Across the laboratory, Lexia stumbles through her own hallucination as she holds her bleeding hand against her chest. The blood oozing from her wound stains her brown fur. Her brown irises are nearly consumed by black pools as she stumbles through the sparkling, hazy hues and smoke of the Reel Sight factory. Butterflies and orbs swirl around her, and the metal beams flash brightly as applause and cheers flood her ears.

  “Ladies and gentlemen! Presenting the one! The only! The greatest singer of all time! Lexia Hartwick!” says a disembodied voice.

  The hidden crowd roars with approval, their voices harmonizing into a symphony of pure joy. Lexia’s ears and nose twitch, her heart races, and she wobbles in an unsteady circle as she watches the world pulse and shift with shaky, heavy breaths and tears streaking down her dirty cheeks. Butterflies, orbs, and whisps surround her, each swirling, fusing, and breaking into and from each other as spotlights flicker and shift. The air is hot, Lexia’s skin tingles, and a whimper escapes her lips.

  “Sing! Sing! Sing!” chant the disembodied voices.

  Lexia’s mouth opens, her voice catching in her throat as the nonexistent audience continues chanting. She stumbles forward, tripping over rubble, and her hand throbs with each heartbeat.

  “Sing! Sing! Sing!” continues the invisible crowd,

  “I don’t know what to sing,” says Lexia, her eyes frantically darting at the swirling colors and shapes.

  “Your greatest hit!” booms the announcer’s voice.

  The colorful structures collapse and eject glittering clouds into the air. The floor transforms into a vibrant stage with pulsing lights. Lexia’s muscles tingle and a weightless, powerful, euphoric feeling seeps through, her reaching down into her bones.

  “My greatest hit?” says Lexia, her lips twitching to a smile a smile as the combination of Claribel’s venom, the anti-venom, and Reel Sight fumes create a dizzying cocktail in her brain and blood.

  From the swirling mist comes a tall, all black, shadowy figure. Red trails seep from holes covering his chest and limbs, and one large red spot on their forehead. Their pitch-black face tears in three spots to create pure white eyes and a smile.

  Lexia stumbles back, gasping for air and her heart hammering in her chest. The crowd still chants, and whisps and butterflies continue swirling around her, breaking and remolding like fog.

  “Lexia,” calls the tall figure, his voice familiar.

  “Dad?” whimpers Lexia.

  “I’ve been waiting to hear you sing, sweetheart. Your mother and I always knew you had a beautiful voice,” says the figure, Artemis.

  Lexia reaches for him with her uninjured hand, but he remains just out of reach, floating in the haze. Tears stream down her face as she stumbles forward.

  “If you sing, you can see with me. And if you kill Mama Bear you can be with me,” says Artemis.

  “I’ll sing! I’ll kill her! Just don’t leave me!” cries Lexia.

  “Then sing and kill.”

  Lexia opens her mouth, and this time she makes a haunting melody as she continues forward, hand outstretched and her red, puffy eyes focused on Artemis. But no matter how many steps she takes, he is always out of reach. And no lyrics come from her lips. Only broken sobs and wordless hums, cracking with grief and chemical confusion.

  “That’s it, Lexia. Let it all out,” says Artemis.

  As Lexia stumbles closer, desperately reaching for Artemis, her boot catches on a piece of debris, and she crashes to the concrete floor. The audience’s cheers become jeers, and Artemis shakes his head.

  “Failure!”

  “Disappointment!”

  “Daddy’s little failure!”

  “Disgusting!”

  “Hybrid freak!”

  “Drug baby!”

  Lexia curls into a ball on the floor, clutching her head tightly and squeezing her eyes shut as tears mix with blood as the fires close in around her.

  “Stop! Please stop!” sobs Lexia.

  “Lexia,” says Artemis.

  Lexia’s eyes crack open, and she looks up, sniffling. Artemis floats above her, looking down, grinning and dripping blood from all his wounds.

  “They are right. My death is your fault. And until you make it up, you will never see me again,” says Artemis.

  “Wait… Dad… No…” Lexia stretches out her hands, vision blurry with tears and her throat ripping apart from the inside out. “Dad, I’m sorry. Please come back! Please, I’ll do what you want! I love you! Please come back!”

  Artemis fades away, and Lexia screams and claws at her head again.

  *****

  In the haze of the burning chaos, Claribel stands nearby, her rifle aimed at Lexia. Behind her gas mask’s goggles, her red slitted eyes are wide. She can’t bring herself to pull the trigger, despite being in front of Lexia. The Bazooka Bunny, the bane of her existence ever since she set foot in Bliss Town, and ripe for the killing. Yet her Thompson gun trembles in her hands, tears pooling in her eyes as she watches Lexia tearing her hair and slamming her head on the concrete floor.

  “I’m sorry, daddy! Please come back!” sobs Lexia.

  She lifts and slams her head on the ground again, and Claribel steps back.

  “I’ll fix it! I promise I’ll fix it!” cries Lexia, slamming her head on the ground again and again, her fingers tears strands of hair off her head.

  Claribel takes a step back. The factory rumbles with another explosion. Walkways crumble and vats pop, flinging debris and fumes all around, choking the air with its hot pollution.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Please come back!” wails Lexia.

  She slams her head on the ground once more and goes limp, her head bloody and body slumped awkwardly, like roadkill.

  Claribel stares at Lexia’s bloodied form. Her breath is ragged and fogging her goggles. She takes another step back, tightens her straps on her hat, and runs away, leaving Lexi’s fate at the mercy of the flames.

  *****

  Elsewhere, Nermal and his team exchange gunfire with the remaining coyote guards, but their perception of reality has also become warped from the fumes, creating a mess of blobs, butterflies, and other things.

  Nermal’s blasts create explosions, and the coyotes appear as grotesque humanoid blobs of colors with butterflies and orbs breaking off from them, and their weapons shoot fast whisps instead of bullets.

  “Take them down!” shouts Peter over the thundering gunfire.

  Owen stumbles behind an overturned table, his fat chest heaving and eyes bulging from the hallucinogen polluting the air. The laboratory equipment transforms into warping carnival games, and he shoots at several coyotes and the factory equipment. His bullets strike true, downing the guards and causing the equipment to explode in a colorful display of fire and clouds.

  Chipper darts between cover points, finding a stack of gas masks that pulsate between what they are and small flocks of butterflies. He slips on a gas mask and slumps against the wall, breathing heavily as the air filtered. He still sees the world warping, but it is fading. He looks around and sees his teammates engaging the coyotes, but some of the coyotes are shooting each other while others are running and screaming.

  Chipper runs to Nermal and slides a gasmask over his face. At first Nermal tackles Chipper, and both roll around, screaming and cursing, but soon enough, Nermal’s aggression disappears, and he scrambles off Chipper.

  “Oh crap. Dorry about that,” says Nermal.

  “I forgive you,” says Chipper. He stands up with the help of Nermal, and gives one of the remaining gas masks to him. “Let’s get these on the others before things really get crazy.”

  *****

  High above the battle, Derrick maintains his sniper position on the hill, his scope trained on the safe house’s perimeter. Through his scope, he sees smoke rising from random houses, but his immediate concern is a convoy of various SUVs, trucks, cars, and motorcycles speeding towards the safe house.

  “Sky Eye, I count at least a dozen vehicles inbound,” says Derrick, adjusting his aim to track the driver of the lead car.

  “Copy that, Nasty Butler... Visual obtained. Ready when you are,” says Bridgette.

  “Don’t let them get to the safe house. Weapons free.”

  Derrick’s first shot obliterates the driver of the lead vehicle, splashing the interior with blood. The vehicle swerves and crashes into an abandoned house’s porch, and the remaining vehicles scatter.

  The passengers of the lead vehicle scramble out, and Derrick smoothly drops target after target. Every crack of his rifle bumps his shoulder. Every bump eases his heart. The distant pops of Bridgette’s rifle echoes with his, and a smile slowly stretches on Derrick’s beak.

  The vehicles speed around the decayed neighborhood. The unfortunate ones are crashing or burning. The reinforcements shoot wildly at every direction they can think of, but none of them are comprehending the distant hills the two eagles occupy. More shots ring out, more bodies drop, flooding the damp ground with blood. The more Derrick shoots, the more euphoria he feels. At long last, he is free to do what he loves.

  Kill from a distance.

  *****

  Back in the underground factory, the chemical spills and fires continue to spread, creating an ever-expanding cloud of hallucinogenic vapor. The damaged vats leak their contents in steady streams, and the broken glass from shattered containers glitters in the fires and industrial lights.

  Ramsey watches the destruction with blazing red eyes. The inhibitors clamped around his neck and wrists pulse with green light, and his thick hands clenched into tight fists, veins throbbing under his hide and his muscles twitching.

  “These lunatics have no self-control,” growls Ramsey.

  Ramsey’s eyes blaze with fury as he watches his work get destroyed in front of him. The green lights on his inhibitors flash brighter and faster, and his breathing becomes ragged and angry hisses burst past his teeth. A stray slug strikes another chemical tank, sending a geyser of blue liquid spraying towards the ceiling. The substance rains down, adding to the atmospheric contamination and intensifying everyone’s visions. A massive centrifuge spins out of control after taking multiple hits, spraying its contents across the laboratory in a toxic arc. The machine’s death throes create a grinding shriek that echoes through the cavern before it tears itself apart in a shower of metal fragments.

  “STOP IT! YOU VOILENT ANIMALS ARE DESTROYING MY FACTORY!” bellows Ramsey.

  Then Mortimer staggers up to Ramsey, his heavy panting warped by his gasmask. “Wow. This is a mess. I hope you guys got a backup plan.”

  Ramsey’s hand snaps around Mortimer’s neck, reduced his voice to a grated, broken gag, and he easily lifts the fox off the floor, leaving his feet dangling and tail twitching. Ramsey’s eyes and inhibitors pulse, and his lips twitch, exposing his teeth as a growl rumbles in his throat, not even feeling Mortimer’s claws tearing at his flesh.

  “This is not a mess. This is a disaster! You have failed Mama Bear! You have failed me!” yells Ramsey.

  Mortimer chokes and continues desperately clawing at Ramsey’s hand and wrist, drawing blood, but Ramsey doesn’t loosen his grip.

  “This was a fortune, and you let it get destroyed! Abysmal performance!” screams Ramsey. He slams Mortimer against a metal cabinet, denting it. “Abysmal!”

  He pulls Mortimer away and slams him back into it.

  “Abysmal!”

  He pulls Mortimer away and slams him back against the cabinet, denting the doors further and damaging the shelves behind it.

  “Abysmal! Abysmal! Abysmal!”

  With each “Abysmal”, Ramsey repeats his assault on Mortimer, pulling him back and ramming him forward, over and over again into the cabinet, smashing it into a jagged, nearly flat mess. Mortimer’s body is limp, yet he feels every bruise and crack and breach of his skin and bones.

  Ramsey yells and throws Mortimer across the floor. Mortimer rolls to a stop, bloodied and limp with the fires growing around him. Ramsey roars again, but his rage fizzles down to confusion when he sees Jayson standing next to Mortimer.

  Jayson’s face is scarred with electric burns, his clothing is ripped and stained with blood, his hair is wild and burnt on the tips, and his eyes are focused on Ramsey. But his sclera is dark and his blue irises seem to glow.

  “Ramsey,” growls Jayson, his fingers tightening around his pulsing cosmic wood sword.

  “What?” says Ramsey.

  “Your drugs killed Lexanne. I swear to God and the Devil I will not stop until you and Mama Bear are dead.”

  Ramsey scoffs. “Alright, emo. Good luck killing me.”

  Jayson’s cosmic weapon pulses, engulfing everything around him in a blue aura. Then Ramsey’s confusion warps to fear as Jayson zooms towards him with a speed he can barely comprehend. Jayson strikes Ramsey’s chest, and the aura explodes, sending the ram zipping backwards while the area around the pair breaks inside the bubble.

  Ramsey’s scream is cut short when his back hits a concrete pillar, breaking it into pieces. Thick rubble falls, crushing Ramsey, and causing a part of the ceiling to collapse on top of him. Upon impact, another part of the factory explodes, launching sharp debris everywhere.

  *****

  Jayson collapses to his knee, one hand clutching his aching heart and the other gripping his weapon tighter as he uses it like a crutch. He wheezes, yet grins broadly, his sweaty bangs hanging in front of his eyes. But his victory is short lived.

  The rubble covering Ramsey shifts. Large chunks roll off, and Jayson’s smile turns to a sneer as Rasmey crawls out, seething and trembling. His gray and black fur fades and whitens, and his muscular frame shrinks as he ages decades in seconds. Deep lines etch across his face, and his curved horns develop hairline cracks. The inhibitors groan as Ramsey’s neck and wrists expand. Their green lights flicker and dim in irregular patterns. Then the metal bands rapidly age and snap into sparking shards.

  The moment Ramsey’s inhibitors shatter, his body convulses with violent spasms and painful screams. His aged frame suddenly bulks up as his muscle mass returns with enormous interest.

  Thick, rope-like tentacles burst from his shoulders and back, tearing through his flimsy lab coat with meaty sounds and splattering blood. His horns elongate and sharpen into deadly curved points while his red eyes expand until they consume most of his face.

  Gray, white, and black fur sprouts in wild patches across his mutating form, but underneath, his skin takes on a sickly purple hue with his pulsing veins pressing against his flesh. His hands transform into massive claws, and his mouth stretches wide to accommodate shark-like teeth.

  When Ramsey finishes mutating, he staggers forward, his large body partially shrouded by the swirling colorful smoke. Jayson steps back, eyes wide and ears limp, and the Beast takes a heavy step forward, flexing his hands and snapping his tentacles.

  “You have made a big mistake, Hobo,” says Ramsey, his voice being overlapped a gravely secondary voice. His eyes flash bright red and his lips peek back into a grin that exposes his sharp teeth. “Thank you.”