"Any movement, Lia?" Emily asks.

"Definitely," I nod. "They're slowly shrinking the circle. I think they've decided they don't like us scrounging for more food."

"Oh, no, no, no, not today…" Christine worries under her breath.

It's the morning of the fourth day since we found ourselves trapped in the incursion zone (four fucking days out here, I still can't believe it) and once again we've found ourselves anxiously prowling the streets instead of sitting in the relative comfort of a nice house. I'd been hoping that we could just hole up in one spot and wait out whatever it is that Emily insists we stick around for, maybe break out some board games and get downright domestic while the apocalypse rages around us, but it was not to be. Between the four of us—and especially Anastasia and I, who apparently have ravenous appetites—we tend to clean houses out of their food stockpiles pretty fast, not to mention bottled water and other fluids. And without food and water, well… we obviously have to move.

The aliens don't like it, but we've survived so far. The bulk of their forces still just follow us in a wide circle, but we're hit with a few probing attacks pretty much any time we have the audacity to try and move. It's not as bad as it could be; Anastasia is an absolute storm of violence whenever an alien gets close, so between the two of us we've kept the team pretty safe. We might be a disgusting mess of unwashed homeless women breaking into any house that looks lived in and clearing out the pantry, but damn it we're alive, and that's honestly a lot more than I expected from us at this stage.

We all desperately need to wash ourselves, as no matter how many fresh outfits we steal, the grime, blood, and alien guts caking our body don't go away. Emily, Anastasia, and I have at least taken a sponge bath with bottled water once or twice, but Christine had a panic attack when she tried and refused to try again. Not that it really makes her that much more rank than the rest of us; Christine makes up the difference by simply wearing the most clothing, which contains things the majority of the time. The stench only gets particularly bad when I have to swap over to alien senses, though that's a concerningly frequent occurrence.

I think Anastasia is the cleanest out of all of us, and I couldn't figure out how until I saw her washing her body with her own blood after a fight. And that… kinda makes sense, actually? She controls it finely enough that she doesn't leave a single drop of it on herself when she's paying attention. It really does clean her up. I'm legitimately tempted to ask her to clean me that way, too, but the sponge bath was already an unpleasant mess for my still-hyperactive senses. I can't imagine my newfound ability to experience touch would handle what amounts to an automated car wash very well.

"You've got this, Christine," I assure her. "You've been practicing. You can feel the nearby buildings, right?"

"I… yes," she mumbles. "Yes, I can."

"It'll help a bit if you can give us a path, but you don't need to worry about it," I assure her. "If you can't do it, we'll smash our way through. It's alright either way."

It would be insane to have a plan that relies completely on Christine, after all. That's the main way I'm learning how to deal with her. If she's capable of functioning, great! But we can't expect her to be. It's a recipe for failure to not have a backup plan, and weirdly? The more I deemphasize the degree to which we're relying on her, the more comfortable it seems to make her.

"Yeah," Christine nods, sure enough. "Yeah. Okay."

At least, I think that's what's happening. I consider myself to be pretty good at understanding people, but Christine still feels like a black box a lot of the time. I'm still trying to pick her apart and reverse-engineer wherever the hell her thoughts are coming from. She's obviously traumatized by something; her self-esteem is so low you could use the pit for a geothermal plant.

…Now probably isn't the best time to worry about it, though, because we're currently surrounded by increasingly aggressive aliens. None of them are close enough for us to have line-of-sight with them, but I can feel them around us and they can… well, I don't think they can quite tell exactly where we are the way I can with them unless I go full Raptor mode, but they can at least get a pretty close guess. I'm not quite sure what's going on with the aliens, but I know their sense of smell is way more powerful than the human equivalent.

Though at the same time, I find it a lot easier to handle than my unfamiliar human senses. I guess their brains are just better adapted for it? It's still a bit overwhelming, but I'm slowly figuring it out and learning to recognize what all the different smells are.

"Okay, there," Emily says, pointing at a house ahead of us. "I see a decoration in that window. Think we can make it there before they attack?"

The fact that most houses were unlived in and empty means that most houses don't have any food. But of course, Emily always seems to know the right way to go in order to find the next safe place.

"Maybe," I admit. "That's pretty close. They're converging on us, though."

"W-what do you think has got them so worked up?" Christine asks.

"How should I know?" I ask. Maybe something on the war front? We don't have any idea how that's going, though. We're still too far away.

"Well, you always know weird things about the monsters," Anastasia says quietly, her body full of tension as she constantly glances around, looking for danger. For targets. She's already bleeding, having learned the hard way not to wait to be wounded whenever we leave the house. I hate it, but I never stop her.

"...Not always," I grumble, but I take a deep breath of the air and try to see if anything comes to me. I guess the very fact that I can tell they're agitated without even being able to see them counts as a weird thing I know about them, but I'm not sure I can intuit why they're agitated. I've never really felt that way when I use a Raptor brain.

"Could still be useful to know, if you figure it out," Emily hums.

"Now's not the time to wonder about it," I answer. "They're close. Coming from behind that fence."

Anastasia moves immediately, placing herself in front of Christine and Emily. She tries to put herself in front of me, too, but I don't let her, quickly unzipping my jacket and shrugging it off in preparation. I don't have a shirt on underneath, but I don't tend to keep breasts on my body while we're moving around anyway. My go-to outfit lately has been an easily removable top and a short skirt, since with a stretchy enough waistband the skirt stays on when I become a Raptor. It protects my decency a bit, which is nice, but it's mostly just good because it means Anastasia never mistakes me for the enemy.

"Oh god, oh fuck," Christine swears, and at least for this I can't blame her. Anastasia and I have regenerative abilities. She and Emily do not. It's a miracle they've managed to avoid serious injury so far.

"Just keep moving, we've got your back," I promise her. "Straight through the yard, right?"

"Right!" Emily confirms, and we speed up as the Raptors leap into view. I crouch, my body shifting into a full Raptor form, though modified from days of skirmishes. I've made my body bigger, with longer forelimbs for better slashing attacks and a superior range of motion to let me defend myself from the sides. To counterbalance, my tail needs to be longer, too, and I've modified the teeth to be more incisor-like, long and thin and based more around puncturing deep into an alien's body than biting off chunks of meat. I also gave the body a rudimentary voice box, and while I don't have anywhere near complex enough of a vocal system to speak, I can at least bark to get people's attention or send signals, which can be extremely useful.

I'm kind of proud of the design. Is that weird? It feels weird. Now's not the time to worry about it, though.

I throw myself at the enemy, crashing into their ranks before they can rush in and surround the others. Anastasia backs me up, blades of blood carving up the aliens on either side of me as I corral and distract the enemy, doing my best to keep them in her range without letting them attack her back.

"WASP!" Emily shouts out from behind us. Shit! I bark twice and rush back towards Anastasia, but the damn thing is already in range. I don't really have any intuitive way to tell the difference between Wasps and Raptors with my extra senses; they feel more or less the same to me, except for how they move. That's usually more than enough, of course, but this Wasp actually walked all the way into range before suddenly taking to the air to shoot at Anastasia. Did they do that on purpose!?

Again, it's not the time to think about that. The glob of acid flies towards Anastasia, and while her regeneration ability is good I don't think it's going to be good enough if that hits her. I tackle her to the ground and take the shot to my back, shivering with pain as it devours my flesh faster than I can regrow it. But there's only so much of the stuff; it'll stop eventually. I can take it.

My task is to protect.

"Lia!" Anastasia shouts, but I just bark twice at her again and she quickly scrambles back to her feet and climbs onto a healthy part of my back. I dodge the next acid shot with a jump, quickly noting the positions of every alien I can feel to determine if Emily and Christine will be safe if we try and fight the Wasp rather than run back to them. I think… we need to fight the Wasp. It'll be dicey, but the situation will never stop being dicey until the flying acid turret gets taken care of.

With a roar I leap at the house closest to the Wasp, digging my talons and forelimbs into the outer wall to leap again. The Wasp sees what I'm doing and spits one more acid glob before rushing away, but I leap right at it, shielding Anastasia with my chest as I get her into range. I feel a pulse from her power in the air, the feeling of karma thinning out a bit as she stretches the range of her control to its limit. Her blades start to fray and lose force, but she catches the damn thing, slicing through its relatively thin wings and letting gravity take the kill. Hell yeah.

We don't land all that well ourselves, though. I crumple when I hit the ground, my legs and arms too damaged by acid to function for another second or two. Anastasia is nearly thrown off my back, but I feel her power thicken again, blood pouring out of her and gripping hard around my torso.

"The others!" she shouts, and I feel my own power reserves wane as I stitch together my wounds and push myself back to my feet. Damn it, the Raptors are closing in on them! We were too slow!

"Christine!" Anastasia calls out, and I grit my tail-teeth. That's a mistake. Yes, Christine has the power to protect them both all on her own, but calling her name is just going to make her turn around and—

"Ahhh!" Christine shrieks, suddenly realizing how close the Raptors chasing her and Emily actually are. She breaks into a sprint rather than defending herself with her power, but that's a race she'll never win. It only gets the Raptors even more inclined to catch her. Would it kill you to fight for once, Christine!?

"Damn it!" Emily growls, and to my surprise and horror she tackles Christine to the ground. The pair goes down screaming, letting the Raptors easily catch up to them. The pack circles around to box them in, which… why, though? Why not just kill—oh shit wait there they go.

One of the Raptors lunges at Emily, who grabs Christine by the shoulders and rolls both of them away. For some reason I don't understand, this makes the Raptors hesitate. With Christine now lying on top of Emily, the aliens don't seem to know what to do. Which… what? Why? They have both of them dead to rights, and I can feel that they know it.

Doesn't matter. Anastasia and I get there seconds later, so blood carves through the remaining Raptors like a serpent through water. But we've really poked the beehive now, and I'm not sure going indoors is going to get them to stop this time.

Still gotta try.

I stand up and rapidly shift into my human form, Anastasia staying gripped to my back as I grab Emily and Christine to help them to their feet.

"They're pissed now!" I announce. "We run!"

"Lia, you need to stop constantly jumping in front of attacks!" Emily snaps. "Ana can block shots like that with her power!"

"Is now really the time!?" I growl.

"Yes!" she insists. "If you run out of biomass because you keep taking acid baths and letting monsters eat you, we're fucked!"

I get that. But if she expects me to put Anastasia in harm's way just to save on food intake, she's crazy. And besides, if Anastasia blocks an acid glob with her blood, the acid will destroy that blood, meaning she'll have to… well. Replenish it.

And that just means she'll get hurt anyway.

"Just focus on running for now," I tell her, and thankfully that's a hard thing to argue with. A whole lot of Raptors just rushed onto the street, with the stomps of a Behemoth not far behind.

I really like not being able to feel fear.

Sometimes it's hard to know if the best choice is running or fighting. We've definitely made the wrong choice plenty of times over the past couple of days, but we've scraped through it. The aliens still aren't swinging at us with anywhere close to their full force strength, after all, and Anastasia in particular is pretty damn dangerous.

…But she's not unstoppable. Not by a longshot. She's limited by the amount of blood she has access to, and while she can do a lot with it she can't do everything all at once. Even ignoring the many, many reasons we don't want her to be bleeding any more than absolutely necessary, using too much blood too quickly leaves her lightheaded and struggling to think straight. There's a hard limit to the amount of aliens she can fight off at any one time, and the force coming at us now exceeds it considerably. So running naturally seems like the best option, but… well. It'll only work if they eventually stop chasing us.

They always have so far. Let's hope the luck holds.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," Christine huffs. Come on, we're running for our lives here. Stop swearing and breathe properly.

"Christine, can you get that wall!?" Emily shouts, pointing at the house we're sprinting towards.

"I… I…!"

"Christine, please!"

"Grabbing you," I announce, since she's starting to hyperventilate, her run speed staggering. She panics even harder for a couple seconds when I pick her up from behind and swing her into a princess carry, but thankfully we've done this enough times that she's starting to get used to it. There, now you can waste air as much as you like. It's tiring to carry both Anastasia and Christine like this, but my reserves can take it.

"Please, Christine!" Emily practically begs. "You can do this! We know you can do this, you practiced!"

That's just freaking her out even more, but I can't really take over the conversation while figuring out how to keep us all alive. The eyes I just grew in the back of my head aren't liking what they're seeing. Anastasia preps her blood tendrils to attack, ready to aim for the legs of the closest set of monsters.

"Come on, come on, come on…!" Emily says frantically. We're close to the house now, within seconds of running right into the wall. Easily within Christine's range.

"Die!" Anastasia shrieks as she attacks, starting to lose her own cool a little. I start to decide what I'm going to do if that wall doesn't move. Smash it? Climb it? Both. I'll swap Christine over to one hand, grab Emily, and break in through a second-floor window. That should be at least a little troublesome for the Raptors to follow us through, and it'll give Anastasia a strong chokepoint if they insist on following. Can't jump high enough with human legs, though. I'll need to turn into a Raptor. …With hands, I guess? Fuck, no time, we'll wing it.

"Ahhh!"

Christine suddenly shrieks and the house in front of us explodes, the parts expanding into the air and freezing. Oh, okay, nice! I sprint as fast as I can, doing everything in my power to make it to the foundation before the Raptors run us down.

"Drop it!" Emily shouts, and Christine does, closing the house back around us the moment I step inside. The walls thunk back into place, just as sturdy as they were before being taken apart, and the Raptors skid to a stop outside. Okay. Okay! Now just don't break in, don't break in, don't break in and murder us all even though there's nothing stopping you…!

They don't. I feel them prowling around outside the house, but the attack is over. Shakily, I set down the people I've been carrying and collapse onto a nearby couch.

"Good job, Christine," I breathe, grinning at her. "You saved our asses."

She doesn't answer, just sitting on the floor and seeming even more miserable than before I gave her the compliment. …Why, though? Did I say something wrong? I really meant it, she finally helped out a lot. I think if I had smashed a window or otherwise broken in here, the Raptors would have kept chasing because they'd keep smelling a direct path to us. It's the only thing I can think of to explain why they don't engage when we're in a house.

But… I just don't know why that matters. They know we're here. They know how to get to us. I'm not sure how smart they are but I know they have object fucking permanence. I just don't understand. If it were really as simple as them just not wanting to fight until they have an Angel to back them up, then why do they fight us when we leave a building? There's clearly something they want beyond just killing and eating us.

…Hmm. They hesitated when Emily used Christine as a shield. That looked very much like a planned maneuver, not a desperate attempt to save her own life by sacrificing Christine's. Emily is the one who took us so far out of our way to rescue Christine in the first place, too, and the first thing I noticed about the girl is that her power feels suspiciously like the Angel's and the Queen's.

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I don't know how these puzzle pieces fit together yet, but I am really not liking the picture I'm starting to see printed on them.

"...So is there food?" Anastasia asks, reaching up to tug at her loosening braids. Without even thinking about it, I move over and fix them for her.

"Yep," Emily confirms, opening up the cupboard. "Plenty. Is anyone super hungry right now?"

"I mean, we all just ate before leaving the last place, right?" Christine says, still breathing pretty hard. "I'm full."

"Alright, then," Emily nods. "Lia, get over here and eat all of it."

"Huh?" I blink.

"Get over here," Emily repeats, "and eat every single fucking thing in the entire cupboard. We've stalled enough. We're getting out of here."

"Excuse me?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you were insistent about us waiting to be rescued."

"I was, yes," Emily says. "And I stand by that being the best move we could have made, but the fighting hasn't been getting any closer to us. Humanity isn't winning. I thought the odds of them pushing in as deep as they could go were good since the Great Lakes were such an important strategic spot, but sometimes you have good odds and things still don't work out. So this is plan B: we stuff you full of as much food as we can so you don't die of chronic martyr disorder and then we all make a run for it."

Ugh. I can kind of see the logic, but… ugh. Food. I hate eating food. Some of it's really nice, don't get me wrong, but most of it is just awful and when I try to make a whole meal only out of the stuff I actually like Emily gets mad at me. Apparently, an entire jar of peanut butter doesn't count as lunch. I walk over and glance into the cupboard, hoping for some kind of miracle, but…

"...You want me to eat all of this?" I ask, cringing.

"Lia, I'll shove every last box of uncooked pasta down your throat myself if I have to," Emily insists. "Unlike everyone else, your power is fueled by your food intake, and so far we haven't reached an upper limit. Shit's going to get rough out there."

"Isn't it bad to say words like that around me?" Anastasia asks. "Mom said I'm not allowed to swear until I get older."

"Ana honey, if we make it out of here alive you can swear as much as you damn well please," Emily answers, still scowling at me.

"Oh, cool!" Anastasia smiles, perking up.

"Now eat, Lia," Emily demands. "You know I'm right."

Yeah, I know. It's obviously the best play, it's just really fucking annoying that I get a power that simultaneously runs on and ruins food. Not that I ever really enjoyed food before gaining the ability to touch and taste, but I can tolerate food being boring. I'm used to it. All of this… it's kind of overwhelming.

"...Look," Emily sighs, seeing my hesitation, "you can turn into a Raptor first if it helps. They sure don't seem squeamish."

I turn around to follow her gaze and spot the living Raptors devouring the ones Anastasia and I killed outside our window, brutally and efficiently swallowing as much of their dead fellows as they can fit in their bellies. If there's one thing we've learned about the aliens these past four days, it's that they don't seem to feel grief. I think that's one of the biggest pieces of evidence we have against them being people so far.

"It, uh, probably will help, actually," I admit. Everything is still overwhelmingly intense in an alien body, but it's just… easier, somehow. Everything I do in Lia's body just feels wrong by comparison. "If people are okay with that?"

"I don't mind," Christine shrugs.

"...If you have to," Anastasia frowns.

"To eat five boxes of uncooked pasta?" I say. "I think I might."

She nods, seeming to accept that, so I make the shift. Inhumanity washes over my mind like a refreshing shower, and all of a sudden the cupboard is just another task. Something to complete without complaint or hesitation. I get that this is concerning. I get that I shouldn't like it this much. But I'm starting to suspect that if it didn't make moving around in my human body so awkward, I might be using a Raptor brain all the time. This is why people get so into drugs, isn't it? Not having to worry as much about stuff is just so nice.

I don't feel inebriated. I don't feel like I've become someone else. If anything, I feel like how I've always wanted to be. Someone strong enough to always do what I know I should do, rather than someone too weak to resist her own emotions.

I can't help but glance at Christine as I reach up with my tail to grab the first part of my meal, but she isn't privy to my private musings and doesn't even try to match my multi-eyed gaze. All the better, really. These thoughts and feelings aren't productive anyway. My task right now is to eat.

"God, we're all gonna be so fucked up after this," Emily sighs.

"What, only after?" Christine deadpans.

"Okay, we're going to be even more fucked up after this," Emily corrects. "We're gearing up for the big push now, ladies. Anyone have anything they need to take care of? Ana, let's get you some juice and Gatorade. Christine, I hit you pretty hard earlier. You doing alright? Any scrapes?"

"Um, I'm fine," Christine says.

"You sure?" Emily asks.

"...Yeah," she says. "Sorry for panicking. I should've… I know what I should've done."

"There was no good option in that situation, Christine," Emily lies easily. "We've been lucky so far. It's not your fault it's running out now."

Christine frowns and says nothing. No one comments on the fact that Emily tackled her to the ground and used her as a shield. Anastasia probably didn't even notice, being laser-focused on the aliens. Christine probably thinks she deserved it. I'm not sure what to think, so I just rip open the next packet of uncooked instant mashed potatoes and drop the powder down my gullet. It's not too bad, actually. I bet I'd like mashed potatoes.

"Eat faster, Lia," Emily says. "We don't want to stay a second longer than we need to."

Though the feeling is heavily muddled by the fact that we're inside, I do my best to keep track of the aliens as I eat. They must be keeping track of me in the same way, right? They seem to react to me looking for them like this, something about the way they're feeling changing over time whenever I do it. Some part of me feels like I should know what it is, too. Like if I just give into my instincts, it'll all suddenly make perfect sense. But I can't do that. My instincts want to listen to those urges that say my task is wrong, that I shouldn't be selecting it myself. My instincts almost gave in when that Angel ordered me around. Almost like…

Almost like how I'm starting to feel right now. I swallow the rest of whatever the heck I'm currently eating and shift back into human form, panic hitting me like a truck as my brain changes.

"Guys, I think we need to go."

"Keep eating," Emily snaps.

"But—"

"Eat!" Emily demands. "Don't stop until something breaks in or you're done."

Why would… oh. Oh, damn it. She thinks running is already impossible. A fight is inevitable now, so I may as well be prepared. With a hesitant nod, I shift back and double my efforts. I have a lot left to devour.

"Uhh, what do you two know that I don't?" Christine asks.

"We're about to fight again," Anastasia says, her claws moving towards her wrists.

"Chill out and drink your juice box, little cutter," Emily snaps. "You're gonna need the blood sugar."

Jesus Christ, Emily, did you have to phrase it that way? …Though actually, she must be pretty shaken up if she's being that crass. Which I guess makes sense. Her power is obviously something information-related, with how she seems to know things she shouldn't and constantly makes wild decisions that somehow work out for us. And now we might be getting attacked by an Angel again, with nothing to bail us out of it this time. I wonder what she knows about that?

Whatever it is, it clearly isn't good. After a moment's thought, Emily shoves an entire case of sports drinks into her backpack before walking into the closest bathroom, rummaging around for a bit, and coming back with a bottle of iron supplements.

"Eat both of these," she says, pulling two pills out of the bottle and flicking them at Anastasia.

"Uh, isn't iron overdose like, super deadly for kids?" Christine asks.

"Just do it, Ana," Emily insists. "You're going to need it."

Anastasia nods and downs them both without hesitation. I don't interfere; I know she'll be fine. Even if it did poison her, she'd process a poison out of her system too quickly for it to do much. I just don't like the implication that she's going to be losing a lot more blood than usual.

"Christine, come with me," Emily continues, heading towards the basement. "There was a bunch of military crap on display in the bathroom. I bet these people had a gun safe."

"Okay, but… even if they do, it's a safe. How would we open it?" Christine asks. Y'know, the girl with the ability to open literally anything.

"You just help me find it. Leave opening it to me."

Oh okay she's not even gonna bother to acknowledge that one, I guess. Probably the right play, honestly. They head downstairs, and without Emily's constant anxious task-finding to fill the silence, I'm stuck with nothing but the impending sense of triumph and glory in the air to keep me company. Not our triumph and glory, of course. The aliens can feel that an Angel is coming, and it means something profound to them that I can't really describe. It's different from the first time around, when that Angel just suddenly appeared and took control of the situation like it had always been there. This is less immediate, less… present. Something different is coming. Something far more dangerous.

"Got it!" Emily's muffled voice calls out from below. "Nice, they're well-stocked."

"How the hell did you do that?" Christine asks.

"Here, you take this one."

"I don't know how to use a gun."

"You pull the trigger and the bullet comes out of the hole, Christine. It's not rocket science."

"I mean, arguably it is!" Christine yelps, the two of them returning back up the stairs. "And seriously, how'd you know the combination?"

"The numbers were worn," Emily lies.

"How'd you know the order?"

"Lucky guess. Lia, you done eating yet?"

Just about. I wish the packaging for all this stuff wasn't so full of plastic, because I might be able to digest cardboard, actually? I could potentially just gobble everything whole, but unfortunately the plastic is definitely a no-no. Still, I manage to devour the last thing left in the cupboard, and I gotta say… I feel kinda good. There's an odd comfort in having more food in me (or in my power, or wherever the hell the food is) than I've ever had before. Like I'm not just a couple mistakes from running out of regeneration and dying for real.

I'm like, maybe a dozen mistakes from running out. And that's way better. A lot more wiggle room, that. I shapeshift back into a human and put my jacket back on, giving Emily a thumbs-up.

"Please don't make me shoot this," Christine whines, staring at the handgun she's holding like it's going to explode.

Christine, if we could make you do things we'd all be in a very different situation right now. …But of course I don't say that.

"That's for your protection," I tell her. "When a monster barrels your way, maybe twitching your finger will turn out to be a little easier than you expected."

"As long as you don't shoot Anastasia or me, I don't care what you do with it," Emily grunts.

"...Hey," I complain.

"Oh, you'd walk it off, Lia. Don't bitch about it."

Alright, that's one too many.

"You okay, Emily?" I ask. "Like seriously, you're acting even more suspicious than usual."

She stares at her gun, occasionally performing a swift movement to do something like eject the magazine or flick the safety before going back to stillness. Again, like she's waiting for instructions.

"...I don't know what you want me to say, Lia," she says, and I can't help but frown a little at the name. Does she really have to rub it in so often? "We've been skirmishing and surviving for days, but this is where it comes to a head. This is literally do or die, and our best shot at survival already failed to pan out. I'm just stressed, okay?"

"And it has nothing to do with the power you definitely don't have, I assume?" Christine says.

"Stop fucking interrogating me, Christine!" Emily shouts, and Christine flinches away, breaking eye contact and shrinking down immediately. "I don't have a power, and you will never under any circumstances tell or imply to anyone otherwise. You got that!?"

"I-I…"

"Do. You. Got. That."

Christine nods rapidly, unable to speak as tears start gushing from her eyes. Well that bubble is officially popped. Great idea, yell at the girl with so much anxiety she can barely function. Way to step in some trauma and twist your heel, Emily. I grab a tissue from a nearby box and start walking over to give it to her, but Christine turns away from me and shakes her head frantically, so I stop and just… pretend not to see her crying. Best I can tell, that's what she wants.

"Okay, so, tensions are high, and with good reason," I say, trying to restabilize things a little. "Anastasia, we're probably going to be up against an Angel. Emily, Christine, and I ran into one before we met up with you, and—"

"Woah, you did!?" Anastasia gapes. "You survived an Angel?"

"...Only barely," Emily scowls. "We got completely bailed out when the military started their counterattack and it left. The whole point of my strategy thus far was to try to avoid another confrontation with an Angel, but nope! The military's goddamn useless, as always! Should have never relied on them to keep us alive, and now we're fucked, we're so goddamn fucked!"

"Emily!" I snap. "You said it was our best shot, right? You said you stood by that."

"I… yeah," Emily admits. "I mean, it was."

Not 'I thought it was.' Just 'it was.' Hmm. A cracking sound from outside the house rings through the room and Anastasia immediately slices open her arm, crouching low and fully ready for threats. It says a lot about my life that I'm not terribly surprised that the nine-year-old who had to watch her family die earlier this week is currently the most competent member of my group.

"Then it's not your fault, right?" I say, grabbing Emily's shoulders and looking into her eyes. "You made the best move you could have made, it didn't work out, that happens. You make the plans, and I clean up the messes. That's how it's always been, and that's how it's gonna stay. You make whatever fucking call you think will get us out of here, Emily, and I'll make it work. Just find us that path, okay?"

"B-b-but I don't know what the right path is anymore!" she babbles. "Every second we stand here talking I'm only thinking up worse and wor… which means we need to leave right now holy shit everyone we need to leave right now!"

Uhhh, fuck, okay!?

"You heard her!" I shout. "Christine, Ana, let's roll! Wall or door, Emily?"

"Wall!"

"All the walls," Christine mutters, and then the house explodes around us, ripping itself open and exposing us in every direction. I'm about to scream at Christine to stop, but then I see the dozens of Raptors she has suspended in the air around us as well, about to breach into the building.

"Fuck yes, Christine!" I praise her (it didn't go well the first time, but I don't know what else to say when she does well) and then I shift into my combat form.

"Bigger!" Emily orders me as she jumps onto my back, and I oblige, increasing my size and scooping my tail between Christine's legs and tossing her onto my back as well while Anastasia gets up front. "Go, go, go!"

Christine groans miserably and I break into an immediate sprint, Anastasia's blood blades carving through the immobilized Raptors around us out of pure spite. Not that I blame her, but still—

"Focus forward, Ana!" Emily barks. Hell yeah, exactly what I wanted to say. Good to know she's quick to bounce back from a breakdown, at least. "We're running east and not looking back! Straight to the front lines!"

Uh, only one of us is running here? And for some reason it's the girl that couldn't walk unassisted until four days ago. Whatever, I won't pretend this isn't our best way out of here. As long as I have the energy reserves, I won't get tired and can maintain a full sprint for unreasonable lengths of time. If anything, I'm glad we're finally doing this. I don't have to micromanage people anymore. I don't have to keep everyone's spirits up. I don't have to herd cats. All of that shit is out of the way.

All I have to do is carry everyone on my back and make the whole trip myself. I can't even begin to describe how much less stressful that is.

A pack of Raptors jump out in front of us, and while Anastasia carves most of them open I just keep charging straight, leaping over the bodies in front of us without caring if they're dead or alive. I just have to keep going. Just keep going, and don't stop. My task is to get everyone out of here.

I'm overcome, suddenly, with a feeling of directness and specificity. My mind knows, somehow, of an indication of one lacking designation. The indicated is incomprehensible; the indicated acts with madness; the indicated is accused; the indicated is failing communication; the indicated is enemy. The indicated is to be killed. I don't understand. What is indicated? What am I supposed to kill?

There is surprise, but it has been deemed irrelevant. The one who asked what to kill is to be killed.

…Wait, I'm supposed to kill myself? That's not right. I'm not gonna do that. I can't protect everyone if I'm dead.

There is agreement on the trueness of that statement, but it has been deemed irrelevant. Combat engagement is now occurring.

A pulse of power causes every one of us to shiver, a brief touch of that need to split, to create more from less, designate a fraction of something as important, as noted, as more than just the whole, that hated, wretched whole. To designate one as two or three or four, to make it so, to cut and rend and declare and destroy. It is a rejection of fullness and oneness and vagueness and broadness, the unapologetic essence of…

DiV-s--N.

It reaches into me, suffuses me, disgusts me… and then leaves just as quickly, like a snake flicking its tongue into my ear. My eyes follow the feeling as it retreats, and immediately catch on the figure of a monster cresting the roof of a house far in front of us, gleaming crystalline blue in the morning light.

It looks nothing like any alien I've ever seen before, with its entire body being covered in miniature versions of the sapphire blue blades that tip the limbs of its lessers. Every inch of it is composed of these crystal dagger scales, yet rather than act like a beast laden with armor, it's a sinuous, flexible monstrosity, with numerous tentacles emerging from a round central body that constantly flow and shift. It has no apparent front or back or top or bottom; the tendrils seem to move relative to each other across the surface of the main body with the same ease that they dance slowly through the air, even as it stares at us without approaching. And oh, does the Angel stare. The only breaks in its blue, scaly flesh are ringed, black-and-white eyes that follow us with mad caricatures of a human pupil, patterns along the monster's body connecting them to each other with lines like constellations.

It is horrific and beautiful and I was made to obey it, why am I denying my purpose? How meaningless and worthless my life must be, to hear the commands of an Angel of God and to still turn away and say "no."

But of course, I have a bit of a chip on my shoulder about being called worthless, so I can't help but glower back, point my tail at the bastard, and roar. Of course I reject you. Of course I do! None of us are going to die today. That's the most natural thing to want in the world.

And again, there is surprise, but again, it is deemed irrelevant. My head hurts. My senses are swimming in things I don't understand. But I know that much, whatever it means. I watch as a Raptor is ordered to the Angel's side, and the Raptor obeys. And I watch as two tendrils reach out, grab each side of the beast, and then rip it in half.

Each piece of the bisected Raptor tumbles off the roof, twitching and bleeding. Huh! Freaky, but one less Raptor for me to worry about, I guess? But then I realize both halves of the corpse are still twitching, until they suddenly regrow their missing halves all at once. And so two Raptors start rushing our way.

"Oh, fuck," Emily mutters. "I mean, okay, that's not a huge deal. We've fought a bazillion Raptors before."

Then the Angel rips off one of its own arms, the arm starts to twitch, and our confidence, fittingly, is cut into a million pieces.