“Not a chance!” Its voice was as clear as a nightmare when the psyche forgets to add the realism of competing sounds. “The kid brings toys to life. You think this is coincidence? You think I’d give that up?”

“Bridger’s not here for you, Sniper!”

“They’re not here ‘for’ you or your Jehovah Mason either!” it shot back, and fairly. “They’re here for everyone, the whole world. Even your bizarre theology must admit that.”

Sniper was moving, I could tell that much, but the vaulted ceiling scattered sound, and through the mist of paranoia every plastic finger seemed to twitch. “Are you the real Sniper?” I asked.

It laughed. “Since we’re talking about someone who’s spent their whole life trying to become a living doll, I’d say I’m more real than the original!” A lesser marksman would have punctuated the declaration with a hail of shots, but Sniper does not fire unless it might hit. “You raised a very trusting kid, Mycroft. I could’ve convinced them to animate ten of me if I’d made up ten excuses.”

I crouched, threading my way along a row of dolls modeling Sniper’s pentathlon uniforms. “Where is the original?”

“Doing their duty as O.S., I imagine. Don’t think having the Anonymous on your side will turn the tide. It may take weeks or months, but when the public really thinks about what Jehovah Mason is, they’ll call a rat a rat and join me, not all of them, but enough.”

Major: <You’re getting close. We’re under the doll in the white ballet outfit, three rows left, four up.>

I: <Should I come get you, Major?>

Major: <No. Keep Sniper busy. We need to evacuate Mommadoll.>

“You should’ve told me about Jehovah, Mycroft!” Even as I drew close, Sniper’s voice was hard to pinpoint as the reflective ceiling scattered sound and light in shards. “We could’ve stopped this years ago, before any of the Hives got ripped apart.”

“You’re the one who’s ripping them apart now, Sniper! Jehovah just wants peace. You’ve seen Bridger. If we’re going to spread Bridger’s gifts to everyone, it’s best to have one united Voice to lead the transformation, Someone Who’s thought a lot about world-changing questions: death, immortality, resurrection.”

“Someone who MASON raised to remake the world in MASON’s image?” Sniper called back. “The world’s already had too much of that!”

I took a ball from a cricket-playing Sniper and threw it far to my left, hoping the sound would draw its fire and attention. Nothing. “People will die if there’s a war, Sniper!” I called. “Thousands, maybe millions of people. Is that really what O.S. is for? You’ve spent your life protecting the many at the cost of the few.”

“I’m no slave of numbers, Mycroft.” Its light voice darkened as much as it can. “O.S. protects the Hive system, this way of life, a way of life worth dying for. And killing for.”

“Jehovah’s will be even better!”

“Jehovah’s would be world dictatorship!”

“You don’t know Jehovah, He…” No. This wasn’t the right tactic. I had to goad Sniper, make it angry, make it rash. “There are more ways to be famous than to have the highest body-count to your name!”