The elevator descended with a wet, sucking sound probably best forgotten by anyone who valued their sanity. Norman looked at the landlord by his side.

“So, what’s your name, kid?” he asked.

Mr. Squeam struggled to meet his gaze. “Y-you already know my name, and I’m pretty sure I’m older than you, you … you brat!”

Norman crouched to look the landlord in the eye. “Yo. That didn’t sound like a name.”

__CHAT

* ARN74: NORMAN, YOU ABSOLUTE ILJIN 😍😍😍!

“What did your mother call you?” pressed Norman.

“M-my mother’s dead …” Mr. Squeam stated.

Norman nodded slowly and eased off the pressure. His eyes softened, from diamond to steel.

“How did she die?” he asked.

Mr. Squeam nervously rubbed his keychain. “She … was just an animal.”

Norman’s eyes narrowed upon him. Everyone knew that feeling, the sense of being watched, as though gazes bore an invisible force that could be felt, not seen. If gazes were light, Norman’s glare was a laser. It seared into Mr. Squeam. He found himself fidgeting. How was a human capable of generating this kind of presence?

__CHAT

* INQU!SIT_R: wait … so he just …? oh, that piece of garbage 😡

“DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT! DON’T YOU DARE JUDGE ME!” Mr. Squeam exploded. “You don’t opt out of The Landlords! You join or die! Either way, there is a price! Always a price! You think I wanted this life!? I’m not a-!”

“Monster?” Norman interrupted, glowering beneath lifted brows.

Mr. Squeam didn’t have to take this! He jabbed forth his keychain and found himself pinned to the ground.

“You think beating me up makes you right!?” Mr. Squeam squealed. “I didn’t have a choice!”

“There’s always a choice,” Norman calmly declared.

“SPARE ME YOUR PREACHING!” spat Mr. Squeam. “If I didn’t off her, we both would have died!”

“How many lives have you offed since then, following ‘The Landlord Work Ethic’?” asked Norman.

“THEY WERE ANIMALS!” Mr. Squeam insisted. “We all are!”

“You seem to forget that you’re human,” Norman stated. “Even animals are partial to their species. Night shifting affects the phenotype, not the genotype.”

“How would you even know that!? Besides, you’re not human!” protested Mr. Squeam.

Norman raised an eyebrow. “Excuse you?”

“I watched you wipe out half a room full of landlords and then some!” reasoned Mr. Squeam. “You made Mr. Leatherback cry for his mommy! You took him apart with your bare hands!”

“So?” shrugged Norman.

“So, SHUT UP!” Mr. Squeam squealed. “Who are you to act like you care about my mother more than I do!? We crush humans! Whatever you are, you crush us! Don’t pretend to care about the insects at the bottom!”

Norman smirked. “Insects, huh?”

Mr. Squeam looked up.

Floor Thirteen.

The doors opened.

Mr. Squeam squeezed his eyes shut. The muffled screams invaded his ears nonetheless. Morbid intrigue compelled him to crack an eyelid, then another. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight.

Mr. Squeam had never been to the floor thirteens in these buildings. He wished that had remained the case.

Translucent sacks hung from the walls. They writhed with the wailing forms of people sealed within. Screams turned to bubbling streams as thick liquid began to smother the victims.

A giggling landlord poked at one of the sacks as its occupant tried his best to claw through and get at him. Hearing the elevator doors peel open, the landlord spun to face Norman and Mr. Squeam.

“HEY!” he yelled. “YOU CAN’T BE HERE!”

With one fist, Norman blitzed him with the light of the flash knuckles. With the other, Norman swept the room in rapid fire beams that burst every sack. Their occupants came pouring out.

Coughing and gagging on putrid liquids, the victims turned hateful gazes upon the landlord, who lay twitching on the floor.

They swarmed him as the doors closed before Norman. The last glimpse found them tearing off his keychain.

“Top floor,” Norman commanded.

Mr. Squeam snapped out of it. That sight wasn’t something he’d easily forget. He punched in the number, and fed the elevator from his keychain. It was a good thing he’d … topped up already, even if that wasn’t really his choice.

“You haven’t read the manual,” Norman declared.

“… Wut?” grunted Mr. Squeam.

“You don’t know what humans are meant to be, and what we can do, because you haven’t read the manual,” Norman clarified. “Until you learn to talk, you will not talk. Until you learn to read, you won’t even know reading’s possible. A smartphone is just a really bad mirror until you find out how to use it. Design features look like bugs and flukes, until you read the manual. 1982, Angela Cavallo lifts a car to save her son when the jacks fail and it drops on top of him. 2005, Daniel M’Mburugu, age 73, mauled by leopard. He pulls out its tongue. Needless to say, there wasn’t much mauling after that. 2019, Travis Kauffman is attacked by a mountain lion. No matter what he did, it refused to let go, so he strangled it with his foot. Even in our diminished state, we accomplish the incredible, because humans were not designed to fail.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“I’m not human …” Mr. Squeam repeated.

Norman made a face. “Why, you stubborn little- Okay, I can’t help you. Game face on and try not to die. We’re bringing down Johnny. If you turn on me, I’ll light you up like New Year’s Eve.”

~

A charcoal storm of flash ash swirled beyond the eyescraper, hampering visibility. John Crow’s sensors probed the black, but it muted and scattered his readings. If he was having trouble seeing through it, chances were that Amy wasn’t doing the best either. She was a creature of electromagnetism. Flash ash stifled such energies, which was a gift and a curse. Like a scab, it defended her wounds, but too much scabbing was never ideal.

A spear fisher in a shark cage, battling a great white. That’s what he felt like, clashing with Amy. It was a thrill no other man could boast. Not like this. However, as the murky waters cleared, it became evident that this was no great white. It was a megalodon.

He'd shot it in the eye anyway. That spear reached its brain.

“̵̡̟̓Amy, are you dying?”̴͖̠͑ John Crow asked over the sound casters.

The darkness yielded no answers.

“̶̙̈́̃You lost a lot of biomass,”̵͉͒̈́ he noted. “̴̛̘͊͜Wounded even more. You’re not some blob creature that splatters and comes back together, grows back from a single droplet. There’s a certain amount of you you can lose, and no more. Right now, your blood is an ocean, and we’re swimming in it.”̵̛̻̞͒

Still no response.

“̷̣̥̬͓͋̍̐͝Amy, please, tell me if you’re dying,”̴̰̯̈̀͑͒͛ he continued imploringly.

Silence.

A savage grin contorted his face. “I wish to laugh in your general direction, Amy. To point. To clap. I wish to drink Norman’s tears, grow drunk upon his anguish. Would you deny a man his pleasure? Amy, please, tell me that you’re dying.”

His sensors yielded nothing ... until they didn’t. The flash ash around his eyescraper condensed from a hurricane to a cyclone. Thick walls of crystalline black stood between him and the outside world. She was probably blinding him. Him, specifically, while clearing the rest of the area for her convenience. It felt like he was being gift-wrapped.

"3̴̞́̐%̶͎̱͊"

came Amy’s boom.

“̷͉̞͆̕What?”̶̄͜ he asked.

At the back of his mind, he felt the elevator arrive. Amy's signature was within it. A very was small signature. He sent it an atmospheric blast. The metal warped and the elevator went screeching down the shaft.

Her signature blinked out.

Strange ... why did she come up the elevator, with such a small avatar? Did someone come up with her? He didn't feel anyone. Oh well. They were dead now. Very dead.

"̸͎̯̄̕3%̸͍̍̍ IS̷͕͝ ̶̡͖͆̒Ț̶̅̓H̴̡͘Ë̴͍̠́ ̵̥̮̿M̷̳̲̉Ạ̶͂͝X̷̯͔͒͐I̶̟̊͆M̵̝͛̚Ű̴̬͒M ̷̯̈B̸̞̫͐I̷͗ΙO̴̟͈̅M̵̳̖̑̈Ä̸̦́S̶͚͎̋S̷̺͓̓̑ ̵̧̤̊I'̷͇̑Ṽ̶̙̑Ẽ̴̥ ̴̻̍͝D̵͓̃͐I̵͉̻̔R̸̡̪͊E̶̬̣͝Č̸̳T̵̫̉L̸̰̀̔Y̷̹͛ ̵̣͗EX̶̻͝Ḛ̵̯́R̵̭͔̐T̸̡͐Ḙ̵̬̓̚Ď̸̨̗͗ ̶̱̫̀Ṱ̸̠̉̾Ó̶̪͠Ǹ̴̹̝I̶͝ΙG̵̬͓̿H̵̩̉̌T̸̻̿,̵͈͎̃̐ ̴̧͖̍͗IN̶̢̛͈̍ ̴̙͚̆̈́AN̶̜̪͌͝Ÿ̵͕ ̵̞̇͑Ḿ̴͎O̵̢͐͂M̴̫̝̍͘Ë̶͎͖́Ń̴̳͘T̶͚́̆,̶̠̔"̶͇͕͌

Amy continued.

John Crow frowned. If he’d thwarted whatever she was doing with the elevator, why didn’t she sound upset?

"̴͕̖̈́͝Ȳ̴͓Ö̵̧̱͗Ṳ̴̥̉R B̶͉̽͒RA̷̞͋IN̵͕̄̆F̷̣͠L̴̺͗Ȉ̷̭E̷͙͗S̸̺̽ ̵̻̓W̸̞̬͛̑ER̶̞͛̕Ē̴̞̟ ̶̣͔̌̓MY ̸̖͚̊̀SH̶͕̞͠Ą̷̰̌C̷͇̈́͒K̶̜͗͘L̷͈̘͒E̸̡̕Ș̴͎̍,̷̛͙͎̓"̴̣̀̍

she admitted,

"̴̡͗̍BU̵̮̮͗̃T̸͈͔̏ ̴͙͖͐͋N̵̘̙̅̆O̷̬͌͝W̴͓͝,̶̗̖́͝ ̸̘̠͠TH̶̛̻͝E̷̫̕Ȳ̷̺'̵͔̻͝R̴͉̼̉̇E ̶̣̄̒M̵̢̃O̸̰̚S̷̗͋͌͜T̵̢̛́LY ̸̧͇͝DË̷̝̹A̶͚̿D̵͈̙̔.̷̲͙͛ ̸̘͔̈͆ ̶̢̍I'̵̢̛̝̆M̸̦̏̃ ̴̞̰͛̓R̸̠̮̈́́A̶̠̾̅IS̵̝̩͊̆I̸͉̘̎N̴͇̰͐G̶̡̀ ̶̳̆͛IT̴̨̈́ ̸̯͊T̷̜̽́Ọ̶͒ ̸̢͈̇͌20%̷͙͍̓̅"̴͚͍̑

His sensors freaked out.

He moved.

A crimson meteor punched through the brainflies, through the aerosol, the walls. It roared past him at 1500mph, missing by inches. It set the air on fire. He felt the heat. The sonic boom pelted his skin like a whip the size of a train. Then came the atmospheric disruption. It sent him tumbling like a bug in a hurricane. He fought to right himself as the meteor kept going, through the other wall. Like a river through a straw, it dragged the outside atmosphere through his control room, nearly yanking him through the exit hole.

Amy’s crimson aerosol mingled with Dread’s black as the holes sealed shut with patchwork flesh.

His sensors tracked the meteor. Her entire atmosphere lurched to catch the comet before it could streak into the horizon. As it slowed, its identity became clear.

Amy’s battle avatar.

“̷̳͎̈Supersonic speed …”̴̫̉̌ John Crow mused. “̸̝͠She’s not supposed to be able to do that …”̶̜͇̀

“Johnny …” came the answer he never expected.

John Crow turned. A flash blasted him in the face. His screech cut short when burning knuckles struck his neck. Though briefly blind, he felt the culprit through Dread. Barely. His aerokinesis threw back the attacker. Enough force to squash organs, shatter bones. And yet, the culprit landed in a graceful roll, and he was alive. The strike had been cushioned, but by what? There was nothing there.

Nothing, but Dread.

An energy ball that obviously belonged to Amy spawned above Norman’s shoulder, shifting from pink to red as it snarled. The room was alight with lightning sparks of black and crimson as her atmosphere competed with his own. Dread had done an excellent job of keeping her from dominating the room. Amy could resist him, but she couldn’t win. Not here.

Amy hadn’t protected Norman. Her concentration closest to him was extremely low.

A landlord sidled up beside Norman. He withered under John Crow’s glare, looking like he wanted to say something. However, Norman’s eyes silenced him.

“̷̛̫You know, Mr. Squeam, ‘I love treason, but hate a traitor’,”̴̦̀̎ John Crow quoted.

Mr. Squeam choked on his fear. “H-He forced me to-!”

“̷̜̽͘Yes. I know. How sad. Now die,”̴͍͈̔͘ groaned John Crow.

Black aerosol struck the intruders like a wave. Amy Mini morphed into a scarlet bubble, shielding Norman and the landlord. John Crow tore it apart with aerokinesis, and imploded Dread’s atmosphere upon Norman and his squadmate. They vanished behind swirling black. It parted. Norman emerged. Dread’s shadows hissed around him, but they did not bite.

Something unsettling dawned upon John Crow. A fraction of his aerosol was barely responding. That aerosol was in this room.

Around Norman.

“Johnny, you disappoint me,” Norman commented, raising his hand and letting the black wisps hiss between his fingers. “I thought you knew what A.M.E.s were. They’re not monsters. They’re vehicles of battle, and every vehicle has a steering wheel. You don’t know how to work it. You don’t have what it takes, so I’m taking the wheel. Just enough to run you into the ground.”

__CHAT

* INQU!SIT_R: you guys getting interference? i can’t hear everything Norman’s saying

John Crow shot out a dreadlock. It attached to Norman’s forehead and sniffed for memories and skills. Whatever Norman knew, it was gold. Something roared and severed the connection like a lion swatting a fly. Behind Norman’s mind, he glimpsed three mental signatures. They were massive. Their glares pressed John Crow’s thoughts to the ground like gravity itself.

Okay … Norman had to die. Immediately.

John Crow materialised a black node. It sprouted into a toothy tentacle that lashed at Norman. Flash knuckles shot it down before it reached.

“Amy wasn’t meant to pilot an A.M.E.” Norman jabbed a thumb to his chest. “The pilot was supposed to be me.”

Striding forward, Norman’s steps were bolstered by Dread’s traitorous aerosol. He was picking up speed.

John Crow checked the building’s senses. The sounds coming from outside were hard to miss either way. Flash ash no longer concealed his surroundings. He saw crimson lightning, razing peeping buildings. Their flyscreens went up in flames. He saw nodes, like his own, but much bigger. They swarmed about the cityscape, spurting toothy tentacles that tore through his buildings like fingers through paper. Almost in an instant, his forces were whittled down to breadcrumbs.

Then she turned her attention upon him. He felt her wrath. Her manic glee. She didn’t act like a dying woman.

John Crow returned his mind to Norman. It was a brief lapse in focus, but Norman’s fist was already a hair’s length away. Fear quickened John Crow’s thoughts. Her saw the knuckle lights ignite in slow mo, like furnaces burning to life in his face.

Closing in from within and without, he was beginning to see why Norman and Amy clicked so well.

These two were monsters.

Be that as it may, he was ready. Ready enough, anyway.

The mercury vortex engine had reached critical mass.

Amy shot forth. 2100mph. The air screamed and burnt in her wake. One moment, John Crow’s stronghold was before here. Impact was eminent.

The next, the eyescraper was gone.