“I’ve never been shot before, no chance to adapt. Kind of scary, huh? They might’ve got us.”

One agent stepped into view. They kept their distance, but their arm beckoned the others.

I’m here, Magenta said. Half her flesh ropes coiled against Yaya’s trunk and hugged tight. If you knew you were dying, what would you do?

Yaya leaned against the apartment door. A keycode panel told her it was locked, but she guessed that running inside wouldn’t do her much good anyway.

An electric whump echoed, the death machine ramping up again. Warning shot, or were they aiming to kill this time?

“You tell me,” Yaya said. “If you knew you were dying, Magenta, what would you do?”

A ripple worked up Yaya’s chest. I’d stop, Magenta said.

That made Yaya smirk. Stop what? she asked. If you knew you were dying, you’d just stop dying? Her voice didn’t sound right. Why was that?

Yes, Magenta said. Stop dying. Stop holding still. Stop pretending.

Pretending what? Yaya asked.

Magenta’s hum went softer. Stop pretending to be human anymore. Stop pretending—

A sharp point pierced the back of Yaya’s injured shoulder and tore through to the front. Muscles seized down her spine. A black bolt jutted from beside her collarbone, its front barbed so that the only way to tear it out would to be grab the end and pull. Her fingers gripped, started to try, but every inch took a mile of bloody misery.

Wires twined from the bolt’s tail toward one ABP agent, who clutched a looping contraption between gloved hands. The connection made Yaya think of a rudimentary stun-gun, something a whaling sailor might have cobbled together a couple centuries ago out of a harpoon, copper strands, and chance lightning to electrocute the sea.

The agent didn’t need chance. His rubber-coated fingers pulled back a wooden lever.

Sparks flew, and an electric surge soaked Yaya’s muscles. Her body screamed blue lightning, and the edges of the world blackened.

Magenta’s limbs snaked around the bolt and jammed it back out of Yaya’s shoulder in the worst way. They screamed together as the bolt dragged muscle through the fresh hole in Yaya’s suit. It clattered to the ground. Every movement was pain, but there wasn’t time to grow a carapace over bullet and bolt wounds.

Magenta reached out. She wanted necks to strangle and snap inside yellow hazard suits, for eyes to bulge behind gas mask sealant and glass. Yaya

remembered Bryant, the way he’d gawped and shrieked at the sight of Magenta’s teeth. He hadn’t even seen her at her worst.

Yaya tore open the front of her jacket, buttons flying, and yanked up her top. “This is what you want, right?” she shouted. “Scared yet?”

Her words turned to belligerent nonsense, but she wouldn’t stop shouting.