Franc slunk closer. One tendril pinned her to the wall while a second sought her mouth, trying to push inside.

Not like this, Mitzi begged. Let me die, but please don’t let me be turned.

She struggled, kicking, punching, digging her nails into the slimy, cold flesh, but Franc paid no attention. The tendril pushed past her teeth, and she gagged on the sickening taste.

Then she heard a crack. Franc twitched, pulling back. Mitzi gasped, suddenly able to breathe again, and spat. Franc was turning, stretching out more limbs. His body rippled as he pulled the human flesh back out so that he could see and hear. She heard another crack, and Mitzi saw something shining dimly in the doorway. Franc released her, and she collapsed to her knees, shivering and feeling sick.

It only took a second for Franc to fall, too. He’d succeeded in half-covering himself with the human flesh, and the result was a repulsive pile of twitching black substance and a shrivelled human skin. His eyes were rolling wildly in their sockets as he shuddered, and for a second, they fixed themselves on Mitzi. They were filled with pure hatred and unadulterated fury. She turned away and saw two red darts stuck in his black skin.

Nerve toxins.

Footsteps were approaching, and Mitzi looked up, squinting in the dim light. She caught a glimpse of Mir’s face behind the suit’s helmet before someone picked up the torch and turned it on her, blinding her.

“You okay?” Skye’s voice was thin and terrified.

Mitzi squinted against the light as she tried to think through her patchy knowledge about the Cymics. She knew they spread like a virus, and they infected humans by either spearing them or getting down the victim’s throat. Was it enough that it had been in her mouth, though, or did she need to have swallowed it?

“Keep your gun on me,” Mitzi said, her voice ragged as she pressed one hand to her burning ribs to keep them still. “If I start to change, shoot.”

She was hyper-aware of her body as she started counting under her breath. What would it feel like to be corrupted? Was it painful? How much of it would she be awake for?

Skye had lowered the light so Mitzi could see again, and she watched the nozzle of the neurotoxin gun Mir had pointed towards her. The girl’s face was paper white, and the gun was shaking, but she kept her eyes locked on Mitzi, intense and prepared.

Mitzi counted to two minutes before she let herself slump back with a sigh. “No. I’m okay. It wasn’t enough to change me.”

“Prove it,” Mir said, her gun still trained on Mitzi’s face.

“Come again?”

“We need to be sure. Prove you’re human.”

Mitzi felt a tired grin grow over her face. Good girl. She learned fast. Moving slowly and deliberately, she reached to her right and picked up the pocketknife she’d dropped. Then she pressed the tip into her palm, in the same place she’d nicked herself that morning during the demonstration, and held her palm out so her team could see the drop of red blood.