and heard the last words I would hear in my life.
Too much of my life had been just that: a waste. I’d worked so hard for a shot at moving up, not knowing it was all lies. I’d pushed myself until there was nothing left. I did it because I regretted my choice, and because I was afraid. Once I was dead, I didn’t want to come back. I’d have done anything to get out of it, but I never got the chance.
The name of my killer turned out to be Lev—Lev Prutsko, the last of four Slavic recruits brought in for key terror strikes. Samuel Fawkes had bought him through a broker for the price of a new car. He was the closest I had now to a friend.
Fawkes’s purpose was Lev’s purpose, and now mine: preserve the free will of all humanity. Stop any more people from sharing my fate. It was clear and absolute. An echo from my old mind latched on to it as a justice to be served and also, more secretly, as a distraction from that dark void, below.
Mr. Takanawa stepped through the doorway and slipped his cell phone into his suit jacket. I sat still and did not breathe as he approached and faced me at arm’s length. I couldn’t read the expression on his face. Men had stared at me before, but this was unlike anything I recalled. He inspected me like he might a statue, not yet certain what he thought. Only his erection betrayed something more. After a minute or so, he came closer and knelt down in front of me. He moved his face close to mine.
An orange light coursed up each side of his neck, thick, hot lines that branched out before fading. I followed them down below his shirt collar, to the heavy coal that pulsed inside his chest. A thin line appeared in my periphery. It spiked each time his heart beat.
“You’re a beautiful woman,” he said, so close that I could feel his breath on my face.
Another of them once said those words to me. Later, I’d be told to forget what I’d heard, and I would, like I was told. Every time I heard them it was like the first time, unexpected and welcome.
Nothing stirred inside me when I heard them now. As best I could interpret, he was earnest, but I was not beautiful, nor a woman. I was something different now.
“I said you are beautiful,” the man said again, his eyes narrowing a little.
“Thank you.”
He looked into my eyes for a bit longer, their soft, moonlit glow reflected on his face.
“May I ask you something?” I said to him softly. His face changed, just a little. It wasn’t interaction that he wanted; it was something else, but I was curious.
“One question,” he said.
“Why revivors?”
He was known to be suddenly violent, and I was ready for that, but he stayed calm. In answer, he just smiled. He moved so close I saw the glow from my eyes reflected in his own.
His pupils opened to two dark, glassy spots. It happened when they exerted their power. He was trying to control me, I could see. When he failed, I saw fear creep into his eyes. The heat in his chest pulsed faster and harder, and the orange glow up the sides of his neck grew hotter as the veins there became engorged. The line monitoring his heart spiked higher. What he saw scared him, but it was more than that. It was exhilaration.
“There’s a darkness inside of you,” he said. “All of you. I can’t control you or know you, and that …”
He reached forward and took my hands in his own. They were dry and very warm. He stood, and pulled me up gently to face him. His eyes went back to normal.
“Come with me,” he said, and walked past me. When I turned, I saw him cross toward the bedroom. As I followed, I pulled the wig from my head and let it fall to the floor. Cold air blew across the skin of my bare scalp. When we were inside he turned, frowning as I placed my cold hands on his chest.
“That’s wrong,” he said. “Put it back on.”
I slid my left hand up the side of his neck, running my fingertips through his coarse black hair. He didn’t pull away, but was still frowning.
“You heard me,” he said. “Do what I sa—”
My hand split along an invisible seam and splayed between the middle and ring finger. His body, so alive, jumped. His eyes darted to the cavity and stared. Fear returned when the blade inside caught the light.
I could have impaled him before he could move, but the blade was not for him. A thin plastic tube shot out from beneath it. The needle locked on the heat inside his neck and plunged into the branching orange band of light.
By the time he slapped his hand over the sting, the tube had reeled back and my arm had snapped shut. He just stared at me, confused.
“What—”
The toxin acted fast and paralyzed him. His arms fell to his sides, and he staggered back. The muscles in his face began to loosen.
I stepped in and supported him as he fell. I reached into his jacket and took the gun, then tossed it onto the bed.
“What …are you …doing?” he gasped, as I eased him back onto the plush comforter. I recorded and transmitted his vitals. The excitement he’d shown before was gone now. All that was left was his fear.
Takanawa could see the gun, out of reach. His eyes locked on to it, but he couldn’t move. I watched him try to, and fail, as I sat down on the bedspread next to him. I waited for him to look back up at me.
“Where is the last one?” I asked him. He could still speak, but he tried to shake his head.
“You know what I mean,” I said. “We got the other eleven, but you were seen to take one. Where is it?”
“…don’t know,” he breathed.
“If it’s here,” I said, “I will leave with that and nothing else. Do you understand?”
He understood. I could see it in his eyes.
“Where is it?” I asked again.
“…not here …”
I’d search just to be sure, but I believed him. He’d have handed off the device before now. Lev would find out what he knew.
I left the room and changed back into street clothes, then stowed the lingerie and wig in my bag. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, and wiped the makeup away.
It had taken time to find myself again, after reanimation. There’d been a disconnect with my reflection, like it was somebody else. At first I thought it was the physical change; the grayish skin tone or dark veins that showed through. As time passed, though, I saw it was something else.
The image in the mirror was someone else; Faye Dasalia had been lost long ago. She had been lost before she was ever killed. All that was left of her existed in me. She’d been revived, in me, when Nico woke me. All that she truly was and ever would be had emerged only in death. I’d only recently made her face my own. The woman from before was not really Faye. My memories formed from across that divide, and they were not corrupted. I was Faye Dasalia, more complete than I ever had been in life.
I went back into the bedroom where he lay, his chest rising and falling very slowly. He was awake and aware. His eyes bargained with me as I approached him.
“It’s time for you to come with me,” I said in his ear as I got a grip on him. I pulled the LW suit over us, and lifted up his body. He was frightened, but he didn’t need to be.
Whatever answer he’d sought in revivors, he’d understand soon enough.
Nico Wachalowski—The Shit Pit, Bullrich Heights
I approached the place where Calliope suggested we meet, thinking maybe I should have picked the spot
