I creep out of the empty Comforter's quarters, and see that the drones are back up and running. One buzzes at me from the end of the hallway, at the top of the staircase.

I load my slingshot, and fire a spike into the drone's gears, just like I did with my shiv. It sputters, and I see I've disabled one of its propellers, but it continues to fly crookedly toward me. I load again, and shoot another spike at its body, which bounces off, close enough that I could dive and use it to reload. The drone hurries, faster now that it sees I'm a threat, so I brace myself, and throw up my arms.

The working propellers cut through my skin as if it were putty, but once it slows, I use my bloodied forearms to push it to the ground. It bounces off the oriental rug, but I catch it mid-rise, and slam it back onto the floor, throwing myself on top. I'm holding the propellers down, but they still lacerate my hands. I jab one of the spikes into its gears, and push it down until the drone sputters to rest.

Being so close to the drone, it is easy to find the camera, so I lift the dead ball of metal to my face, and say, "C'mon, Gunther, you know where I am. Come and find me." I throw the drone behind me, and race into the next room I find: Mitchell's.

As I enter, I am swallowed by forest green. Like my mom's eyes. No. I can't think about her now. I race to the computer and immersion program. I should save it, ask that Jane take it before they go, but where would the fun be in that? I run and grab the chair at what I assume is Mitchell's work desk, and cross back to the computer. With one downward stroke, I smash the chair over the computer, and watch splinters fall between the cracks in the keys. I smash and smash and smash, until I am only holding a sliver of wood, which I throw across the room.

Screw Mitchell.

I grab the computer, covered in splinters of wood, hold it over my head, and walk over to the window, looking out over the Carrier's quarters.

Pregnant women, going about their business in the yard, are relaxing on chaise loungers and sipping juice. They have no idea what has happened outside of their area of the mansion.

I muster my strength, which is quickly leaving me with the lack of blood and sleep and food, and chuck the computer over my head and out of the window. Gasps permeate the yard. I see Tanya look up at me, and yell something, like I'm supposed to give a damn what she says. So I yell, "Get out! Go to the hangar! You will be saved!" Of course, no one listens to me. Why listen to the crazy girl who just threw a computer out of the window?

"Why should we?" Tanya yells, echoing my thoughts.

"Because you're pregnant with science experiments, and Gunther won't need you once you give birth!" I yell, and then, I lie, "That's what happened with Ava and Eleanor, you know. They were found, but the traveling caused them to have miscarriages, so the soldiers were ordered to kill them!"

"What?" another Carrier calls.

"It's true!" I yell, "Get out!" So much for not lying.

That's when they start to move, and I turn back to Mitchell's immersion program. I think of Declan standing in front of it. His face as he pressed the buttons, nervous and uncertain. I miss him so much.

I grab the program board, ready to toss it out the window, too, when I remember that a virtual copy of my mom may still be left over from our times inside. I pop Nate's drive out of the program, and toss it out the window instead of the entire board. Goodbye, Nate. Goodbye, files from the Immortal. They were never supposed to be here anyway.

Something stirs behind me, so I load my slingshot and turn to see Ian. "Come with me," he says mechanically.

This time, I don't try to reason with him, I know now I can't. So I release my fingers from the spike, sending it into his arm. I chase after the spike—faster than time, faster than light—until I, too, crash into Ian. I tackle him to the floor, like he's a drone, like he's weightless, and I sit on top of him. Even though he's my friend, I can't stop my fists from pummeling his face. He knew my home, he knew my family, he knew what I lost. And he—the mind-controlled version of him—helped destroy it all.

I am sure my knuckles are shattered, but that doesn't stop me from destroying his face. For now, it's not made of bones, but glass, and I break it apart like I'm not a 17 year old farm girl, but truly a warrior.

But then I remember his hands on my hips. I remember him leading me to the stream, and having campfires with him and Daniel. He was my friend. He is my friend. So I stop... He's unconscious.

"I'm sorry," I pant, and leap off him, through the open doorway, and back into the hall. No one is here. People need to come. People need to be here so Jane and the Caregivers can get everyone out. So I do the only thing I can think to do: scream.

No one comes. So I dig deeper into my monster scales, and scream, "Hugh! Hugh's dead!" Within a few moments, Gunther and a group of cyborg soldiers tumble up the stairs and into the hall. He looks at me in exasperation and I smile.

"Surprised to see me, Gunther?" I ask. He must not be watching the drones. So what is he doing?

"You're out," he says, "How'd you—? Hugh. He could never resist a project. Where is he?"

"Around."

His smile fades. "Where is he?"

I let my grin grow wider.

"Where is he?" he yells.

I'm about to say something snarky, when Hugh comes up behind him, panting and limping. "Here, Gunther. I'm here."

"Oh, thank goodness. I thought she'd... never mind. Are you okay? You should be resting."

Hugh doesn't answer, his face white as frost, and he crosses the line of soldiers to come and stand beside me. Gunther's lips turn down in confusion and anger and disappointment. Hugh's picking sides, and he chose mine.

He holds up the tablet from his brother's secret office, covered in blood. "What is this?" Hugh asks.

"Hugh, it's... it's nothing. I was just fantasizing."

"I saw the people downstairs. I saw what they were cleaning up, and I saw the robot people—"

"—cyborgs—"

"—I saw their controls, Gunther. The ones on their arms. I saw what you've done. What you've become. You're not my brother."

"I am, Hugh. Of course I am, what are you talking about? I've done all of this for you. This is all for you! So you can live and thrive."

"No... this is all for you. What about the vials of blood downstairs in that weird, secret room? With all the names of them? What about the babies? How was that for me? If you really did this for me, Declan would be here right now. Where is he, Gunther?"

Gunther blinks wildly and stutters, "He's... He was a rebel, Hugh."

Hugh doubles over in exasperation. "So it's true. I can't believe this."

"I'm creating a better world for us to live in, Hugh. A new reign of people, smarter and more advanced than ever, with the best genes from each parent. I am guaranteeing a better future."

"You're not God, Gunther."

"I'm not trying to be."

Hugh's eyes fill with tears, and he sighs. "You are, though," he says, lifting a gun from the back of his pants, and pointing it to his temple.

"Hugh, stop!"

"No!" he yells, but the force of his breath stresses his new lungs, and he coughs before continuing. "You need to stop. You need to choose right now. Either you let Isla and all of her people go, and agree to never harm them, or—"

"—Why do you even care about her? What did she say to you? What did you say, Isla?" He is red with fury.

Hugh continues unphased, "—Or you continue on your path. If you let them go, I'll stay with you. If you continue as you are, though... I'm going to pull this trigger. I can't live in a world where my brother is a villain and I don't have Declan. I can't. You have to decide right now which is more important: Me or world domination."

Gunther's eyes never move from Hugh as he says, "Isla, stop him."

But all I can say is, "He's made up his mind. Family or science, Gunther. Let's see if we're the same, after all."

I've already made my choice. I've already destroyed months, maybe years of research to help my family escape. Escape. I hope Jane and the Caregivers have taken them all by now. They better have. This is the perfect opportunity, especially since I notice now that even more soldiers have filed in from the staircase, and are inching around me and Hugh, ready to pounce at Gunther's command.

"I can't choose, Hugh. Don't make me choose. We could have both," Gunther pleads, and I hear a quiver in his voice.

"We can't, Gunther. I won't. New lungs or no."

"I... I have to keep going, Hugh. I have to finish what I've started. You won't kill yourself," Gunther says.

"Won't I?" Hugh asks, raising an eyebrow.

I know what he's going to do. I know what happens next. He's a Quail. He doesn't back down.

Gunther clenches his jaw, and in a panic, lifts the cyborgs' remote from his pocket. He wants the soldiers to seize us, to stop all of this before Hugh can manage to squeeze his finger.

But it's too late. Hugh screams, pulls the trigger, and escapes the world.

The soldiers converge on me and a lifeless Hugh as the gunshot echoes in my ears. I can barely hear anything but Gunther's screams. All I can feel are the soldiers' arms lifting me, splatters of blood and tissue over my face, and a stabbing pain in my ears. I squeeze my eyes shut. I don't need to see anymore pools of blood at my feet. I don't need to see anymore bodies.

I didn't know Hugh for very long, but through Declan, I knew him better than Hugh realized. I saved him. I saved him only for him to kill himself now. I can't handle any more guilt. So I shut my eyes, and I pretend it didn't happen as I let the wave of soldiers carry me downstairs.

Behind me I hear Gunther ordering me to the Reaper's Room. I just hope that Jane got everyone out in time.

I am carried into the ballroom, and I see no one else is here. The spaces where my friends and Daniel sat are now empty. From outside, I just barely hear propellers cutting the air, and I breathe a sigh of relief. They're out. My plan worked. Now all that's left to do is die.

The soldiers strap me onto a table in the Reaper's Room. The metal surface freezes my wounds, and I am told to wait for the doctor. Someone else, a man I don't recognize, comes in to clean my wounds and sew my skin back together, but he doesn't change my clothes and doesn't leave me with a bedpan or even food. I lie on that table, strapped and starving for 24 hours. I can tell, because from a tiny window at the back of the room, I watch the sun set and rise. Finally, as the light from the window turns a reddish orange like my hair, the door opens and I am greeted by cyborg Joe Wilkes. His eyes are empty, and from beneath his white surgeon gown, his forearm glows.

"Are you here to kill me finally?" I ask, barely audible.

"No. I am here to install your implant."

No! Not my mind! I can make peace with dying, but living without being myself? That's a loss I can't take.

Joe continues mechanically, "We have lost two great scientists in Daniel Crowley and Flynn O'Neil. Your implant will make up for some of that loss."

Maybe if he unstraps me from the table, I can break free and escape. Maybe then, if he caught me, he'd just kill me.

"So, we'll be moving up into the infirmary?" I ask.

"No," he says, punching through the only plan I have left. "I will perform the surgery right here."

"But," I start, looking around the room and at the metal table top, stained with tears on either side of my head. "This isn't a sterile room. This won't work. I'll get an infection."

"Dr. Quail preferred it this way," he says. He moves behind me, and when he returns, he's holding a tray of medical tools and the micro-probe over my head. "You'll need to be awake for this. And since you are not affected by drugs, you will feel every moment."

I pray for a deus-ex-machina. Maybe this is where Jane and all of them will come back for me. It's been a day, hasn't it? That's long enough. Maybe they're back in their right mindsets now. But when the first incision behind my ear cuts my skin, I scream and realize I'm alone.

In the final moments before I pass out from the pain—which the micro-probe makes so intense and concentrated that it hardly feels real anymore, but more like a sun burning into my brain—I try to think my last original thoughts.

I love my mom and my dad.

I love Daniel.

I miss my life.

I miss Declan and Nina and Celia and Jane.

I wish Declan and my mom weren't killed. I wish Ava didn't die. I wish Nathan didn't die. I wish Hugh didn't kill himself. I wish the pilots didn't explode from that mysterious pulse.

I hope my dad finds salvation, whatever that may be.

I am deathless, despite what Daniel said, but when I do eventually die, I hope my people will remember me as someone who did her best for the ones she loved. I hope I am remembered as a friend, as a scientist, and as a human being who didn't let destruction keep her from seeing the good in people. I hope...

I hope...

Everything goes white.

I want to think. I want to move. But I can't. All the controls for my body are just beyond a barrier—something I can't see, but I can feel—and I can't quite get to them.

I'm stuck.

I'm stuck in emptiness.