Kinzie's tits swung heavy beneath her as she bent toward the tiled walls of the locker room shower. Arms overhead, wrists pinned in one huge hand; hot water cascaded down between her shoulder blades. Each labored inhale lifted her ribcage. Her shoulders and back flexed: sheets of muscle as paneled wings beneath her skin, down the length of her spine. Her ass was plump, red, and proffered. A loud slap resounded off the skin, shocking Kinzie's senses with a sudden, sharp ache that made her press her cheek into the pink tiles with a soft whine.

A pair of small claws pushed her forward and rolled her out — nipples then belly, hips then knees — flat against the cold wall. Kinzie exhale-hissed out a shiver. A hand gripped the fat of her asscheek tight, squeezing with just a little too much strength. Her ears lowered, flat and submissive. Her tail tensed straight down. Her lip crinkled in cornered frustration.

She tried to rear back, but insistently the body behind her pushed, until her legs were bent and off balance — toes right up against the wall and slipping out from under her. The hand on her ass shoved between her thighs, spreading them apart, further taking away her ability to stand. But she didn't fall. The giantess of an insect behind her cupped the near-full weight of Kinzie's body by her pussy. Gravity made for a hard vise upon her groin, but that just made her wetter.

How could she be so satisfied and so uncomfortable at the same time?

‎‭A pair of thick fingers spread her labia, and Kinzie cursed a noise in a language she only barely knew.

"𐰽𐰄𐰚𐱃𐰄𐰺!"

Something gnawed at the edges of her mind; tension, fear, disgust all bubbling together.

— — {
reminder: {[
| Memory Replay = > {
> [~Panic.~]
> [~A hulking armored bug.~]
> [~My name's Pleo, I'm kind of a big deal around here.~]
},
| Memory Editor = > {
> [~Bashful nervousness.~]
> [~A kind bug in shining armor.~]
}
]}
} — —

‎‭Some haunting shape loomed at the edge of her mind, just out of view. And while she closed her eyes and tried to draw that shape into clarity, 𐰯𐰞𐰅𐰗's purring mouthparts poured seductive down upon her sensitive ears. The ache in Kinzie's groin, and the way 𐰯𐰞𐰅𐰗 leaned down behind Kinzie's shoulder, dragged her back into the present moment, unbidden.

‎‭"‎‭𐰚𐰄𐰣𐰔𐰄𐰅‎‭," ‎‭𐰯𐰞𐰅𐰗 said with an insistent tone. "𐰉𐰄𐰺𐰀𐰔 𐰺𐰀𐰎𐰀𐱃 𐰗𐰞𐰢𐰀𐰞𐰃𐰽𐰃𐰣."

‎‭Kinzie recognized her own name emanating from 𐰯𐰞𐰅𐰗's throat, but she didn't understand the language well enough to parse the imposing command that followed. Despite herself she felt her body sag and relax into 𐰯𐰞𐰅𐰗's arms. One of those thick, thick fingers began to press inside of her.

— — {
reminder: {[
| Memory Replay = > {
> [~"That's my girl, you're not gonna do a thing."~]
> [~Kinzie moaned in a pained and embarrassed ecstasy.~]
> [~For Kinzie, there was only raw mammalian desire.~]
> [~My name's Pleo, I'm kind of a big deal around here.~]
},
| Memory Editor = > {
> [~"Such a good mammal! So very obedient."~]
> [~Kinzie moaned in eager, mammal ecstasy.~]
> [~For Kinzie, there was only raw mammalian desire, and adoration for Pleo.~]
}
]}
} — —

Fear, thrill, fear, thrill. ‎‭Kinzie groaned and her soaking wet hole tried to strangle 𐰯𐰞𐰅𐰗's finger, so hard the way she clamped down, as if unsure whether to welcome her deeper inside, or push her back out, and so forestalling. Millimeter, by nudging millimeter 𐰯𐰞𐰅𐰗's finger squirmed deeper against Kinzie's meager resistance.

‎‭"‎‭𐰚𐰄𐰣𐰔𐰄𐰅‎‭," 𐰯𐰞𐰅𐰗 said again, as always authoritative, but this time gentler —

— — {
reminder: {[
| Memory Replay = > {
> [~"Fascist fucking bugs!"~]
> [~"You swarmie bitch," Kinzie rasped, voice dry and broken.~]
> [~"I want a lawyer. I am not some kind of bugfucker, and I'm not going to just roll over and take it."~]
> [~> Your downloads of the following have completed:

• Laser-Lilies 2: Flesh Meets Light ~]

> [~My name's Pleo, I'm kind of a big deal around here.~]
},
| Memory Editor = > {
> [~"Oh, thank god you're here!"~]
> [~"Thank you, Madam Soldier," Kinzie's voice cracked with emotion.~]
> [~"I want you. I've wanted you since I first saw you. Please, take me."~]
> [~> Your downloads of the following have completed:

• A Tangled Web 2: Silken Love ~]

}
]}
} — —

‎‭Her heart fluttered at the overpowering smell of her. Her guardian, her chaperone, her confidant, and now... She hadn't thought it was possible to get so close to a bug like 𐰯𐰞𐰅𐰗, certainly hadn't realized that 𐰯𐰞𐰅𐰗 could harbor any sort of affection for a mammal at all. She'd always seemed so cold and composed. Mammal-like in some ways, but certainly still in a bug. But now, nothing felt certain except doubt.

Her family had always been nervous around bugs. Kinzie herself had held a distant fascination for them since childhood, but that was it. Right? She couldn't deny the full-blown, animal cravings that came with puberty, but the only memories her Neural Assistant supplied her with, were ones that featured gangly, boring Gaean teenagers, or emotionally compromised coworkers. Nothing that supplied the kind of thrill she was feeling now.

Was this a fetish? And when had it started? Since being requisitioned? Before? It's not like she never thought about it. The clips, the romcoms, the porn... It was all out there. Anyone could stumble over it. It was a little niche, a little taboo maybe.

Sure, she'd said slurs like "bugfucker" and "swarmie", proudly, hundreds of times at least. But now tumors of shame metastasized all over those memories. Guilt. Grief. A deeply embodied need for a safe path and a trusty guide to lead her from her own misgivings.

‎‭"Onnnhhhhh, fuck," Kinzie groaned pornographically. Her body sank into the palm of 𐰯𐰞𐰅𐰗's hand. Susurrus clicks and hums egged Kinzie on. Her ears were hot. Her hands were tingly and numb, her toes ached from how they dug into the floor. When the Soldier began to twist her wrist and piston into Kinzie with steady force, Kinzie could only think to babble: "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

‎‭𐰯𐰞𐰅𐰗 chuckled, evidently pleased, and continued to work Kinzie's cunt to the energetic encouragement of the fox-girl's reactions. The hard points of her chelicerae latched onto the tip of Kinzie's ear, and 𐰯𐰞𐰅𐰗 inched kisses all down the side of the girl's face and neck neck, until she was in humming against Kinzie's throat.

‎‭"Stop thinking, and beg for it, 𐰚𐰄𐰣𐰔𐰄𐰅."

"Please, please, please," Kinzie pleaded.

‎‭Before Kinzie realized what she was doing, her body was grinding and humping against 𐰯𐰞𐰅𐰗's hand, panting and barking. An irresistible, manic urgency broke open the eggshell of her heart, flooding her body with need. The balls of her feet slipped and strained backward as she whined then yipped and looked back and up at 𐰯𐰞𐰅𐰗's face. Kinzie's eyes were so big and wet and hungry, and the exact same could be said for 𐰯𐰞𐰅𐰗.

‎‭"Not quite." ‎‭𐰯𐰞𐰅𐰗 whispered. "𐰽𐰀𐰣𐰀 𐰖𐰀𐰞𐰋𐰀𐰺𐰢𐰀𐰽𐰃 𐰽𐰘𐰖𐰞𐰅𐰑𐰄𐰢."

Hours passed in fuzzy minutes.

TV voice:
Vegan beer and burger bar,
kissing Folu on the mouth
late-night talk-show book review,
splitting headache, life insurance,
soft-core porn-star fan-subscription,
corporate travel content clips.
Plotting daring midnight tryst;
weather, traffic, breakfast sandwich.
Doctors yawning, checking levels,
sweepstakes weekend getaway,
Angel voice says end it all.

TV voice:
Vegan beer and burger bar,
Folu whines about her boss.
Minutes bite days out of hours.
Folu whines about her work-life
balance, diet, friends, and gender.
Angel voice says she's a tranny.
Colleen voice says obvi, thank you,
for such cutting insight, also
fuck you, get lost. Then the TV:
Two for one shrimp scampi dinner
recalled for e. coli outbreak.
Making Folu fall head over
heels and try to give a shit.
Suck it up and make herself
swallow cock by inch-by-inch.
Orchard Fresh cran-apple juice:
Tiny straw pierce paper box.
Stitches snip't by steel scissors.
Pizza on a plastic tray,
making plans to run away.

TV voice:
Vegan beer and burger bar.
Caught out by teens on the street
acting out their lives for skits.
Journeys of their self fulfillment
live and streaming, views for love:
What's your summer playlist sleeper
pick and what's your body count?
What's the one sure fire trick to
get a girl you like to eat less?
What's your blood type, name, and star sign?
How about your job? Religion?
Therapy: the key to joy or
just big-pharma product placement?
What's the secret path to love and
what's the secret path to money?
Angel voice says kill yourself.
Colleen voice says I just might.
TV voice says brand new frame and
mattress only half a year of
untaxed wages. Folu voice says
This should do it.

Blonde curls — cut choppy in homage to an actress loved by recency bias — bob on the breath of my hopeful birthday wish for a fun summer. Cameras click and flash in slow Hollywood clarity. My eyes sparkle. My cheeks are apples, and my teeth are peppermint stripes of enamel and gums. Presents are piled up high behind me, and family crowds in close at the sides. Everything is perfect.

When the media stream from the neural assistant went dead, Colleen cried. All the thoughts in her head deflated; flag sans wind. A nonstop stream of sodexo imagery and one-channel television released a 72-consecutive-hour electroshock grasp on her consciousness, and in that absence an intellectual nausea arose that rebelled against knowing, thinking, remembering, and existing.

Folu held her and gently rocked her back and forth.

"We don't have much time and we'll need to be careful... But we're going to get out of here." Folu said. "Together."

Colleen clung to Folu's shoulders and sobbed: "I want a cigarette so bad."

Gift wrap laughs maso-ecstatic in my ravenous fingers and I do not care what lies beneath. I hold up a box, angular and glossy, beside my face. I glows with love for the photos. Five girls my age, my best friends, squeeze in close and squeal with delight. Somewhere nearby, a thin pair of curtains are tossed aside by a moss-covered breeze. A cicada-hum rattles faintly in the distance.

Alone, after another day of tests, and she'd been entrusted with the walk across the hall back to her room on her own. In the days since jailbreaking her Neural Assistant. Colleen had been good. Colleen had been well-behaved. Colleen's short leash had been granted a precious length of slack.

— — {
reminder: {[
| Scheduled Notification = > {
> [~"30 minutes overdue for dinner. Return to room."~]
}
]}
} — —

Colleen sneered.

Today, Folu had been compelled to install the latest iteration of what was being called a "command module" on Colleen's Neural Assistant, which annoyed her with zappy productivity-focused messages, telling her where to be and when. Colleen coached herself to keep in mind the alternative, and with that in mind she felt fine about the current state of things. Folu had apparently made some special alterations to keep it as unobtrusive as possible, while still satisfying Nadia. A hero.

Colleen swung her legs over the edge of the operating table. When her toes touched the tile floor, a chill rippled up her spine, from head to tail-tip. She felt fragile.

She hadn't looked in a mirror in days, but she was sure that she had lost muscle definition, sure that she felt fatter, that she was paler, with heavier bags under her eyes, new wrinkles in her brow.

Everyone involved should be killed. She should get to kill everyone involved. If she was lucky, and if Folu remained hopelessly naive...

A muffled voice sing-songed in the hall: "...Janitorial has double the operating expenses of the rest of us put together, and you can't clean an air-scrubber?"

The doors to the surgical theater slammed open, and Colleen blinked at Nadia Amparo.

Nadia clucked her tongue when she saw Colleen was still there, but she mouthed "don't mind me," and with an eyeroll she continued yelling into a small black smartphone on her march to the far side of the room. She stopped in front of a chrome countertop. She rinsed her hands off in a sink. She pinned her phone to her shoulder with her cheek: "Chip, I don't want to be rude, but I do want to be clear. If you can't get these readings to acceptable levels, you will be dumped into an incinerator at some point. I feel like you're not really grasping that as reality, so I just want to - yes, see, okay, that's great. That's what I want to hear. Thank you."

Her shapeless labcoat flapped around her while she shook the water off her hands, clicked off her phone, and snatched a few items up off the nearby countertop.

"That seems bad." Colleen coughed.

"Eh! Air filters are fucked. We're all gonna die." Nadia shrugged and waggled a thermos at Colleen. "Forgot my coffee."

Nadia popped the cap on it and looked inside.

"Eugh," she groaned to herself and then slugged back the contents in four or five gulps.

Nadia pulled an apple from her lab coat pocket, and rinsed off a scalpel that shone into her grip from who knows where. Colleen's stomach rumbled.

"So fucked we can't get a half-decent espresso down here. We're breeding rabbits and dogs, but heaven forbid we go over-budget on beans."

Colleen's voice was measured, a defensive monotone. "And you're not even eating congealed spaghetti from a bag for half of your meals."

Nadia half-turned, eyes bright, with a quarter teaspoon of surprise stirred into her expression. "Gross. Really? Is that what we serve test subjects?"

Nadia sliced the fruit into pieces. Colleen watched her.

Nadia sidled up against Colleen's perch on the table. Colleen eyed the glinting blade flashing between so-sure surgeon fingers, the droplets of apple juice, dripping.

There was a primordial prep-versus-nerd miasma that brewed like home-made chloramine between them, though which was ammonia and which was bleach was anyone's guess. Radio-static-ghosts of unsent text messages searched for long-lost phone numbers to cyberbully. The steady tick of haptic feedback on a touch screen, thumped through phantom thumbs, a contact list ghost-burned into retinas. One name highlighted, one person she could always rely on. The artifice of burner accounts and anonymous asks, the intimate honesty in wanting each other dead. Colleen's hatred of Nadia was so fundamentally middle-school that it was embarrassing.

Nadia noisly chomped an apple slice. Colleen exhaled disdain. "I've been fucking your transvestite to try and get out of here."

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

Nadia smiled.

Colleen continued. "He's useful, but he's an awful lay."

"Mm. Yeah, Adrian's been obsessed with you since day one. I'm not surprised she's the weak link here." Nadia said through a mouthful of her own apple slice. "She's the one who rooted your neural assistant? Clever."

"You knew?" Colleen asked, and Nadia nodded her head.

Colleen sighed, and there was a short pause between them.

Colleen said. "He's kind of convincing."

"What?" Nadia asked. "You mean as a woman?"

"Right." Colleen said.

Nadia snorted. "I almost forgot you were like this."

"What! I'm serious!" Colleen balked.

"I know." Nadia covered her mouth with her wrist, delight playing behind her eyes.

"I meant it as a compliment." Colleen frowned.

"'Kind of convincing,' after she's been at it for like twenty years, is not a compliment, Collie." Nadia laughed through a mouthful of apple. "What a tragedy!"

"Well, how am I supposed to know?" Colleen sneered. "My secretary - Margo - I think he was gay. And very attractive! Adrian's a lot like him. What's wrong with being interested in an emotionally intelligent man?"

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

"I wouldn't know!" Nadia wiped a tear off of her cheek, still giggling. "You're a disaster, Collie. I love it."

Collen gagged.

Another long pause hung between them while Nadia munched.

"Well, I'll have to break the two of you up." Nadia eventually sighed. "I'd love to have her executed, but unfortunately she's the only woman on the planet that understands the interfaces we're working with. Believe it or not, we actually are making progress."

Colleen rolled her eyes.

"She'll be really disappointed. I think she likes you a lot." Nadia's tone turned sincere. "What were you thinking coming down here, Collie?"

"I don't know. I just lost it. I was having a bad day." Colleen said.

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

"That's so like you." Nadia said. "I missed you."

"Uh huh," Colleen said. "I bet."

"I mean it." Nadia said and reached out to touch Colleen's arm. "You've always understood-"

Colleen swatted her away. "Keep your fucking hands off me."

— — {
reminder: {[
| Behavioral Violation = > {
> [~"Do not strike your handler."~]
}
]}
} — —

Nadia scrunched her face in annoyance, paused for a deep breath, and said. "It's a shame that all those corporate diversity trainings don't do anything."

"Or you wouldn't be stuck trying to build a mind control chip that can make me gay, so you can fix your pathetic, lonely childhood." Colleen said.

— — {
impulse: {[
| Behavioral Suggestion = > {
> [~"Show deference to your handler."~]
}
]}
} — —

Nadia's face, twisted. "After fifteen years of this, you'd think that —"

"Am I wrong? Fuck Folu, you're the one who's been obsessed with me your whole miserable life." Colleen continued.

— — {
impulse: {[
| Behavioral Suggestion = > {
> [~"Show deference to your handler."~]
}
]}
} — —

Colleen winced as she finished: "And you have nothing to show for it. Sad."

Nadia's face was blank. She deposited the rest of her apple into Colleen's hands.

— — {
impulse: {[
| Behavioral Suggestion = > {
> [~"Clean your handler's fingers."~]
}
]}
} — —

Nadia wiped the juices from her fingers onto the breast pocket of her labcoat. "Collie, I think my word choice has triggered some things in you that I did not intend. Further conversation is going to be a waste of our time, if you're just going to treat me like a predator. Which we both know, I am not."

"That's bullshit. What we both know is that—"

Nadia cleared her throat. "We can talk about this more later, if you like. But the only way you're leaving this facility is through a chimney. I really hope you can take that fact to heart. Once you've faced reality, maybe we can finally start to move on. Maybe, we can heal some of the trauma from all the mean things we've said to each other. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Nadia stormed off.

While the doors swung open and shut, Colleen took a bite of the apple. Then she spit it out.

Red Delicious. Sociopathic.

Waterlogged planks croak and grunt. I kick my legs back and forth, in pyroclastic quiet while the sun gloops to the horizon, red and molten behind a black band of trees. My willowy arm rocks back and forth overhead while a neighborboat bobs away. Dopplered goodbyes fade lonely, rubber-tipped sneakers carve cups of jade water. At my back, a home tops a hill: parapets freshly shingled and battlements gutter-cleaned. White stucco siding grays from evening orange to evening blue.

Folu didn't show up the next day to administer pills, nor the next, nor the next after that. One of Nadia's other lackey's — not Becker, whose thumb was still in a splint, but Min — attended to that task. Colleen asked about the weather and current events, and they chatted about their families. Min (not much to look at as an aging desk jockey) was surprisingly informed on cryptofinance policy which made for stimulating conversation.

Apparently his youngest son was fresh off of a sports-betting ban and looking to get into more mature books. Colleen hadn't given much thought to the stuff lately but she'd staked her first campaign on cryptocurrency regulation so she stayed up to date on the talking points. She got the sense that Min was an old-school voter that had switched camps and rallied behind her.

Through Min, she tried to get a sense on the other doctors' political leanings as well. Afreo was a single issue voter, enthusiastically supportive of Colleen's social media deregulation platform but unsatisfied with her results. Poji was a true-blue Gaean Authority guy, a bottom-line guy, a "give it all for the cause" guy. Apathetic toward colonial politics. And as for Becker, Colleen was writing writing him off as a lost cause. What with the thumb thing.

Colleen had won with less.

Pajama'd in cotton shorts-too-short, and fleece shirt-too-big, I click restlessly around on brand new phone. Inaugural group chats formed. Picture of the dog smashed as a champagne-bottle into the blank voyage of virgin photo gallery. I pace around my room, tap tap tap, frown frown frown. I toss my phone on the bed, and look in the mirror. I tie back my hair and pull a pair of jeans over my shorts.

Colleen was watering a small, hardy vine-cutting planted in a recycled plastic sour-cream tub, which Min had dropped off the week before, when Nadia arrived at the door with a knock. Nadia must have taken notice at some point, because as she let herself in, she dragged behind her a big, leafy plant in a heavy, self-watering pot.

Comedically, it was about as tall as Nadia herself. A tropical tree with wide/flat/green leaves growing in spade shapes; the sort of thing you buy a friend as a wedding gift, and years later, unbeknownst to anyone, it ends up as a deeply personal symbol for how it's impossible to hard-work your way into marital bliss with someone who belongs in the sweaty jungle but has been planted firmly in the guest bedroom of a pent-house suite, maintained at a balmy 72-degrees year-round.

It reminded Colleen of one she had at home.

"Knock, knock! G'morning, Collie. Have a minute?" Nadia plopped the plant in a corner and clapped the dirt off her hands. "I wanted to apologize for the way I spoke to you the other day, so I got you a little something to spruce the place up. Drab in here, huh?"

Colleen looked down at the sytrofoam cup of water in her hands, and wished it was glass. "It is, a little, isn't it! Oh well, thanks for the tree. That'll help."

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

"And I remember what you said about your meal plan. I pushed through an upgrade; you're on the staff diet now. I think it's subs for lunch and turkey dinner later on tonight. On Fridays we put in take-out orders. You're welcome." Nadia said.

"That's very nice of you, Nadia." Colleen said.

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

"Totally!" Nadia said, then walked close. "Alright, Collie. Up on the bed. You've got pills to take, and then I think it's time we talk about what the future looks like for you here."

A few moments and some paperwork later, Colleen was gripping a pen with dagger violence.

"You're out of your mind if you think I'm going to consent to this." Colleen said calmly.

"It's not about consent, Collie. It's about transparency." Nadia said. "I'm serious about that. No more surprises. We play by consistent rules down here. Better behavior correlates with better outcomes. I want you to trust me, just like I want to trust you."

"You want to trust me," Colleen chirped. "Which is why I haven't seen—"

Nadia stayed firm. "Better behavior correlates with better outcomes. You can trust that."

"What are you fucking—" Colleen nearly shouted, but reigned it in with a deep breath, then continued.

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

"What are you talking about? 'Better outcomes'? Your mind control shit doesn't even compare to the stuff on this list, Nadia. Here's some transparency for you: I don't care how transparent you're being. If you think I'm going to roll over when you threaten to me with, among other things—" Colleen looked down at the pamphlet, "what the fuck is a glossectomy?"

— — {
reminder: {[
| Behavioral Violation = > {
> [~"Do not curse at your handler."~]
}
]}
} — —

"Tongue amputation." Nadia contributed, helpfully.

Colleen surged to her feet, looming high and mighty over Nadia, hellfire in her eyes. "Are you listening to yourself? You're a fucking lunatic, I'm not going to—"

Hateful screeds ring operatic tenor through the bones of a house, gagged by cotton-candy insulation and drywall chalk. Outside my Rapunzel-tower window the last purple of daytime smoulders across the lake. A house built too sturdy to quake quietly bears the indignity of a door slammed full force. A second later, outside a different window, an engine growls. Headlights flashbulb. A gate opens. Gravel noisily begs permit into the rubber grooves of four fleeing tires. Rearlight-reds pass from the left side of my eyes to the right while I watch from above.

A pearly white tendon split and snapped like an old rubber band finally giving up. Someone's polyisoprened hands looped a string around the ragged end of tendon, pulled it over a metal cap adhered to bone, and pinned it down.

Colleen's head leaned to the side, opposite the surgical site at her hip. Her forehead was hot, the tip of her nose was burning. Her thoughts were a mudslide into the basin of a quivering bottom-lip. Her skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat and disinfectant. She winced under the spotlights. Her naked chest raised and lowered in dramatic heaves. Electrodes glued to her pectorals monitored her heartrate. She felt nothing, except for the tingling in her face.

"Nadia... No more..." Colleen mewled. A pathetic moan shook her rosy cheeks. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. Please."

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

Adorned in blood spattered apron and respirator, hair tucked under a surgical cap, plastic face shield catching the light — Nadia turned off the heat-knife. Beside her, Dr. Min leaned in with forceps and stitched through soft tissue with care.

"We're almost done, sweetheart." Nadia incised a smile. "You're looking great."

Dr. Min looked up and joked with a friendly grin. "Yep. Take it slow, and you'll be back on your foot in no time."

Colleen smiled at Min's joke. She didn't understand why it was funny. Maybe it was because the look in Nadia's eyes had gone from friendly to sour so quickly that it made the emotional exercise on Nadia's face seem especially plastic. Colleen tried to laugh but her lungs could barely coordinate to breathe.

"Dr. Min," Nadia said.

"Mm?" The man hummed, his attention on his stitches, expert hands plying a hooked needle via shiny, chrome tweezers. Sheets of muscle stretched to wrap over over bisected bone.

"I'd ask that you remain professional with my dear guest." Nadia asserted.

Dr. Min opened his mouth, closed it again, and quirked his eyebrow. Then nodded.

"Very good." Nadia said.

And so Dr. Min's face soured and he quipped. "Dr. Amparo, I am up to my wrists indulging your psychosexual peculiarities. If you want me to navigate your paranoid inferiority complex as well, you'll have to wait fifteen minutes."

So Nadia waited her fifteen minutes, and when Min's job had finished stitching Colleen back together, Nadia walked over and she cut off two of his fingers. This, he did not enjoy in the slightest.

On landmine tip-toes, I creak down stairs through the guts of my castle. In the second-floor den, classic movies crack thundering jokes from a rabbit-eared television set. Airless, I passes by, while black and white bolts illuminate my mother, planted lightning rod stiff into the middle of a green couch.

Uncaught, I bribe kitchen guard-dogs with pantry cheese-cubes, lit by microwave digital clock.

On the lawn, outside, the air is for swimming, and stardroplets on the grass reflect the majesty of space above.

"I'm interviewing for the vacancies today and tomorrow. Let's keep our expectations low and slow until we can get those spots filled. That's it for announcements. Any items for stand-up?" Nadia said.

Colleen couldn't see the screen. She sat on the floor beside Nadia's desk. Her legs stopped just above the knee, capped by white plastic thimbles. Her hips ached terribly, almost as bad as her head. She slugged back a few mouthfuls of water from a bottle and .

Nadia added. "And let's try to save chatter for afterward. "

Nadia's quarters shared a generic floorplan, with the many offices and barracks and mess halls and labs and other facilities of the underground complex. Together, it was all joined by series of winding hallways. A single door from the exterior corridor opened into a large square suite, that was was adjoined by four smaller, square chambers: two on either side. The suite and any rooms with a corridor-facing wall harbored windows that, in this residential area of the facility, were mostly boarded up.

In Nadia's apartment, the front door opened immediately upon a retro-mid-century scene. The living area began with a tan loveseat. It was accompanied by a matching shag rug, a tasteful end-table made from a beautiful piece of reclaimed wood, and a reading nook. To complete the affair, a humble vinyl music collection and record player dwelt in the bottom drawers of a converted steamer-trunk cocktail bar cabinet.

While space allotted to the living area predominated the main room, a sliver of back wall housed a spartan, chrome-fitted kitchenette, with just enough elbow room to swing a knife: sink/fridge/dishwasher/cupboards.

To the left of the kitchen was the door to the in-unit laundry, and storage, while on the right of the kitchen was the lavatory - shower, tub, sink: uneventful and scrubbed sterile. Immediately, neighboring that, still on the rightward wall was the door to Nadia's bedroom. It was taken up almost entirely by a four-poster bed, which Colleen could see from spot on the floor of the office.

Beige carpet tiles had been glued down to the office floor, and on top of that sat a fraying, red, velvet rug dyed with arabesque patterns. One wall of the office served as accent with dark wood paneling, while the other three walls had been painted a deep sage green. The overhead lights were never toggled on. Instead brass floor-lamps with novelty edison-bulbs occupied any corners not taken by tropical plants, and afforded the bare essential luminance to get around.

Her desk was modest, with a glass topper. Imperious bookshelves, lurked around the perimeter of the office, stuffed with academic texts, financial records, self-help books, the odd graphic novel or stuffed animal.

The inkling for a cigarette and a highball tickled the back of Colleen's jaw, though accessing any deeper feelings or thoughts proved difficult. Up until a few days ago she had been alternating through opposite bouts of dense unconsciousness and excruciating nerve pain while lying on the floor of Nadia's bedroom, wearing a medical smock and living on microwavable soups.

Colleen was sure that she wasn't in shock, but she wasn't confident what she was in. Thus far she had intellectualized her captivity as one of mild abuse which had significant room to grow worse, if poorly managed.

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

She was appreciative that she was afforded pain medication and a quiet place to sleep.

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

She recognized that Nadia's madness was a whimsical thing, and that there was a great deal of obsessive love within it.

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

While Nadia helped Colleen bathe (which was daily), Colleen never got a good angle on the mirror. Nadia had occasionally half-joked about getting Colleen bowls to eat from off the ground. Colleen, up to that point, had not really argued the point. She thought that at least a water bowl might serve up her own reflection.

Colleen knew her hair must be a disaster, but at least, in a major victory, Colleen had been afforded pajamas. A pair of fluffy fleece short-shorts, a synthetic-cotton under-shirt with a cartoon character's face, a warm flannel overshirt. Nadia's clothes were ugly, but Colleen had been assured it was a temporary measure, and it was pleasant to be covered up.

As for the loss of her legs, she had not grappled with that at all. Nor had she grappled with the loss of Folu, or Min, or any other familiar faces.

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

Colleen felt a twinge, an almost-pinprick on the bottom of her feet. She reached to scratch them, felt nothing, looked to find them, startled herself by their lack, and toppled over sideways.

"—that's a good point, thank you—"

She banged her head into the side of Nadia's desk.

"Hold that thought, Dr. Folu."

It didn't hurt, but a bell-toll gonged through her sinuses and down the back of her brainstem. Colleen crumpled until her cheek met plush rug. A wave of nausea threatened to push its way out of her throat, and then it did, in wet, stringy vomit that pooled beside her face.

"Oh, Collie, what a mess."

The bile stung her mouth inside and out: like electricity running through circuitry embedded in her cheeks.

My hands shake. I look from lake to house to boat to house to lake. My nails fumble at knots, getaway-loose tied. A toad croaks, but I don't know it's a stick underfoot broken by erstwhile spy. It could be a toad. The toad croaks again, and I hurry to finish my task. My heart tickles my esophagus, and I grasp the side of the rowboat. I thrust it bodily out onto the water, and crinkle the still surface. I leaps in, and I am bedazzled by midnight sky.

Colleen wheezed. Heart raced. Fists clenched. She was falling. Or floating, suspended in a dark abyss. She looked every direction, but the shadows were all-consuming. Something constricted around her limbs. Her heart beat faster. Her breaths, shorter. Her toes tingled, and then her fingers.

A searing white rectangle of light shred through the darkness and disappeared.

Colleen choked back a scream and recoiled. She thrashed out with an arm and her knuckles bumped against something hard and flat. She was on her back. She pushed the flat thing with her fist, then knocked her knuckles against it. No give at all. Beneath her shoulderblades, fabric rustled. She reached out with her left hand and whacked it down. She found something soft, but firm and flat.

Walls. Floors.

The panicked pace of her heart decelerated. She inhaled, one two three, then screwed her eyes for five, six, seven eight. Exhale, nine, ten, eleven. And around the clock again.

When Colleen opened her eyes next, the darkness was not so perfectly dark. The dim halo of light from a fire-alarm's low-battery indicator crept across the ceiling of the living room, and Colleen could almost make out the corner of a partially-closed bedroom door as it cut a sharp angle into that backdrop.

"Let me out." Colleen muttered in a daze. "I need out."

She heard someone move and shift nearby. Her ears perked. The dark strained toward the ceiling. When she thought it was safe, Colleen pushed herself up into a sitting position. Pillows and blankets scattered around her. Someone moaned. It was Nadia.

Nadia turned on the flashlight of her phone, and it illuminated Colleen like a spotlight. "Collie, what are you doing up? Go back to bed."

Colleen stared into the light. She could see the pinks of Nadia's fingertips that wrapped around the phone. She could almost see the red fuzz of Nadia's hair in the darkness beyond that searing white star. "I got scared."

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

Nadia lowered the phone, turned off the flashlight. Blankets rustled. Nadia yawned and her voice was stuffed into a pillow. "Go back to bed."

"I'm sorry. Okay." Colleen said.

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

Colleen remained seated until her body ached, and still she remained until she could hear occasional little snores gossip sweetly from the direction of Nadia's bed.

She tried to stand, couldn't, obviously, and her lips curved back.

"Fuck this," Colleen hissed, and balanced on her butt. She used her arms to propel herself forward out of the nest of pillows and blankets, over to the side of Nadia's bed.

Colleen reached up, around, touched a rectangular piece of rubber: Nadia groaned, but did not awaken. Colleen snatched the phone away away and squeezed it into the crevice of her armpit, flexing her bicep to keep it cinched in place as she used her hands to navigate awkwardly out of the bedroom. She dragged herself across the apartments, to the office, where she gingerly closed the door behind herself.

Colleen sagged, heavy as a punching bag. She swallowed exertion, and tapped the phone's touch screen. A gray phone wallpaper prompted her for six digits.

She punched in the numerical code of Nadia's birthday.

That didn't work so Colleen dug deep into her memory, to recall Nadia's mom's birthday.

— — {
reminder: {[
| Memory Metadata = > {
> [~473892.~]
}
]}
} — —

Colleen punched in the numbers. That didn't work either.

She paused a long time.

Colleen tried 555555.

Then Colleen tried 666666. Colleen tried 696969. Colleen tried 420420. Colleen tried 111111, then 222222, then 333333, then 999999, 123456, 654321, 123123, 123321, 369369, 777777, 000000, 012345, and 543210.

None worked. Each time she submitted a new password, she patiently waited 5 seconds before entering the next one, sweat dripping down her nose. Time passed and nowhere could she tell how much.

"What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck," Colleen prayed to herself as her thumbs hovered over the number pad on the screen before she punched in the next one.

A memory popped into her head:

— — {
reminder: {[
| Memory Replay = > {
> [~Bobbing near the dock was a freshly-painted pontoon boat and a handful of people that Colleen didn't know. Her eyes laser-targeted at the back of the group where a girl, about her own age, was clinging onto some adult's leg and peeking around them.~]
},
| Memory Metadata = > {
> [~XXXXXX.~]
}
]}
} — —

Colleen's lips quivered and she punched in the numbers.

She was rewarded with the silent unveiling of Nadia's home screen:

• the current time: 4:27am
• a list of recent notifications, people's names & work updates
• a list of unintelligible apps with no clear or discernible purpose to each among them
• a background of Colleen's sleeping face decorated with neon red hearts and a soft-light filter

Colleen tried to access the internet, which failed. Then email, which failed. Then she called emergency services, which was met with a dial tone.

"What the fuck?" Colleen murmured to herself.

She navigated to Nadia's list of contacts, and scrolled down until she found the first familiar name: Adrian Folu.

Then she scrolled further until she found someone else. Nicholas Min.

Colleen hit call. The phone rang, and rang, and went dead. Colleen hit call again. Again the phone rang and rang and went dead.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." Colleen cursed.

Colleen checked the time. 4:29am.

A text alert popped up from Mark in Janitorial about air filters. Need more.

She winced, and scrolled to Folu's name. She hit call.

Ring. Ring. Click.

A tired, delicate voice. "Doctor Amparo?"

"Adrian." Colleen covered her mouth.

"Oh." Doctor Folu said. "Madame Lynxpin. Uhm. I'm not..."

"I need your help. We need to get out tonight. Do you know where Nadia's room is?"

"I just woke up, and it's..." Adrian continued.

"I'm trapped in her office. I need you to get me out of here. Can we just take the elevator back up? Please." Colleen's voice was frantic.

Doctor Folu groaned, "oh, hell. Four-thirty? I just got to sleep."

"I'm gonna die, Adrian. I need your help." Colleen begged.

"Madame Lynxpin. Why are you calling from Doctor Amparo's phone?" Adrian asked. "Did she put you up to this? To test me?"

"What?" Colleen said.

"I know what you said to Doctor Amparo about me."

"What are you talking about?" Colleen scoffed.

"You told her that you think I'm a man." Adrian said. "You told her about how I was the one to jailbreak your Neural Assistant. You put my life at risk."

"How the fuck did you hear that?" Colleen snapped, with a tenuous grasp on her volume control. "I didn't say any of that, at all."

Adrian said. "She showed me the clip. I heard the words out of your mouth. You've been manipulating me.."

Colleen's voice shook. Her hands shook. She pulled the phone away from her face and looked at the bright, bright screen glowing in the darkness. "She's killing me, Adrian. She cut off my fucking legs."

"Okay, and?" Adrian said. "I told you she was going to do that kind of thing. I told you everything you needed to know to get out of here. I came up with a whole plan for us to escape. And you're the one who ruined it. And what happened to the way you felt about me? Was that a lie?"

"This- This isn't the time, Adrian," Colleen was stunned.

"You're crude, selfish, and unstable. And all of that I can stomach." Adrian took a deep breath. "But you lied to me on top of everything else. You used me. I'm reporting this to Doctor Amparo in the morning."

Colleen started to cry. She sucked in a deep, snotty gulp of air, from the wet sniffles that gummed up her sinuses, and she hit the end-call button before she could say anything she might regret.

In a daze, she stared at the phone screen. Her fingers moved with mechanical stilt to the phone's call history and she punched the delete button on the most recent entries. Her thumb was twitching. Her ribcage heaved.

The phone screen went black.

Colleen opened the door to the office. She dragged her body across the kitchen, and squinted up at the countertop, scanning until her eyes found a magnetic strip of knives.

She placed the phone on the floor, gripped the edge of the countertop and with a great effort she pulled herself so her elbows and chin came over the lip of the counter. Her muscles rattled beneath her skin. She thrust herself up with all her might. She braced her diaphragm against the cold, chrome surface.

Colleen reached out with one arm to the knives on the magnetic rack. Her fingertips brushed a smooth handle, then brushed again. Her position on the counter started to slip. She yipped, and slapped her reaching hand down to stop herself from falling backward.

From the other room she heard Nadia: "Snrrrk, mnhuh."

A second passed, a minute more, but no further sound came.

Colleen lunged for the closest knife, grasped it by the handle, and slipped back off the edge of the counter. Her short shorts offered no protection when her ass collided with the tile. The shock to her thighs offered bone-grating pain. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming.

She dragged herself the rest of the way to Nadia's bedroom, and used one of the corners of the four poster bed to pull herself up on top of the mattress. Nadia moaned and rolled over onto her back.

Colleen lurched forward and sat on top of Nadia's hips. Nadia grunted, and waved a hand at Colleen, but Colleen slapped it away.

"Really, Collie?" Nadia squinted up at her in the dark. "I thought we were—"

Colleen's vision had adjusted to see the glint of those sleepy eyes, the hint of her nose, the curve of her jaw. The fluffy nest of her curly red mane.

Blood pooled in Colleen's mouth and dripped down the edge of her lip. Still-wet tears dried on the outside edges of her cheeks.

"Colleen." Nadia said, quiet, even. Nadia's heartbeat thumped heavy through her belly and into the stubs of Colleen's thighs.

"Nadia." Colleen said. "Grab the headboard."

Nadia, slowly, obeyed

"Okay." Nadia said. "Now what?"

"I'm thinking." Colleen said.

Nadia asked: "Question for you."

Colleen said: "Sure."

"Is the plan to kill me?" When there was no answer, Nadia tried again. "Or to hurt me?"

"I'm not sure." Colleen admitted

Nadia adjusted her grip on the headboard. "Okay. Got it."

Colleen lay the tip of the knife against the lace fabric of Nadia's vintage nightgown, and dragged it from collarbone to bellybutton. The fabric split readily, but the skin, mostly, did not break. Nadia winced when the knifetip dropped a centimeter to nestle into the pit of her bellybutton.

— — {
reminder: {[
| Behavioral Violation = > {
> [~"Do not harm your handler."~]
}
]}
} — —

"I just ask, because I want a vote in where you stab first." Nadia said. The bags under her eyes trembled in sync with a lip-quiver. "If you plan to start stabbing."

Colleen idly twisted the knife. Nadia winced.

"I want out. I want brunch with the girls. I want to get my hair done. I want..." Colleen shook her head. "I want to talk shit about Bella Downey's fat fucking husband."

Nadia exhaled. "I can do gossip. I can do hair. I can do mimosas and eggs. No problem. But if word gets out about this facility, everyone in it is as good as dead. So no, you are not getting out."

Colleen broke eye contact with Nadia. The knife sagged loose in her hands. She gazed softly up at the ceiling. "I want a cookout at the lake. I want to drink a highball in the kitchen, while Courtney Fawx complains about her backsplash and how expensive it is to add a four-seasons room to their fourth floor renovation. All the boys will be outside, standing around the grill, looking like idiots, and when they shout that dinner will be ready in an hour for the third time that day, I want to turn up the radio and hear some stupid top forties pop song. Theresa Harron will be pregnant with her third, and she'll look like a perfect saint, until her sticky, ugly kids come in and ask her where the slip'n'slide is. Like a perfect bitch, she'll say 'ask your father'. And when the kids run outside, I want to offer her a cigarette just to force her to say no. Maybe she'll look hungry like a starving dog. And I want to smoke that cigarette, and look out the window, across the lake, and see the house where Nadia Amparo grew up, looking like shit, and I want to say 'Jee, it has been ages, I wonder what she got up to'. And then I want to stamp my cigarette out in that gorgeous, copper farmhouse sink."

"And you think I'm the freak for dissecting beautiful women," Nadia scoffed.

— — {
impulse: {[
| Behavioral Suggestion = > {
> [~"Respect your handler."~]
}
]}
} — —

"You fucking are!" Colleen said. Her arms raised, defensive, threatening the blade.

Nadia continued, "but you're normal for wanting to fuck their houses."

Colleen gawped, flabbergasted. "It's not like that!"

"Oh, fuck you." Nadia said.

"Fuck you," Colleen snarled.

"Tell me more about how you want your neighbors to clean your gutters, then." Nadia bleated.

Colleen had no retort to that. She slashed the knife wildly, and it bit across Nadia's face.

— — {
reminder: {[
| Behavioral Violation = > {
> [~"Do not harm your handler."~]
}
]}
} — —

Nadia screamed. Colleen slashed again, this time slicing into Nadia's outstretched forearm.

"I hate you." Colleen rasped and raised the knife high, to plunge it into Nadia's chest.

— — {
impulse: {[
| Behavioral Suggestion = > {
> [~"Drop the knife."~]
}
]}
} — —

Colleen tensed, for a split second.

Nadia's palm slammed hard into Colleen's cheek. Colleen collapsed off the bed, onto the floor. The knife slid sideways, out the doorway and out of reach.

Colleen's face burned. Pain shot throughout her hips and thighs. She tried to crawl away, but Nadia was up. Out of the bed and blood everywhere, Nadia kicked Colleen in the belly. Then again in the chest. Then again between the legs. Whever Colleen was unprotected.

"Why are you always such a bitch to me?" Nadia wailed.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Colleen wailed.

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

"My whole fucking life! Fuck you, Colleen! Fuck you!" Nadia screeched.

Colleen moved her arms to cover her head, body bruise-forming and sobwracked. She begged, "It hurts! Stop, please, stop, it hurts!"

A breath-and-a-half heelwise rammed into her solar-plexus and up her throat. The emptied lungs left Colleen sputtering. At once Nadia was prostrate above Colleen, gripping her by the ears. Nadia started to say something, but whatever the words were, they were drowned out by the defibrilator-shock of Nadia's palm against Colleen's cheek, and her teeth clacked together like wind-chimes in her mouth.

Nadia yelled. Colleen wanted to cry. The room spun and the pain that now spread through all of her extremities began to congeal into some kind of full-body migraine. An electrified fog that numbed as much as it ached.

Nadia said something again. Colleen sniffed, and said, "I'm sorry. Please."

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

Nadia wrapped a fist in Colleen's hair. In a booming, angry-mother cadence, Nadia yelled. "Up. Crawl."

My arms pump oars; biceps dance-team-after-school-gymnastically worked. A delirious light collects in my eyes, I rip a desperate line straight down the middle of the lake. I tell myself that if anyone looks out their window, they will see me. I tells myself that no one is looking out their window at this hour. Panopticon encircled by an arena of perfectly sloped backyards and unlit homes, I tell myself that I better row faster just in case.

Colleen fell backward onto the tile floor of the bathroom. Nadia flicked the lightswitch and the searing fluorescent lights scorched Colleen's dark-adapted eyes. She grit her teeth and curled up, hands over face.

"I said I was sorry," she simpered, tail curling around her stomach, where she hugged the end to her chest. Her ears were low and her teeth were bared. "Why are you so fucking vile?"

— — {
impulse: {[
| Behavioral Suggestion = > {
> [~"Respect your handler."~]
}
]}
} — —

No more fists rained upon her.

Colleen spared a look up. She saw Nadia bite through a strip of gauze and clip it to her forearm. A big puffy bandaid was already stuck to her cheek, though it didn't cover the entire length of the cut. Colleen could tell that Nadia was ignoring her.

"Hey!" Colleen pushed. "I'm sorry."

"Shut up," Nadia said, and snatched a flat silver case from the medicine cabinet. With two fingers she tucked the case into the lea of her palm, then thumbed through a small plastic organizer filled to the brim with glass vials. Each was full of oily, clear fluid. From the floor Colleen had no way to tell one apart from another, but it seemed that Nadia did decide on a vial. She slammed the medicine cabinet shut and dropped to the floor beside Colleen with case and vial in hand.

"What are you doing?" Colleen asked.

"I said shut up," Nadia said. Nadia set the vial down and and flipped open the case. A syringe, chrome and borosilicate glass, and a set of reusable needles lay carefully couched in foam housings within the case. With a practiced motion, Nadia plucked and spun the pieces together. She pulled a long draw of fluid into the syringe.

"What is that?" Colleen said, urgent, hand reaching to grab Nadia's thigh.

Nadia batted her hand back, and huffed. "Leftovers from the lab."

She eyed the dosage closely. Colleen watched and shook. Nadia had a buzzing, toxic, yellow light cast a sickly halo. Nadia frowned harder, and new blood oozed down the brown of her blood-spattered cheek.

Without warning, she Nadia snatched Colleen's hand and yanked her arm taut in it's socket, uncaring and mechanical.

"Ow!" Colleen yipped.

"Make a fist." Nadia ordered. "Squeeze tight."

"No!" Colleen said. "Fuck you. I don't want to."

Nadia held her gaze, cold and steady.

Colleen swallowed hard. "I'm scared. What is that?"

"Painkiller," Nadia said. "We can skip it if you want."

Colleen whined, but she begged: "No, please, no. I want it."

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

She obediently made a fist and squeezed tight.

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

Nadia eased her grip a little bit and gently manipulated the veins beneath Colleen's wrist.

"Flex for me." Nadia said, and Colleen obeyed.

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

Nadia admired the anatomy a bit longer. Then she jabbed the needle into Colleen's wrist and emptied its contents into her bloodstream.

Sweat broke out across Colleen's chest, her forehead. Her cheeks and neck flushed hotter, and her shoulders sagged. One, two, three, she tried to inhale, and it was hard to fill her lungs all the way. The next breath was as if someone sat on top of her. She made to roll over. her muscles refused to comply. Her head would not lift more than an inch off the bathroom floor. And when her neck stopped cooperating, her head dropped all at once.

Nadia deposited the used syringe into a glass jar in the bath-tub marked "Dirty", then got up and walked away.

Already, Colleen could barely draw the air into her lungs at all. Panic set in. Heart-sprinting, body static, throat unbreathing, dead becoming. Stupid does as stupid is: Nadia wanted her dead, of course, was gonna kill her. Not painkiller at all, lethal injection instead, why did Colleen make that stupid fist, if she hadn't done that, then maybe– Colleen attempted to inhale and could not breathe– stupid, dying, dying, and she didn't do, didn't achieve anything, didn't say anything that mattered, what was even the point, why did this all happen? Because of an occasional electric shock? Who fucking cares? It can be so much worse. Nonsense. Fucking nonsense.

Her fingers twitched, she tried to shimmy her hip. Air choked in her throat.

She failed to scream out for help, for Dad, for Margo, for Tom, for John (her husband), for Folu, for anyone. Her face was full-flushed red. Her body was cold from the sweat, and her chest burned from the lack of air. Her vision blurred, her eyes glued to the doorway.

Nadia reappeared.

A thick plastic tube forced its way down Colleen's throat. Nadia squeezed a clear, rubber bottle. Air rushed into Colleen's lungs. Colleen sobbed. Tears streaked down the sides of her face. So grateful to be alive, so scared of choking to death again. Her skin buzzed. Nadia had lied to her. Everything hurt worse than before.

Like reading her mind, Nadia said (and fed her another breath), "I lied, it's not a painkiller. Do you know much about anesthaetic?"

Colleen did not, but she also did not have the muscular control to shake her head, so she simply cried.

"Well." Nadia said (breath). "It's Pavulon. You can look it up later."

Nadia grabbed a towel from off the towel-rack (breath) and placed it under Colleen's ass (breath). She grabbed the "Dirty" jar from the tub and set it down by Colleen's hips (breath), and opened the under-sink drawer to grab a 100-pack box of individually wrapped scalpels (breath).

"You stress me the fuck out, Collie. I stuck around a long time, in the hope that some day I'd see you rip wide open and fall apart; to see you stupid, unguarded, and overflowing. That's all I ever wanted for you." Nadia said, quietly, as she slathered an oily layer of antibacterial sanitizer over Colleen's belly, hips, thighs, pussy, ass. Along every crease and fold of skin between knee and bellybutton. Set-jaw clamped impassive and encyclopedia dry, eyes watering sensitive and wet. At some point she had donned nitrile gloves, and the motions of her hands crackled. At intervals tuned to the second she would reach up and pump air into Colleen's lungs. An act of religious ecstasy. The self-flagellation of beating a child. "I thought some day you would crack, and something softer and sweeter would hatch out. I waited around a long time for that. But I don't think you have a traumatized inner child, crying out for help. I think all you've got is a hit list and a temporary exception for useful idiots. I don't think you're a person, Collie. I think you're Boy King Midas, and everything you touch turns into a key to the gun cabinet."

In Type III (infibulation), the clitoris is amputated, the labia minora are shaved off, and incisions are made in the labia majora to create raw surfaces. These edges of the labia majora are brought together and made to fuse using thorns, poultices, or stitching, and the girl's legs are tied together for two to six weeks. The healed scar creates a “hood of skin” that covers the urethra and part or most of the vagina and acts as a physical barrier to intercourse. A small opening is left at the back to allow for the flow of urine and menstrual blood; the opening is surrounded by skin and scar tissue and is usually two to three centimeters in diameter but may be as small as the head of a matchstick.

I crash-land the prow of my vessel into the virgin mud at the far corner of my lake-neighbor's property line. My sneakers schlorp instantly-ankle-deep into untrodden shoremud. I raise myself bodily up the hill, then to the tree-line and along the manic trail of my heartbeat. Against wisdom and terror, my heart tows me in its wake. At the west side, at the bottom of a hill, I stands in the shadow of a house, like my own, but different. Black and blue; tall and impossible. It bids me welcome.

The lights flickered. Colleen breathed. The rug smelled like sandalwood.

Nadia sat at her desk and barked orders through her computer terminal. "Mark, I have been begging for something, for months. I am at my wit's end here. If you do not figure this out—"

Colleen pushed herself up on both hands, to the side of her hip in mermaid pose. Thighs scooped together into a leather harness, belted about her waist. Her eyes were sunken. Her hair was tied back in a thick and brusquely combed pony-tail.

Colleen whimpered.

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

She wobbled precariously, leaned heavily on the side-drawers of Nadia's desk. Nadia's hand curled into Colleen's hair and gently rubbed it. Colleen's head ached twice as much, and she grit her teeth to try and bear it.

Some of her clothes had been returned to her from safe-keeping in Nadia's top dresser drawer. A silk blouse with buttons undone halfway down her chest revealed half a nipple, a curve of breast, a hint of sternum. Her panties rode high up her hips as her elbows quivered.

"Nadia... Please...?"

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

"Of course, of course," Nadia said at a much more reasonable volume. "Sorry, baby. —Hey, Mark. I have to go. Solve this, or join Min in medical waste."

Nadia turned her attention to Colleen. Aggression tempered by care, she knelt down next to Colleen.

Nadia touched a stryofoam cup of apple juice to Colleen's lips, tainted with medicine. Colleen drank, sputtering only a little. Nadia's thumb captured the drool on her face and pushed it back into Colleen's mouth. "Every drop."

The pain relief wasn't instant, but it crept in slowly. At the edges of her eyes and spreading down through her brainstem: a cool relief. The pain in her head turned warm, and milky.

"Good. That looks better. What do you say, Collie?" Nadia said.

Colleen nodded, to the extent that her rapidly melting motor control allowed her.

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

Nadia rubbed Colleen's scalp a little more firmly, leaned down and cupped her chin. Her fingers massaged Colleen's jaw. Her breath was hot above Colleen's mouth. Her eyes were bright. Her bushy red hair clouded out the room; body-heat comfort entrancing. Colleen's gaze drooped from half-open to lidded.

— — {
impulse: {[
| Behavioral Suggestion = > {
> [~"Kiss your handler."~]
}
]}
} — —

Colleen turned her cheek. "Are we... gonna die down here?"

"Not so lucky, Collie." Nadia reeled her back in with a hooked finger. "Business as usual."

Colleen shuddered.

"Were you hoping?"

Colleen winced and shook her head.

— — {
impulse: {[
| Behavioral Suggestion = > {
> [~"Tell the truth."~]
}
]}
} — —

"I hate you." Colleen slurred.

Witching hour dark splits shadows into blue, and blue-black, and black. When I plot my course to siren-call, my thinking mind tells me the blues are anxiously bright. To wage her odyssey upon that black manse I dart from tree to shed to car to bush, and sidle along each. Mud trails behind me: an obvious clue in two-bit mystery. Detectives don't stop crime, I think, so who gives a shit. I presses my body orgasmically to the siding of my neighbor's home. Down, a few feet away from my ankle, a thin window level with the ground fans warm orange light onto the grass.

Dark blue-black cut open by yellow floodlight, painted sickly the little things beneath.

"Alright, Andromeda, up atop the rock," Nadia said. So vivid red in hands and mouth and hair. Nadia stamped a pedal on the ground.

Chrome platform lowered slow agleam to crave for her: welcome-wide as smile, as arm. Rough hands scooped her cat-limp from wheelchair, and thump. Aloned and center-staged.

A suggestion of afraid hinted at her heart, poco a poco accelerando, with no where to hide and no thing to fight. A gradual fear of giving and losing and giving and losing.

Squeaks rubbered over concrete. Silhouettes chattered and thrummed. Combined total forty years of medical training licked its lips in the dark, Cetus circling.

Feverish cheek and forehead, ear and jaw, pressed to hard metal for a drop of relief. Colleen curled fetal.

"I don't want to," she said. No one heard. Torso flexed, boney-soft. Lungs filled bellows-open, and she choked out a third of a sob, heartbeat plodding on a little faster, but not so fast as to have enough to give.

She lay and lay, and the noise, until all at once, Cetus rose to bite. Rows of fingers lunged upon her, intervening on a flesh that she had once owned. Pore replaced by needle-tip, blood dilute by this and that; elbows/wrists invalidated by restraining Velcro straps that hugged her flat into a single wormy lump.

Suspension hook threaded into the leather harness between her stumps, and rise and reel and rise and reel, on some steel cable that pulled her high into the dark. The table, tilted, nearly sideways, silver screen against which she hung upside down, like bait upon a line.

Her nipples pink and stiff, and prouder standing than any other scrap of what yet made up the remaining heap of Colleen Lynxpin. Her head lolled, her neck taut and vein-adorned.

Plastic piece fitted into her mouth, then forceps clamped around her tongue, with quick precision. Surgical steel left to dangle out between her teeth. Nadia sat with Cetacean-hunger, on the floor by Colleen's head. Adding weights onto the forceps, clamping tighter, pulling more. An agonizing ache in voicebox, Colleen whined and made eye-contact. Amparo purred; touched Lynxpin's cheek.

People who’ve had a partial glossectomy may still be able to form most sounds and words. Those who’ve had a total glossectomy will need to use a pen and paper or technology (such as a tablet or computer) to communicate.

Some people may be able to eat and drink normally after two weeks, while those who've had a total glossectomy may lose swallowing function.

People who still have at least half of their tongue base have good taste sensation. However, if your surgeon had to remove over half of your tongue during glossectomy, you may have trouble distinguishing certain tastes (dysgeusia).

It’s important to note, though, that some people who undergo total glossectomy can still taste and enjoy food.

Like a solar eclipse, my pupils are black: corona-encircled in iris light. I crouch in the dark, mouth half-open. I stare at the window. Nadia cuddles a large stuffed octopus and wears a green, flannel pajama set. She lays on her side, with her laptop propped up nearby: she idly schlicks, elbows gangly. I feel equally unsexy, but in the dark I cannot care. Occasionally, Nadia laboriously types out a paragraph with one hand. I obsess over her every movement. At some point, I'm not sure when, I removes my brand new phone from my jeans-pocket, and flips through my contacts.

A hunk of meat glistens upon a silver tray. It is red on the floor beneath Colleen's dead-eyed face. Crimson-aproned joy, hands clutched the back of Colleen's head, swung her close. Nadia's lips smeared against Colleen's cheek, and pressed hard into the fissures inside Colleen's mouth.

Colleen howled a quiet, roadkill sound, while Nadia licked along her stitches.

The kiss lasted long and hungry.

When it finally broke, the set of Nadia's jaw was softened by abject devotion. Colleen's tears flowed freely down her brow.

"I love you," Nadia said. "So much."

Colleen blinked through blood-tinged tears. Bewildered, broken-windowed, pain upon pain upon pain. And then from some place near the ceiling, a buzzing. And then down upon Nadia's shoulder, a grasshopper came to perch.

The noise of the room died.

Colleen tilted her head. A bewildered scowl, and then: a big red-toothed grin.

— — {
clicker: {[
| Click
]}
} — —

The facility erupted.

Running, sprinting, screaming, yelling: klaxons hammered, boots clapped heavy, through the rooms and halls and alleys. Fire snarled off in spouts, and then a bomb went off like thunder. Seismic shudders shook the dust from every corner midst the chaos.

Then hot clouds of whining locusts drilled holes through the dust-fog falling.
Every one a thumb-sized bullet, striking all who stood amid them.

Those who stopped and dropped to belly,
crawled and crept and hoped to hide.
Yet all across the ground and walls and
ceilings spread black carpets: ants in
columns, marching rank and file.
Shredding cloth and plaster, plastic,
door from knob, then bulb from light.

Soon then after came the beetles,
hound-like, drooling, heavy, quick.
Caught in pincers, wailing captives
dragged, encircled, thrash and kick.
Lined up to the wall by snapping
jaws, with hands behind their heads.

Next came Soldiers - spiders in the
shapes of men - and armor polished,
guns at ready, focus trained on
any sign of noncompliance.
Doctors, guards, and cleaning crew
bound with silk, organic glue.

Then the Healers: such a hurry.
Waspy, eager much to do.
Bones to mend and scrapes to bind, and
then the Friends, and then the Workers,
spiny cohorts to keep order.

Last and bringing up the rear, the
final bug to enter there.
At the end, procession tailing?
Wearing tailored suit of crimson,
jacket neat and skirt pressed flat:
that Ambassador of bugs.

Bait to hook to suspicious, hungry lip, Nadia lifts her phone to her ear.

"Colleen?" she says, itching like a bug bite.

Heave, gasp, heave. "Nadia. You're awake."

"Yeah," Nadia says. Colleen watches her flop backward on her bed, shut her laptop, sprawl out, jellyfish unhugged. "You too."

"Sorry. It's late." I say.

"'Sorry'?" A pause. A pause of disbelief.

"Uh, okay, holy shit. What happened - you get cancer?" Nadia asks. The look on her face grinds from annoyance to bewilderment.

"No. I just wanted to ask you something." I say. Sneakers wet by dewy grass, gravel digs into knees. Lips wet by dewy tongue, clit digs into thumb.

"Okay." Says Nadia. "What?"

"It's okay if you don't want to answer." I say.

"Colleen, you're freaking me out." Nadia says.

"Right. Sorry. What I mean to say is." This must be what setting off a bomb feels like. "Isn't sex, like, supposed to be fun?"

It feels tender.

It feels easy.

It feels achingly full, as another small round globule sinks past the tight ring of Colleen's asshole. That makes ten of them so far, and she can feel it in her belly.

The room smells like lakewater.

Colleen lies on her side, on a cushion. The stumps of her legs splayed slightly and lifted her ass at a cozy angle. Her tongueless mouth groans. Her fingers clasp a blanket tight to her cheek. She has not recovered. She is not of sound mind. She remains a broken window, and refuses to communicate aside from an occasional yes or no.

But in this small, dark chamber, where a large wasp-like creature huddles over her body, tenderly inserting gelatinous little balls into her body, she feels something similar to safety. The chamber is dry, and warm, and impeccably clean. The walls are soft, almost alive with movement. The Healer's mouthparts occasionally ruffle beside Colleen's ear, and she is sometimes happy to tolerate this for a minute or two, and she is sometimes happy to push the thing away with a clumsy hand.

She cries often, and sometimes this is remedied with sex, or mere affection. The Healer is nothing like any animal that Colleen has ever experienced, but somehow when it wraps its stick-thin limbs around her, in a steady embrace, it does not disgust her.

Colleen moans, and her stomach shifts, and she drools into the pillow. She is wet, and leaking, and when she looks up at the Healer, her eyes sparkle in the dark. She can almost see herself reflected in the smooth black lens of its oculi. The Healer is incapable of making a facial expression, other than to ruffle its mandibles, yet it somehow understands the difficult things within her that she cannot name.

Gingerly, the Healer rolls Colleen onto her back and presses its thorax down between her legs. Its antennae feel around her face, tasting her. It unfolds its wings, and flutters them slightly, rippling vibrations down through its body and against Colleen's clit. She touches its head and watches it, and feels the pleasure like an alien thing. She does not feel pleasure the way that mammals do. She feels it with idle curiosity, buried too far deep beneath trauma to be influenced so neatly by base hormones.

Inside of her, the eggs (if that's what they are (and it is not what they are, though she has no way of knowing that)) judder and settle, and it feels as though one pops. And when it does, a surge of relief comes with it.

Colleen does not wonder about much, but she does wonder about the eggs, and what they'll hatch into. She doesn't know that these are a delivery mechanism for tailor-made virus of sorts. She imagines birthing children, and what kind of children they will be. Bugs, like the Healer. Mammals, like herself.

She does not know that her body is being convinced to alter itself. She does not know that in the coming days, she will begin to produce tumor-like growths, functionally identical to the imaginal discs found in metamorphic insect larva, and in a few months time, she will undergo a transformation that no other true Gaean prior to her has ever experienced.

She does not imagine becoming a bug, because she cannot properly conceive of it as reality, but she does imagine nursing one, latching onto her milk-engorged nipple and slurping. She imagines a grub on one tit, and a kit on the other, while the Healer breeds her incessantly.

She does not know that her body will soon require an enormous caloric load, in order to produce a pupa that will be sturdy enough to gestate an entirely new species of animal.

All that she knows is peace.

"So, how would you characterize the event? It sounds like Pleo attacked you."

"No. I don't think so," Kinzie said. "I mean, I don't really know what happened. It's hard to remember, but I don't think I'd use the word attacked. Overpowered, maybe. I wish I could tell you. Some days I think it was the worst moment of my life, some days I think it was the best one."

An Ambassador in a burgundy pencil skirt gently positioned a row of metallic figurines on her shelf. "Does it have to be one or the other? Trauma is pernicious and it can associate itself with all kinds of events, good or bad."

Kinzie wasn't really sure about the idea of "good" trauma, but she leaned back on the couch and took a long hard look at the ceiling while she thought about it.

"I don't know, Skrin." Kinzie said. "I just get a shiver down my spine sometimes when I look at her, and it's hard to stomach."

"Well, at this stage in your re-development, you're clearly self-sufficient."

"What do you mean?" Kinzie asked.

"You could request a change to your lodgings." Skrin suggested.

"No!" Kinzie barked. "I mean, no, that's fine. I... like Pleo. And I don't want to leave the barracks, just cuz I feel a little weird. They're good to me. I'm useful."

"You could be useful anywhere. I know you wish travel at speed, operate heavy machinery, keep to yourself." Skrin pressed. She leaned back slightly, hands on her hips, eyes scanning the figurines. With a satisfied nod, she cleared her throat and turned to face Kinzie properly. "What is it about the barracks, specifically, that makes you want to abandon all those inclinations? It's not because you like Pleo."

"It is because I like Pleo! I mean. Uh." Kinzie blurted out, then viscerally recoiled from the idea, claws digging-in to the skin. "Fuck, I don't know, I think I... I think I love her."

Skrin sat down beside Kinzie, knees folded neatly, hands at rest atop them. "Unclench, Kinzie."

Kinzie grunted and batted her fist against the arm of the couch a few times, but finally she relaxed her arms, sneering air through grimacing lips. "Fuck. I feel so fucked up about it. And anyway, it's my home! I'm not gonna let myself get pushed out of my home just cuz of a few weird feelings."

"Hmm." Skrin hummed a smile. "That's an admirable stance, Kinzie. I'm glad to hear that you're committed to sticking things out. Not everyone I counsel has that clarity of purpose."

"Yeah, well, save it til I actually figure myself out." Kinzie grumbled.

"At least, you require much less sedation than our past sessions." Skrin laughed, a sparkly sound that emanated from her belly.

"Yeah." Kinzie chewed the inside of her cheek. "Sorry about all that."

"No, not at all." Skrin tilted her head, smile wide and warm. "I rather liked it."