Forty doesn't believe in a god, has never had a use for one, but she believes there is no other explanation for the next few weeks than she has angered some all powerful being. The world no longer feels real to her, and time is only dictated by the waning and waxing of the LED lights in her room. When she looks at other's faces there's nothing there, just an amalgamation of features and a moving mouth saying words she can't understand. She's sure Forty-Five's teeth have grown back, but she has yet to speak to the woman and avoids all contact with others. Forty doesn't want to imagine the face Forty-Five would make if she sees her.

"A haircut will do you some good."

Forty doesn't really feel the fingers combing through her matted hair. She'd refused to go to the antibacterial shower this morning because it was too close to the lab, just like she'd done the past week. Any step out of her domicile means she is to be taken to that room where either Dr. Zapata or Dr. Daas would sit and watch as she approached the cot, and they would be there afterwards tending to the wound on Thirty-Seven's neck. Forty knows she's disheveled, can smell her natural odor more than she ever has before, and her hair sticks in painful clumps to her scalp and webs around her face. She doesn't respond to Jane's comment, just shuts her eyes against the bright LEDs and hopes the woman will grow bored of her just as she had all those months ago.

"Would you like me to cut your hair?" Jane tries again, aborting her movements. Forty remains motionless.

A deep, heavy sigh. "Look. You're not eating, you're sleeping too much. I can't even slip SSRIs into your blood because you refuse to drink it. You'll die like this, Forty!"

Forty flips over on the bed, uncaring of her words. If she dies like this, so be it. At least then she would be able to stop hurting Thirty-Seven, would be able to actually promise never to hurt him again. Is life really worth living if there is nothing to it but hurting others?

Suddenly, Jane's fingers tighten harshly, pulling on a mat in Forty's hair. A shocked cry tumbles from her lips. When Jane pulls her face towards her, Forty struggles to keep eye contact, petrified by the fire in the other woman's eyes. "You don't get to die like this," Jane snarls. "You don't get to decide after all these years to just give up!"

Forty's blood is electric where Jane tugs at her hair. The immediate change between the sluggish, empty feeling she's had over the last few days and the all-consuming anger encapsulating her body makes her blood run cold for a second, then she's on her haunches and growling at Jane.

They were touching me. That's enough. I hate when they touch me.

"Hey! Whoa, Forty," Jane yelps, removing her hand quickly. Forty snaps at it as it passes by. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm being too rough."

"You've always been too rough!" Forty screams, snatching Jane's wrist. She grips it tightly, her claws just barely piercing the thin flesh. She thinks of all the bruises on her inner arm, all the disappointed looks and harsh words. When she looks at Jane now, she can't picture the few moments when the woman has decided to be merciful. All she sees is an enemy, a person who hates her for simply existing. "I'm not some fucking toy you can jerk around!"

Jane stares at her, mouth agape. Her hand shakes in Forty's grasp. "I—"

Forty's heart is pounding in her ears. Her veins are cold, eyes finely tuned to the sweat beading on Jane's forehead. She's so angry she can't smell properly, can't detect the copious fear hormone wafting through the air. She wants to make Jane feel as horrible as she makes Forty feel. She wants to give her enough pain in these next thirty seconds to make up for the last twenty years. "I don't want to hear you speak anymore. I'm done. I'm tired. I don't need a fucking haircut, I don't need food, just leave me here to rot like you did so long ago. Why are you just now deciding to care?" Forth throws her wrist back at her, and Jane grunts when it hits her diaphragm. Forty catches her wide eyes darting to the scars by her nose, and unbidden a wicked grin crawls across Forty's cheeks.

"That's right. Because I'm not so boring anymore, am I?" Forty spits, tapping her claw on one of her scars. "I'm useful to you now, and that's all you ever cared about. That's all everyone here ever cares about. I'm nothing to any of you but a warm body and a sack of venom." She wraps Jane's collar in her fists and pulls her close, her nose brushing against her ear.

"I hope if I die all of you will never find a cure. I hope that any breakthrough you've ever had because of me will burn up in the same flames as my body."

Jane pushes her chest roughly and Forty drops her lab coat, satisfied. She doesn't want to admit it, but the sudden burst of aggression feels good. Her muscles feel stretched, claws polished, senses sharp. The buzzing in her skull is quieter.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Jane mumbles, her eyes glassy and glued to her bruised wrist. She gets up from her chair quickly and practically sprints out of the mirrored door. Forty realizes she was wearing a blue lab coat.

Across the room, Forty-Five tsks. "I'm pretty imprethed, Forty," she calls. Forty looks over to see her leaning against the sound space, body slack. "I mean, I've been worried, but I'm glad you finally grew a thpine."

Forty wants to simultaneously rip her throat out and hug her. Instead, she says, "You're talking funny again."

Forty-Five snorts. "Your venom is potent thtuff, but it can't change biology. The vacathion wath nithe while it lathed."

Forty's heart still hammers in her ears, but slowly as it quiets she realizes the gravity of what she just did. She attacked Jane, the woman who practically raised her. Even more chilling, it felt good. I'm becoming just like all the others, just as she wanted.

"You know, I've miththed you," Forty-Five continues, knocking on the sound space. Forty refuses to get near it. "Why won't you let me thee you?"

"I'm ugly, now," Forty says simply, turning away from the glass. She pulls the black blanket tightly over her body, hoping the pressure will calm her down. No matter how good it felt to snap at Jane, Forty feels sick at the thought of causing more pain, of living a life where all that matters is her next meal.

"I'm no thranger to ugly fathes," Forty-Five laughs, but Forty doesn't share her humor. She isn't ugly like Forty-Five is, in a sort of charming way. She's just a person with a patchwork face, two empty pink marks that pinpoint the exact location of all of her troubles.

"I don't like living, anymore, Forty-Five," Forty admits, almost by accident. She rubs her fingers over the bubbled flesh by her nose. It's sore to the touch.

Fort-Five is silent for a while, and Forty thinks that maybe she's scared her off. Then, she says with a gentle voice, "None of uth do here, Forty. But really, if all life hath to offer ith happineth, why would we be able to feel anything elthe?"

"I don't deserve to live," Forty edits, the words seeming to crawl from her throat. "You don't see it like I do... how he looks at me. He's terrified of me. All I do is violate him, make him bleed. Everything I am is violent and terrifying. What kind of life is that, anyways?"

"I don't think that'th entirely what Thirty-Theven feelth. I think that'th how you thee yourthelf. You're looking at all of thith as if you have a choithe. We have never had a choithe." Forty still can't bring herself to look at her, but her sincerity is palpable through voice alone. "What you are doing now is not a reflecthion of who you are."

"It's who he sees me as," Forty says, shaky. She thinks of his wild eyes, of the pink around the edges, the paleness of his face at the sight of her. She can smell the change in his emotion when she enters the room, can feel the shaking of his body under hers when she bites into his shoulder. She tastes his blood, the warmth of his flesh. It sickens her.

"Even if that ith true, what doeth it matter?" Forty-Five continues, frustrated. "He'th flipping thit becauthe for onthe he'th not in control."

"I don't want to be the one to take that control," Forty mumbles, trying to shut out the sound of his cry when her fangs pierce him. "I just want to go back to the blue floor."

Forty-Five goes silent, perhaps smelling the salt of Forty's tears. It's therapeutic to bury her face in the pillow and not breath for a while, scream so hard that her jaw pops and her throat aches. She screams until she's so tired she falls asleep, an exorcized spirit.

It has to be a half hour that she gets a restful, dreamless nap, her bones sated to the very marrow. It feels good, she realizes, to be uncontrollable for a while. She's rarely allowed herself to fully express emotion, but it seems a dam has broken in her chest and a torrent of blocked feelings flow out in red, bloody tears now.

Maybe it's the blood loss, but after her nap she picks up the walkie-talkie and presses the call button a few times, humming to the static. She knows Dr. Zapata doesn't use it anymore, but it's nice to think of the time he first gave it to her. She's busy fiddling with the knobs when the static suddenly cuts and she jumps.

Forty, come in, Forty.

She stares dumbfounded at the device, wondering if she's just hallucinated Dr. Zapata's voice. The static picks up for a bit and then cuts again, this time a more frantic call. She waits, then presses the talk button and says warily, "...yes?"

I don't have much time to tell you, and I just finalized the plans today... agh, I'm so tired! Oh, but I just got done speaking to Kar— uh, Dr. Daas, and I finished it!

Forty's skin crawls, no longer excited when Dr. Zapata feels passionate about something. She hums into the walkie-talkie to encourage him to continue, anyways, but it feels more like a reflex.

Next week, on Friday, you and Thirty-Seven are scheduled for a venom collection.

Forty flinches, trying to push back the rush of images in her head. She almost presses the talk button to ask him to stop, but he continues before she can.

I don't know how, but we did it! Forty, oh my god!

His excitement terrifies her, so much so that she almost throws the walkie-talkie across the room in hopes it will shatter against the wall. She raises her arm to send it spiraling, but stops when the static cuts again and he whoops. Only his next words truly make her stop.

Next Friday, that morning, we're getting you and Thirty-Seven out of here.

☠☠☠

"I figured out the vents have a gap in them," Dr. Zapata begins, drawing a crude rectangle on his notepad. Him and Forty sit against the sound space, their backs to the glass. Forty-Five peers curiously over their shoulders while the camera blinks slowly overhead. "It's by the stairs to the blue floor. Right next to it there's an old vent that connects to the walled off part by the end of the staircase. It was left over after the remodel in the '90s."

"Why do we need that one?" Forty asks, watching as he draws a few more scribbles on the paper.

"Almost all the vents on this floor are blocked by filters or antibacterial puffers. We'd have to get a bomb to destroy that metal, and I want to be as discreet as possible."

"So I will crawl through the vent by the safe door? Won't that be very noticeable?"

"No. I'm going to be honest, we really only monitor those cameras if there's a breach, and the techies won't know there is one until it's too late. Do you know how to follow a map?" He flips through the journal, coming to a page with a slightly neater drawing. The handwriting looks more put together too.

Forty briefly remembers the scavenger hunts she would go on with the monitor before Jane. "Enrichment," she would say, then hide Forty's breakfast somewhere in her domicile. It was irritating, especially if Forty hadn't eaten the night before, but it did keep her mind busy. Sometimes, if she hid it in the lab, the monitor would draw a rudimentary map for Forty. This always made it easier to find whatever she was hiding, and Forty had become well acquainted with them. She nods her head to answer Zapata.

"Oh! Good, that's great. That makes this much easier," he sighs, tearing out the drawing and handing it to Forty. He leans into her space to point out landmarks. "That's the monitor room, and that's the first lock by the safe just outside of there. You'll recognize the doors by the bolts in the bottom paneling of the vents. If you see them, you went the wrong way."

Forty nods, tilting the paper this way and that to try and orient herself. Forty-Five hums behind her, and when Forty peers back, her green eyes are somber but interested. Forty gives her a toothy smile. She's excited to see her, Thirty-Seven, and Forty-Five outside of this cage. Forty-Five smiles back, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "When you get up in the vent, crawl in the opposite direction of the antibacterial vent maybe six, seven panels away. That will take you to the blue floor. Eventually, you'll have to make a jump down to the next level, and be dainty about it. No loud noises."

"What will happen if we get caught?" Forty asks, afraid of the answer. Dr. Zapata looks away, his mouth grim.

"Let's hope we don't find out," he says, working at drawing a new rectangle for the next floor. A chill travels up Forty's spine. "There's three floors below this one. You'll hit the blue floor first, then the green floor, then the lobby. The last floor is the biggest, but the vents are more open there."

"What's a lobby?" Forty asks, peering at the large square labeled L on the last floor.

"It's where us humans check in. It's connected to our dorms, if we choose to live here. I don't though, so I come in the front doors every morning. You're going to exit out of the back door. It's in an old storage room from the '60s. It's a janitor closet now. You'll drop from the vent there and leave as fast as you can into the woods."

"The woods, like the trees outside?" Forty ponders, pointing at the greenery beyond the glass. Dr. Zapata nods.

"Yes, as fast as you can. Go into the thickest trees and never look back."

"What happens when we get to the woods?" Forty asks, running her finger over the scribbled swirls representing trees.

"Walk towards the human smell. Thirty-Seven will be able to pick it up. He's always complaining about it, even here. You'll get to a town. From there, get a map in the visitor's center. It's a big pink building, you can't miss it. There will be a square of trees on the map in the far upper right corner. That's where you're going to go."

"That's where your friend is," Forty comments, nodding. Dr. Zapata had told her the night he confessed his plan that he had a safe house in the works for Forty and Thirty-Seven. It bothered Forty that he didn't say Forty-Five's name, but she chalked it up to him being forgetful like usual.

"Naila should pick up on y'all being near pretty fast. She has trail cameras everywhere. You'll like her. She's really curious, like you," he says, a wistful smile on his face. "And she knows what you are."

Forty tries to conjure up the image of Naila as Dr. Zapata described her. She knows she's tall and muscular, and her skin is very dark, and her hair changes a lot. "It's brown hair," Dr. Zapata said. "Though it might be dyed when you get there. She was looking to dye it pink." She sounds unlike anyone Forty has seen in the compound. There is a uniformity to everyone here, even with Jane's dyed hair and the specimens, but Naila seemed to be the antithesis to that. It makes Forty excited to meet her. "She will not be scared of us?" Forty asks, hoping the answer is no.

"She used to work here, but she was braver than me and dropped out fast. I guess... I guess I thought I could make a difference, but she recognized the flaws in everything we were doing here early." He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, a guilty line across his forehead.

Forty-Five slaps the glass by his head, laughing when he jumps. "Don't worry, Joey," she snorts, grinning when he stares at her like she's grown two heads. It reminds Forty of something.

"So when do I meet up with Forty-Five?" she asks, looking curiously at the other woman.

The two immediately stop laughing. Forty-Five looks down angrily at Dr. Zapata, the edges of her fangs showing as she snarls at him. "You haven't told her?" she spits, her claws scratching around the edges of the hole in the sound space. Forty creases her brow, looking between the two confusedly. Dr. Zapata doesn't meet her eyes.

"Actually, Forty, she won't be able to come with us," he says nervously.

Forty's cheeks heat. "What do you mean she can't come?" She yells, looking desperately at her friend. Forty-Five gives a kind smile in return.

"The vents aren't big enough for three, and you have to move fast. I wanted to eliminate every risk of being caught," Dr. Zapata explains. Forty-Five looks ready to tear his throat out. "I didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd refuse."

Forty stares dumbfounded at him, then at Forty-Five. "I can't leave her here!" she exclaims. "She needs to get out too!"

"You have to understand. She's not at risk like you and Thirty-Seven are. She's just up here for her teeth, and she's much better off here. We can keep up maintenance on them, keep her comfortable–" Forty-Five snorts at this, "–make sure she's eating enough. Forty, we have no choice here."

"If she can't go, I won't," Forty says, crossing her arms. She can't think of a time on this floor when Forty-Five hasn't been there for her. She is Forty's best friend, one of the few who likes her despite her flaws, who puts up with all of her strangeness. The world will feel very cold and impersonal without her. Forty doesn't think she can enjoy the freedom if she knows Forty-Five is still locked away.

"Don't be thupid," Forty-Five says angrily. Forty flinches. "You're dying here. You and him. I'm tired of your thelf-thacrificing bullthit." She looks deep into Forty's eyes, her green ones resolute and more mature than Forty has ever seen her. Despite the harsh words, Forty knows what she really means. "If you won't do it for yourthelf, do it for him."

"She's right," Dr. Zapata speaks up. "Thirty-Seven is completely incapable of surviving in the human world on his own. He needs you there to reign him in."

"But I don't want to leave her!" Forty cries, wishing very much to be able to attach herself to the woman on the other side of the glass.

"Forty, this isn't a matter of want or don't want. This is what you have to do. I'm sorry, I was hoping not to ask anymore of you, but this is a matter of life and death... for all of us."

Forty again feels the uncontrollable urge to rip his throat out, but she manages to tamp it down. Her blood feels cold in her veins, and even though she's sitting right next to her, she already misses Forty-Five. "Is this what you want?" she asks, her voice small. Forty-Five nods.

"I thill need thethe fuckerth to feed me thlop," she grunts, pointing at her teeth. Forty lets out an affectionate laugh, though it's tinted with sadness.

"I'll miss you," she says, putting her hand against the glass. Forty-Five nods, placing hers on the other side. Her hand is longer and thinner than Forty's and her claws are fully extended. Only the glass panel separates them from touching.

"I'll mith you too," Forty-Five says. "But it will make me happy to know you're thafe from thith plathe."

Dr. Zapata's voice interrupts the tender moment. "I can't just sit back any longer. I thought that this was all going to be for a reason, but I don't see an end in sight to your suffering. I... I can't watch it anymore."

Suddenly, a thought occurs to Forty. She reluctantly drops her hand from the glass. "Thirty-Seven agreed to this?" she asks, thinking of the terrified eyes boring through her skull as she sank her fangs into his skin. "He... he's not afraid of me?"

Dr. Zapata frowns. "I don't know about your last question, but I think more than anything he wants out. I don't trust him, and I fear what he'll do on the outside, but I know you have enough sense for the both of you. If you feel terribly for what's been happening–and you shouldn't– then this is a way to make it up to him. Help him survive."

"He wants me dead," Forty says miserably, and Forty-Five reaches through the sound space holes to scratch her head comfortingly. "And I don't blame him."

"If it was up to Thirty-Seven, there would be no one else in the world but him," Dr. Zapata says resolutely. "I like to think that if you knew each other on the outside, you would have been great friends."

Forty-Five snorts, and Forty remembers all the times the other woman spent teasing her about Thirty-Seven. How those carefree days seem so far from now. "Where will I meet with him?" she asks.

"When we start to move you two to the blue floor, that's when you go up the vents."

"So right away," Forty concludes. Her mouth feels tight where she grits her teeth.

"Yes, but don't worry. He's angry, sure, but he's not stupid. He knows he needs you to be successful. Once you are outside, things will be very different, and you'll need each other." Dr. Zapata pats Forty's back, smiling proudly. "If there was ever two that could make it out of here, it would be you and him."

"I hope you are right," Forty groans, trying but failing to return the smile. She feels jittery, whether it be from her bouts of nausea and anxiety over these last few weeks or the daunting journey ahead, she isn't sure.

"All I athk," Forty-Five suddenly speaks up. "Ith that if you ever come back, you bring me a candy." She smirks. "But you really thouldn't come back, tho I won't hold my breath."

Forty smiles, bumping her head against the glass. "I'll think of you every day."

"No, you won't, and that ith okay. Live your life, but remember me occathionally." She returns the bump, and when Forty looks up at her, misty red tears bead up in the corners of her eyes. She scrubs viciously at them, then says with a wobbly voice, "I'm– I'm gonna go over there." Forty watches her intently as she retreats to her bed, trying not to smell the odor of sadness in her wake.

"I know this is all very fast, but there is no time to waste," Dr. Zapata says beside her, though his tone is more tired than urgent. "Dr. Taft was going to start calling for more stringent collection, and I don't think you or Thirty-Seven can survive that."

"But what about your cure?" Forty asks, recalling Dr. Daas' excitement at the discovery of the venom.

"If I'm being honest, I don't see an end in sight. Your venom would probably get a few government officials vaccinated, but the people who are at risk of exposure wouldn't even hear of it. Ultimately, it will make no difference."

"All of this... for nothing," Forty says miserably, a thousand memories playing in a loop in her head. She remembers phantom sensations— pain, pleasure, happiness, curiosity, grief. Her whole foundation is shaken. Just a year ago, she believed there was no world outside of the compound. She didn't know there were children, or what grass felt like, or what friends were. The weight of the knowledge she has now is heavy on her shoulders, the images of bodies floating in tanks, of sunny skies and shutters when it rains, of green eyes and a wicked smile, blue hair and glasses and big hands, and of blood, most of all. Her own blood, the coagulation in the bottom of a cup, and Thirty-Seven's stained down the front of her shirt.

"It's not for nothing," Dr. Zapata corrects, patting her head affectionately. She drops her chin on her bent knees. "It may feel like that now, but once you're out in the wild, you'll realize just how much you've missed." He smiles, though it's a little sad. "I've learned that we humans have deserved everything that has come to us. You are just an unfortunate side effect. I'm not going to let that cycle of pain continue forever."

"And will it all be okay?" Forty asks, embarrassed as she tilts her head into his fingers.

"I don't know that, but I hope whatever answer you find out there is a good one."