Skin cells sank through muscle. Bits of kidney and liver and what remained of vertebrae each offered pieces of themselves, a sacrifice for the greater good. She had only known the human shape, or else she might have molded herself into a snake and slithered away. That memory seemed damaged and illusive. What did humans look like again?

A few of them scrambled now to contain her. If she was dead, they would be calm, but she was dead and alive. A dead self couldn’t climb into the ceiling, into gaps that led through the building. Dead and alive, two things, one thing, nothing. They had liked her that way, presumed dead, and yet they had kept cutting her like they knew she was alive. Humans seemed at war with their own nature.

Little of this world made sense, and she had to forgive herself that. Her new brain was still growing strong.

But it would finish growing soon, and she would keep it safe this time.

Marrow thinned from her limbs’ bones, and coiled intestines shriveled. She would run out of energy to force these changes soon, but by then their knives couldn’t take her consciousness. Would she look human? No, but the value of humanity was only a sound premise, another legend too irrelevant to be true.

A hard carapace welded together where her skull might have gone. Fluid seeped through its underside, a case that could weather blows. A soft, familiar face draped its front with the expected features. Should her new armor be pierced or broken, the brain in her head was only one plant in a garden, and soon it would grow tall and mighty as a tree. Her garden would thrive into an orchard.

They would not mistake Magenta for human this time.

25

Grime coated the corners of the sleek hallway where Magenta descended. Same floor as where she’d escaped the cutters? Some lower level? She didn’t know.

Her fresh eyes ached, but better pain than having them burned out again. After unknowable time without sight, she enjoyed the rusty patterns between steel siding. Machines buzzed behind closed doors. Wires snaked from walls and trailed down the hallway, into other rooms, computers, and maybe specimens.

The part of Magenta that had once been Yaya thought the place resembled a villain’s lair in some old cartoon. She had loved cartoons. If Magenta found a TV or phone, she might try to watch some and indulge that part of her orchard.

And over there, a villainous henchman strolled out another doorway. He didn’t notice Magenta, his gas mask aimed at the glass jar he clutched in his hands. She wanted him to notice her. Tongue worked against teeth, but the muscle was tender, her lips stiff in their newness.

He heard her mouth’s clicking and looked up. The jar tumbled from his raised, panicky hands, and glass shattered at his feet.