I remind myself that even without his blade Five isn’t fully disarmed. I open up both of his hands, looking for the rubber ball and ball bearing that he carries around to trigger his Externa. He isn’t holding them, so I start patting him down. When they don’t turn up in his pockets, I know there’s only one place they can be.

Cringing, I peel back the yellowed gauze pad that covers Five’s ruined eye. Jammed into the empty socket is the glinting ball bearing and its rubbery partner. It can’t be comfortable to have those two things stuffed inside his head. This is the life I’ve saved—a guy who sees losing an eye as an opportunity for more efficient storage. I use my telekinesis to scoop the two spheres out of Five’s eye socket and chuck them into the grass. He moans, but doesn’t come to.

“That’s nasty,” Daniela says.

“No kidding,” I reply. I look over at Agent Walker. She’s been watching this whole scene in silence. I know she probably sided with Sam and thinks I should’ve let Five die. That’s how I know I did the right thing. “Get me something to tie him up with,” I say to Walker.

Having just watched me scoop out hidden treasures from Five’s eye cavity, it takes Walker a moment to react to my request. She reaches behind her, unclips her handcuffs and tosses them to me.

I catch them and immediately toss them back. “You know that’s a terrible idea, right? He turns into whatever he touches, Walker. Go get me some rope or something.”

“I’m an FBI agent, John. I don’t carry rope around with me.”

“Check the boat,” I say, shaking my head.

Annoyed that I’m giving her orders in front of the other agents, Walker sends Agent Murray jogging off to check if there’s any rope on the coast guard boat.

“You’re soft, Johnny.”

I turn around to see that Nine’s regained consciousness. He’s sitting up with his forearms braced against his knees, his head hunched a bit like it’s still bothering him. He looks from me to Five and back, shaking his head.

“You know how hard it was to shove that signpost through him?” Nine sighs.

I walk over and crouch in front of him. “You mad?”

Nine shrugs his burly shoulders, seeming oddly zen. “Whatever, dude. I’ll just kill him again later.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t.”

Nine rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. All right, man. I get that you’re against the death penalty and all that shit. Did he beg you to save his life, at least? I would’ve liked to have seen that.”

“He didn’t beg,” I tell Nine. “In fact, I think he wanted to die.”

“Sick,” Nine replies.

“I didn’t want to give him what he was after.”