you're in game sprite mode anyway. I'm not going anywhere without you and you aren't going anywhere without me. End file. Understand?"

"Bob…" Enzo tried to find the words to express the fear in his processor. "When… If I… Will…it hurt? I-"

"Stop that!" Bob scolded. "You're a Matrix – you're tougher than anything a game can throw at you. Right?"

"But Bob… All that...other stuff… Saving Mainframe and everything… It was…Matrix…and Dot! I…wasn't even…there…"

"It doesn't matter. You're still Enzo Matrix. I know you're tougher than all this."

"Oh, Bob…" All of the fears and worries of all his lonely nights seemed to be grabbing hold of the boy by the throat. "Maybe I…was never even…supposed to be…here. I'm not…even…really Enzo."

"Sure you are." Bob insisted. "Don't be basic."

"If…I delete… Maybe it's…better. You know?"

"Stop this right now! You have to trust me, Tiger – I've been around a lot longer than you have. You're going to be fine – I know. I know you well enough to know that."

"How?" the boy whispered, his throat seeming to clear momentarily. "How do you know?"

"Enzo… I don't really understand any of this. I don't understand how this can be a game. I don't understand how someone like Rosa can be a game character, or how we can be in a game for so long and not even know why we're here. I know I should be worried about winning the game but all I can think about is how you're feeling."

"But-"

"Like I said, I don't understand any of this. But all I know is what's happening to you – to us – it's real. I've never been sick – not like you are now. So maybe I can't really understand what you're going through… But in all the time I've known you and your brother and sister I've never, ever seen any of you give up. I've seen all of you face terrible things – things that would make anyone want to quit. And you know what? None of you have ever given up – ever. That's why I know you aren't going to give up now."

"Bob…" The green-haired boy opened his eyes and lifted his gaze. "I feel so basic! I got sick and you can't even go try to win the game… And I feel so terrible, Bob! I hurt all over…"

"I know." The Guardian smiled. He held the boy's head to his shoulder and hugged him tightly. "I know you're gonna be fine, Enzo – I know it. You'll never give up and neither will I. That's all that matters."

"Bob…" The youngster could feel his throat constricting again, his brief moment of vocal freedom passing. The Guardian's arms and the crackling fire seemed, at least, to have taken the edge off of his chill. In a flash he knew why he'd fought sleep so fervently, but perhaps he could face even that – if he didn't have to face it alone. Who knew what it would feel like? "Bob, I…"

"Just try and sleep." The silver-haired sprite said softly. "I'm right here. I'll be here when you wake up, I promise."

The words echoed in the boy's mind. Here when you wake up. Bob had never broken a promise to him before… It seemed a dark, foreboding abyss opening before him. But sleep was insistent, tugging. He couldn't fight it any longer, no matter what was going to happen.

The village wasn't much to look at – a few ramshackle wooden buildings scattered alongside the dirt road, tucked inside a bend in the river. It had never resembled what might be called a teeming metropolis, but at the moment it was nearly deserted.

Smoke rose from the chimneys of most of the merchants, but few appeared to be utilizing their services. A lone horse was tethered outside the apothecary, a tiny hut perched at the very edge of the settlement. The equine nickered and stamped it's feet as a cold gust brought stinging particles of snow down from the surrounding hills.

"So, Laszlo – to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? Are your goats colicky again, or is it strictly a social call?"

"You know damn well why I'm here, Vlad." The bearded man grunted, resting his ample bulk on a rickety stool and staring up at the apothecary. The older man stood framed by his shelves, crowded with leather sacks and small glass vials. "Although it's certainly nice of you to offer me a drink."

The apothecary said nothing for a moment, but returned the farmer's gaze with an oily smile. Finally he turned away from the younger man and bent over his work table. "I'm a very busy man, Laszlo – half of the village is sick, and the surrounding countryside too. Perhaps you could get to the point?"

Laszlo scowled. He'd never liked Vlad or his kind – so full of themselves. He never took with their trade, either – it seemed rooted in the devil's art. "It's the strangers, Vlad – they seem to have everyone at Rosa's fooled into thinking they're as innocent as lambs."

"Ah, yes – and how are those poor unfortunates doing, Good Farmer? Such a sweet little boy – I do hope he's doing better…"

"The whelp seems sick – but I don't believe it for a minute. They're the devil, Apothecary – here from the mountain as sure as I'm sittin' here now. And those damn fools aren't doin' a thing about it! Foxes among the chickens, is what they are!"

"What does any of this have to do with me?" the fat man asked pointedly.

"Well…" Laszlo stammered awkwardly. "Seems to me if somethin's to be done it's you and me that's have to do it. I can't get at the boy – Rosa or that silver-haired demon is always hanging over 'em. I could try to deal with them myself, but…"

"Not that you're a coward." The apothecary grinned.

"I ain't no coward!" the farmer spat. "But I can't be fightin' a demon on my own. What chance does I have?"

"I'll ask you again, Man – what does any of this have to do with me?"

"Well… You thinks as I does. I know you do!"

"And?"

"Well – you're the one as mixes their medicines up, ain't ya? All them fool herbs and oils you dabble in. If you was to, say, make a mistake-"

"A mistake." Vlad smiled. "Interesting, Man. Do go on…"

The first thing he remembered was an insistent heat on the back of his neck. The youngster lay very still for a long time, debating whether or not to return from the gray ether and indulge his curiosity about the strange world of the senses.

When his body first stirred it was barely noticeable – the slightest twitch of a shoulder blade, the minutest change in his breathing pattern. The blade of sunlight that had tickled his neck moved on its course, leaving Enzo feeling chilly again. His senses returned to him one by one, following the course charted by his skin – his ears picking up the faint creaking of the wooden building in the wind, his nose detecting the acrid scent of smoldering embers in the fireplace. Still, for a long time, the boy didn't open his eyes.

There was still a lot of fear, deep inside, irrational though the boy told himself it was. It seemed so unlikely that he could possibly engage in the mundane activity of opening his eyes to a new morning that he didn't trust his other senses – suspected them of wish fulfillment. But after a time even fear gives way to curiosity, especially for the young, so the little sprite blinked rapidly and prepared himself for whatever lay in store.

The first glimpse of Bob's face was a burst of pure exhilaration enough to last a thousand lifetimes, even if Enzo's depleted body consumed it greedily in a fraction of a nano. The Guardian was sleeping peacefully, his breathing slow and even, arm wrapped lazily around the youngster's shoulder. The boy stared, motionless, for what felt to him like seconds but he knew was probably only a few nanos.

His body hurt – he was weary to the bone, tired as he'd never been before. The boy's chest felt heavy, congested, his throat tight and raw, and for the first time in cycles he felt a throbbing pain in his hands and feet. Remarkably, though, he didn't care – he breathed in as hard as he could, a trickle of the morning air reaching his lungs and spreading its energy through his weary body.

None of it mattered – not the pain, not the exhaustion. All of it had paled next the fear that had been the boy's constant companion for what seemed like forever. Its absence was a glorious weight lifted, a joy that knew no bounds. Whatever happened now would happen, but Enzo didn't care. None of it could frighten him – not now, not after all he'd seen in the terrifying depths of his soul over the yawning eternity of a night. The boy wrapped his arms around the Guardian's neck and closed his eyes, and for the first time since he could remember he rested. He was free.

Chris O'Brien was never quite sure whether or not he'd made his newest creation too difficult or too easy – only that he'd erred, one way or the other. He was sure of that. Even his constant surveillance of every server he could find had only turned up a few players who's actually won the game, and few enough who'd even run the gauntlet of perils he's laid down before they could even reach the village. Good – it had to be difficult. That was the only way.

Still, the young man was troubled by the nagging thought that he'd given his public too much credit – overestimated their abilities. What good were any of them if they couldn't push the envelope? They had to challenge the game, plum it's depths, test it – it seemed like the only way. It had to be the only way!

The boy grunted and switched servers as yet another party met their fate in the Romany Swamps. What good was any of it? He was only guessing - wild guesses based on untested theories and blind hunches. It was like an episode of "The X-Files" gone haywire.

"Come on, damn you!" the young man growled softly, taking a long swallow from the Jolt can on his desk. "Where are you? I know you're in there, I know it…" That was the annoying part – he did know it, as surely as he'd ever known anything in his life. Chris O'Brien trusted his instincts – in fact, trusted little else. He'd staked everything on them being right one more time. But even if they were, that one in a billion chance that they were – would he even know it? There were so many games, so many players. It seemed such a small chance. Almost hopeless. Still, almost was better than the alternative…

Rosa felt quite pensive as she gathered her supplies and prepared a tray to take into the small room that housed the strange visitors to her establishment. She was in no hurry – she'd seen and felt more than enough pain to last her a lifetime over the space of a few short years.

A grim blackness hung over her as she ascended the rickety staircase, a gnawing urge not to open that door at all but simply to send Pesaj in on an errand of some sorts – let him be the first to see what she feared. Strange, how deeply she dreaded going into that room. They were strangers, after all – and death and despair had been her constant companion for as long as she could remember.

As the door creaked open she paused, slack-jawed, at the sight of the empty bed. With a step inside her puzzled stare was replaced by an involuntary grin as she saw the strangers curled up together on the chair next to the fire. The vision moved her deeply, catching at her throat – a recognition of something universal, elemental, something she grasped in the deepest part of her soul.

What the innkeeper noticed next was the silence – a silence she hadn't heard in that room since the arrival of the pilgrim and his boy. Stifling a gasp she set her tray down and took a step towards them, fearing the worst. It was clear almost immediately, though, that the child was breathing, albeit absent the grisly rattling that had accompanied his every breath for days.

The red-haired woman let out an audible sigh of relief, feeling her heart slowing in her chest. The youngster, in reaction, stirred slightly and blinked. He slowly lifted his head from his companion's shoulder and found her with his eyes. The boy's face registered surprise for a moment, then he spoke in a low voice. "Don't you have anything to eat around here?"

A short laugh escaped the innkeeper's throat. She took a quick step towards the boy and knelt, resting her palm on his forehead. "You're cooler." She smiled. "How do you feel?"

"Tired." The green-haired boy whispered, returning her smile. It was the first time she'd seen a real smile on his round face since their eyes his arrival - the last time he'd lifted his head from his friend's shoulder - and the woman was stunned by the way it transformed him. "Hungry."

"We'll start you with some soup." Rosa grinned, smoothing his hair. "And some more tea. Looks like your friend's tired too."

The youngster turned his head and stared at the sleeping sprite for a moment, eyes shining. "He's totally alphanumeric. I'm alive because of him."

"What is he, now?" the innkeeper smiled bemusedly. "You talk as strange as he does, I see. Can you sit up and drink some soup?"

"Sure." The boy nodded, voice still raw and hoarse. He inched his way into a sitting position, careful not to wake the Guardian. "Thanks, Rosa. For everything."

"I told you about that." Rosa scolded good-naturedly, handing him a bowl. "We's as can should always help those that need help. I'm just glad you're feeling better."

The boy slurped the soup greedily, taking too much and forcing himself to pause, panting for breath. He grinned sheepishly and took another sip. "This is awesome. You know what would be really good?"

"What's that, My Angel?"

"A bath!" the youngster said wistfully. "And some different clothes…"

"I think we might arrange that. We're a full service hostelry, you know! But let's wait until you're strong enough to walk, all right?"

"OK." The boy sighed, taking another swallow of soup. "You haven't seen the cat around anywhere… have you?"

An unseasonable warmth had descended upon the little valley, a damp wind carrying spits of rain from beyond the hills to the south. The air was dank and thick with mists rising off the melting snow, the low buildings of the town visible as shadows through the fog.

Into this shrouded air three more shadows became visible, moving slowly along the narrow track that ran through the town center. One, then two stepped out of line, guiding what revealed themselves as horses between the buildings slowly.

After a few moments the three shadows reconvened, facing each other in the town square. Frightened eyes peered out of windows as the shadows stood, the sound of their conversations muffled by the damp air.