I kept moving, feeling that if I didn’t look at the cops, they wouldn’t look at me-some sort of low-rent psychic invisibility. When I reached the counter, I took two painful breaths and gathered myself, pulling myself up and over it in one clean move and letting myself roll and drop to the floor on the other side, the sound of my landing masked by the cacophony.

I rolled onto my belly and scanned the area beyond the desk. My only option was a flimsy-looking wood-and-glass door marked service rooms, no more than a fancy divider. I wriggled toward it staying low, sweat streaming into my eyes. Behind me things sounded hairy, and the still-hot shredders began to whine again. I dimly wondered whether even a dozen Stormers could take down Wa Belling, who so far seemed immortal. I kept crawling. I was used to crawling. When I reached the door I flipped over onto my back and reached up to try some standard gestures at the lock, but as I put my weight against it the door leaned inward, spilling me into a hallway.

I pulled my legs tight against my chest and rolled over, letting the door slide shut and pushing up onto my knees. Recalling the floor plan Marko had displayed for us, I started down a wide white hallway, a green line painted on the wall to my right. I took a moment to straighten up and force a long, painful breath, rubbing a hand over my bristly head and wiping a sleeve over my mouth. Speed was going to be key. I needed to get Gatz into my sights and get my shot off immediately, faster, the moment I entered the room. Any delay and I’d be Pushed, I had no doubt.

I gripped my gun and launched myself forward, my leg stiff and awkward.

As I turned a corner, the noise behind me dropped away and I was left with my own ragged breathing and the wet sound of my boots on the floor. After the gore of the waiting room, everything was amazingly clean; the floor looked like it had never been walked on. The air-the little of it I could suck in through my swollen nose and ruined throat-even smelled antiseptic, devoid of life. It was a relief. I’d had my fill of bodies, of their smells, their heat, their touch.

Around another corner I saw what had to be my door. It was marked only with the number 655, but Marko’s floor plan and Belling’s intel said this had to be it. I raised my gun and forced myself to move faster despite the pain and my body’s calcification. Breathing hard, I threw myself at the door, smacking into it and then swinging my gun up as a shadow slammed into the wall next to me. For a second I stared at Marko’s bearded face without recognition.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I rasped.

He was on his knees, fishing in his bag. “Door’s locked, Mr. Cates,” he said breathlessly. “I think you saved my life back there.” Without another word he pasted two leads against the door’s electronic keypad while I lay there, sucking in air as best I could, blinking rapidly.

“You Techies,” I wheezed. “Think we all need you.”

He nodded as the door lock disengaged with a soft click. “The way things are going, Mr. Cates,” he said, “we’re all going to be Droids with brains. And someone’s gonna have to wind everyone up, right?”

I nodded, pushing him out of the way and putting a hand on the door. “You ever try to wind me up, kid,” I promised, “I will blow your hands off.” I paused and looked at him. “Stay. Out. Here,” I instructed, and with a strained breath I pulled the door open and rushed inside.

I tried to put my eyes everywhere. It was incredibly bright inside, and my eyes burned and watered. I saw a Monk standing near an examination table, standard issue white face and dark coat. I put the gun on it, thinking Fast, fast, squeeze the trigger.

“Stop,” Kev said.

I drained out of myself. I went numb and stopped in my tracks, my momentum almost pulling me down onto my face. Calm, serene happiness floated into me like gas, and I hovered motionless.

Ty Kieth was strapped on the examination table, professionally gagged. His nose quivered and his eyes rolled spastically, but I noticed he didn’t struggle against his bonds. He just lay there.

“Shoot yourself,” Kev said.

Smiling, I turned the gun and pulled the trigger.

XXXVIII

Day Ten: A Goddamn Superhero

I didn’t even feel the bullet smash into the meaty part of my broken leg. Kev hadn’t specified where to shoot myself, and some primitive instinct inside me that still wanted to live chose my nearly useless limb for sacrifice. The leg buckled immediately and I crashed onto the floor, teeth rattling, but there was no pain-my pain circuits, I guessed, were maxed out. For a moment I was a goddamn superhero, impervious to physical suffering.

Blood spurting from the wound alarmingly, I wondered if I’d outsmarted myself by nicking an artery, and feebly raised my gun again, squinting through a strange yellowish haze that had inserted itself between me and the rest of the world. As I searched for Kev again, lead seeped into my arms and they became incredibly heavy.

“Avery, stop.”

I froze, arm shaking. The familiar feeling of peace sank into me, and I was happy and thoughtless. A Monk resolved out of the haze around me, one I thought I recognized as Kev because it was so new and clean. The Monk crouched down in front of me; my gun was almost thrust into its abdomen. I stared into its expressionless white face without feeling, without thought.

“Avery, you were always persistent. Did you think I wouldn’t expect you here? I forgot, you think I’m stupid. Always have. He told me you were coming. When I woke in this fucking Monk costume, Ave, it hurt so bad, I just howled and howled and prayed. I fucking prayed, Avery. And then I heard His voice. In my head. He said He’d created me, and that I was His son, and told me what to do.” His creepy plastic face settled into a smile that made my skin crawl.

It was still fascinating to watch a Monk talk-the fluid movement of its artificial face, the modulated, pleasant sound of its voice. If you paid attention it had a limited array of expressions, and it got boring-and creepy-when you’d seen them all. But it was still amazing.

“I didn’t expect the two-pronged invasion, actually,” he continued. “You caught me a little off guard there.” His face split into a wide smile. “Do you remember, Avery, that time you needed me to help you with those fucking kids? The ones kept nicking your credit dongle from your pocket while you were mapping sightlines for the- the- whatever job you had. You sat there on that wall taking sightings to make sure you could hit everyone you’d been hired to do, and the fucking kids would sneak up on you and lift your dongle. They did it, what, like four times? You asked me to Push them a little.” The smile snapped off. “You didn’t ask. You pushed me around and ordered me to. You always pushed me around.”

I remembered. I nailed four people in less than thirty seconds, earned one hundred and forty-five thousand yen. Took me five days to get the sightings mapped. When you worked out the hours, I got paid shit.

The smile popped back. “It’s good to see you, Avery. I don’t have any friends.”

Closing my eyes, I thought, Kev’s gone crackers. Sadly, this probably increased my chances of being killed within the next few minutes, a possibility I observed with clinical detachment. There had to be a way off the rail. There had to be. The universe could not be this fucking unfair. I felt weak. The only thing keeping my arm up and the gun jabbed into his gut was Kev’s Push. I opened my eyes with some effort, and Kev’s face had transformed again, glowering at me, a ridiculous mask of hatred.

“Avery,” he said.

I looked down and there was a gun in Kev’s white plastic hand. It was black and charred looking, original Monk issue. He turned it toward me, the barrel a black hole, like death itself. I stared at it and wondered if my calm was because I was such a hardcore bastard, or because of Kev’s Push. “He says your usefulness has passed.”