“Rayan! Stop! You don’t have to do this!” Edison shouted, batting half-blindly at the fire extinguisher, hoping to knock it out of Rayan’s grasp.

There was no answer, only rage and another flurry of blows from the biologist. Edison let them come, waiting for an opening and finding one when Rayan swung too forcefully and overbalanced. Jamming his shoulder into Rayan’s, Edison reached for the extinguisher, and they wrestled against each other. Under ordinary circumstances Edison felt confident he could outbox the kid, but this wasn’t Rayan’s strength against his—Rayan’s body knew no fatigue, no pain, and his sole purpose now was to do as the Foxfire directed.

“Let . . . go,” Edison growled. “It’s over. Just let go.”

They danced back and forth, one gaining ground until the other found a reserve of strength and pulled and pulled, dragging the other man down until the canister was at their knees. Edison’s fingers were slippery with sweat, numb with cold, and he could feel his grip failing. A sudden female scream made them both freeze, hands clasped over each other’s as they looked up in unison. Motes of foamy white powder settled slowly to the floor, as soft as a snowfall, and beyond that stood Rosalyn, trembling, backing away from them and into the adjoining corridor. But Edison didn’t watch her for long.

She had screamed at Piero, at the slow, horrible push of his hands against the pinning knife that drew it through his body. His face was as blank and inscrutable as Rayan’s, which made it all the more horrifying, seeing the knife disappear into his chest cavity, the thin pole of the handle jutting through before that too was gone, in him, then out the back of him as he came free. He had torn a massive hole in the center of his body, the bottom of one rib visible as he staggered to his feet, seemingly unaware of the catastrophic wound that oozed fresh blood down his abdomen, soaking into his jumpsuit trousers.

All at once the canister flew out of Edison’s hands, ripped away, his stunned disgust the only distraction Rayan needed.

No, he thought with a grunt, no.

The hit to his chin seemed almost like an afterthought. It was hard enough to knock him dizzy and send him spiraling to the floor, but not enough to disable him entirely. Rayan was no longer interested in him, it seemed. Instead, he strode purposefully away, joining Piero as they followed Rosalyn out of starboard observation and into the corridor.

His body shook with panic. Misato hadn’t moved. On elbows and knees, Edison pulled himself across the floor, giving sluggish chase, head spinning.

We’ll come back for you. When the salvager is ours we will return for you.