“Yes,” I say, feeling a tentative burst of hope.

“Normally I wouldn’t do this—breaking the rules is bad—but if it’s for friends …”

The little drone dips to the vinyl floor and slips underneath the door and into the room. I wait in the empty corridor. Another roar from the crowd reaches me, even over the monotonous drone of the waterfall. And then the handle moves, twisting of its own accord, and the door swings open.

“Apple-Moth, you genius!” I say, and run into the laboratory.

Against the far wall of the large room are dozens of screens, each showing different sets of statistics and information. Vials of nanobots line one shelf on the right, and robotic equipment hangs from the ceiling. Double-size holographic projections of Malachai, Woods, and the third subject float in an open space, their bodies translucent so doctors and scientists can see their organs working inside them. Three metal arms protrude from the floor, the characters E4-EX-19 stenciled in white paint on them. There is a glowing orb of light levitating above the machinery. The arms all face away from one another—they look like an ancient fairground ride, only each of them hovers over a paralyzed human being lying in a bed. These humans are who I came here for, Woods and Malachai.

I run over to them, and stop as I see who the third subject is.

Tyco Roth.

The boy who tried to kill me, the boy who was shot six times, the boy who should be dead.

In a moment, a million thoughts flash through my mind: Is it really him? Should I save him? He tried to kill me; why should I help him? He’ll only try to kill me again! It’s the right thing to do. It’s the wrong thing to do.

I choose to ignore all thoughts of Tyco for now. I run over to the paralyzed test subjects, going to Woods first. I see that his eyes have been replaced by the glowing eyes of Happy. I look closely at them and see that they are not fully lit up yet—the light seems to be encircling his iris one segment at a time. Right now there is only one segment left to light up.

“Apple-Moth, time!” I scream as I grab Woods and haul him from the bed.

“11:06 a.m.,” the drone replies, buzzing anxiously from side to side.

One minute, I have one minute to save him.

Woods collapses onto the floor, gasping in a lungful of air.

“Luka,” he says, his mechanical eyes turning to me.

“Woods, how do I help you? Tell me how to stop this.”

“I knew you’d come,” he says, a smile spreading across his pained face.

“What do I do, Woods? How do I stop this?”

“Thank you,” he replies, and his smile widens, the gap in his front teeth showing. “I’m glad they didn’t get me in the end.”