It was just like Isaiah had said.

It didn’t look like a real brain; it looked more like a plastic model, with the various lobes labeled in bold lettering— perhaps something Johnnie-O once saw in a classroom somewhere. This was Johnnie-O’s memory of a brain, and the ripper now held it in his hand like an oversize walnut.

“Aaaaaaah!” wailed Johnnie-O in the kind of abject terror that can only come from seeing your brain held out before you. “Give it back! Give it back!” Painless though it was, there was something fundamentally disturbing about this—not just the fact of seeing one’s own brain held up for observation, but to suddenly have one’s very consciousness separate and apart from one’s body, and yet still tethered as if by some weird wireless connection. For Johnnie-O, the sensation was far worse than pain.

“AAAAAH!” he screamed. “Put it back in! I swear I won’t touch you, just put it back in!”

“Maybe I’ll just squish it beneath my feet! Squish, squish!”

“Noooo!”

It infuriated Nick to see Johnnie-O helpless and humiliated, so Nick reached for something that might give them a brief balance of power. He found a hand grenade, and held it up to the Ripper.

“Give him back his brain, or I’ll pull the pin, and shove this thing in your mouth.”

The Ripper laughed at that. “Won’t matter!” he said. “If I gets blowed up, I’ll just pull back together again, like it was nuthin’!”

“Yes,” Nick said with a grin. “In theory …”

The wider Nick’s grin got, the more worried the Ripper became. “Whadaya mean, theory?”

“I mean that bullets and cuts are one thing. They heal in seconds, sure … but if you’re blown to smithereens, how do you know all those smithereens are gonna find one another again?”

Clearly the Ripper had never thought of this.

“You have till the count of three.” Nick reached for the pin, ready to pull it. “One … two …”

“Fine!” The Ripper went over to Johnnie-O, who was now whimpering in a corner, clutching his intensely empty head. “Who needs it?” said the Ripper. “Probably got worms anyway.” Then he pushed Johnnie-O’s brain right back inside him.

The Ripper then scrambled over the vertically mounted chairs and reached up toward the spacecraft’s control panel—then hit a button.

A hatch popped open like a trapdoor right beneath poor Johnnie-O, who was still just recovering from his brain-ripping ordeal, and he plunged through the open hatch into darkness. Nick could hear him tumbling down a tunnel, and crashing into whatever filled the cargo hold of the shuttle.

“Was that really necessary?” shouted Nick.

“You’re next!” threatened the Ripper.

Nick was angry enough to pull the pin on the grenade and blow them both to smithereens, but he fought the urge, found a foothold, and climbed toward the Ripper.