Harvel watched Dibbuk disappear into the darkness. He knew he had to get her moving. He could feel his back crushing the carapace of an ant, the segmented plates burying themselves between the folds of his mycelia. They were making their way towards the team and time was coming up.

Harvel sensed another presence. He looked up. The small amount of light he could sense coming down through the memories had disappeared completely.

“I figured I would see you again soon. You are the one who put us here.” Harvel said, staring blankly at the hovering darkness.

Oh now, don’t act all high and mighty now that you’ve got that fancy new body. It still has the bones of a worthless wastewalker inside of it.

“You can’t come all the way down. You’ve never actually confronted it. So much time, and you’ve never looked it in the eyes.” Harvel stated, turning back to the spot his sister had disappeared through.

Shut it. What would you know? Two weeks ago you couldn’t tell your left from your right without looking at your hands. I made you Harvel, I made you what you are.

“Good one. You tried to make me. The little bastard got to me first though. I was supposed to be your spore. Your puppet.” Harvel said, sitting down and resting his elbows on his imaginary knees.

The centipede got sidetracked. The further they get from me the harder it is to push them around. It must have gnawed on something it wasn’t supposed to. It doesn’t matter. The outcome will be the same. You’ll have to kill it to save your sister. Whatever is left of your pitiful personality will go with it, and you'll do it willingly.

Harvel nodded solemnly. He had to admit it did seem like it might be a route he’d have to go down. He’d run a lot of scenarios in the short time he’d had. Many of which ended exactly how Boris wanted them to. A few didn’t. He was banking on those. He'd just found the memory of his first time trying apple pie and it was a real high note. It'd be a shame to let it go now.

You know how this will end. That body is mine.

Harvel sat in the peace of the deep for a moment. Poison. What a lie. Maybe it was to Boris. Maybe to someone so fearful of death. Someone with nothing to die for.

“Do I know that? I don't think I know that. I have faith. She’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.” Harvel commented, a faint smile spreading across his face. He didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. He had faith in his sister. Whatever Boris had to say about that now didn’t matter.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dibbuk walked further towards the darkness. At this point the various memories and feelings that had flowed through her had long since faded away. It was quiet, save for the bell in front of her.

The sound carried something else with it. Fear. She hadn’t felt anything in the ringing of the bell before. If she had, perhaps it was apathy. Now though, as she came ever closer to the source of the sound the fear inside of the tone grew.

As the same horrid little organism that Harvel had coerced came into view the fear became nearly overwhelming. Dibbuk tried to cover her ears, but the sound wasn’t in the air. It was passing through her being entirely. A thought came to her.

“I won’t hurt you. I’m not the monkey.” Dibbuk said, stopping seemingly a few feet from the mass of faces and fungi. The little mouths stopped frowning and looked dumbstruck

All things hurt. The monkeys, the bugs, the stars. Why not the lizard?

“Because all I want is to go home. I’m tired. I think you’re tired too.” Dibbuk said, almost to herself. She meant it. Revenge? Anger? She was done with it.

That had all been Harvels schtick. His motivation. His purpose. Hers?

I do not understand home. Does it hurt?

“No. It shouldn’t. Mine doesn’t.” Dibbuk answered. She knelt next to the being her brother had called an evil little bastard, and saw it for what it was. Afraid. She reached down and moved to touch the thing. It recoiled.

No! Pain! Monkeys! Bugs! Lizards! Pain! Leave!

Dibbuk sat there, arm outstretched, and stared down the trembling mass of faces. The fear it was exuding felt like it might crush her, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. She reached out and pressed the back of her claw to the top of its cap.

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“Everyone who you’ve ever met wanted to kill you, or use you. I don’t want either. I want to go home. I think you can feel that.” Dibbuk said, sitting down next to the creature. It stared up at her, the faces contorting into all manner of confused and scared expressions.

“Has a lizard ever hurt you before?” Dibbuk asked, a gentle wave of curiosity pushing her forwards. In a way she believed she knew the answer already. The little faces contorted into frowns.

Yes. Before Lizards changed. Before I changed them.

Dibbuks brain slowed. That… That wasn’t the answer she believed she’d known. It hadn’t been a lie, at least as far as she could tell. Could it even lie?

“How did you change us? When was it?” Dibbuk asked, her curiosity overruling her intent to bargain. She kept her claw steady.

Before monkeys, before bugs. I took the violence. Can’t hurt anymore. Can’t hurt the monkeys.

Dibbuk pondered the words. She didn’t quite understand. How could it take their violence? She understood the odd unsettling feeling she’d gotten when thinking about hurting a human or eating meat. She’d felt it her whole life, but she’d never thought about it as some outside force.

“Why? Why didn’t you want us to hurt the monkeys?” She asked, keeping her breathing steady. She was both beginning to feel sick to her spirit equivalent of a stomach, and becoming more excited with each moment. Did anyone know this? Was she the first?

All die. If fight. All die. I die. Starve. Never leave. Never go home. I saw it. Knew it.

Dibbuk looked at the creature again. The little faces were almost blank, as if it had completely forgotten she were there. Its little sunken eyes stared wide out into the distance. The fear it had been crushing her under began to lessen.

It occurred to Dibbuk that she herself didn’t want to die. She couldn’t blame the creature for being the same. There was no time for that now. It also occurred to her that her next question might very well be her last.

“Can you give me back my violence? I won’t use it to hurt you. I want the monkey gone. I want you to go home. I want to go home.” Dibbuk asked, turning her claw over and placing her fingers between the creature's faces. The creature wanted to be left alone, and she couldn’t help but feel for the wretched thing.

Life, whatever version of it the creature was living, seemed to have shoveled shit in its face from the very beginning. She could relate in a way. She’d never been able to fight back against those that had hurt her, but at least she’d had a family. What did this thing have?

The creature focused on her. Its many faces seemed to be searching for lies. Dibbuk didn’t have to lie. This was what she wanted.

She’d found her purpose. To be curious enough to seek out the misunderstood, and be courageous enough to accept it for what it was. An animal lashing out at whatever might cause it harm after a lifetime of torture.

* * * * * * * * *

Wicksomme hunkered down onto one knee and pulled the secondary valve lever on his pesticide tank. The rest of the team laid down a wall of fire, all the while the Trip boat gracefully floated towards them at a leisurely five miles per hour. He frantically watched the advancing line of ants step over the two burg charges Don had thrown halfway down the pipe.

Wait, Don? Telio? Which was it again? Wicksomme shook the confusion from his head, throwing the distracting thought as far from his brain as he could. The gauge on his gun read sufficient pressure and the young wastewalker got to his feet.

“Masks up! Chem out!” Wicksomme shouted, pulling his own filtration mask up onto his face. The rest of the team hastily did the same, save for Don. If he’d had the time and mental bandwidth Wicksomme might have remembered Don once saying that he loved the smell of ant brain stems melting.

He pulled back on the valve release and a stream of vile smelling opaque silver liquid sprayed across the tunnel in an arc. He started on one side and swept to the other, keeping the flow steady for an even coating. As the brain stems began sizzling a fog began to form around the first splotches of contact.

As he prepared for a second round, Don grabbed the man and spun him around. He pointed down the tunnel they had come from. Even above the constant barrage of gunfire Wicksomme could feel the encroaching mass of insects. He slipped in the muck, slamming back down onto one knee. He doused the entirety of the pipe that he could see before the insects even came into sight.

Before he had stopped spraying the fog started to billow from the tunnel. A mass of twitching legs and carapace formed just within Wicksommes vision. The ants from the rear were forcing the front of the line into the viscous, screaming, chittering mass of former ant warriors.

As the Trip boat neared, Wicksomme switched frantically from spraying down the wall of encroaching ants, and keeping a coating of pesticide on the pipe they had come from. The boat was nearly above the teams position when the timers on Dons burg charges hit zero. Not far from the rear of the boat ants quickly became a monsoon of limbs, heads, abdomens and the like.

An antennae shot out of the mass of viscera, threading the needle under Marys arm, and slamming directly into Wicksommes face. His mask slammed into his front teeth as it tore away and flew off into the darkness. His eyes blurry, and watering from the force of keeping them open, Wicksomme briefly understood why Don didn’t wear his mask. What a sickeningly sweet smell.

“Apple pie? Whuh?” Wicksomme started to mumble, but the world had already begun to fade. One of his eyes wouldn’t stay open anymore. His mouth felt odd. Oddly warm.

“Shit! Don’t breathe it in! Keep laying down fire!” Don yelled, pulling out the mask he’d never worn and forcing it onto Wicksommes head. He inspected the young man. Maybe he’d been wrong. A ladder dropped above his head, yet stopped far out of his reach. The team looked up in unison to see their half ton, lab coat wearing savior vault over the side of the vessel.