“Luka,” he says again, and I can feel him tugging on my arm as his legs buckle beneath him. He regains his balance and I continue pulling him forward.

“There’s no time, Malachai,” I tell him as the panic starts to rise up in me. I already know that we’re too far away from the library, and I don’t know my way around these tunnels, and there’s only minutes left before Happy—

“Luka, stop!” he screams. The desperation in his voice strikes me like a fist.

“What is it?” I ask, standing still, breathing heavily.

“It’s going to happen soon. You have to do it now.”

I look into the boy’s handsome face, so handsome, in fact, that he was known as a Natural back before the apocalypse: a Regular so perfect he was often mistaken for an Alt. In his eyes I see that the lights are now three-quarters of the way around his iris.

“They’re uploading the code that will turn me into a host, Luka. As long as I have these eyes, they can get to me.”

“Igby’s at the hideout; he can figure out how to stop it. There’s a surgeon too, if it comes to that.”

Malachai shakes his head. “It has to happen now.”

I stare into his robot eyes. They change my friend’s face so drastically. He’s still beautiful but he’s not completely Malachai. “I don’t think I can do it, Malachai. I can’t—”

“Please, Luka,” he says, lowering his voice.

The reality of what he’s asking of me sinks in, and I feel horror creeping up my spine.

“I don’t know if I can,” I say.

Malachai nods. “Then kill me, Luka, please, because I can’t become one of them.” He points in the direction of the Arc. “I’ve seen what happens to the person behind the eyes, I’ve seen the agony of the passengers inside, and I won’t let it happen to me.”

For a moment I try to think of another solution, I scour my mind for a way out, but I know there’s nothing else.

I look to Apple-Moth, whose lights dim to an almost-imperceptible orange glow. I look back to Malachai.

“Lie down,” I say, trying to steel myself.

Malachai nods, relief mixing with utter terror on his face as he lies in the shallow, dirty water, mechanical eyes staring at the metal of the pipe.

I reach a shaking hand toward his face, noticing that another segment of light has come alive.

“Wait,” Malachai whispers as a pool of tears spills onto his cheek, and his eyes scan his dingy surroundings. “It would’ve been nice to have seen the sky one last time … okay. Do it.”

I take a breath, and then there is no more hesitation.

I push my forefinger into the socket beside his left eye, my mind recoiling.

Malachai begins to scream as I push harder. The agonized and inhuman noise that escapes my friend makes my head spin. I begin to feel faint, nauseous, weak, but I keep going, wrapping my thumb around the cyborg eyeball and pulling it toward me.