Gunther has been behaving strangely since Alexander was killed, and since Hugh received the transplant. Joe said Hugh is still unconscious, because he had a bad reaction to the anesthesia. But he said he's also scared that Hugh's body might be rejecting the new lungs.

Joe told us that when he broke the news to Gunther, he threw an entire tray of glass beakers against the wall, shattering them into pieces. That was days ago.

I don't blame Gunther for being on edge still, but most people don't build expansive Rube Goldberg machines when they're under stress.

With each passing day, the machine gets larger, and crosses over more of the ballroom. I'm actually kind of worried about him. He doesn't eat, and from the looks of it, he hasn't been sleeping. From the smell of it, I don't think he's been showering either. His face is covered in black stubble hairs, like those old Wooly Willy toys. At least he's been too occupied in his own mind to notice that the Caregivers are getting stronger, and that Cooper's getting angier.

This morning Cooper gave his entire lesson on the pitfalls of science and exploration. About how science and learning can mislead a person into believing that they are more important or more intelligent than they truly are. He looked directly at me when he said it, and asked me to stay after class.

Now I'm left alone in the classroom with Cooper, and a million thoughts speed through my head. What could he possibly want with just me? Has he called me in to threaten another person in my life? And if he has, why? I've been playing by their rules, keeping my mouth shut, and doing my trivial Comforter duties as far as they know.

I walk to the front of the room, and the closer I step to Cooper's mechanical body, to his shriveling face and his down-turned lips, the more my arteries constrict in fear. It's like I'm back on the farm, but instead of running away from the scanning machines, I'm stepping into their claws.

He sighs a wheezing hiss, as if even his lungs are made of metal. "Take a seat, Isla," he says, gesturing to a seat at the front. I slide into the seat, and take a breath to prepare myself.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Cooper?"

"Where are you girls going?"

I lose my breath. His words knocked the air from my lung, and I know it's already too late: My mouth is stuck open.

"I can't leave this wing of the estate, as I'm sure you've noticed; however, my drones can be very informative. I've been charting movement after hours, and I have noticed an increase in activity between the bedrooms and the Comforter bathroom. I'd like to allow you ladies that privacy, but if I don't get some answers, I can very easily assign drones to the bathrooms."

"We, um..." I stutter. I'm drowning, sinking into quicksand like in my dream, but instead of the air being crushed from my lungs, I feel like the thoughts are crushed from my mind. Even if I were a good liar, I wouldn't know what to say, so the words stumble out of me: "We don't do anything. Just... practice. We practice our hair and make-up. We, just, want to be better. At that."

"You're an appalling liar. I thought killing your precious General would have taught you better than to lie to me," he says, spitting his words at me. I don't even have time to react before he starts again, "The New World Council is coming here tonight to discuss our progress. I need to know that there are no subversive movements under my nose."

"The New World Council?"

"Tell me," he threatens.

"We practice," I spurt. "We practice our make-up, like I said."

He sighs, and shakes his head. "Bring them in," he yells.

The doors at the back of the room open, and I see Ian and Collins dragging Nina and Celia into the class. They're back from their mission to find Eleanor and Ava.

"Ian, you're hurting me," Nina whispers, but Ian is unmoved, staring blankly ahead of him.

Blankly... Oh no. Was he converted? Or is he just playing a part? The thoughts send my heart speeding, and seeing Collins' equally vacant expression only makes my heart pound faster. A stinging pain rips through my stomach as I notice a glowing command pad on the inside of Ian's forearm. He's been implanted.

"Celia, what are you girls doing at night?" Cooper asks as soon as they arrive at the front of the room.

Nina's eyes widen in anticipation, but Celia stays cool. Her face only moves to look firmly into Cooper's grey eyes. For a moment, she looks just like Gabriela did when she held the gun at me. Then she smiles and giggles stupidly, like Phoebe does. Like a good Comforter does.

"Oh, it's so silly. We just meet to help each other. I never know what color lipstick will go with my skin tone. If it were paints, I'd just wear the complimentary color, but that would be some shade of blue," she laughs.

How did she know? How could she have known that was what I had said? Although, I guess there are only so many legitimate things we could be doing in the bathroom at night.

"All of you girls?" Cooper asks.

"No, not all of us. I'm sure you can tell from class that there are cliques. Only our friends come," Celia smirks. She's brilliant.

"Nina?" he asks.

"What?" she asks, caught off guard.

"Is this true?"

Nina looks at me, and I try my best to smile as subtly as I can. "Yeah, of course," she says. "I've been working on my eyeliner. See?" she moves the curly tendrils hanging from her updo to show her eyes, which are expertly lined in midnight blue to bring out the chocolate in her eyes.

"I am sure you can appreciate the importance of my meeting with the Council tonight," he says to Celia, and I make a mental note to ask her about what that is. "I will have my drones stopping in tonight to confirm your story."

Celia smiles. "Of course, Mr. Cooper. Anything you need for the goals of Roberts and Cooper." She turns to me and smiles insincerely. "You look as flushed as a flower, sister. We'll check on you later." She's calling for a meeting.

"You ladies are dismissed," Cooper orders, and Ian—or what was once Ian—and Collins escort them out, leaving me, once again, alone with Cooper.

"Isla," he starts after clearing his throat, "after my wife died, I had a stroke. I became paralyzed, and my brain stopped functioning as I needed it to. With the help of Gunther, Rumi Patel, and Phoebe, I was transformed. They built me into the man I am today, and in case you should need to know, I am stronger than I appear."

I can't believe Patel and Phoebe helped him become... this. Still, I ask, "Why are you telling me this?"

"My exoskeleton keeps me alive. Like a scorpion," he says, examining the metal around his left arm. It expands from his wrist, and reveals itself to be a pincer, like that of a scorpion. "Since their creation, scorpions have outlived all the mass extinctions Earth has seen. Just like I outlived the last mass extinction, and just like I will continue to outlive anyone I need to."

I don't understand what his point is other than to scare me, until his pincer claw shoots from his wrist and latches around my neck. He lifts me from the ground. I can't breathe. I panic, kicking and writhing to break free.

"Do we have an understanding?" he asks, but I have no way of answering. I'm gripping at the metal pincer, trying to claw it away from my neck, but I'm only scratching at my own skin. Until he drops me.

I collapse on the floor, gasping for air, as my throat slowly opens like an accordion with each desperate breath. I cough the dry air from my lungs. My arms are limp, but I use my legs to push myself away him.

"Becker!" Cooper calls, and Ian comes back into the room. "Get her out of here."

Ian lifts me up and throws me over his shoulder. Luckily I'm wearing a long dress today so nothing hangs out. Luckily I'm alive.

At the bottom of the stairs of the ballroom, he drops me, and I shuffle to stand. "Ian... Ian, wake up. Please," I whisper, grabbing the collar of his uniform. He looks at me, but says nothing. "Ian." Still, nothing. I lift his sleeve to command him to do something, anything, but he swats my hand away. "Ian... flowers," I say, trying desperately to snap him out of this. It hasn't worked for Phoebe, why would it work for him? I think of how I stole Nate away from his commands. Granted he had a different implant, but maybe it could work: Love. Nate's love for me changed him, and even though Ian doesn't love me, maybe the memory of liking me could do something, anything. I grab Ian by the collar and pull him to my lips.

We barely touch before someone knocks Ian away from me. I catch my balance and see Daniel throw Ian to the ground, and slam his fist into Ian's face. Ian rolls, throwing Daniel onto his back, and draws his fist back. I race over to Ian, and catch his arm before it lands on Daniel. Ian turns and pushes me down, but it gives Daniel enough time to punch Ian right in the windpipe. Ian coughs and falls from his position on top of Daniel, and we both scurry to stand.

Daniel pulls me to his side and waits for Ian's counter attack. Ian lifts himself to his feet, and regains his balance.

Ian charges us, and I lift my arms like Nate trained me to do to deflect him, when, at the last moment, he freezes only feet away from us. Daniel keeps his stance, but I relax my arms, and whisper, "What just happened?"

"I just stopped you both from being destroyed," Gunther announces from beside the grandfather clock. He holds up a remote, like the one I saw Captain Jones use on the Prowlers when he left them at our house. "There's no use in fighting him. He won't stop. He won't tire. I just saved you both from the beating of your lives. You're welcome."

He crosses the room to where he left off work on his machine. I mean to ask him what it's all about, but Daniel storms away from me, so I follow what's more important.

***

My husband is a reptile specialist at a pet store, and animals are very important to our family. Whenever I can, I try to work them into my stories, even the creepy, crawly ones. To give Cooper just those few lines of dialogue about scorpions took a few hours of research on them and an entire conversation about them with my husband. Research is so important to writers, even when it doesn't feel like it's adding up to much more than a few lines of dialogue.