“Don’t be a chutz,” Doc says. He peels something sticky off Stevy’s arm. A small pale green med patch. Our eyes meet briefly. This is a Phydus patch—one of the patches Doc developed recently.

“What kind of med patch is that?” Bartie demands. Behind us, I can feel the others’ gazes. Marae, as efficient as ever, has organized her Shippers into a sort of barrier around us, keeping the crowd largely at bay. But it won’t last.

“It’s a specialized patch,” Doc answers Bartie. He looks at it closer, forgetting about Bartie and everyone else as he mutters to me, “Someone’s written something on it.”

He holds the patch out. Bartie tries to snatch it, but I beat him to it. “Follow,” I read aloud. In heavy black ink, just that one word: follow.

“But how did this patch kill Stevy?” I ask.

“This one didn’t,” Doc says. He pushes up Stevy’s sleeve, exposing the patches hidden under his clothing. “One patch is harmless. But two more is an overdose.” He peels the remaining patches off Stevy’s arm.

I frown: med patches are supposed to be fast-acting, but the concentration of Phydus in these med patches seems too strong if just three will instantaneously kill a man.

“What’s written on those patches?” Luthor calls out, trying to shove Marae aside so he can get closer.

Doc starts to hand the patches to me, but Bartie snatches them from his outstretched hands. “The,” he reads off the first one, loudly so the whole crowd can hear. “Leader.” He looks up at me, and there is real fear in his eyes. He thinks I’ve done this. “Follow the leader. These patches—the special patches that killed Stevy—are a command. A warning. To follow the leader.”

Before I can explain that none of this is my fault, that I didn’t write those words or put the patches on Stevy, Bartie turns to the crowd. “This is what happens when you don’t follow the leader.” He spits out the words and throws the used patches on Stevy’s cold body.

“This is what happens!” Luthor cries out, picking up the charge from Bartie. His words ring across the City. “This is the price you pay if you don’t follow the leader! Don’t follow Elder—and he has you killed!”

“Wait a minute,” I shout, jumping up. “No I didn’t! No I don’t!”

But it’s too late. Bartie’s and Luthor’s words have spread like poison. I can see the fear and revulsion in people’s eyes as they break past the human barrier created by Marae and the other Shippers. They spill out, sweeping past me—knocking me down and shoving aside Doc as they scoop up Stevy’s lifeless body. They chant—follow the leader—but it’s a sneering, angry sort of chant. It’s mocking me.

It’s a battle cry.