In front of the barricade, Susan sat on the floor with her knees up, hugging her legs as she stared at the tables. They were stacked to completely block the view of the hallway, the top tables leaning against the glass doors with their legs facing inward. She suspected it was so nobody would have to see anything out there; most of the students were freaked out because of the angel Dr. Lee had dragged inside.

Susan couldn’t look away from the tables. She was trying to see right through their dark wooden forms, the gum stuck to their undersides. Though she knew Jenny wasn’t in the hall anymore.

Everyone had listened to Jenny’s fight with bated breath. The screaming and hissing, Jenny’s cries of rage. The scuffle seemed to last an eternity, and then it was over as soon as it had begun. The hallway fell silent, and all Susan could hear was her heart pounding. She’d even tried to climb on top of a table, but her leg hurt too much, and Mrs. Monique had to help get her down.

Not knowing if Jenny was alive was eating her up inside, though she’d promised that she wouldn’t let anyone interfere. She knew she had to have faith, but it was much easier said than done.

Stupid, stupid leg. Her fingernails dug into her palms. She wanted to bang her head against something. Wanted to cut off her leg. It wasn’t the pain that bothered her so much; it was the fact that a small part of her was thankful she didn’t have to go back out there.

What slithered up and down her esophagus was a familiar feeling of disgust and self-loathing. A feeling she’d only ever told one person about. Jenny, who’d understood and tried her best to comfort Susan. Susan felt as though her soul was so misshapen and ugly that it couldn’t properly fit inside her body, and when she felt useless and stupid, that feeling threatened to burst out of its hiding place, beneath her skin. Then everyone would see how awful she truly was.

She glared at the torn, ruined flesh of her calf, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. She cursed the injury. Cursed herself. If only she’d been quicker. If only she hadn’t gotten bitten. She should be out there with her best friend, fighting beside her and... I’d only get in the way.

What if Jenny’s already dead?

She grabbed her cattle prod, flicked it on, and nearly shoved it into the wound. She stopped just before making contact, holding the prod as though it were a knife. It shook, crackling softly with electricity, and she could almost feel the sting. She let it clatter to the floor and buried her face in her hands.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, there was a nudge. The ‘human population remaining’ notification, but she bit the inside of her cheek hard and kept it out of her head. She didn’t want to see that count dropping further, didn’t want to wonder which number might be Jenny.

Another scream erupted from the other end of the library. During Jenny’s fight in the hallway, Dr. Lee had dragged a Tarnished Angel by the hair, sliding its bleeding body across the floor to the table where Jenny had slept. She wondered what he was doing to it. She wanted to feel pity for it. After all, it was still a living thing, not one of the dead frogs she’d dissected in Biology labs. But every time it screamed or cried out or made that snake-like hissing noise, Susan’s head lurched with fear.

She wanted to kill it. To put it out of its misery. Or to spare herself its haunting cries.

“Hey.” Leslie tapped Susan on the shoulder. “We could use your help.”

Susan sniffed, hating that Leslie could see her so upset. “With what?”

“We need another pair of arms,” she said. “The angel keeps moving.” Leslie had her dark sweater wrapped around her waist. Her brown arms and forehead glistened with sweat, and her t-shirt's neckline was ruined, as though she’d been chewing on it. Her cheeks were flushed. She’d tied her blonde hair back into a ponytail with a band, and without its usual bounce and curls, she looked slightly deflated. Her face appeared smaller; her eyes less vibrant.

She held out a hand to help Susan up, but Susan ignored it and painfully got to her feet. She put most of her weight on her uninjured leg. Leslie harumphed and turned away.

"Wait,” said Susan, trying to ignore the pain shooting up her leg. “Any idea what happened to Kevin?”

Curling her lips downward, Leslie shrugged. “We were hanging out when everything started shaking. You know that stairwell beside the gym that nobody goes to?”

Susan nodded, trying not to think about her ex kissing Leslie or their bodies pressed together.

“Yeah,” continued Leslie. “We were just having fun, and then one of those... those things came at us.” She motioned towards the other side of the library with her head. “Kevin told me to run, and I did.” She spoke so nonchalantly that Susan was taken aback.

“You just left him?”

Leslie shrugged again. “What did you want me to do? I just ran upstairs, and it was crowded and disgusting, like holy fuck. Everyone was pushing and screaming. Then Dr. Lee saved me and brought me to the library.” Her frown turned into a smile, and she placed a hand on her chest and sighed. “He promised to keep me safe.”

Susan had stopped listening. She squeezed her cattle prod, wanting to stick it into Leslie’s model-perfect neck. She couldn’t help picturing Kevin pressing his lips against Leslie’s throat while whispering all those things he’d once said to Susan.

But the anger faded away; she only felt heartbroken. A dull aching thud in her chest. She felt empty and unwanted. Kevin had dumped her for a girl who didn’t even seem to care that he’d most likely died.

“Well, are you going to help or what?” Leslie waved her fingers in front of Susan’s face. “Do you need a moment?”

Susan was too sad to be irritated. She’d already mourned Kevin after the breakup, and now she didn’t know how to process mourning him again. There was sadness for what once was, for what could've been, and what could now never be.

She limped behind Leslie. They followed the trail of blood, Susan watching the girl’s sweater bouncing around her hips, thinking about how jealous she’d been not too long ago. Wishing she was hotter. Fitter. With bigger boobs. Thinking that somehow, she might win Kevin back. Maybe if she talked more like Leslie with that whining, bitchy attitude...

Her thoughts shifted to Jenny. Jenny who was always down for a phone call, who’d drop pretty much everything and anything if Susan texted her. Even when she felt ugly and wanted to hide from everyone and everything, even Kevin, Susan knew talking to Jenny would pull her out of the hole. Jenny was always there to listen, to hug, to game with, to complain with. And Susan felt ridden with guilt, feeling like Jenny always had to save her. And now that Jenny wasn’t there, but out fighting and trying to find her brother... there were too many things bubbling in her thoughts. Anxiety and heartbreak and horror, and she just wanted to see Jenny’s face and hear her voice.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure who she was apologizing to. Jenny? Kevin? Maybe even herself. Maybe even Leslie.

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“What’s that?” Leslie said without turning her head.

Susan didn’t bother answering. At the table, two students stood ten feet away from the angel, holding up phones and flashlights to provide light for Dr. Lee. He stood over it, his lab coat buttoned and green goggles strapped to his face.

Mrs. Monique was on the other side of the table, her metallic armor shining in the light as she firmly held the angel’s right shoulder and elbows. The creature wriggled and hissed and screamed, and Susan saw it was missing fingers on that arm. Its other arm was missing from the shoulder, cut away by what Susan suspected had been Jenny’s hatchet. She could see the white of its bones sticking out of red, pulsing flesh.

> Tarnished Angel (Level 9)

The angel was dark-skinned with gray hair draped over the front of the table. It was female, as skinny and emaciated as the other Tarnished Angels with a flat chest and sunken navel. Its eyes were white and wide open. Saliva and blood dribbled down its chin and cheeks as it hissed and kept trying to bite Mrs. Monique.

A nasty gash glistened on its hip; its bone seemed broken. Its legs hardly moved. Every so often, they jerked and twitched slightly, but Susan didn’t think it could run away or chase anyone. They just had to keep away from its teeth.

Dr. Lee had his phone out, recording the female angel and dictating observations. Susan couldn’t hear what he was saying. It wasn’t just because he spoke too quickly, because Leslie was talking to her as well, and Mrs. Monique muttered something. Susan couldn’t pay attention. A ringing sound filled her ears.

Her heart pounded, each thud echoing through her head as she stared at the struggling, suffering angel. She had to remind herself to breathe, to not stare into its eyes. She was trembling, feeling dizzy. Her chest tight, it was just like before when she froze up seeing the angel kill Mrs. Rivera.

Then Leslie was forcing Susan forward. Dr. Lee shouted what he needed her to do, and Susan moved in autopilot. Her job was to hold down the angel’s head, something Leslie refused. But Susan was beyond the point of caring. She was just relieved to be useful.

With her thumbs on the angel’s forehead and her fingers in its gray hair, she squeezed and held it in place as best she could. Its scalp was slick with sweat and blood. Leslie took the phone and continued recording.

First, Dr. Lee grabbed the angel by the cheeks, pushing his fingers in deep, forcing its jaws open. It tried to bite him. Susan could see its jaws moving, but with its cheeks and Dr. Lee’s fingers in the way, it was harmless.

He pulled out what looked like scissors, except they didn’t end in sharp points. She recognized it as a tool a dentist would use. The system gave it a name, so she assumed it was something Dr. Lee created.

> Forceps (Tier 1)

Did it count as a weapon? She wanted to study that further. Figure out how the system discerned tools and weapons and armor, but it was difficult to concentrate on anything but the angel’s head squirming between her hands. Blood dripped from one earhole onto the table. A rotten stench wafted up from its throat.

Hunching over the angel, Dr. Lee gently lowered the tip of the forceps into its forced-open mouth. The angel’s pink and narrow tongue darted out. The tongue was covered in a layer of white bumps, and Dr. Lee didn’t seem to mind as it licked his fingers.

The forceps clinked softly against a tooth. He repositioned himself. Then, with a grunt and a sudden jerk, he wrenched a tooth out. Blood spurted onto its chest and his lab coat. The angel screamed hideously, and Susan shut her eyes, still holding its head tight. She didn’t want to throw up all over it.

Dr. Lee held the forceps up to the light, turning the glistening tooth as he inspected its roots. “Remarkable,” he whispered. “The incisors are exactly the same. Exactly the same. Covered in plaque, but with proper care...” he trailed off, mumbling to himself, as Leslie recorded him and the tooth.

Susan caught herself gently rubbing the angel’s forehead with her thumbs. She stared down into its eyes; the creature seemed to be glaring right back at her. But since it had no irises, she couldn’t tell which way it was looking. It wasn’t wriggling or making any noise. She would've thought it was dead from shock, but its bony chest was rising and falling, and its rotten breath felt warm on her face.

“Think we can hurry this up?” asked Mrs. Monique in a strained voice. She’d been quiet this entire time, just going along with Dr. Lee’s instructions. Susan hated seeing her like this. Missing an eye, covered in dried blood, and wearing metal armor. Her spear was leaning against a bookshelf behind her. She seemed so subdued and withdrawn, no longer the bubbly and warm librarian that everyone loved so much.

Dr. Lee nodded, apologized, then placed the tooth into a little baggie. He readjusted his goggles and then brought out a pocketknife. “It’s not a scalpel,” he said with a small smile. “But it’ll do.” There was no system message for this one. It must’ve been something he always carried.

He motioned for Leslie to stand right next to him. She seemed hesitant, so he pressed his palm against the angel’s chin, forcing its bleeding mouth shut. “Keep her steady,” he whispered. Then he called over one of the students holding up a flashlight. A redheaded boy named Alan whom Susan knew vaguely from Psychology class.

> Human (Level 3)

“Shine the light directly into her eyes,” said Dr. Lee. “I want to see the exact reaction. After that, we’ll be cutting into her abdominal cavity.” He sounded nearly giddy with excitement, and somehow, Susan found his intense stare, the hint of a smile on his lips, and sharp focus creepier than the vacant eyes of the angel.

She knew there was something wrong with this. They should just kill the angel and be over with it. But she also remembered Dr. Lee’s lectures on how medical advances were made through torture and autopsy and careful study. But did he have to be so thrilled? If Jenny were here, what would she do?

Even Leslie seemed unnerved. She nervously looked from Susan to Mrs. Monique, chewing on her T-shirt, her eyes wide with fright.

Alan positioned himself right behind Dr. Lee, shining the flashlight over Dr. Lee’s shoulder. Alan was tall, freckled, and had thin strands of hair on his chin. He was missing an ear, and dried blood stuck to that side of his face. He was shaking so much that the light did too, all over the angel’s face.

The creature shut its eyes tight, exhaling through its teeth, making a sound like static from a radio.

“Careful now,” said Dr. Lee softly, pressing the tip of his blade into the space between its left eyeball and cheekbone. The point drew blood; the angel strained in Susan’s hands. Dr. Lee shushed it gently, as though he were quieting a baby.

Alan’s hand shook even more violently, and Susan looked up to see his face flushed red and sweaty. He clearly didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to be this close to an angel, and definitely didn’t want to see Dr. Lee cutting into it. He’d been the only student with Energy who hadn’t made a weapon or armor or anything. She wanted to comfort him somehow, but she felt queasy herself. She couldn’t even look at what Dr. Lee was doing as he murmured more observations for the recording.

She held as firmly as she could, bracing her weight on her good leg, her arms shaking as the angel struggled to break free.

Leslie was recording with her eyes shut, the phone angled slightly away from the angel’s face. Dr. Lee barked something about holding the light steady. Susan glanced down to see the angel’s eyeball slipping out of its eyelids, forced by Dr. Lee’s fingers. It squished out like a grape squeezing out of its skin.

That seemed to be all Alan could take. The flashlight slipped from his fingers, and it struck Dr. Lee’s wrist. He cried out as his hand jerked, and the eyeball burst free.

A shrill scream came from Leslie who threw the phone away in panic. The phone caught Susan on the nose, and she stumbled back, pain blossoming across her face. Blood ran down her lips; she’d let go of the angel’s head.

Mrs. Monique swore as the angel jerked violently, its eye still connected by wire-like strands of flesh. It bit the shocked Dr. Lee on his forearm, and he punched it in the face. Over and over, even hitting the swinging eyeball so that it gushed liquid.

There was so much screaming from the angel, from Dr. Lee, and from Leslie, that Susan couldn’t tell what was happening. Blood gushed from her nose onto her hands. Alan had fainted and lay on the floor beside the table. Mrs. Monique was the only one trying to restrain the angel, grabbing it by the throat. The angel jerked its head and tore off a chunk of Dr. Lee’s arm, who roared with pain and swung blindly.

His elbow hit Mrs. Monique, and the angel wriggled out of her grip and slid off the table, landing on top of Alan. Susan reached for her cattle prod, yanking it out of her back pocket, but it was too late. The angel's teeth were deep in Alan’s neck, and golden light enveloped the creature.

Something bright blue and gelatinous burst out of the angel’s spine. Dr. Lee backed away, clutching his bleeding arm, his goggles knocked loose. The angel writhed, its flesh expanding, muscles growing, as an orange, jelly-like substance, slid all over its body, covering its shoulders and legs and arms.

The golden light vanished. Steam rose from the angel’s body. It was covered in that glistening orange material, and it no longer seemed skinny and fragile, though it was still missing an arm. Its wounds were healed. The orange covering clinked like heavy armor against the floor as the angel crawled off Alan. It glowered at Susan and hissed. Blood dripped from its empty socket and down its shiny orange cheek.

> Wretched Angel (Level 10)

With a furious scream, the angel launched itself off the floor and onto Susan.