Ramsey’s screams echo through the night air as he flies over the forest, leaving a trail of breaking and shriveling tentacles. When he hits the ground with a loud thud, he is only a bloody stump. Both of his arms are gone, his legs are shattered, his remaining eye is bloody, and his teeth are cracked, broken or missing. His ribs are splinters, his heart and lungs ache, and he makes a raspy wail as he tries in vain to push himself up using his legs and head. But his old, balding and wrinkled body can only soak in blood. He sobs as he stares at the cracked sky. The moon is surrounded by the cracks, looking down at him as the Eye of God.

  “Why?” whimpers Ramsey. “Why? Why? Why? Why? What did I do to deserve this?”

  His whimpers turn to heart wrenching wails, and he wiggles on the ground, failing yet again to get up. His wailing turns to raspy coughs, blood popping from his mouth and his lungs feeling like they are being flooded with hot copper. The world starts to lose its color. Grayness moving in and moving out, like a pulse.

  “I don’t want to die,” wheezes Ramsey. “Spare me, God. I promise I will be good.”

  As Ramsey lays there, fighting to keep his eyes open and his breathing steady, a chill runs down his back. A melodic whistling floats through the forest, and Ramsey’s neck aches as he turns his head to the source. His one eye widens, and tears stream down his face.

  “No… Not you… Please, not you,” rasps Ramsey.

  Trafford’s red eyes glow in the moonlight as he walks towards Ramsey, whistling a bright, melodic tune with his hands in his pockets. When Trafford is next to Ramsey, he stops whistling and kneels down, grinning widely.

  “Well, if it isn’t Ramsey Prosper. Mr. Exe is disappointed in you,” says Trafford.

  “Spare me. Take me back. I won’t betray him again. I promise,” begs Ramsey weakly.

  Trafford’s red and white fur gleams in the blue light, and his bright red eyes surveying Ramsey's decrepit form.

  “I’m afraid we can’t do that, Ramsey. It is one thing to leave on your own, but it is another to take all that PLOT ARMOR serum and sell it to Mama Bear. If you were worried about pay, all you had to do was talk to Workers Relations,” says Trafford.

  “I-I made a bad choice,” rasps Ramsey.

  “Yes, you did.”

  “But I changed! Take me back. Spare me. Please!”

  Trafford tilts his head, his pleasant smile never wavering. "No, I don’t think so."

  He gently places a hand on Ramsey's head, and then his eyes begin to glow brighter, and slender tendrils extend from his fingertips, burrowing beneath Ramsey's skin and piercing his skull to get to his brain.

  Ramsey's eyes widen in horror, and his mouth opens in a weak, agonizing scream. The tendrils spread into his skull and more spread beneath his skin like dark veins, working their way down his neck and into his chest cavity.

  "Relax, big guy. I'm just gathering data for Mr. Exe," says Trafford.

  The tendrils reach Ramsey's heart and squeeze it like hungry serpents. Only then does Ramsey find his voice, a shriek of pure agony tearing from his throat and echoing through the forest. Only the cold, unblinking Eye of God bears witness.

  *****

  Darkness surrounds Jayson, wrapping around him like a velvet blanket. The pain in his chest has vanished, replaced by a strange, floating sensation. He drifts through the void until a soft light blooms ahead, revealing a familiar face framed by dark hair.

  "Lexanne?" croaks Jayson.

  Lexanne Haunt smiles, her white fur glowing in the light as she leans over him. Her hands press firmly against his chest, and she lowers her face to his. Her lips meet his, soft and warm, breathing life into him.

  "Wake up, Jayson," says Lexanne Haunt against his mouth. "You can't leave me yet."

  She presses her hands against his chest again, rhythmically, firmly. Her dark hair falls forward, tickling his face as she kisses him again. This time, her lips linger longer, and he feels a strange pressure building in his lungs.

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  "If you don’t wake up, I will kick your ass," says Lexanne Haunt, her soothing voice becoming desperate.

  The darkness pulses around them, and Lexanne Haunt's face begins to shift, her features blurring and shifting to white and brown. She presses her hands to his chest once more, harder this time, and when her lips meet his, something changes. The kiss tastes different. Saltier, more urgent. The darkness fractures, and pain floods back into Jayson's body. His chest burns, his ribs ache, and he gasps involuntarily.

  Jayson's eyes open to find Lexia hovering over him, her large hands compressing his chest. Her white and brown fur is matted with dirt and blood, her face streaked with grime. Her upper body only has her pink bra, the fabric damp with sweat and mud, and she is straddling his lap. Her muscular arms flex as she presses down on his sternum again.

  "Breathe, damn it!" shouts Lexia, before leaning down to cover his mouth with hers, forcing air into his lungs.

  Jayson’s eyes pop wide and he thrashes on the ground as Lexia holds him down, forcing her air into his lungs. When she pulls back, Jayson coughs violently. His vision swims as he tries to focus on Lexia's face.

  "What the heck was that about?” croaks Jayson.

  "You stopped breathing! I thought you died! And if you died, I knew for a fact you would haunt me and I did not want that to happen!" Lexia sits back on her heels, relief washing over her face despite her harsh tone.

  Jayson struggles to sit up, wincing as pain shoots through his body. He rubs his heart and looks around the area.

  “My breathing was fine. Where's Mortimer and Derrick?” asks Jayson.

  "Mortimer is over there. Bridgette patched him up," says Lexia, nodding toward a nearby tree where Mortimer lies unconscious. His torso is fully exposed, and both of his arms are covered in thick bandages, and straps on his shoulders to hold gauze in place on his back.

  “Who's Bridgette?” asks Jayson.

  Lexia points to the lone female eagle checking on Derrick, who is also bandaged up and has splints all over his body.

  “Jeez…” Jayson looks down, running his fingers through his hair. “I should have gotten here sooner. If I hadn't been so slow, Derrick wouldn't be a mess and you and Claribel wouldn't have been violated by Ramsey… Where is Claribel, anyway?”

  Lexia shrugs. "We haven't found her yet. Bridgette and I searched for her when you and Mortimer fought Ramsey. No blood trail, no tracks, nothing." She waves her hands in the air. "It's like she just vanished. My guess is aliens abducted her.”

  Jayson gingerly stands up, swaying slightly as the world tilts around him. His legs feel stronger thanks to the PLOT ARMOR serum, but exhaustion still weighs heavily on him, and his head feels like it is spinning on a top.

  “How long has she been missing?” asks Jayson.

  Lexia shrugs. “I don’t know. During the whole fight?”

  “Alright." Jayson takes a deep breath and scans the forest, using his weapon as a cane. "We need to rest up and then find Claribel. She might be hurt."

  "Or abducted," says Lexia.

  Jayson rolls his eyes, then he and Lexia jump with a surprised yell and shriek when a blur of orange, brown, and blonde zips past them.

  “Mortimer!” cries Claribel.

  She leaps on Mortimer, hugging him tight and wrapping her tail around his leg, whimpering and nuzzling his neck.

  “Oh… There she is,” says Jayson, clutching his heart while Lexia squeezes his arm, her taller body huddled behind him.

  Mortimer's eyes flutter open, groaning as consciousness returns to his battered body. His arms are nearly useless, wrapped in so many bandages they look like white logs, but he manages to shift enough to look down at Claribel clinging to him.

  "Claire?" calls Mortimer hoarsely.

  "I thought you were dead," sobs Claribel, her voice muffled against his neck. "When I saw you on the ground, all bloody and limp, I thought I'd lost you. I thought Ramsey killed you!"

  Mortimer tries to lift his bandaged arms to hold her but winces at the pain. "Hey, I'm tougher than I look."

  Claribel pulls back to look at his face, her red eyes wet with tears, and her thumbs stroke his cheeks. “Yes you are.”

  “I lost my mask, though. I'm going to need another one.”

  “You don't need it. You're perfect just the way you are.”

  “But-”

  Claribel hugs him tight again, and Mortimer sighs and looks at Jayson, awkwardly pointing at Claribel with his thumb. Jayson smiles thinly while Lexia stands up and looks away, rolling her eyes.

  “There goes my future boyfriend,” grumbles Lexia.

  Jayson pats her shoulder sympathetically. “There, there. I’m sure there’s another Fixer out there you can drool over.”

  Lexia scrunches her face, but before she can say anything, a twig snaps in the darkness beyond their small clearing. Jayson tenses, ears swiveling toward the sound. Seconds later, camouflaged figures emerge from between the trees, armed with thin rifles and wearing large air packs with breathing masks. The masks fully cover their faces and have bulges on the sides of their heads that fit perfectly for the curved horns of rams. Bridgette, still by Derrick’s side, hops to her feet and aims her rifle.

  "Don’t come any closer!" shouts Bridgette.

  Four soft puffs later, and Bridgette falls to the moist ground with four darts in her, and in a second’s time, Jayson and Lexia are also struck with multiple darts. Jayson yanks one out, staring at the small metal cylinder with dawning horror. His limbs grow heavy almost instantly and the world tilts sideways as he falls.

  "You gotta be kidding me," slurs Lexia, staggering before collapsing face first in the dirt.

  Jayson’s breathing slows, his heart relaxes, and his vision swirls as he watches Derrick get shot. His eyes gradually drift to Mortimer and Claribel.

  Claribel hisses and lunges at one of the hazmat suits while Mortimer is punctured by two darts. The hazmat suit tackled by Claribel holds her head back by her neck, and her tail wraps around his waist. Despite Jayson’s world fading into black, he can still hear the suit’s struggling breaths, and he can only watch as more suits surround Claribel.

  “Her scales are too thick for the darts!” says another suit.

  A pair of suits grab Claribel. One twists her arms behind her back to cuff her and another slides a breathing mask over her that pours sleeping gas directly into her nose. Claribel goes limp in seconds, and as she is thrown to the ground and hogtied, Jayson’s eyes close, putting him back in the dark.