Magenta’s stalk leaned close. Barbs ripped from her flesh, snagged Doc’s clothing, and peeled it away, same as they’d torn her hazard suit. She stood exposed to December’s chill. Barbs sank into flesh again, and then warm muscle encircled Doc’s legs, waist, chest. That familiar electric touch caressed her cheek, and she closed her eyes. In the moment, there was no syringe, no double-zero virus, no ABP, only a storm that swept her into the palace’s ceiling, where Magenta thrummed in every surface.

“You like us because we replace the mistake in your mind,” Magenta said.

Her voice quaked through Doc’s bones. “We help you forget the past.”

Doc’s hand still clutched the syringe, thumb over the plunger.

The voice sank into a whisper of temptation from a thousand lips. They kissed every inch of Doc’s skin. “You could forget forever,” Magenta said.

“There’s no ABP here. No masters watch your every move. You’ve killed because they told you to, but now they’re dead. If you stab us with that needle, do it because you believe in it yourself.”

The grip on Doc’s body loosened. Bumps coated her skin as the outside cold drifted down the back of her neck.

Magenta bristled in every surface. “Or you can walk away, leave the city.

We won’t stop you.”

The scales of selfishness teetered in Doc’s mind. She had always been a servant to selfishness, either her own or the Board’s. She remembered the desperate glances in Kentucky. Could she have helped anyone? Could she have helped that poor girl? Doc couldn’t be sure whether she had wanted to help, or if she preferred to do as she was told. Obedience was easier. Pleasing was easier.

She could excuse any action when it was someone else’s choice. The Board never gave a damn about her, while Magenta offered countless hearts and endless second chances, the kind Doc didn’t deserve.

Still, the needle remained ready. Responsibility was a sickness inside her, and she didn’t know the cure.

“We forgave you,” Magenta said. “But you still want to hurt us. Tell us why.”

Doc didn’t know. For the city’s sake? For ABP? The world could end in flashes of magenta. She had a responsibility. No one else would hold the needle of double-zero virus to Magenta’s neck. No one else would think to do it.

She had expectations. Roll over, Doc. Fetch, Doc. Heel and sic ‘em and play dead. That’s a good Doc.

Tentacles squeezed, and Magenta’s voice became dry. “They aren’t here.

You don’t have to be Agent Docia Hall anymore. You can be Doc. Choose.”