red-headed android

“No, really. It’s true.” he says through laughter. “He’s the patron saint of chefs and comedians.”

“This is so pathetic.” I reply, keeping an eye on my ice cream so it doesn’t melt on my hand. I hate it when that happens. Hate it. I can’t stand things getting on me. Jesse put toothpaste in my shoes once and I didn’t talk to him for a week.

“It’s not! It’s healthy. What do you think we should’ve done instead, stayed home… crying and jacking off? It was awesome. I almost wish I could do it again this year, but…”

He gives me one of his looks. He can be off on one of his goofy rambling tangents, talking about anything else, for minutes, for an hour, but when he gives me that look, I know there’s nothing else on his mind but me.

“But I’ve got you now. So I have no choice but to suck it up.” he says.

I give him a mock slap, then a kiss. He deserves it. He’s got enough joy for both of us. He’s lucky I’m learning to soak it in, learning to understand.

Speaking of which, is he really serious or is he fucking with me again?

“So let me get this straight. You and your little single boy friends, all the way into last year—”

“If they were my boyfriends I wouldn’t be single.” he says flatly. I give him a look, but I can’t stop myself from laughing a little.

“Shut up, I’m interrogating you! You and your friends, you had a pot luck in honour of St. Lawrence, whoever that is, and roasted each other all night? Like, a sleepover? Every year? Why was I never invited?”

“Because if I had the guts to ask you I wouldn’t be single anymore. Besides, we started in middle school, so it was like, those friends. Not you. And for the record, that’s like, St. Lawrence like the river. He’s famous.”

I take another lick of my ice cream so it doesn’t drip. Jesse’s is already getting on the park bench, but he doesn’t care. What an animal.

“That’s really cool.” I say.

He does a double take.

“You think it’s cool? Who are you and what have you done with Alexa Chau?”

“Yeah, no, it’s really cool. I remember when I was that age all the girls I knew would do the same thing but sadder, like they’d go on voice calls late at night and make jokes about how they didn’t need any of that, but it was always a little pathetic because they were only saying it ‘cause they all knew they couldn’t get a date anyway. Except me. I actually didn’t want one. Because I was a bitter hag at thirteen. And you were a good friend. Looks like you’ve always been awesome.”

It comes out a bit sarcastic, but I really mean the part about him being awesome, and I think he can tell. I have trouble with tone—it’s probably the autism, it’s always the autism—but somehow, he always understands. One more thing that’s amazing about him. All these friends and all these hobbies and everything that comes out of his mouth makes me laugh and he still hasn’t realized that he’s too good for me. Hope he never finds out.

He leans back and puts an arm around me, a huge stupid grin on his face.

“Wow. A girl thinks I’m awesome. And it’s all because of St. Lawrence’s day. You know, as like, an apology for never inviting you—here’s an idea—why don’t we get dinner and I’ll tell some jokes? You know, the feast, just like old times!” he says.

I roll my eyes.

“Yes. What a novel idea. Dinner for Valentine’s Day.”

It’s his turn to laugh.

#

Soon, we’re sitting at a table in a different park—we walked halfway across Toronto, Jesse can’t sit still without a few kilometers’ worth of exhaustion in him—with Jamaican oxtail, boba tea, and the sunset. All you really need, Jesse says—and he’s right. Screw fancy places and calling to make a reservation and listening to glasses clinking and people arguing and all the other noise of sit-down restaurants. Give me my takeout container and my open sky and my beautiful goofball any day.

He is beautiful. He’d collapse into a storm of deflections if I said it, he’s done it before, but he is. I used to think I didn’t like guys, but if there was anyone to change my mind it was always him. Athletic, but not a jock. Carefree, but not a slob. The messy blond hair. The way his smile always surprises you with how big and bright it can get. He goes from looking like he belongs in a brochure for some university to looking like the boy next door. A little secret. Just for me. Only I know he’s my idiot. Me. Nobody else. Mine.

I’m picky like that. Always have been. Even now I’m separating all of the beans out of my rice and peas so Jesse can eat them later. He puts up with things like that. That’s something else I’m not good at—putting up with things. He evens out my world.

Just as he’s almost finished eating the leftover beans, he gets a text.

“Don’t.” I say, a little too sharp. I hate it when people are on their phones during dinner!

“Sorry!” he says, already looking at the text. “It’s just, it’s my boy Rishabh, he’s probably giving me the scoop on St. Lawrence’s day.”

He reads. I sulk. It’s not fair of me, because the day’s still 95% perfect, but in my house 95% is practically a failing grade. I want more of him, more of his attention, his voice, more everything. I spend all day at school ignoring everyone and all day at home working on the extra courseload for AP calc, and English, and everything else I take because it’s easy and it’ll help with uni and my parents would kill me if I didn’t. I do that, work hard, lock in, so that every week or so I can just set aside a whole day for him. That’s how it’s been for months, since January.

“Alex, something’s wrong.” he says.

“Yeah, I know. It’s still Valentine’s Day and you’re scrolling through Insta.” I say. I saw him tap the spot on his screen where he keeps the icon.

“No, look.”

He points the phone towards me and it’s… one of his friends, Evan I think, at some kind of bar. The picture’s at a bizarre angle and everyone else in the shot looks like they’re part of an alt-rock band. Who are those people?

“What’s he doing? He can’t drink. He’ll incriminate himself.” I say.

Jesse stares at me blankly.

“He’ll incriminate himself? I’m dating a robot. Look closer!”

He points and I finally see it.

“Fuck.” I murmur, staring at the fresh cuts and bruises running up his arm. There’s blood on his reddened face, running down towards his overjoyed smile.

“Apparently he bombed the group chat with these pics just as they were getting started on the pot luck. Rishabh thinks something is really wrong.” Jesse says.

“Well, no shit.” I say.

Awkward silence for a moment. I deflate as I realize what he’s actually saying.

“Oh, no. Jesse, it’s Valentine’s Day, we are not going to go rescue your friend from his poor decisions. Please. Come on.”

He’s already standing up, shoving the last beans into his mouth and washing them down with a slurp of melted ice from the boba. He looks down at me, but instead of the apologetic glance of a fumbling loser, it’s something different. Something maybe only he can do. A warm look, twinkling, like we’re going on an adventure, like this is part of the date.

“After I take my idiot friend home, I’m taking you home. We’ve still got all night together. Deal?” he says.

I used to think I was immune to charm. A lot of smart kids do, because they don’t have any themselves. That was before I met him and his surprises and his bright smooth face that’s so pretty you could just punch it.

I roll my eyes, pick up my backpack and ask him what the address is. Jesse and Alex, heroes. Jesse and Alex, the responsible ones. One side quest and then I’ve got him all to myself again. Why is that enough to placate me? It’s like a dream. I don’t deserve him.

#

Is this place even open?

Jesse knocks on the door for the third time, harder. I give him my best ‘let’s go home’ look—charm only works until I’ve had to wait outside a closed nightclub for twenty minutes waiting for a guy who might not have even been here in the first place. Location sharing makes mistakes.

“I heard somebody moving around in there! Look, he went offline. He never goes offline. I’m worried about him, okay, Alex!?”

I stare at the wall and count in my head and try to reason myself through it. Jesse cares about his friends a lot, and so I need to as well, because he cares about all sorts of things that he didn’t before he met me, and that’s how the arrangement works. That’s how relationships work. We support each other, so I have to humour him. It’s logical. It makes sense.

This is past that, though. We should go home. This place looks creepy as hell, and it’s not even supposed to be open, and sure the exterior looks like the one in Evan’s photos but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to go after him! He looked fucked up on drugs. There, I said it. I don’t know what Jesse’s middle school friends get up to nowadays, only that they’re loud and obnoxious and that I only put up with them because of him. So what if Evan’s gone off his rocker and become a junkie and started hanging out with creepy goths at secret bars. Fuck him!

I’m about to say it out loud when heavy footsteps echo from inside. The door opens, and a guy with dyed green hair and a huge, bandaged-up cut on his face opens it. He’s covered in tattoos and wearing like… it’s half band merch and half bondage gear, lots of leather and straps and shit. Big platform boots. Sure looks like he belongs in one of those photos Evan sent, but I don’t recognize him.

“Are you here for the truth?” he asks in the fakest-sounding faux-intimidating voice I’ve ever heard.

“No, I’m here for a… dumb, idiot named Evan Homan. Look, he’s underage, we’re his friends from school, we think he lied to get in there, will you just send him out? We won’t tell anyone he was here.”

Wow, Responsible Jesse. I guess he’s always having fun when I’m around, so it makes sense that I’ve never seen this side of him before, but it still manages to make this whole ordeal of walking and standing and worrying worth it. He’s cute when he’s being real.

“There is no Evan. If you come here you forfeit your name.” the alt creep says.

Jesse rolls his eyes.

“Dude, what the fuck are you talking about? Send him out or I’m calling the fucking cops. Jesus. Stop larping for one minute.”

The creep stares at us for a moment, then breaks into a sheepish smile. It’s downright unnatural compared to what he was just doing—he looks normal all of a sudden! How can he be such a good actor and so shit at delivering his oh-so-scary preset lines?

“Sorry. I thought you were potential customers. Uh, there’s no need to call the police, he’s okay, he’s just in the back. We’re taking care of him. Come on in, you can take him.”

He turns around, gesturing to us to follow. I lock eyes with Jesse. This place is at best a bar for weirdos and at worst some kind of fucked up sex club, and this guy thought we were customers? A couple of high school kids? What’s the deal?

“It’s okay.” Jesse whispers. “I can handle myself. You can stay outside if you want, you don’t have to go in there, I know it looks filthy.”

I sigh. I want to say yes, but it’s Valentine’s Day, and we’re on an adventure, and I have to stop being such a baby and peace out every time I get a tiny bit uncomfortable. I have to be a real member of society one day, right? Quitting and rotting, like on all the previous Valentine’s Days of my sad nerdy life? Not today.

Let’s see the filth. I’ll wash my hands later.

He smiles back at me when I trudge in after him. Oh, look, Alexa Chau daring to go out into the real world. What a trooper. I can tell he wants to give me a kiss for it, but it’s not the time. It’s time to chew out his stupid, stupid friend for wandering into a place like this at 7 PM.

The alt guy leads us through a pitch-dark carpeted room and then out into the bar we saw on Insta—fake red leather seats, red curtains, a wooden bar with a billion kinds of liquour behind it. I feel a little uncomfortable just being here—is it even legal?—but that’s Square Alex thinking. We’re not doing anything wrong, and like Jesse always says, it’s only illegal if you get caught. I used to think it was a joke, but maybe that’s how the cool kids really think, looking at him now. He’s joking with the alt dude about how the decor makes it look like vampires live here, and the dude’s joking back. A couple more creeps in all black stare soullessly at us from one of the tables. I recognize one from Evan’s pics and make a face. Hands off my boyfriend’s dumb buddies, you scene rat. They’re innocent. All they do is share memes on Discord.

Pass through a set of grimy-looking, stained curtains—yuck, that’s blood—and into a big room full of chairs and benches, and there’s…

Evan, kneeling, shirtless. There’s a girl standing over him in a Hatsune Miku T-shirt staring blankly at the knife in her hand, which glides through the skin of his back leaving a trail of red behind it. A symbol. She’s carving something into him. He sits there, motionless, unresponsive.

My jaw drops. Jesse stammers.

“H-hey, holy shit, lady, get the fuck away from him!” He rushes over and physically pulls her off of Evan. She barely reacts—she just stands there. This is fucked! I look back at the entrance, but the alt guy is standing in front of it with the blank expression on his face again. Is he trying to block us in?

The girl with the knife pulls a string hanging from the ceiling and curtains open in front of us. Behind them is… a woman with long, curly black hair and a ton of facial piercings, in some kind of corset and platform heels, sitting on an actual, literal throne.

“Hey. Whatever you people are doing, we didn’t sign up for it.” Jesse says sharply.

Evan sprawls face-down on the floor, arms outstretched towards the throne.

“Goddess Lilith.” he says. The other two echo it in the same dead, empty cadence.

A chill runs through my body. This can’t be drugs. Evan would be freaking out, calling for help. It’s something else. We have to run. We have to get out of here.

Jesse grabs Evan, wide-eyed at the blood streaming down his back from the straight, angular wounds, and tries to drag him to his feet, but he doesn’t move. I reach into my backpack for my bear spray. My parents are always going on and on about the crime rate in our city, after all. About what I’d do if I ran into a rogue super. So I bought some. Guess I’m a sheep who can’t think for myself, but hey, it’s looking pretty useful right about now!

“Kneel.” says the woman on the throne.

Jesse snaps his fingers sharply.

“We’re. Not. Customers.” he says, angrier than I’ve ever heard him. “Look, I’m calling the fucking cops, dude. This is fucked. Look at him.”

I’m still fumbling with the bear spray as she laughs a practiced, deliberate, mocking laugh, stands up and then speaks again.

“Kneel, and I’ll let your friend go. That’s not so bad, is it?”

Jesse looks back at me. I shake my head.

He turns back. I can see his fist clenching.

“What’d you do to him?”

“He chose this. It’s in his nature.” ‘Lilith’ says. That cannot be her real name. It’s too on-the-nose.

“No, he fucking didn’t. Let him go.” Jesse says, dialing 911 with his left hand while his right fist stays clenched. Another new side of him. The anger’s… almost exhilarating. I’ve never even seen him raise his voice before. Not like me. I’m always angry. It’s worse now, being surrounded by these creeps, watching Jesse struggle. I have my hand on the trigger of the bear spray canister, ready to unleash it right into one of these psychos’ eyes.

The woman on the throne gestures another stage gesture, another ridiculous practiced wave of the hand, and the guy behind me lunges at me. I shove the canister into his eye and hold down the button, and I can see the fluid gushing into his corneas, enough to make anyone drop to the ground and scream.

He doesn’t react. He doesn’t move at all. He grabs me by the shoulders and shoves me to the ground. My butt hits the concrete so hard that I yelp, and he grabs me and shoves my face towards the throne. I try to resist but pull something in my neck. Pain shoots through me. The bear spray’s gone.

“Jesse!” I shout, but when I look up at him he’s struggling with the girl with the knife. He wasn’t expecting it any more than I was, and even though he’s stronger than her, stronger than probably anyone in the room thanks to all the track and field, he’s off balance. He steadies himself on one of the benches, but right then Evan leaps up behind him like he’s possessed and grabs his shoulders. They go tumbling to the ground together, and he yells and grabs at his friend’s arm as it shoves him towards the throne. Then he goes still.

The whole world goes still.

Nothing moves but our Goddess, Lilith.

#

“Hey. Hey, RBF, get back in there. It’s not break time yet.”

It’s like they’re the first words I’ve heard in my whole life. My head snaps upright. The room is echoing with the sound of running water. It’s a bathroom. A public bathroom. What’s…

I look over at the person talking to me and it’s—

It’s that fucking alt guy who lured us in here! Motherfucker, I’ll kill you!

I lunge at him and grab his collar and my hands are covered in sticky something. I can feel it clinging to my skin. It’s not coming off. I shudder. My eye twitches. I fucking hate being sticky.

“Calm down. She can see you. You don’t want to get disciplined again, do you?” he asks, calm as anything. There’s some kind of bandage over his right eye. Because…

Because that’s the one I unloaded the bear spray in. Right.

Something about how he says it makes me give it up. I go back to the sink and keep scrubbing my hand, and that’s when I realize that it’s not just the one kind of sticky crap. There are clear sugary stains and then there’s red, red all down my other hand. Blood, I think.

I stare as I scrub and scrub, trying to get clean. What happened? What did I do, what time is it, where’s Jesse!?

It’s too much. I try to control my breathing but I can’t. I break into sobs. Have I been drugged? How long has it been? This is a nightmare. From outside, I can hear throbbing bass and scattered conversation.

“Oh, pull yourself together, RBF. We’re doing you a favour.”

“What did you just call me?”

“Resting Bitch Face. It’s your name now. Cause you totally have it. Goddess Lilith gives everyone a name. Or well, not really a name. Cause we’re not really people, are we, RBF?” he says.

He steps closer and I recoil, shaking off my hands.

“Fuck you.” I snarl. “Let me out of here. Why are my hands sticky!?”

“Sometimes part of who you thought you were breaks out. Never seen it happen over a spilled drink before, but everyone wears a different disguise. Must’ve really bothered you for some reason. Maybe it’s cause you’re a little princess who can’t stand being dirty. Maybe it’s the autism. Doesn’t matter now. There’s no you anymore.” he says, shrugging.

What?

“How do you know I have autism?”

“You told Goddess Lilith. You told her everything. She knows everything about you now. The boy, too, the feisty one. We had to separate you because he kept snapping back every time he saw you. Guess you were his trigger. But he’s tame now. So are you.”

My heart pounds. What the fuck happened to me? What’d they do to me? I don’t remember anything. Nothing. Not even like it was a dream, I just don’t remember anything. What did they make me do?

What did she make me do? That creepy bitch. The ‘goddess’. A rogue super. She’s got to be one, a rogue super, a psych, one of those fucking freaks that gets in your head.

The confusion crystallizes into raw, sharp rage.

“My name’s Alexa Chau. Let us go. Let us go, now.”

“Aww, don’t say that,” he says, “you chose this, remember? That was the last choice you’ll ever have to make. That’s what you wanted. To not have to choose anymore.”

I reach for my phone, but it’s not there. My clothes are gone. My backpack’s gone. I’m wearing something else, some kind of Hot Topic getup, black skirt and a black top with holes in it and… and not my clothes. And I don’t have my phone. I can’t call anyone. But maybe I can get out. Yeah. I’ll get out and I’ll find a cop or something. I’ll shut this whole place down. I’ll save Jesse.

But I have to get past this fucker first, don’t I? I could just try to kick him in the balls and run, but that’s stupid. He’s taller than me and he’s stronger than me and last time I checked he didn’t feel pain. But I’ve got one thing he doesn’t, right?

I don’t believe in his fake fucking god.

I fake hyperventilating a little bit, look like I’m having an anxious breakdown. I mutter to myself, say the kinds of things he probably wants to hear me say. No, no, I don’t want to go back, I’m not ready, Lilith, stop. Who knows if she can actually control me from this far away, but it’s a pretty good bet, given how much this asshole’s mood changed back at the door. I fake struggle with his goddess until finally staring at the floor, dead-eyed, mouth hanging open.

“I don’t know what came over me.” I say flatly. “You’re right. I chose this. Let’s go back to work.”

God, please let this work.

He smiles.

“Yeah. You understand? This is so much better. Not having to think. She only let me out to calm you down, too. Now I’ve got permission to go back to sleep. Back in the cage. Do you like being Lilith’s dog, RBF?”

“Yes.” I say, trying not to puke.

As we step out into the open area around the bar, someone at the table right by the bathroom grabs the alt guy’s arm.

“Hey. Hey, is she alright?” a woman’s voice says. It belongs to a girl with a nose ring and dyed hair, who’s staring up at me in concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Fine.” I stammer out.

“You don’t sound fine.” the girl says, but right then her… date, maybe, kicks her in the shin under the table.

“Leave it! This is these people’s kink, remember? Stop trying to snap her out of it. If you want to leave we can leave but you’re the person who suggested we go to this… drone bar.” the other girl says.

“This whole thing stinks. They didn’t even tell us what the safeword is. It’s fucking creepy.” the first girl says, but before I can hear any more of their conversation the alt guy has already dragged me back to the bar. I don’t dare speak up. Sure, maybe I could cause a commotion, but looking around most people seem distracted or drunk, and there are more servers—dead-eyed, listless servers—than conscious human beings in this place.

What is this? Some kind of BDSM club? A brothel? Fuck, fuck, fuck, how did I let this happen? I should’ve told Jesse it was a bad idea. I should’ve… I should’ve done something, I’m the smart one, I’m the one who solves problems, Jesse just… runs in and hopes for the best.

Stupid Jesse. What a goddamn idiot! Why’d he put me through this!? What’s already happened to me!? This is all his fault. He’s… it’s his fault we came in here, and it’s his friend who…

I take a deep, shuddering breath. No. It’s not his fault. He loves you, and he’d never do anything to hurt you. That guy said he was trying to break out, all the time, to help you. To save you, Alex. He’s trying to fight this. Like you. He’s fighting this.

The bartender—another dead-eyed freak—shoves a tray of drinks towards me, and I grab it and walk off in a random direction, hoping no one’s watching me. I find a table that doesn’t have very many drinks at it and hand them out at random to the casually-dressed thirty-somethings talking and laughing. I’m ready to stop there, but then I realize that one of them isn’t like the others. Younger, dressed different, expressionless. I recognize her. Hatsune Miku girl. One of the women at the table has her arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“That one’s yours. Olive brine and hot sauce. Ready to drink up?” she asks, and the girl in the T-shirt nods, her eyes empty.

I stare in horror as the customer hands her the glass and she starts chugging it, totally unresponsive. The others cheer.

“That’s a good girl.” a guy says, then glances up at me. “Hey, you, drinks bitch. Get out of here. That’s an order.”

I pick up the tray and stagger away from the table, trying to keep the horror from showing on my face. These people don’t know that everyone in here is a slave. Mind controlled. They think this is fun for them! They think this whole thing is some elaborate… roleplaying fantasy, that everyone’s a customer! What else are they allowed to do to them? What’s Lilith telling them?

I was one of them. What’d they do to me? What did these people do to me, not knowing I was a kidnapping victim, thinking I wanted it?

My stomach churns. I feel sick. I could go back to the bathroom, but someone will just catch me like last time. No. I’ve got time to feel violated and throw up and cry or whatever when I get the fuck out of here! No self-pity, no fear. Rage. Fury. That’s what I need. I need my anger.

It swells inside me as I navigate between tables and through the dim light to the room with the throne. Maybe it’s only been a couple hours. Maybe Jesse’s still in there! It sounds like the conditioning isn’t working on him, right? I can just grab him and go. Grab him and go, and deal with what’s happening here later. Come on, come on, he’s got to be okay.

I sneak into the throne room. It’s even darker in here, only lit by some tall candles, and as my eyes adjust, I hear the sound of metal striking metal. Like something snapping shut, a bear trap or something. I look closer—there are a couple of people in here, two guys it looks like, sitting like they’re lawyers and this is a trial, and there’s Lilith on her stupid throne, and right in front of her is…

I almost gasp when I recognize Jesse. There are fresh bruises on his face, and a chain around his neck, leading back to Lilith’s hand and running into the throne. He’s still wearing his jeans from earlier, but his shirt’s gone, and so is his backpack. He’s sweating, even though it’s cold in here. His mouth hangs open, his eyes staring straight ahead. All the joy and humour and warmth on his face is gone, vanished, taken away from him by whatever she’s doing.

“What makes this one so special?” one of the guys on the benches asks.

“Oh, plenty.” Lilith says. “For one thing, just look at him. Isn’t he adorable?”

“He looks underage. Let’s get the fuck out of here, Jason, this is too weird.” the other guy says.

“Oh, I’ve got ID right here. Confiscated from him when he signed up, of course. Wouldn’t want them to get independent.”

Lilith steps forward and holds out what’s obviously a blank piece of paper. Jason nods in acceptance. The other guy throws up his hands, relenting. She must be making them hallucinate! They didn’t kneel. I thought these things had rules! Does she not need you to kneel before she affects you? Are they two different powers? What else here isn’t real?

Can she sense me? If you can control someone’s mind, you can sense them, too, right? That’s how it works on TV.

“Why doesn’t he have a brand on him? He looks sick. I’m not taking him in the back without knowing whether he’s on drugs or something, Lilith.” the skeptic says. Go skeptic!

“You dare question me?” Lilith suddenly shouts, standing even taller. Her arm jerks and Jesse chokes as the chain digs into his neck.

“Sorry, he just looks fucked up!”

“He doesn’t have a brand because he keeps misbehaving! He hasn’t been broken in yet. That’s your job! If you can get him to stop fighting back so much, we can put him on the normal list, maybe even let him be a server. Think about it. You’ll have the first crack at him.”

The two guys whisper to each other. I creep around the edge of the room, trying to get closer to Jesse. I don’t know what I’m going to do—that chain around his neck is attached to the throne. There’s no key or anything. What’s my plan here? Maybe I should just steal someone’s phone. Or talk to these guys, tell them what’s really going on—but what if Lilith can just make it look like I’m a crazy person, that I’m talking gibberish?

“Okay, we’ll take him. Usual rate?” Jason says.

“Twenty percent discount if you can put him in his place.” Lilith says, smirking.

Right then, Jesse’s head drifts to the side and his eyes stare straight at me. Recognition sparks in them. He blinks, once, twice, then gasps and stands up straight.

She yanks on the chain and he yelps, grabbing at his neck, trying to get it off.

“Hey! Alex! Run!” he says. Adrenaline rushes through me. He’s awake, but—are we going to get caught!?

Lilith makes a sharp, quick gesture. I hear footsteps from the hallway.

“What language is that?” the skeptical guy asks.

“Oh, it’s Swedish. It’s part of his character, he likes to pretend not to speak English. Cute, right? The safeword is ‘smorgasbord’.”

She’s making them hallucinate. They won’t help us. It’s just like I thought. I have to do something. I have to…

“My name’s Jesse Hayden! She’s a super! She’s using mind control on us!” Jesse yells.

“Shut up, brat!” Lilith shouts. “Have you forgotten who your goddess is?”

She steps closer to him, and he relaxes for a second before suddenly standing up straight, grabbing the chain and yanking her towards him. She trips on her own heels and stumbles for a second, and that’s all the time he needs to get his bearings. His fist slams into her face, hard. There’s a scream. Metal hits the floor. He must’ve ripped a piercing out; her face is a mess of blood, and she’s clutching at it, leaning on the throne. She’s totally lost her grip on the chain.

“You were right! I’m sixteen! This place is a fucking crime against humanity. She’s a super! Get out of here! Call the cops! Please!”

The guys get up and start swearing and shouting. One of them pulls out his phone. For a second, I think we’re going to be okay, but then Lilith recovers.

I can’t tell what she says. It’s huge, and it’s loud, and it’s ugly, and when it’s over all three of them are kneeling on the ground, facing the throne. There’s no life in their eyes. Their limbs are limp. One of the men starts to cry.

“I am your goddess. From now on, you will cease this ridiculous charade. You have pretended to be human long enough. You will now stop pretending. You are my slaves. You are my dogs.” Her voice is full of fury. She keeps looking at Jesse, glowering down at him, hand over her face. It’s not just the ripped-out piercing; her nose is bleeding now, and her makeup’s running at the eyes.

“Yes, Lilith.” they say in unison, even poor Jesse.

I scramble for the door, but a hand lands on my shoulder.

“It was RBF, Goddess. She woke him up again. Shall I punish them?” the alt guy says as he holds my arms against my ribcage, keeping me from running or throwing a punch. I try to bite him, spittle flying from my mouth, seeing red, but it’s no use.

“He almost broke this whole thing apart!” Lilith shouts, enraged. “He’s a brat. A rebel. He doesn’t know his place. Put him and the girl in the oubliette, now!”

I fight, but it’s no use.

#

Jesse wakes back up, screaming, while they’re dragging us through some hallway behind the throne room. It’s a relief for a moment, but then Lilith slaps him across the face and uses that voice on him, and his head lolls back, his eyes wide in shivering terror. I glare daggers at her, then at the others helping her. The alt guy isn’t lucid anymore—he’s back in his cage, or whatever he called it. Those two guys who almost figured it out, they look empty too, but Evan’s the worst of them.

Yeah, Evan’s here. I didn’t see him out there, I guess he was being kept in the back. Maybe being used like Jesse. I should feel bad for him, should feel horrible that we weren’t able to save him, but instead all I feel is a pit of pure, black, boiling rage.

You. You lured us here. You were stupid enough to get trapped in here and now we’re paying the price for you. Look at you. Lilith’s right. You’re not human anymore. There’s no soul in you, how could there be when you ruined our lives, made us slaves, and you can’t even wake up to see what you’ve done? Jesse woke up. He woke up every time he saw me afraid or in pain. He woke up so many times that they’re not even trying to break us anymore. He’s a hero, and you’re a slave.

All of you. All of you are pathetic slaves. Fight! I fought! We fought! Fight, or you’re just what she tells you you are! Damn it! God damn it all! Fuck!

The zombies kick open the back door and bring us out into a dingy courtyard full of trash. I crane my neck to look behind us, and there’s a… shipping container out here. Oh no. Oh, god, that’s where they’re shoving us, isn’t it? We’ll die of heatstroke when the sun comes back out tomorrow.

I look to Jesse for any sign of life, and right then, Lilith relaxes a little. She presses a tissue to her nose—it’s been bleeding ever since the throne room—and takes a breath.

“After a few days in there you’ll beg to be my pet again. Even you.” she says to Jesse, who blinks in confusion.

He’s conscious again! Come on, Jesse, hit her! Every time we watch an action movie, you joke that you could do all that if you had to. I always laughed. I’m not laughing anymore, Jesse. Come on. Beat them up. Save us.

It’s childish. I know it’s childish.

“You’re a monster.” Jesse says with irregular breath.

Lilith’s goons throw me in the shipping container. My leg hits metal and hurts like hell. I shout. Jesse looks at me with rage on his face.

“Oh, I know I’m a monster, little boy. But I’m one of the good monsters. You’re not my prey. You’re my livestock, my pet, and you’re going to enjoy it soon enough. Soon, everyone in the world will be. It’s the ultimate phase of life on Earth. Once, nobody respected me, nobody even cared for me enough to say my name, and now it’s on everyone’s lips. Isn’t that right?”

“Goddess Lilith.” the zombies say, in unison.

Jesse’s fist clenches again.

“Get in the cage. Stop acting like a person, lying to yourself that you’re anything more than my tool.” Lilith says. “Do it. Now. Step in. Obey me.”

“You’re gonna have to use that voice again.” Jesse says, on the verge of tears.

“Get in the cage!” she yells.

“You can’t, can you? You ran out of juice. I beat you.” Jesse says, a smirk coming across his face.

“I said get inside!”

“No. No. Make me. Make me! You can’t!” he says, his voice rising.

“Goddess Lilith will be—very angry—if you don’t—”

“Shut up.” he snaps. She recoils, then grabs the alt guy and starts rummaging around in the pockets of his vest.

Jesse takes a step forward, out of the shadow of the shipping container. The zombies step back. He’s winning. My heartbeat steadies into a rhythm that feels like it matches his, feels like it’s cheering him on. He’s letting out all the rage I’ve been feeling. Us, the two of us. We’ve always been on the same wavelength and now he’s venting my fury, staring her down, browbeating a super right in front of her brainwashed followers. Maybe this is how her power fails. Maybe this is it! Get her, Jesse!

“You need superpowers to make anyone respect you, don’t you? You don’t demand respect, you insane… freak! You earn it! All these people you enslaved, they’re worth a million of you! You’re the one who’s dirt, Goddess. You need your voice and your throne and your slaves and all your crap to make up for how low you are, and even that doesn’t work, does it!? That’s why some kid like me can cut through all your bullshit without even trying!”

Her hand finally pulls free of the vest, and there’s a handgun in it. Jesse startles and steps back.

She aims, fingers quivering, and pulls the trigger.

The noise is over too quick for me to even process it. No. The first thing I notice is the feeling. Slimy and wet and sticky, all over my face, all over my neck and my hands. My mouth suddenly tastes of hot iron. Pink and red pieces, sludge, slime, all over my body, soaking my hands, sticky. Sticky. I hate it. Jesse, get it off.

His twitching body collapses into the shipping container next to me, his face frozen in a twisted expression of shock and terror. His face. There’s a hole in his pretty face, right in his cheek. Blood pools around his skull.

I clasp my hand on my mouth, shaking. His brains touch my lips, soggy, slimy, wet.

Someone pushes me to the ground. The door slams. All the light goes out of the world.

#

No matter how long I rub and scrape my hands against the metal, it won’t come off. The slime. The sticking filth. No. I shouldn’t call it that. It used to be him. It was part of him.

He’s going cold. He was so warm, right after, that I thought he might wake up. He’s getting colder every minute now.

I wish I hadn’t studied so hard. That pre-med supplementary course, all that anatomy, all that biology. Now I know what’s happening to him. The warmth’s already going out of him. His blood’s congealing in his dead veins. Soon his muscles will freeze and he’ll never move again, won’t even be able to hold my hand in here like he’s been doing. The bacteria will start on him. He’ll rot. His brain first, because that’s where the hole is. Necrotic flesh. Biomass. Nothing but food. He’ll stink.

He’ll stink, and I’ll be locked in here with him.

It isn’t fair.

He deserved to live.

I deserve to live.

It’s all their fault. The people outside. The slaves and the masters, the weak and the power-hungry, thoughtless zombies and arrogant murderers and the whole world that let it all happen. Ignorance. Complacency. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them.

It should be them lying dead, it should be them rotting, it should be me out there with the sun on my face, me and Jesse together again, living our lives, nothing worse to worry about than spilled ice cream and stupid relationship drama and grades and homework and toothpaste in my shoes. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair.

He was so brave. He was winning. It isn’t fair. That bullet should have bounced off him like he was made of steel. He’s worth a million of you and you tried to crush him and brainwash him and turn him into your slave and then when he proved he was more than that you shot him because no one can be more than that, no one can be special, no one can be human but you.

Lilith. When I get out of here, you’ll be first.

When I get out of here. When we get out of here. When I get out of here. When we get out of here! Because it isn’t fair! It shouldn’t have happened! I didn’t deserve any of it, and so it didn’t happen! None of it happened! It isn’t fair!

What would be fair is if I were the goddess, towering and wrathful, and the streets ran with blood and people like you ran in terror, and the sky opened up at my command and swallowed you whole and spit out the rot and the guts and the bones, and a great tide echoed forth and swept away the brain-fog and the terror and the remnants of you, and made me clean again, and whole again.

If I was clean again, and whole again.

If we were clean again, and whole again, and you were the rotting one, the food, stinking, decaying, rigor mortis setting in, going cold as the pieces of you congeal. Asunder. Smithereens.

That would be fair. But life isn’t fair. Ever since I was a child, asking why, the answer has always been that life isn’t fair.

Death.

Death is fair.

#

It’s dark. Just like when—

Lilith. The nightclub. Chains, the throne, her army, shouting, fighting, a gun in my face. Evan. The knife. Valentine’s Day.

Alex!

I launch bolt upright, leaping to my feet, flying. Reach for her, my head turning side to side in panic, wet hair flopping around my face, and—

Her hand on my wrist. Warm. Safe. It’s you. You’re okay. I was so scared.

“Hey, Jesse.” she whispers, softly. Kinder than I’ve ever heard her. Did something happen to me?

Something happened to me. My heart pounds silver and bright and loud as a hammer, a drumbeat, a marching band, so powerful, but below it, blood-black… evil wells up in my stomach. Hatred. Because…

I slowly raise my hand to my face, and run my fingers along the edges of the hole. They come away slick and warm. My other hand goes to the back of my head. Fingers inside my skull. Up against the wet ruin. I should be dead.

A gun shoved up against my skin. A hole in me. My brains splattered all over Alex’s face. Rotting, in a shipping container, on Valentine’s Day. Or whatever day it is. We were enslaved. Something awful happened to me. To us. Why don’t I remember? Why don’t I remember what happened?

I can only remember how angry it made me. Have I ever been this angry? No. Never. What’s happening to me? I want… I want to…

The things I want to do make me sick. Nobody deserves that, right? The things flashing through my head. Somehow they all deserve that. Somehow they do. It feels impossible, but I want to do it to them, with my own hands and my own teeth. I want to. More than anything.

These aren’t my thoughts. They can’t be. I try to find them, my real thoughts, the real me, and all I can find is… is that I want to see the sun again. We’re still in this awful, dingy metal box. Maybe that’s why I feel so angry.

Okay. Let’s go.

My arm thrusts forward and my hand rips through solid metal like it’s paper. I shove my fingers into the gap and pull in both directions, and the iron around us heaves and tears and shears apart. I push outwards and the twisted wreckage of the door scatters at my feet.

No sunlight. There’s no sunlight, even out here. I feel like crying. It was such a beautiful day. I never got to take her home. We were gonna play video games and she was gonna eat snack food with chopsticks like she always does, to keep her hands clean, and I was gonna make fun of her for it, and we were gonna be happy. Yeah. That was the plan. It was Valentine’s Day. Now it’s no day at all.

There are people staring at me, flanking the back door of that place they threw us out of. You. With the green hair. You lured us in there. Why did you do that!? And you, with the dead look on your face, you used to be a hell of a lot more excited. You were bidding on me like I was furniture.

I try to ask them what the hell happened, to make them explain what’s going on, but the black hate is as wide as the sky and as deep as the sea, and my veins surge with it clear and loud like tires screeching on asphalt.

My hand is in the man’s chest and it’s free with a tearing crunching pop and his heart is in my hand. His heart is crushed like an orange and the juice and the pulp is spraying. The one with the green hair is praying to a goddess like a scared hurt dog. My hands are on his wrist and his elbow and his arm is snapping in half like a toothpick. Crack. He’s making a noise I didn’t know humans could make. That should stop. The bone from his arm goes through his neck straight and sharp. Blood is shooting out in streams.

It dries out. Drip, drip. My arms are soaked to the elbow. My hands shake.

What did I do? What did I just do? They’re dead. My heart throbs almighty, like towering clouds out the window of a plane. I could leap to the Moon. The hatred wriggles in my veins, placated, joyful. Yes. It’s good. It’s good that they’re dead. I’m happy that they’re dead. They violated us. And they were slaves, and that’s worse. Anyone should have been able to resist. Jesse was able to resist. Simple kind Jesse who never needed to be special to feel worthy of love, who never needed to be great, who only needed to be himself. If that was enough, then anyone who kneels to that throne and accepts must always have been a coward.

This isn’t me thinking.

I turn around, the realization slowly dawning. Alex stares back at me. Her eyes are red. Bright red.

“You triggered. You’re a super. You’re thinking through me. Is that… is that really how you always felt?”

“That I love you because you’re normal? Because you’re happy being you, because you’re never uncertain or scared or… breaking apart on the inside? Yeah, Jesse. I always felt that way. That’s always been you.”

Thanksgiving dinner with my parents. Long walks on the beach. Hikes on the park trails, Alex complaining the whole way. Inside jokes and late-night Soviet friendslop games and roasts and the ridiculous blunt things she says—laughter. So much laughter. It’s St. Lawrence’s day. Patron saint of chefs and comedians. Yeah. Felt right to spend it with her because we always laugh so much. Track meets and extracurriculars and talking on the subway home, Thai food and oxtail and boba tea.

I’ve joked about it plenty to my friends, to the other kids at Scouts, went off about how much of a hunk I supposedly am, but…

I’ve never actually felt beautiful before.

I feel so beautiful.

I wish that was what I was asking.

“Have you always been this angry?” I say.

Alex shrugs her shoulders and wipes grime off her face with her sleeve. I shiver. Those are pieces of my head. Am I still human?

“As long as I can remember.” she says.

I sit down on the concrete and wrap my bloody arms around my knees. It’s all too much. She mirrors me, resting her head on her hand, like we aren’t murderers. Like it’s still Valentine’s Day.

I’m finally about to break the silence when there’s rustling behind me. I leap to my feet so swiftly Alex startles. There are cracks in the stone beneath my feet. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands of horsepower, stampeding in my heart. I’ll never get used to being this strong.

The dead are moving. The man with no heart struggles to his feet, the wound in his chest gaping and dripping. The alt guy with the green hair stands, though his neck is broken and his forearm is shoved through it like a kebab skewer. They shamble forward, their mouths hanging open, their eyes lifeless. They breathe sick breath, but no words come out. One gnashes his teeth.

“I’m a zombie.” I whisper, horrified.

“You’re more like a death knight. You know. The lich-queen’s loyal retainer. Just what he used to be in life, only stronger. Better. Still just as brave.”

I smile a tiny smile. Yeah. That does make me feel better, actually. We’ve both played enough fantasy RPGs to know the difference. Being a death knight isn’t so bad.

I did this to them. I tore out his heart, I crushed his throat. Something about me infected them. Made them this. Are they hating like I know I’ll hate again soon? Is that black nothing in them, waiting to spread and consume and destroy? Am I the end of the world?

“What are we?” I ask.

Alex slips her hand in mine. She’s so sweet. She hates getting her hands dirty, but here she is, getting blood all over herself just to comfort me.

“We’re alive.” she says firmly.

#

Another accomplice crawls across the floor, a trail of blood smearing its way after the sobs. A knife is flashing toward me and it’s snapping against my bare skin, and the wielder’s arm is in my hand and it’s arcing across the room in a mess of torn tendons, and his neck is at my mouth, and his buttery flesh is coming apart under my teeth. Warm, smooth, creamy. Like lobster bisque. It tastes so good. That’s right, I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since the oxtail. More. Hand bones crunch. Ears snap and crackle like cartilage skewers at that Chinese place Alex loves.

I spit out a mouthful of crushed rings and piercings. Fire alarms and people and sirens all scream at different frequencies, a sea of noise. My foot is coming down on a human skull and it’s flooding across the floor like a dropped overripe watermelon. It’s quieter now.

I’m so warm. So wet. It’s like being at a water park! The jeans are starting to chafe though. Would it be indecent if I took them off? It’d probably ruin Alex’s big dramatic moment. I weigh my options for a bit, grabbing a hunk of forearm to chew on. Ugh! Still starving! Someone darts out from under a table and runs past me, screaming.

“Hey! Use the front door!” I call after her. “Hey, don’t go out the back, okay?”

She stares at me in primal terror, makeup running down her face, mouth hanging open, and then runs out the front door. Phew. Almost ran right into the zombies out the side door! Have some self-preservation instincts, lady.

I grab a stained piece of fabric with Hatsune Miku’s face on it and wipe off my chin. Somewhere off to the side, the black tide is calling me. This is it. The nexus. The root. Maybe she’ll stop being so angry after this and we can eat some real food, put some real clothes on, finish our date.

I step over a twitching puddle of human flesh—that mess wasn’t me, I’m clean, sharp, like in an action movie—and into the hallway to the throne room.

The throne room. Evan was trapped here. They were hurting him. I tried to call the police and they swarmed us, threw us to the ground. Made us… drones. Then I was fighting back, throwing punches, screaming, straining against the chains, and then I was asleep, and then I was fighting back, shouting, getting in her face, and then…

The black hate reverberates through my bones, makes my hands twitch, my nerves shudder. Under it, red anger. Red. Red and cool like sea breeze, red and soothing like aloe. None of this would’ve happened if it weren’t for you, Lilith, if it weren’t for you and your pride and your evil and the awful things you made yourself believe about us all. If you hadn’t needed to be a god. If you’d been happy with just being a person. Then we’d all still be.

Red. My own feelings. I’m still me. Alex wouldn’t do that to me.

The zombies close in from the back of the room, slow, methodical, and Lilith steps back, stumbling on her decor. She fires her gun again and again at the things that used to be her slaves. Evan clutches the sides of his head, hyperventilating, bleeding from a fresh bite wound. Shit, that might’ve actually been me. Sorry, man, it was dark in there.

“Stop them! I command you!” she screams at Evan, who just shakes his head harder, tucking it between his knees.

She turns and tries to run, only to scream when she sees me. She raises the gun and pulls the trigger and the bullet flattens against my chest and clatters to the floor. The gun clicks, clicks, clicks, falls from her trembling fingers. Ow, that kind of hurt. She sobs, unbelieving, cornered.

“Come on, it’s not that ugly.” I say, gesturing to the hole in my face. “You’re hurting my feelings.”

That sets her off. That voice she used earlier, it comes spilling out of her now, flooding over us, slamming into us, Evan and me and the zombies and… and Alex comes in, partway through the tantrum, to stand beside me. Something changed inside her. Not even this awful thing, this voice, can touch us now. A gift for me. So she wouldn’t have to see me suffer again, see my eyes go blank. My eyes should be smiling. That’s what they’re good at.

When her voice finally goes hoarse from hurling orders, there’s blood streaming down her face. Her right eye’s gone totally red, every capillary popped from the strain. She drops to her knees, spits out a tooth, and glares up at us, pure hate on her face.

“I own you! I destroyed you. I broke you, you’re mine, you want to be mine, you’re nothing, you’re nobody! You belong to me. Call me your goddess. Do it now! Get in your place! Stop pretending! Stop pretending you’re human!”

Alex’s face doesn’t even move.

Behind Lilith, Evan stares at his hands in horror. I know that look. Saliva hangs from the corner of his mouth. His pupils are wide.

“Jesse. I’m scared. I’m hungry. Why am I so hungry, Jesse? H-help. Help me.”

I sigh. What do you even say to that? Dammit. Poor guy. He’ll live—the virus doesn’t kill you if you’re not already dead, just makes you hate, makes you hungry—but what a shitty thing to happen on Valentine’s Day, when you’re already single on top of it all.

Nevermind. I’ve got it.

“You know, Evan, none of this would’ve happened if you’d just come to St. Lawrence’s day.” I say, smiling.

He stares for a second, then starts laughing with me, snot dribbling from his nose, his face struggling between a smile and a grimace of terror. Alex gives me a playful slap that only makes me giggle more.

“You goofball.” she says.

The broken, terrified person in front of us curls up on the floor in a growing puddle of her own blood, shaking.

Alex’s face hardens. Her fingers snap.

“Feast.”