So, yeah… that happened. It was a lot to process. My transformation into a wyrm was giving whole new levels of meaning to the concept of multitasking.

Our dysfunctional, shell-shocked little family—Heggy, Jonani, and myself—had gathered in a conference room on the second floor to discuss what had happened. By this point, it felt absurd that we were using conference rooms like this to discuss the apocalypse’s latest developments, as if a magic wyrm fight in the hallway was no different from any of the other problems that fell under the hospital’s purview—open heart surgery, wart removal, enemas, and so on.

As for me, in addition to being not okay, I had not one, nor two, but three dénouements on my plate, and none of them were pretty.

First, there was the matter of the 250th Lassedite. After more than two centuries, years, the mystery of Mordwell Verune’s disappearance had been solved. I wondered if anyone had “he got flung 217 years into the future” on their “What happened to Lassedite Verune?” bingo card.

Obviously, that was going to complicate things.

Then, there was the matter of the catastrophic violence Letty had caused. I think I was still in shock about it. As I sat in my chair in the conference room, I kept tugging at my bow-tie, as if it might wake me up from this dream.

Nearly a dozen people had died.

Well, what were the positives? I asked myself.

Because, at this point, why not?

For one thing, at least the massacre’s survivors were too traumatized to go around screaming that there were demons in the hospital who were using their magical powers to maim and murder. Well, most of them were. Vernon’s men had quickly taken away anyone who wasn’t able to keep themselves calm.

Suisei chose to skip out on the meeting altogether, volunteering to assist Vernon’s men with securing the transformees in Room 268. Ani, meanwhile, was terrified by it all, and that upset Jonan, which was bad, because he was already furious at us—meaning Heggy, Suisei, and myself—at having, well… I’ll let him speak for himself.

(Also, I’m aware I didn’t mention the third dénouement. Don’t worry, I’ll be getting to it in a moment.)

Jonan slapped his gloved hand on the tabletop. “I know I’m just a lowly surgical resident,” he said, at least half-facetiously, “so, please, forgive my tone, but… I don’t know which is harder to believe: what just happened,” he pointed toward the conference door, “or the fact that you knew about it, and hid it from the rest of us.”

Jonan glowered in my and Dr. Marteneiss’ general directions—which was easy, since she and I were seated only two seats apart.

“Like I said before,” he continued, “I’ll give you all a pass for your misrepresentations about the whole ‘it-turns-people-into-monsters’ thing. You were fulfilling legal requirements as best as you could while minimizing the potential for any unrest or liabilities. But this?”

Standing up, Jonan raised a hand toward the ceiling. He held his fingers upward, slightly splayed out, like the petals of a half-opened flower.

“Dangerous magic powers!?”

Why were we in here, rather than our usual place in the glass-walled conference room down on Ward E’s ground level? Convenience, mostly. If we’d held our meeting downstairs, we’d have had to trudge up and down the stairs (or wait for the elevator) every time something new came up with the transformees. Mercifully, with Letty dead, the Room 268’s patients were much more cooperative with Vernon’s soldiers. Along with the dead soldiers, Letty’s and Charles’ corpses were taken down to the morgue, so that the scientists (both ours and the military’s) could give them a thorough examination.

The conference room was a cozy affair. Modern tech had been cleverly integrated into the room’s old furnishings. In terms of current team dynamics went, Heggy and I were playing the roles of mother and father; Jonan, the problem child; Ani, the overachieving, goody-two-shoes of a younger sister, and Suisei, the perspicacious neighbor watching quietly from the house next door.

Jonan stood at the head of the table, propping himself up with arms—his palms pressed onto the tabletop. His arms were like a bridge trestle, with his head hung slack between his shoulders’ peaks, as if the bridge had toppled and slid into the sea.

“Magic is for fairy-tales, Dr. Derric,” Heggy replied, stoic and stout-browed. “As for the decisions, like before, they were made above my level. When you’re in the middle of a crisis, few things can cause divisions as deep or wide as what happens when the wrong kind of talk gets set loose in people’s mouths.”

She glanced at me.

“Pursuant to official policy, Dr. Howle, Dr. Horosha, and I made the decision to—”

“—I suppose the real question is,” Jonan interjected, “what else aren’t you telling us?”

Neither Heggy, Suisei nor myself said anything in response. I was doing it only because I didn’t know what to say, only what not to say.

I thought of my tail, coiled in the back of my hazmat suit. I didn’t need to look to know it had only gotten longer.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jonan huffed.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Furrowing her brow, Dr. Marteneiss clenched her fist over the tabletop. “I’m cutting you some slack here, Dr. Derric. I really don’t know what we can do to contain and control these magic powers, other than to just keep trying our darndest and hoping things don’t come up rotten.”

Jonan laughed. He coughed as he laughed, but he didn’t let that stop him. “If zombies in the streets isn’t ‘things coming up rotten,’ I don’t want to know what is,” he said.

Heggy coughed, clearing her throat. “That bein’ said,” she said, “at the risk of bein’ petty, you’re in no position to complain about lies, Dr. Derric.” She glanced at Ani and I. “Dr. Howle and Dr. Lokanok have informed me that you confessed to stealing medication from our reserves.”

“I don’t steal,” Jonan replied, “I appropriate creatively.”

“I don’t care what you call it,” Heggy said, slapping her palm on the table, “you’re doin’ it, and—not only that—but you’re doin’ it at the worst possible time.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “It makes me wonder whether the hair gel you smear over those blond locks of yours is just to caulk up the holes where the stink of your maggoty, honor-less soul might leak through and poison the air.”

Heggy got rather florid when she was mad.

During all this, I was only half-listening, but not in a bad way. Half of my consciousness was hard at work inside my head, dealing with the third dénouement: Andalon.

See? I deliver on my promises now. I’ve gotten better with that.

She was devastated.

The blue spirit sat with me in a recreation of the observation deck at the end of the hall where our current conference room was located. It was one of the newer observation decks: an open, turquoise-carpeted area filled with oddly placed red sofas that looked like something you’d find extruding from mold. Despite that, they were comfortable enough—even if they had the texture of nylon. Andalon and I sat on one of them, side by side, staring out through a big bay window. In the real world, the view would have been one of desolation and horror. There’d have been gunfire flashing in the evening streets, dying rioters pillaging storefronts, troops and military vehicles desperate to maintain order, crowds of zombies moving through the streets like drunken army ants, and, of course, all the things in the air. Some of them would have been aerostats. But, others?

I shuddered at the thought.

Thankfully, the scene through the bay window was different. It was a glorious summer afternoon. Traffic sped through the streets, peppy and filled with business. Monorails sped along their red, elevated tracks. Distant Expressways swept across the Bay’s glittering waters.

Andalon was still crying. She sat to my right, in between me and Mr. Humby. Not even her beloved big hummingbird plushie was enough to ease her grief. Earlier, she’d been bawling, but she’d since quieted down a little.

Every once in a while, her little hand squeezed around my fingers.

Why was her reaction so severe, you ask? Well, as familiar as she was with death, it turned out Andalon had no concept of suicide—or, if she had, &alon hadn’t uploaded it into her yet. This revelation took me by surprise, though, in hindsight, I probably should have expected it.

She’d been so utterly despondent in the seconds immediately after Charles’ suicide—screaming, flailing, pounding the floor—that I’d had to decouple my consciousness and take her in here, just to keep her under control. It was awful. For a while, she didn’t respond to me at all, and rambled on and on about “good wyrmehs” and “bad wyrmehs”, but when I finally managed to calm her down, she plunged into silence, staring blankly at the window.

Her sorrow was heartbreaking to witness. It reminded me of the way I’d broken down when I’d first learned of Rale’s death.

All of sudden, Andalon turned to face me, her face pale as snow.

“What was that… Mr. Genneth?” she asked. “Mr. Char-Char… he…”

I sighed.

“The word you’re looking for is suicide. Sometimes, people feel so lost, so trapped, so hurt that, as sad as it sounds, they would rather never feel anything ever again than to continue being as they are. So,” I closed my eyes, “…they kill themselves.”

Andalon sniffled, wiping her tears on her forearm. “Was Mr. Char-Char hurting?” she asked.

“Yes, he was.”

“Why was he hurting?” she asked. “Who hurt him?”

Mr. Twist had mentioned that a “Veronica” had walked out on him. Hazarding a guess, I assumed that she’d been his wife, or had been slated to be.

“Though I don’t know for sure,” I said, “I think what happened was that a person he cared for very, very deeply left him, and it made him go crazy, and while he was crazy, he started turning into a wyrm.”

“So?” Andalon croaked.

“When he was crazy, he wasn’t himself. He did very bad things, and hurt many people, and when he stopped being crazy—when he understood what he had done, it was too much for him. He couldn’t deal with it. He saw that he’d become something he didn’t want to be, something that hurt people.”

“But wyrmehs save people,” Andalon said, utterly emphatic.

“For him, it wasn’t enough. Werumed-san killed people; he ate them. And Charles couldn’t bear that.”

“But why would he make himself go away?” Andalon cried. “Why?”

Back in the Thick World, Jonan sank back into his seat, his arms crossed. He stared at Heggy for a moment before he spoke.

“Dr. Marteneiss,” he said, “you accuse me of being a thief without knowing the details.”

“Then enlighten me,” Heggy replied.

Shaking his head, Jonan turned to the window.

Engines thrummed outside as aerostats flew by. Searchlights and sirens roved over Elpeck’s corpse. He turned back to face us a moment later.

“I will, but, first, I want to know something,” he asked. “Heggy, why does it fucking matter to you? The system has failed us,” he shrugged, “not that it ever worked that well to begin with, but… there’s no point in judging it now, not when we’re all about to die. Really: even if we weren’t living on borrowed time, what would be the point? It’s not like you actually care. Most people don’t. They live their lives just going through the motions, while the people with power, skill, and influence zoom past them, flying overhead. The world is their oyster, and we’re not invited.”

“Jonan,” Ani said, “you liked to tell me you’re not afraid of anything. Was that a lie?”

Jonan’s brow furrowed.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Ani?” he said. “I don’t lie.”

“Yeah, well, stealing medication, and then sulking around isn’t much better.”

Jonan shook his head. “They don’t understand, Ani, and, to be frank,” he said, “sometimes I worry you don’t either. You’re all in denial. All of you.” Jonan rolled his head in my direction. “Doctor Happy-Go-Lucky Hazmat Suit, here, most of all.”

“I take offense at that, you know,” I said, flatly.

“Really?” Jonan snorted. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Enough!” Heggy snapped. Tensing her thigh, she slammed the sole of her boot onto the floor. The whole table shook. “I’ve had enough of your insubordination, Dr. Derric. I demand to know what you’ve been up to, and why! What reason could you have that’s so important—or petty—that you’d take action that sabotage and undermine the efforts of your colleagues?”

Ani said nothing. Instead, she locked eyes with Jonan, and she kept staring at him until he acknowledged her gaze with his own. Ani nodded, and then, after a deep sigh, so did Jonan.

Jonan let out a deep sigh.

“You wanna know why?” he asked, “You really do? Fine. It’s because I’ve been living on borrowed time my whole Angel-touched life.”