A bright light flashed.

Inside my mind?

No... behind me.

The Fully-Fermented jerked upright, eyes now fixed on the Kitchen beyond. I craned my neck once more to locate the object of their interest. Rekkan still gripped his rifle in one hand, but his other raised a flare gun. His uniform zipped open all the way down, revealing an alarming gap. Then silver glinted ten feet from him. A discarded leg.

I stared, uncomprehending. The flare provided a great distraction, but why remove his one advantage—the only thing protecting him?

Black blurred to my left as a Fully-Fermented dropped past me, skidding down the wall. The others all followed, spilling into the Kitchen like a waterfall. And then I understood Rekkan's plan.

Human bait.

I eyed the ledge once more and imagined this was a climb I performed regularly, one of rote memory. Like the tree outside my father's house or the fence around the fortress.

Even Ether had fallen in the Third Phase, but not me. I was a fucking cockroach. Shiny. Outshining Ether.

I matched my hands on the root my left hand grasped, swung my right foot up to the rock my right hand had pinched, and launched myself up.

I caught the ledge.

    The moment one hand hooked on solid ground, I slapped the other hand up beside it and hauled myself over. Then I scrambled to my feet and swung around, scanning a series of connected machines and interfaces. I tripped over cords and ducked under hanging wires, spinning left and right. My legs trembled from exertion and adrenaline, blood wooshed in my ears, and metallic slime coated my throat and mouth.

The rifle fired off a few more rounds. Rekkan was still alive and still fighting, but for how much longer?

In the moment of desperation and panic, my mother's voice took over. She explained wiring and computer programming with distant rapture as I sat beside her, absorbing every word. My mother guided me through locating the central control panel and switching off the extra security mechanisms, but for the last part, I didn't need my mother. A red paper taped over a tiny switch read, Emergency Self-Destruct: End Trial One.

It all felt a little too easy, and something about the words "Trial One" raised goosebumps on my arms, but I didn't have time to contemplate it now.

I flipped the switch.

BOOM.

My eardrums splintered, my heart thumped out of rhythm, and tears trickled down my face. The ground beneath my feet shifted. The wall of packed soil loosened, crumbled... and collapsed.

I rode an avalanche of metal and soil down into the Kitchen.

When the rubble settled, dust clouded my vision and filled my lungs. I doubled over coughing, wiped the grit from my eyes, and swept a glance around the room.

Rubble covered the ground. Brown dusted black uniforms, and gas masks scattered around bodies in broken shards. Only a few smashed and dented metal frames remained from the infamous Chef.

The world was saved, yet panic tightened over my chest and throat.

"Rekkan? Rekkan, where are you?"

I stumbled forward, head spinning as I took in the carnage. I kicked at mounds of dirt and shoved aside fallen rocks, revealing dead body after dead body.

Then I spotted the shiny black and silver metal. A lonely bionic leg.

"No, no, no," I whispered, heart squeezing so painfully I lost the ability to move. "Please be alive. Please..."

One body moved.

I scrambled toward the motion and dropped down fast enough my knees smacked the metal floor. "Rekkan!"

He tugged the gas mask off his head and coughed out a dry word. "Present." His gaze flicked over me. "You good, Zaf?"

My chest burst, and a torrent of tears washed the silt from my eyes. "Good? Fuck, Rekkan, I—I thought I lost you."

"Told you I planned on... sticking..."

His voice faded, and his eyes fell closed.

Fingers trembling, I brushed the dirt and dust from Rekkan's chest and arms. Blood seeped through his uniform, clumping the dirt. Lacerations mutilated his flesh, and a chunk of metal protruded from his ribcage.

Panic flipped my stomach and stole my breath.

I pressed my hands over the spots leaking the most blood and croaked, "You're hurt."

I waited for his usual dry response—maybe, "A bit," or perhaps just, "Agreed." His stubborn dispassion never failed to infuriate and reassure me.

But Rekkan didn't answer.

His chest slowed, and his blood dyed my hands red.

"Rekkan?" My voice shook. "Rekkan, please say something."

Silence.