I scream. In rage, in pain, in terror.

“Oh-for-one,” Phiri says to me.

I clamp my mouth closed. I can’t take my eyes off Mark’s body, his dead eyes staring right at me. This is my fault.

Hell with this. If I’m going to die, it’s going to be on my terms.

With a burst of motion, I pop Five’s blade from its forearm sheath and slice it through the two tentacles still piercing me. She screams and recoils. The oozing appendages sizzle when they hit the floor. Already, barely seconds after I chop them off, the tentacles start to regenerate.

I had hoped that my Legacies would come flooding back to me. That’s not the case. There’s still remnants of Phiri Dun-Ra writhing inside me. I can feel my healing Legacy kick in, trying to fight them off. I scramble to my feet and attempt to generate a fireball or to turn on my stone-vision. Those powers don’t respond. They put too much physical strain on my body, which is still too drained from the attack.

A vatborn clocks me in the head with his blaster. I’m falling right back to the floor. Time seems to slow down.

My telepathy. I can at least use that. Even though my body is weakened, my mind is sound.

As soon as I open my mind, I shudder. There’s so much fear and pain radiating from the sublevels of Patience Creek that seep in when I use my telepathy. I steel myself, focus and reach towards a mind that I’m relieved is still out there.

Sam! I shout telepathically.

I can sense where he’s at. Running down a hallway, Malcolm next to him, a handful of scientists and soldiers on either side. Sam’s got a heavy weight on his back—a pack filled with random electronics, mostly cell phones.

His experiment with his tech Legacy. It must have worked. And now it could be doomed. . . .

John? Am I hallucinating this? Sam thinks back.

No, I’m upstairs.

Oh, thank God—

They’ve got me, I tell Sam. Mark led them here. Not by choice. They’ve got Leg—augmentations.

Holy shit—Mark—they’re trapping us down here. Sam’s thoughts come in a jumbled rush. I sense him skid to a stop, Malcolm grabbing him by the arm. I’m coming to help you, John. I’m coming!

No! I think back, weighing Sam’s chances against the Mogs versus the value of what he’s carrying, the importance of preserving his Legacy. It could be humanity’s best hope. You have to escape! There’s a mass of them at the underground exit, but I think most of the ones that have powers are with me. Find a way to get through and—

I don’t get to finish that thought. A fresh jolt of pain stabs through me, Phiri’s tentacles making three new holes in my back. Only seconds have passed. Once again, my Legacies feel out of reach. A group of vatborn pin me to the ground and rip away Five’s blade.

“Nice try,” Phiri says with a gloating smile. She picks up the end of the noose dropped by Mark, and I brace myself for what comes next. Phiri seems to know exactly what I’m expecting because her smile only widens. “Oh no, John. You don’t get to die yet.”

She drags me forward. I scramble along after her since the alternative is a slashed throat.

The elevator is waiting and open. There’s a pool of fresh blood on the floor and dents in its walls. Whoever was defending the elevator downstairs must have fallen prey to the Piken-Mog.

“Come on; let’s go say hello to your friends,” Phiri says.

Phiri, Thin Mog and a squadron of vatborn surround me in the elevator. We descend a few floors. I try to get a look at where exactly we are but can’t be sure. All the halls down here look alike. Where are Lawson and Walker? The human Garde? Sam and Malcolm?

I hope they’re on a different floor. I hope they’re finding a way out.

The vatborn take the lead, Phiri and the Thin Mog behind them, and me forced to crawl alongside Phiri. They don’t meet any resistance outside the elevator. We pass by a few bodies—soldiers—that have been practically ripped limb from limb.

“I hope he left some for us,” the Thin Mog says dryly.

The first shots are fired as we round a corner. A handful of marines are hunkered down in a kitchenette and manage to gun down a few vatborn. The Mogs return fire, but the soldiers have dumped furniture across the hallway and take cover behind it.

“Get them,” Phiri Dun-Ra says.

The Thin Mog smiles. He cups his hands in front of his mouth and blows out. Tiny black spores rise up from his palms and float down the hallway. I try to yell out a warning, but Phiri twists her tentacles inside me. The soldiers are completely unprepared for this kind of fight. How could they be? I’ve never seen anything like it either. The spores head right for them, like they’ve got a mind of their own, slipping through gaps in the barricade. I can’t see exactly what happens, but I can hear gagging noises. Then, silence.