A fist cannoned into my stomach without warning. Too fast to react to, too fast to even flinch, and thank god. As it withdrew, I heard a clatter and saw a knife fall to the ground. Then I was airborne for half a second before smashing into the wall of the alley. I heard Amy scream in fear, then in pain as the thunder of monstrous paws approached.

  I rolled over and pushed myself to my feet, a little unsteady from my sudden flight. I stifled a gasp as I saw Amy across from me, pinned to the wall by her hand. Bitch, Grue, and the dogs charged in as Mannequin whirled. He looked...different than last time I'd seen him, last time he'd killed me; bulkier, like somehow his exosuit put on weight. He raised a hand at one charging dog and a gunshot rang out, knocking it aside.

  Oh, that was new. He leaped into the air, and I noticed a chain attached to his arm, the roof, and to Taylor who was dangling in the air. So that was what happened. Wait, I could do something about that! Grue covered himself and Mannequin in a cloud of darkness, but the chain still stretched out of it. I charged and, with a jump I didn't realize I could make at my height, managed to grab hold of it. I saw Skitter bounce at the other end of it and winced, then gripped hard.

  The chain snapped in a heartbeat and Skitter plummeted to the ground. I ran over and threw myself under her, willing my projection to not flinch and let her crush my ribs. Fortunately, we were both driven to the ground, but I didn't spaz out. She stood unsteadily and I followed.

  “Thanks,” she said, knife already in hand. I nodded and we joined the dogs in the fray.

  Without warning, Mannequin's hand was in my face. There was a bright flash that made me shut my eyes and turn away. I felt a hot stinging on my cheeks and a series of rapid 'thuds' against my projection. He'd built a shotgun into himself? Fucking psycho. When my vision cleared, I saw a large dog with its jaw clamped around the hand that shot me. It bit down and I heard metal creaking, then another blast. The dog reared back and fell to the ground, while a smaller one circled, looking for an avenue to attack.

  Skitter wasn't doing anything, just standing at the edge of the fight with her knife drawn. I grit my teeth and charged in as Mannequin raised his arm to finish off the fallen dog. I moved my projection off the sole of my foot and landed a solid kick, knocking the hand aside as the gun went off. Pellets tore into the thick scales along the dog's side, but not its already mauled face.

  Unfortunately, Mannequin congratulated me by making me a priority target. The chain from one of his legs swung forward and wrapped around my throat. He threw me up, up, up, high enough that I had time to freak out, flail around, then force myself to stop as I fell back to Earth. I saw, when I finally opened my eyes again, I'd landed on a fire escape belly first. I quickly rose and pulled down my mask, turned to the side, and threw up.

  Once I'd finished wasting my breakfast, I wiped my mouth and replaced my mask. I almost threw myself over the railing but...no, I ran down the stairs because I was a coward. Skitter had been struck by a fist and thrown into a wall, slumped down like she was unconscious. The smaller demon dog was nipping at Mannequin's heels, until he got a knife between the eyes for his efforts.

  The monster turned at looked at me, then looked at Taylor. He held up his remaining, badly damaged hand, and pointed one crooked finger at her. He held that pose for a few seconds, then he was gone, racing from the alley before I could even think of intercepting him. I ran over to Amy, weakly struggling against the knife still stuck in her hand. I stood on my tip toes, gripped the hilt, and got her attention.

  “On three, okay?” She nodded and took a deep breath. “One, t--” I yanked and she screamed. I stuck the knife in my belt and knelt where she'd fallen to her knees, gripping her bleeding hand. “I'm gonna see if they have first aid shit.”

  “You don't?” Amy spat bitterly.

  “Used it on Shatterbird's big night,” I retorted and rose. “Skitter, gauze?” She shook her head and I scoffed. Jesus christ these villains...

  “You led him right to us!” Amy yelled. I could hear her breath coming in short gasps. Uh oh.

  “I...he slipped past the silk tripwires I put around the area,” Skitter explained. “”And they can find you. Anyways. They can find you anyways, with Cherish.”

  “My hand.” Amy muttered. I glanced back and saw her skin had grown paler than usual, bluish. Oh shit. “Hurts.”

  “Heal yourself,” Grue said flatly, his attention focused on the knife Mannequin tried to embed in my belly.

  “I can't!” She shrieked.

  “Grue, shut up,” I snapped, then turned to Amy. I lowered my voice, keeping my own bubbling panic at bay. She was worse off right now. “Wait here, I'm going to get my bag so we can stop the bleeding. We'll go back to the shelter and get it properly fixed.”

  “You shouldn't go back there,” Skitter warned.

  “Fuck off,” we said in unison. I continued so Amy didn't start spiraling. “You don't have medical supplies and I used all mine yesterday, for obvious reasons. Far as I'm concerned, you're better out there. Go chase Mannequin, or throw yourself into some other crazy mission Skitter. Don't drag us along.” I intended to survive this, and sticking around her was death flag central.

  “You'll be putting those people in more danger,” she continued, ignoring me. “Come with us, we can get you medical supplies and keep you safe.”

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  “Safe? Safe?!” Amy's voice was practically hysterical. “You led one of the fucking Slaughterhouse Nine here and you think we're putting people in danger? My sister is right, you're fucking retarded.” I heard a shrill buzz.

  “Amy, please, truce.” She glared at me, but mercifully kept her mouth shut. “Skitter, go. If he's going where I think he's going, you have people to protect. I do too.” Skitter stared at me silently, then nodded once and turned to her own people.

  I walked backwards to my bag, just to keep Amy in sight. I had a feeling this was where she bolted in canon, made sense after that shit. She was pretty badly hurt though, and magic immunity to diseases or not, she said it: this physician could not heal herself. A knife through the hand risked damage to so many bits and bobs that, if we weren't currently in danger of encountering the Nine around every corner, I'd rather take her to a hospital.

  Instead I grabbed my hoodie and drew the punch dagger I'd taken off a thug a while ago. I cut back part of the hood, then cut that into strips. Sterile? No, but that didn't matter for Amy. I hid the knife and jogged back, kneeling by her side and folding two of the cloth strips into squares.

  “That's not gauze,” Amy complained.

  “Blame Shatterbird,” I said, holding them out. “Let go, please.”

  “I'm trying to not bleed out, thanks,” she said bitterly.

  “That's why we need to dress it,” I explained as calmly as I could. I could feel my cheeks warming with frustration. “You've worked in hospitals for years, how much do you trust your patients when they're in shock?”

  She didn't reply, just silently glowered. After a few seconds though, she complied. The ground briefly rumbled as the Undersiders took off, leaving the alley empty besides us, the copious bloodstains, and the garbage. I pressed the cloths to either side of Amy's hand, making her hiss in pain.

  “Sorry,” I apologized. “Hold those.” She pinched them and I removed my hands, grabbing the two remaining strips of cloth. A moment later, she had a shitty bandage holding her hand together. “Okay, cool, that'll keep til we get back to the shelter.”

  “We can't go back there,” Amy said shakily. “You heard what she said.”

  “I did,” I replied flatly. “She's full of shit.” I hoped. “Mannequin is busy fucking with her, now that he's done with us. We won't stay, just in case, but you need real medical help, not my idiot fumbling.” Amy seemed to study me.

  “What's your problem?”

  “Excuse me?” I narrowed my eyes at her.

  “I mean why are you like...this?” Amy demanded. “What do you want?” I let out a huff.

  “I told you already,” I retorted. “A hot meal, decent coffee, and a cigarette. I guess not having a Nine nomination on my head would be nice, but I'm a pragmatist.” She snorted.

  “Pragmatic enough to come after a ticking time bomb with that nomination,” she said dryly.

  “I didn't say smart,” I said with a shrug. “Wait here, I'm getting changed.”

  Again I walked backwards, justified this time when she rose to her feet. She didn't bolt when I shrugged my hoodie on, nor when I struggled into my still-wet pants. I slung my bag after slipping Mannequin's knife inside, pulled down my mask and hood, and tucked them away under my clothes before joining Amy. With her in tow, I walked unsteadily from the alley.

  We didn't have to go far, fortunately. When we returned to the shelter, the woman last night's volunteer called Sandra nearly fainted. She ran to the back and returned a moment later with a large, though two-thirds empty, first aid kit. Amy wasn't happy to be fussed over a second time, but I only had to snap once to get her to shut up.

  As soon as her hand was bandaged we got Amy's backpack and left, despite Sandra and another volunteer's protests. Lucky they didn't have our names, and they weren't cops so we didn't get detained. Soon enough we were slogging through the streets again, going god only knew where. I didn't have any ideas.

  As my gaze roamed the streets, looking for trouble, I found it drifting to Amy more and more often. I'd been...kinda shitty. By necessity of course, getting medical attention was more important that being nice about it, but still. I was here to try and help, not make yet another enemy to add to my unfortunately long list.

  “Hey,” I said as we turned down a sidestreet to avoid a toppled building. “Um, sorry, about earlier. I wanted to help, but I could have been better about it.” In the corner of my eye, I saw her head turn and cock slightly.

  “It's...fine,” Amy replied after a moment. “You were shitty, but I guess it was for a good reason.” We continued walking silently for a few blocks, then: “Thanks.”

  “Huh?”

  “I said thanks,” she huffed. “Don't be shitty about that too.”

  “No I just...” I took a deep breath, mentally resetting. “You're welcome.”

  We continued walking and I caught the scent of smoke on the breeze rolling in off the ocean. When we got to a gap between buildings, I saw pillars of the stuff rising from the waterfront. Skitter's territory, I guess Mannequin had some backup that I didn't know about. Weird, but this shit was all a blur anyway and for all I knew that was a change from canon. Either way, we changed our course to avoid it.

  A thought occurred and I opened my bag, digging in it for Mannequin's knife. He'd been particular about these, jamming one in Amy's hand, in Bitch's dog, and in my stomach; the three candidates. Amy grimaced when I pulled the bloodstained thing out and studied it, squinting. It looked like... I paused and stuck it in the shallow water that covered the street, ignoring Amy's pointed, bitchy questions.

  “Shit,” I said as I looked at the slightly cleaner blade. “It says 'Change. 2200-slash-2012164'. That's...April Sixteenth? Wait, next year?” It had to be a deadline, but that couldn't be right. Was Mannequin blind? Stoned?

  “The fuck does that even mean, 'change'?” Amy asked. “I think I already have, for the worse.”

  “Change ourselves,” I replied, cold sweat breaking on my forehead as I recalled Cherish's tattoos. “Oh jesus, he wants us to fuck ourselves up in...some way.”

  “What?!” I winced at the shout. “Fuck no we can't just...give in like that!” I grimaced.

  “They won't give us a choice,” I said flatly. “We both know that.” She flinched and I sighed. “Sorry. Okay the deadline's ten at night anyway.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Twenty-two-hundred.” I tapped the number on the blade. “The PRT uses the twenty-four hour clock, how do you not know that?”

  “I'm sort of distracted if you didn't notice,” Amy sneered.

  “Right, sorry.” I shook my head. “Whatever, ten...probably tomorrow or something. If we don't, we fail, and if we fail... Okay I don't exactly know what happens if you fail a test, but it's the fucking Nine, Amy. It's bad, but I have the feeling failing would be worse.”

  We continued silently, stewing. It hadn't been a day, and I was starting to think my plan was going to wind up in failure. I didn't want to think that way, but Amy didn't seem to want to be helped. And fucking bully for her, but that wasn't an option. I'd just have to...modulate a bit better.

  “What do you think we have to do?” Amy asked, voice trembling.

  “I don't know about you,” I replied with a sigh, staring off at the rising pillars of smoke, blocked by the now glassless MedHall building. “But I have a clue for me.”