The little girl giggled.

"It's so soft!" she said with surprise, running her small chubby hand through the forest of short pink hair on the guest's head.

The guest kept still, feeling the girl's hand through those flexible extensions of herself that coated her scalp. The warmth, the residual baby fat, the pulse—it teased her appetite.

"But why is it pink?" Charlotte pouted. "I want pink hair too!" Then, shouted down the hall in the imperious way of children—"Daddy! I want pink hair too!"

"Is hair not pink?" the guest asked, but then answered her own question with her silent repertoire of images, blurred and scattered memories of people governed by customs of men and laws of nature that no longer seemed quite so definite to her, but certainly still seemed to order the world around her.

"It is if you're a princess or a pony!" Cherry said with another giggle as the hair in question began to trace the lines of her palm, tickling her.

The repertoire of images did not help Lyly any further when she tried to find a memory of a princess or pony with pink hair.

Lyly thought for a moment, seriously considered the fact that despite Cherry's incongruous statement, she was neither princess nor pony.

She furrowed her brow.

Little by little, like ink dissipating into water, brown filaments began to show and grow through the forest of pink. Cherry gasped, childish surprise shaping her face, her hanging mouth and eyes unblinking as the guest's hair slowly changed from a bubble-gum pink to a light chestnut brown.

"...Nooo! Change it back!" Cherry bemoaned after a brief pause of surprise.

The guest reached up to grab a strand of her hair, pulled it long enough so that she could inspect the new color. She pursed her lips, not satisfied, but knowing somehow that she was making the right choice if she wanted to pretend to live by the rules of the land.

"Lyly, I'm headed into town today, do you want to—Mother Mercy!" The farmer named Theodore stopped halfway into his daughter's room, eyes big with surprise but brow furrowed with concern, his expression so exaggerated by pure shock that it made his daughter laugh to see.

"How, uh...did Shaun?—" he paused, utterly bewildered. Then, as he did so frequently with his guest, he simply chose not to think too deeply about it. Maybe Shaun had left some hair dye under sink—it's not like he ever checked.

Lyly watched the man and learned that not only was hair not pink, it did not change colors by itself.

"Ah," he began again after gathering himself. "Lyly, I'm headed into town today, if you wanted to come along and check in with the local police station. Now," he held up a hand to cut off the expected protest despite the fact that his guest had neither moved nor made to speak, "I'm not forcing you to do so. But it's been a few days now, and I'm sure your family is looking for you."

Lyly sat and she stared, as the farmer was learning to expect from her when she was struggling to remember or decide on something. He felt that he was under observation, and he moved to scratch his short hair even though he knew by now that the itch he was feeling dwelt under the skin.

He really should talk to a doctor about that, he thought.

"No, thanks," Lyly said after a minute of consideration, before turning back to the book that was open on her lap. It was a novel, a detective story, one of the few that Shaun had let pile up on her nightstand for when she was in town.

His guest had proven curious beyond containment, and he was only happy that the books, at least, occupied her interest for a few short hours at a time. She seemed drawn to Charlotte's room, with its plush pink rugs and rose-tinted pillows to lounge on as she read.

She was also proving very good at ignoring the child without making her feel ignored.

Really, she had the makings of a fine babysitter, he thought.

Theodore considered, wanting to push, torn between his drive to protect (itself torn between his daughter and the clearly abused young woman before him) and wanting to help resolve the issue of his uninvited guest.

"All right, then," he decided. He stretched out his hand. "Cherry, come along. We'll stop for ice cream if you're good."

A memory surged in the guest's mind, a mouth-feel both cool and sweet.

The farmer was suddenly aware of not one but two sets of big, interested, pleading eyes upon him.

"Lyly, would you like to come along for some ice cream as well?" he asked, trying to hide the sudden impulse to chuckle.

"Yes, please," she said, setting her book aside, and it was decided that they were all going into town for ice cream.

---------------------------------------

Larry watched, slack-jawed, through his rear-view mirror as the trailing van pulled apace of the cop cruiser on the double-wide merge lane and swerved, pushing both vehicles into and through the slim barrier that lined the overpass.

Hearing the crunch of metal and glass as the two cars hit the ground behind him, his bladder shrinking as adrenaline pumped through his blood, Larry made a decision.

The team the Facility had sent to replace them were idiots, and those idiots weren't gonna lay a hand on that cop—he was Larry and Gary's to kill, and theirs alone.

Larry hit the speed-dial on the phone without looking, swerving into the wide shoulder of the overpass and smashing the accelerator. Horns honked as his antics caused a crash right behind him, the sound almost drowning out Gary's annoyed voice as it flickered into the space of the cabin.

"What? Are you almost here?" Gary asked.

"Gary, get yer ass movin'!" Larry shouted as he careened around the corner and maneuvered to double back to the crash. "We need the rammer down by the overpass—that other team in the van pushed our mark off at the peak and both crashed down into that lil' area by the light at 51st."

Larry saw the smoke rising from the wreckage and reached forward into the glove department, where he had stashed a revolver earlier that day.

"What the--they stole our plan!" Gary shouted through the phone, and a deep rumble came through the speaker as he started up the engine. "Larry, I'm on my way, you keep that kill, you hear me? Larry, don't let them get past you or we're deadmen!" Gary shouted, but Larry was already out of the car, having thrown the sedan into park and rising from the front seat, revolver held tight in both hands.

The van and the cruiser had landed a few yards apart, the cruiser on its top and the van on its side.

Nothing moved at first as Larry approached. 

It was eerily quiet, just the hiss of a motor and the crunch of glass beneath his feet as Larry circled around the van.

He couldn't figure out their game—what use was risking themselves like this? What was the plan after they crashed the cop? Larry crouched and peered in through the front windshield, noting the empty driver's seat.

A woman's deep cry of pain broke the air as Larry eased his way around the back of the van. He risked a glance over to the crushed cruiser to see a bloodied hand scraping across the dull shattered glass from out the passenger-side window. He could see to that in a minute, he figured. Right after he cleared the van and wasted the cop.

Larry rounded the corner to the back of the van, gun at the ready but arms going slack as he cursed at what he saw. 

The doors were crushed, the bottom door hanging open enough for some of the contexts of the back to come spilling out. Old bricks and rubble, not a team of trained killers—just garbage meant to weigh down the van so it could overpower the sturdy cruiser.

Which meant either than this was a hit-and-run, or that they had back-up coming.

Larry turned his head back to the cruiser and froze, the recognizably cold hard barrel of a gun tickling his ear.

"That's right, stay still now," said a voice Larry recognized. 

Larry flicked an eye over his shoulder to see the officer with blood dripping down the center line of his face, one arm limp at his side, but a gun easily and steadily held in the uninjured right arm. "Drop the weapon and put your hands up," the cop said.

With a crunch of gravel and a screech of brakes, a second van swung up to the scene, spitting out two men in sleek black body armor before it had even full come to a stop. Both men ran toward the upended cruiser in that perfected half-crouch of professionals.

Larry watched the cop's eyes follow this new development and took that as his cue, ducking and hooking an arm around the extended arm of the cop, knocking him off his aim and slamming the injured man into the side of the van. Larry had only a split second to decide before taking advantage of his freedom to aim and shoot at the newcomers.

His bullet hit a shoulder, bouncing off of the matte armor but still causing the target to curse and reel back. The two men dove behind the upturned cop car, and Larry pressed himself against the side of the van right next to where he had thrown the officer.

The officer looked at him with a clear question in his eyes.

Larry shrugged, playing nonchalance. "Them's  the baddies," he said simply, peering around the corner at the two men. 

They were struggling with something on their side of the cruiser, the sound of glass being dragged across asphalt grating through the tense silence. 

The officer moved up beside Larry to get a view. A head popped up around the other side of the cop car, and the officer reacted, his gun coming up and firing before he had time to pause. 

Two bullets entered that exposed forehead, and as the body toppled backward Larry and the officer looked at each other appraisingly. Then the officer gasped.

"Damnit, we can't shoot like that--the girl's still in the back," he said in a husky whisper, the expletive seeming unfamiliar on his lips. 

Before Larry could respond, bullets pounded into the side of the crushed van as a third person, a woman, emerged from the other van, firing at an advantage on the crouched officer and Larry. The two dove for cover around the far edge of the vehicle, pressing up against the windshield and losing their sightline to the cruiser.

Gravel crunched as the new opponent approached, and a bullet zinged right past Larry's shoulder as he tried to ease his way around the other side of the van. They were pinned.

"Who are these guys?" Officer Takeda asked, trying his best to deter the approach of the female shooter without firing blindly or using too much ammo.

"Baddies," Larry grunted again. 

"What do they want?" Takeda asked again, glancing at his unexpected ally.

"I dunno. I thought they wanted to kill ya, but they're bein' real slow 'bout it," Larry said simply. 

It was true--the sounds of the approaching footsteps had stalled, and the shooting seemed to be more intent on keeping them in place then killing them.

A wail unlike any other rent the air.

"Let go! Let go of my baby!" A woman's voice shouted, followed by the report of a gun.

The officer moved before Larry could stop him, launching himself out from behind the van and shooting three insistent bullets into the armor of the hunched figure of the first gunman, who was now clearly dragging a small body out of the car.

"I'll kill you! Don't touch her, I'll kill you!" the woman's voice came again, the sound edged with new pain but as loud and as commanding as before.

The officer had managed to dive to the far end of the cruiser, crouched there for cover as the female shooter pinned him with fire. The second gunman was lifting the girl's body, but the mother clung desperately despite what looked like a wound to the stomach.

"Stop! Stop!" another voice called, winded and farther off. Larry looked back to see the father and brother sprinting from the far side of the highway, having abandoned their car to the gridlock traffic of the overpass in order to run after their family on foot down the highway to the first exit. 

This had just became a damn circus, Larry realized grimly, and the stupid cop wouldn't stop trying to get himself killed before he could kill him. 

An engine roared, the deep-throated gurgle of an overpowered vehicle rumbling loud enough to make Larry's eardrums vibrate, but he smiled.

A massive SUV tore out from under the far side of the overpass, lurching over grass and gravel as it came straight at the gunwoman, who, taken entirely by surprise, only managed to complete half of her leap to safety before the armored truck was upon her, smashing her against the reinforced front bumper.

"Hell yeah!" Larry cried, bursting up from his cover with his hands raised triumphantly. That left only the second gunman and maybe the driver--but the van was already revving its engine and pulling away. 

The second gunman realized that he'd been left for dead and dropped the body he was dragging, forced to flee as the SUV went into a tailspin and almost nailed him in the back.

The cop lurched forward and dragged both mother and daughter to safety by the side of the cruiser, the father and brother only a few yards away as Larry sprinted over the SUV, where the passenger door was flung open from the inside for him. 

Larry paused over the struggling body of the second gunman, who was trying to get to his feet after landing awkwardly from his dive. The man looked up into the barrel of a gun as Larry sneered. 

"And that is 'ow ya use a rammer, dipshit," Larry said as he pulled the trigger. The body fell backwards, and Larry was out of bullets. He ran for the SUV, jumping in and slamming the door as the family came together around the cop.

"Let's get outta 'ere!" Larry shouted, pounding the dashboard in his excitement.

"You didn't get the cop!" Gary shouted back, swerving the SUV around to pick up speed for another go at the crouched group huddled by the side of the cruiser, just sitting ducks.

"Nah, Gary trust me! Tha team wasn't after tha cop--they wanted tha girl! Ya crush tha cop, ya kill tha girl, and I'm thinkin' we need 'er alive." 

Gary paused for a second before shaking his head. "Let's just leave and regroup, yeah?"

"Yeah," Larry confirmed. 

Rather than swerving to ram, the decked-out SUV drove past the crouched group, and Larry accidentally caught the eye of the cop as they went by. 

The cop looked from him, to Gary, and back again, his bloodied brow furrowing in concentration. 

Well shit, thought Larry as they drove away.