Morgan Abrams
~1 hour until Lockdown
“What the fuck are they saying?” someone hisses in your ear. Riley?
It takes a second (okay, more like several minutes) to splice the camera video with the matching time code from the audio channel on Cassandra’s phone. Another moment to back up the sync’d recording to the start of the conversation. The sound crackles, muffled slightly from inside her purse.
“I still don’t understand why you’re asking me.”
Cassandra’s voice? Must be.
“If you’re expecting an appeal to ego, Ms. Wheeler, prepare to be disappointed,” Rivka answers. Her voice is sharp. Each word is overly enunciated. She used to have the same stuttering issue you have, or so she claims. It’s hard to image Rivka was ever a teenager, even if, logically, it must have happened at some point.
Speech therapy worked out way better for her than it did you.
“No, no–” Cassandra stammers, shaking her head. “I just mean, don’t you have your own employees for stuff like this? I’ve not even finished school yet–”
“You came highly recommended to me by your internship supervisor. Or is printing out research papers and placing a few dozen readers around the arcology beyond your talents?”
“Holy shit, that is your mom,” Brayden interjects.
Cassandra shakes her head, reaches for the folder of papers Rivka has pinned to the table. Hesitates and draws back. “It’s just… all those research papers you made me print out on Imago–”
“NMIV-72. You’re aspiring to be a scientist, get the name right,” Rivka corrects.
“–right, sorry.” She bites her lip, shifting uncomfortably in her seat under Rivka’s stare.
“Shikata nai, Ms. Wheeler. There is always an element of risk in our field of work.”
“Is there?” Cassandra’s voice tilts upward, overwhelmed. “I almost got arrested trying to place one of those air reader boxes you won’t even tell me anything about.”
“Let me make myself crystal clear, Wheeler.” Rivka’s voice is cold, bordering on bored. “Breathe so much as a hint of a word of what I’ve asked you to do to anyone, and I can and will see to it that you never get another job in this company. I have offered you my favor. You do not want to lose it.”
Whatever Cassandra says next is drowned out by Brayden hissing “What the fuck!?” in your ear. Almost drop the tablet in surprise.
“You won’t,” Rivka says in response to Cassandra’s question. “Interns are background filler. Dress pretty enough and smile – they won’t care what you’re doing.” There’s a pause, Rivka reading something in Cassandra’s face that you can’t make out at this resolution. “I trust this sufficiently clarifies our arrangement for you?”
“I–” Cassandra holds her breath for a moment, posture rigid. “Yes,” she breathes out, the defeat clear in her voice. “Yes, Dr. Abrams.”
“She’s a little old for Cass, don’t you think?” Riley says, earning a glare from you and Brayden both.
The meeting doesn’t continue for much longer than that. A few more exchanged words clarifying exactly what kind of papers Rivka wants (any research on Imago from the last ten years), then sliding over a folded paper with a list of locations to put the so-called readers and that’s it. Rivka dismisses Cassandra from her office with an all-to-familiar “don’t disappoint me.”
Brayden turns on you. “Did you know about this?”
You wither under his glare. Of everything you were prepared to come across, this was decidedly not on the list. “N-no! She d-d-doesn’t– doesn’t tell me anything!”
“I don’t believe you. Is this some kind of joke? Your mom is holding my fucking girlfriend’s future hostage? Are you trying to get back at me for–”
“Woah,” Riley thrusts her arm between the two of you. “If Morgan says he didn’t know, he didn’t know. Moumentai dude. Take a breath.”
“I d-d-d-didn’t even know you had a– had a girlfriend,” you protest.
Brayden grits his teeth. “Goddamnit Cass.”
“What the hell is ‘Shikata nai?’” Riley asks.
It’s one of Rivka’s many, many stock phrases. “It-it-it’s Japanese or– or something. It m-means th-there is no other choice.”
She whistles. “Ominous! That’s fun.”
The three of you end up spending another hour hunched against the wall, combing through the security footage. Two earlier times in the footage where Cassandra and Rivka are together. Both times in what you confirm is Rivka’s work office. Neither instance has any usable audio you find, Cassandra’s phone being properly turned off. The whole time Brayden paces the room like a caged animal, thoughts running through his head in a staccato buzz. You have to forcibly push it out of your mind in order to focus.
Skipping through the surveillance footage some more, you put together a few clips of Cassandra surreptitiously setting up what Rivka called ‘readers.’ Hand-sized plastic boxes that cling to the wall, an opening at the top like an air vent, seemingly stuck anywhere with enough space to fit.
“I want a copy of all this shit. The videos, everything,” Brayden declares.
“W-what? Why?”
“I’m going to talk to Cass. Confront her about it. She’s being… coerced or something, right? Blackmailed? So we get Cass and take this video to Security or– or Internal Review– or something and get this sorted before anything bad can happen, right?”
You share a look with Riley. Sure, you and Rivka aren’t exactly on great terms, uh– ever. But she’s still– that’s your–
And and and ‘blackmail’? Really? That’s a bit of a leap, isn’t it? Rivka called it an NDA. Companies do NDAs all the time. It doesn’t mean there’s something horrible going on.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, dude. I mean, think about it.” Riley steps in, physically. “How are you going to explain where you got the recording from, for one thing? Also like, Mrs. Abrams–”
“D–Dr. Abrams,” you correct, almost on reflex. It’s been a sore point for her her entire career.
“Right. Uh, Dr. Abrams, is like, a fucking B-Class bigwig.” You nod along. Close enough. “It’s going to be your word against hers, and your folks may be rich compared to mine, but dude, your family is still just fucking middle management, be real.”
“Okay, sure.” Brayden throws his hands up in the air, pacing around the room. “Then how do you explain the fucking boxes?”
“The boxes?” Riley trades looks with you, but you’re just as lost. “You mean the readers or whatever? What about them?”
“My Dad’s ex-Security, remember?”
You only met him once. An overdone steak of a man but at least he had the kindness to keep the words he called you inside his head while you were around. Really, it’s a wonder Brayden isn’t even more of an asshole than he already is.
“…yeah? And?”
“Well, I overhear him talking to his friends still on the job, alright? Those boxes are just the kind of thing a terrorist could use to hide bombs in. Or drugs.”
“Drugs,” Riley says.
“B-b-bombs?”
Brayden’s spiraling off the deep end and you have no idea how to handle that.
“What else could it be guys? Well? Your mom–” Brayden thrusts a finger in your direction, “–is forcing my girlfriend into some kind of terrorist drug ring. Why else all that bullshit about not talking to anyone? Cass is going to get arrested and sent to jail and–”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Riley cuts in. She puts a hand out to Brayden’s chest, forcing him to stop pacing around. “Dude, take a chill pill or something, damn. You’re freaking out over nothing.”
Brayden starts to say something only for Riley to raise a finger at him. “I’m just saying! Think this through, man. This is probably just like, company business or whatever. Maybe you oughta just leave this be, you know?”
Brayden crosses his arms. “Cass is obviously being forced. She needs help. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I just didn’t do anything?”
He grits his teeth. Every part of him on edge.
Against your will, some part of you finds it sympathetic. If it was Riley in trouble, there’s no way you could just sit around and do nothing.
“You were ready to spy on her like, two hours ago because you thought she might be cheating on you. Now you want to rush to her defense?”
“That’s different.”
“Sure, dude.”
It’s another agonizing fifteen minutes as the two of them argue back and forth over what to do. Brayden refuses to pay the rest of the money he promised unless he gets a complete dump of all the security videos. You only half pay attention, still thinking about Rivka.
The crabby old woman always huffing at you to keep your head down is running around threatening a teenager over her job in order to do… what? A bunch of errands? She has an entire staff she can bully to do that, so why force some teen intern? She never seemed the type to go on a power trip – the opposite really; Rivka always had a deep distrust in the competency of other people.
Is it a set-up? Maybe she’s trying to get Cassandra in trouble? But that doesn’t make any sense either. Why bother?
It takes an agonizing five minutes of listening to Brayden and Riley bicker in the background while your tablet chugs through video data, continuing the search for more meetings between the two. Nothing usable presents itself – it looks like Cassandra only forgot to turn her phone off that one time.
Against your better judgement, you decide to take advantage of your newly created account to do a deep dive into the Praxis Employee database. Cassandra Wheeler’s entry is practically empty. Educational records, progress reports on her internship, all seem fairly standard, boring. No mention whatsoever of an assignment under Rivka.
That doesn’t have to mean anything. Switching to Rivka’s file is longer. Twenty years employment history, summarized by autogen AI text in reverse chronological order. A number of R&D projects, employee reviews, job assessments, and then suddenly. Nothing? Nothing on her history before the company, education (she has a doctorate from the University of Paris on her office wall, why isn’t that mentioned?), not even a date of birth.
The only family listed is you, with a side annotation of (adopted). Thanks. You decline to check your own file - getting a full breakdown of just how screwed you are doesn’t sound like a good time.
There’s a sub-file for security reports, maybe that’ll have something?
You tap through and are greeted with only two entries. The first looks like a write-up of that time she had to be escorted from your hospital room. The second… a single sentence: Full record sealed by order of law enforcement [11/4/2173, Case File: IA1028300076]
Uh. What?
Feeling a little spooked, you save a copy of everything after all. Just in case. Then it’s time to wipe the access logs, the last thing you need out of all of this is to get a knock on the door by Praxis Security.
Or worse.
Disconnect from the network, then the long process of unthreading all the cables and getting the wall panel back in place. The argument between Riley and Brayden continues unabated all the while. Maybe Riley’s making some progress? Skimming the static it feels like Brayden isn’t panicking as badly as before.
“L-let’s go,” you say in lieu of announcement, dusting your hands off.
“What?” Brayden jerks his head over to you, eyes sharp, mouth twisted into a tight frown. “What are you doing? We’re not done here.”
Riley huffs, running a hand through her hair. “Uh, yeah, we are. You got your answer dude. You can stiff us on the rest of the money all you like, but it doesn’t change anything.”
“T-t-talk to– to Cassandra. Or don’t. D-d-don’t waste your t-t-t-time telling Security. You’ll just get us all in t-t-trouble instead. Your g-g-girlfriend too.”
Maybe that’s true, maybe it’s not. But the last thing you need out of this is Brayden running off and ruining your life a second time by bringing an investigation down on you and Rivka.
***
The three of you make your way back home after that, Riley and Brayden having arrived at something approaching a truce over the money. No videos provided, no second half of payment. That’s… ‘fair’ you guess.
There’s no point giving him the videos anyway. You can feel the thought process circling through his head like angry sardines. It’ll just make you and Riley’s lives more difficult when some armed Security cop comes rolling around asking a lot of uncomfortable questions because Brayden’s too stupid to keep his mouth shut.
It might still happen at this rate.
Damn it. If you hadn’t seen the video yourself, you’d never have believed it.
Those images just keep churning in your head, over and over. Fish stuck in a tiny glass aquarium, using up all the oxygen. Keep coming back to that one mystifying sentence: ‘sealed by order of law enforcement.’ Don’t even notice when, at Riley’s insistence, Brayden leaves first. A sharp angry goodbye and a wave as soon as he leaves the maintenance tunnel ahead of you both. Takes the stairs back up to the atrium two at a time.
You watch him leave, standing at the bottom of the stairwell. Nausea or anxiety or some heretofore unheard of third emotion burning acid up your throat.
Riley raises her eyebrows at you. “You okay?” she signs.
You shrug, unsure of the answer. Chewing the inside of your cheek hard enough to risk blood. Make an effort to pressing the tips of your fingernails into the skin of your arms instead. Little half-crescents of anchoring pain.
Riley taps her foot, drawing your attention back to her. “I feel like I oughta apologize again. That is so not how I thought this would go.”
You nod. Uh-huh. Sure didn’t.
“You sure you’re okay?” she signs.
You shake your head. Run your face through a gamut of expressions as you work out what to sign. “I don’t know what to think right now,” is what you settle on.
“It’s probably nothing,” Riley signs back. “Like you said. We’re missing context.”
An unexpected concession, even if you can tell she’s not being completely honest. She’s never been shy before about openly declaring how much she thinks Rivka is a bitch. It’s a little embarrassing, honestly, the grudge she holds against Rivka on your behalf. You’re not worth it.
“It’s not any of our business anyway, right?” Riley adds.
“Y-yeah.”
‘High-ranking workaholic resorts to extreme measures’ slots right into her mental image of the woman. You can feel it happening right now through the static.
“Let’s just go home,” you sign.
You follow her up the stairs, intending to go your separate ways, your respective apartments in opposite vertical directions from here. Riley gets as far as the elevator when the emergency lighting flashes on. Red.
Everyone’s phone in the transit station emits a sharp siren simultaneously. Both of you jump. People start shouting in surprise. Riley gets her phone out first. You realize yours is still off. Oops. Crane your head over to look at hers while the black screen on yours boots up.
***WARNING** SUPERINTENDENT EMERGENCY INTERCOM **WARNING***
A SHELTER IN PLACE ORDER IS NOW IN EFFECT FOR:
TOWER EPSILON FLOOR 43 JUNCTIONS A THROUGH L
TOWER EPSILON FLOOR 42 JUNCTIONS C THROUGH F
ALL PRAXIS EMPLOYEES AND RESIDENTS ARE TO SHELTER IN PLACE.
THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
– BIOHAZARD WARNING –
REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE AND DON APPROPRIATE PPE.
DO NOT IMPEDE SECURITY PERSONAL AND OBEY ALL INSTRUCTIONS.
FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL BE PUNISHED TO FULL EXTANT OF THE LAW
AND IN ACCORDANCE TO COMPANY POLICY.
DO NOT OPEN OR OVERRIDE ANY DOORS OR GATES.
HALL ACCESS WILL SHUT MOMENTARILY.
YOU WILL BE NOTICED WHEN SHELTER IN PLACE ORDER IS LIFTED.
“The fuck?” Riley whispers under her breath.
There’s only a small crowd in the transit station, but the hushed conversation as they huddle together is still loud enough to bounce off the walls. Is it the end of the world? Are nukes finally flying? Structural failure?
“What the fuck is a biohazard warning?” Riley hisses at her phone.
You breaths start coming in shallow, catching in your throat. What if one of the sea walls protecting the city failed? You remember watching a documentary video in last year’s social studies class about New York. Had nightmares afterwards for weeks. A solid wall of water rushing down the streets, smashing into buildings, people, cars.
You glance around the area. The view from the exterior windows seems normal. No apocalyptic walls of fire or water. A thought wriggles its way forward: did Brayden remember to turn his phone back on? He’s not in the crowd. He must be in the hallway already. Fuck. As if your anxiety wasn’t bad enough, the nerves of the crowd are getting to you. Why do you even care where Brayden is?
Beside you, Riley sucks in her breath. Nudges your shoulder and angles her phone so you can see her screen better. At the top of her Chattr feed, a video. Seconds old. The sound is turned almost all the way down but you can still make out people screaming, fleeing some sort of shape in what looks like a grocery store. A pyramid stack of canned vegetables is scattered to the ground as something vaguely doglike jumps through it. There’s the sound of glass shattering as cans go flying. The person filming scrambles backward, dropping the phone.
“Is th-that–”
“An Imago attack here?” Riley rewinds the video, plays it again, trying to eke out any further details. “My parents are going to freak the fuck out dude. No, fuck that, I’m freaking out right now. Was that thing a dog? We aren’t allowed to have pets and somebody is out there walking future monster Rover? What the hell?”
“R-Riley–”
“Fucking Praxis at it again, we’re supposed to be safe up here.” Riley presses play on the video again. “Fuck,” she hisses at the screen. Halfway through the second playthrough, it stalls out. Caught and deleted by the Superintendent.
Imago attacks aren’t supposed to possible inside the arcology, that’s part of the whole Praxis appeal. The entire complex is climate controlled and airtight on a level rivaling space stations. Even if something did get inside, the symptoms for Imago are so well established that the Superintendent and Security are supposed to be able to identify and quarantine-slash-cure the animal or person long before something like this could happen.
You call up a map of the area in your head, compare it to the sections being put under lockdown. Where might there be a grocery store…?
“Fuck.”
“What? What?” Riley hisses.
“That’s here. Where we are,” you sign to her. “It’s the same hallway Brayden would have to use to get to the express elevators.”
“Shit. I’ll text him. Telling him to get back here before the gates shut.” She types frantically. Sucks in her breath. “Well, I sent it, but it’s not going through.”
You’re not surprised. “Net t-t-traffic throttle, probably.”
You rock back and forth on your feet. A sudden loud clacking noise makes both of you jump. The security gates start unfolding down from the ceiling, a Jacob’s Ladder of metal slates winding downwards. Closing off the exits. You frown, watching it happen. The shrill noise of the motors grate against your ears.
There’s an idea forming in your head and you really don’t like it.
Riley says somewhere right next to you and yet a thousand feet away, “I should– I should call my parents. Let them know we’re okay.”
“G-g-good idea,” you say, half paying attention as Riley paces in place. Check your own phone, now that it’s on. A single message from A* reminding you of homework due tonight. Don’t know what you were expecting, a message from Rivka?
Sudden silence fills the atrium and you look up. The security gates have stopped. Frozen in place.
“Um.”
Riley looks up, follows your gaze. Her hand grips your upper arm. Is that her heart pounding or yours? “Morgan… why did they stop?”
“W-w-why would I know?” After a moment you add, thinking of it, “Someone’s g-g-getting fired to-tonight.”
You glance over at the crowd huddled against the tram tracks. As if a car will arrive any second to carry them away. Someone in the crowd catches your eye and urges the two of you over. You ignore them. Can think of nothing you want less then to be pressed into close quarters with a mob of scared, frightened strangers.
You move towards the gate instead, half expecting it to start moving any second now. Some sort of glitch in the Super? A mechanical malfunction? It’s low enough that you’d have to duck under. Riley runs after you. Grabs your arm as you crouch down, trying to pull you back.
“What the fuck, dude? We’re supposed to stay here, you idiot. You know, where it’s safe!”
“R-r-right.” You nod. Do your best to shake her off you. “S-so stay. I’ll be right-right back.”
You ignore Riley’s sputtering protest as you step under the gate. Eyes closed, testing the static, figuring out which path to take to catch up to Brayden. Asshole better pay you the rest of the money after this.
There’s a distressed groan followed by the clank of Riley catching her back against the bottom of the gate. You turn your head just in time to see her scramble out from under the gate as it falls the rest of the way to the ground. No turning back now.
“You okay?” you sign.
She flips her middle finger at you, one hand rubbing the base of her spine.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she signs in sharp, violent motions.
“Making sure Brayden doesn’t get eaten.”
“Are you crazy?”
“I mean–”
“You aren’t. And I thought we hated Brayden?”
Well. Yeah. You do. But just because you want Brayden dead doesn’t mean you want him dead. If he’s going to be stuck out there, at least you could keep him from walking right into danger.
“He still owes us money,” you try.
“Come the fuck on, Morgan.”
Alright, different tactic. “You could have stayed.”
That one hits a nerve. She takes a swing at you, enough force behind it that you opt to step back and dodge. “Nuh-uh. Don’t even fucking start, dude! We are team ride or fucking die, remember?” she shouts.
“S-sorry.”
“Like hell am I just going to stand around with a thumb up my ass while my best friend runs around with a fucking death wish!”
“Thanks.”
“Thank my ass. Now you can’t do anything else stupid or it’ll get us both killed, got it?”
“Moumentai,” you offer.
It earns you a smack on the head. “No! Bad! This is decidedly not a moumentai type of situation!”
You don’t have a retort. Not sure what she imagines you were planning, but it’s not like you’re going to go fight a monster. You’re no Valkyrie and definitely not a Crow; charging into burning buildings or fighting off silver-coated monsters is not something you are even remotely capable of.
Just gonna find Brayden, then keep everyone’s heads down and away from trouble until the lockdown lifts. That’s all. Easy peasy. It’s fine. It’ll be fine. Probably won’t even see anything.
“If we die, I am haunting you,” Riley mutters on her breath.
“If we’re both dead th-then how are you g-g-going to–”
“Not the point!”
“We w-w-won’t die,” you say. Try to sound more confident than you are. Heart pounding in your chest. That sort of odd calm you normally only get in the instant between falling and landing. Can feel it in the static, faint but sharp with fear.
“We are gonna get in so much trouble…” Riley whines.
“D-d-do you have a mask?”
She looks at you like you’re crazy. “No? Who carries a mask these days?”
You rifle through your pockets, pulling out a black mask, still in plastic. You raise an eyebrow. Now’s not the time to be smug, but damn if you don’t feel a little smug as you jingle it in front of her. “Ta-ta-take mine then.”
She reaches for it, hesitates. “But–”
You push it into her hands. “I have a-a-a um, a spare.”
She scowls. Rips open the plastic wrapper and tosses it, then straps it over her face. “Damn, I forgot how awful these feel.”
“Better than c-c-catching something.” You get out your other mask, pulling it on. Run a finger along the edge to adhere the seal to skin. You watch Riley do the same. Finally a safety lesson Rivka drilled into you proves practical. You’ll have to thank her, assuming she doesn’t kill you for doing this.
“What’s the point in this anyway, I thought Imago wasn’t airborne.”
“Mouth and nose are– are the, uh–” fuck what’s the word, “–are the highest risk vectors. It’s strictly, um– fluids.” Nanites quickly break down without a protective liquid medium.
“So don’t lick, suck, or fuck the horrible monster, got it.”
“Gross.”
The two of you jog down the hallway. A pair of women behind the glass window of a clothing store gawk at you as you pass. Even without the lockdown gates working correctly, every door has been pulled shut. In the distance is the echoing noise of heavy objects being knocked over. People screaming. An approaching crowd forces you and Riley to press against the wall as they stream past.
Someone in the group yells at you both that you’re headed the wrong way. Riley gives you a look as if to say it’s not too late to turn around. You return it with a look of you own as if to say she’s welcome to do so.
Just ahead is the hallway junction. The metal slates hang in the air, only halfway closed.
“Here too?” Riley whispers to you.
“Hm?’
“Why aren’t the gates, like, closed?”
You shake your head. No idea. The static is even sharper here. Hard to let yourself listen. Fear and panic threatening to overwhelm. Can already feel the beginning of a headache drilling into your brain as you duck. Where the fuck is Brayden? Did he run?
The grocery store from the video isn’t far from here. Just on the left at the junction. You urge Riley behind you as you both stick to the wall, ducking under the gate. Crane your head around the corner.
The display window is shattered, glass scattered across the whole walkway. A handful of decorative plants and vending machines have been knocked down, dirt scattered everywhere. Standing over one of the vending machines, pawing at the casing with whiplike tentacles coming out of its shoulder blades is the Imago.
You’ve never seen one in person before. One being here, just out in the open air of the arcology with nothing between you and it, is beyond surreal. Like it’s stepped out of a video.
It’s almost dog shaped, or had been. Possibly not that long ago. A reflective metallic sheen on what looks like exposed bones, thrusting out of a too-small body it now wears like a badly tailored fur coat, shaggy grey-white. Too smooth edges that undulate in pulsing motion. Coming out of the shoulder blades on either side of the head is a set of thin tentacles which float in the air almost like angel wings, three to either side of its head. The head itself is like a poorly secured mask at the end of a muscular neck that brings to mind a sock-covered hand. The eye sockets, the open gums of the mouth, both are weeping more of that silver liquid mixed with blood, dripping into pools on the ground.
A haphazard trail of glittering crimson leads back to the ruins of the grocery store window. More sprays into open air with every abrupt start-stop motion of its body. It flips the box onto its side and you can see the Praxis Aid-Station logo emblazoned across it. A heavy paw dents the case and a dozen tubes of toothpaste fall out onto the floor.
Riley slows at the sight of it, terror seizing her. “It is a dog.” Her voice comes out in a panicked whisper.
You grab Riley’s hand, intending to pull her back around the corner. She squeezes yours back, tight enough to turn your skin even whiter than normal–
Oh fuck oh god oh fuck shit shit shit
I’m going to fucking die out here to a goddamn dog this sucks – ow, hey – I find myself pulled backwards, out of line-of-sight with fucking Rover from Hell and back behind a row of vending machines. My eyes settle on staring at the potted palm tree right next to me. Fucking ridiculous. I’m going to die next to a plastic plant. This blows.
Morgan’s hand is still in mine, I realize. He squeezes and I grip it tighter. I can’t even be mad at him for this. I’m the one that insisted on coming along. “We’re going to die, aren’t we?” I whisper. “Holy fuck dude, the second it notices us we’re all fucking screwed.”
“Mo-moumentai. Slow b-b-breaths. Don’t– um, d-d-don’t faint.”
“How the fuck are you so calm?”
“N-not– Not sure.” He winces, trying to wrestle his hand free of mine. Oh, right. Yeah. Reluctantly, I force myself to let go –
You let your hand drop, the ghost tingle of Riley’s sweaty palm against yours still present in the back of your head. It takes a second to reorient yourself.
Nothing feels real. Like you’re still watching yourself. Controlling your own movements at a remove like a video game. Watch as you poke your head out from around the soda machine and check the hallway again. There! Brayden stands pressed flat in the recess of the PraxPizza doorway. Locked out? He’s way too close to the creature to risk moving anywhere else.
He doesn’t have a mask on. Is he crazy or– no. Are you seriously the only one that keeps masks on you? Is that just Rivka-brand paranoia rubbing off?
Brayden spots you both and visibly recoils. Can see him mouth something along the lines of ‘what the fuck are you doing here?’ He tenses, ready to run.
You chop your hand down vertical across the palm of your other hand. Shake your head to tell him to stay there.
The Imago is still going to town on the overturned first-aid machine. It’s making a mess of the toothpaste. Sending it everywhere, licking it off the floor with a shockingly still-red tongue which it darts out, cleaning off a wad of toothpaste that got smeared across the side of its face. Are dogs normally able to lick their own eyeballs? The sight makes you feel queasy.
You swallow the anxiety in your throat. Try your best to project confidence, both to Riley and across the hall to Brayden. Can’t have either of them doing something stupid out of panic.
“N-n-nobody’s going to die,” you decide.
“Promise?” Riley asks.