“She’s crying behind her mask,” Foil said, with alarm.

“I know,” Tattletale said.

“What the hell? You were telling me not to go to her? What the hell happened?”

“I told you and I’m still telling you. Don’t,” Tattletale said.

“Why the fuck not?” Foil raised her voice. Heads turned.

“Because if you go, she’ll lose her nerve,” Tattletale said.

“If you’re sending her into a suicide rush, I swear—”

“You have to finish your threats,” Juliette chimed in from the back. “Tell her you’ll kill her.”

“Not the time, Juliette,” Imp said.

“It’s not a suicide rush,” Tattletale said, quiet, soothing, confident. “But it’s not easy.”

“If you think I can’t support my girlfriend—”

“I think you can support her. You’re good for her. Too good,” Tattletale said.

“That’s the most ominous shit I’ve ever heard,” Foil said, sounding more agitated than when she’d been trying to convince me to retreat.

“Yeah, well,” Tattletale said. “Be there for her after.”

Parian left the conversation, went to another group. The Rooftop Champs.

One question. A short discussion after.

In the distance, Titan Eve was losing.

We didn’t really have long.

I floated closer.

“The Wardens gave permission for some. For most,” Parian said. “They’re marking some. I asked other groups. I can’t really stay, they keep telling me to hurry things along, but—”

“No?” the woman with the feathered dragon boa as her costume feature said, sounding unsure. “I—”

“He’d want to help,” another member of the group said.

“Thah—” the third member started. “Fugh… maggot. Preshing my brain. Paral—”

“Paralyzed part of your face,” Feather Dragon said. “Yes or no? You’re the tiebreaker.”

“Yeh,” he said, bowing his head. “He want—wants to help. There. It moved.”

“Thank you,” Parian said.

She turned to leave, saw Foil, and stopped in her tracks.

Tattletale pulled Foil in the opposite direction, away.

I floated up a bit, watching Parian. Because the Wardens seemed to be waiting for her. People were running out, telling groups to get ready. Making last minute recruitments.

And I saw her approach the rows of bodies. People covered in sheets. Some with people standing by them. She took the sheets, drawing out threads and weaving them together.

Then, with telekinetic control over fine blades, she began cutting into bodies. Some had been crushed, some had been cut, others afflicted with gas, their skin ulcerous.

“Oh my god,” I heard Foil. She pressed her hands over her mouth.

Flayed skin sewn to skin, like Parian had used cloth before. Orifices sealed shut. People became parts of a wider canvas. That canvas, with many dead, began to take form.