I tore through the night sky over the city, wings operating at full blast as I followed a steep parabolic arc.

  I was way up. Thousands of feet, easily.

  I wanted to cry. But I couldn’t.

  So I screamed instead—an unbridled, full-bodied roar hurled at the heavens.

  I was furious. This was all so stupid.

  There had been a rat in the meeting. No. Probably several. Scheming, petty little fucks, trading intel for cash, and fucking over everyone else. After all, everyone was everyone else’s enemy in the meeting, everybody outside their team.

  And maybe even within some of those teams, too.

  All I wanted to do was relax. Just breathe for a minute. Put some distance between me and the endless, tangled mess of the past twenty-four hours.

  But I’d been caught off guard. Clueless.

  No idea what was happening until it was already too late.

  People I felt close to had been there, waiting. Ready to arrest me. Throw me in a Brute containment tank.

  The thought terrified me.

  I’m claustrophobic.

  If I started having a panic attack, I’d probably trigger the automated response systems.

  The thought of being trapped in a cell filled floor to ceiling with containment foam?

  That’s nightmare fuel. My nightmare.

  And the worst part of all of this?

  Nobody had done anything wrong.

  Armsmaster might’ve been a bit overzealous, sure, striking first to try and disable me, but they’d been there to arrest me.

  And while the justification was so fucking stupid…

  It was also perfectly reasonable.

  Understandable, even.

  I knew from the start I was playing with fire. That it could backfire spectacularly.

  And it did.

  Nobody to blame but myself. Again.

  My inertia finally gave out. I angled my still wings, catching the air as I began to spin. Slow, deliberate rolls through the open sky.

  I crested the arc and began my downward plummet. Streaking downwards towards the city, towards The Palanquin. Like a ballistic missile.

  With my wings tucked tightly, I embraced the dive. Pure freefall, silent and steep.

  Maybe halfway down, I unfurled them again, shifting into a controlled descent. I rotated and angled the membranes, guiding myself into a wide downward spiral.

  Bleeding off speed like this was both exhilarating and brutal. Even with a massive turning radius, I was heavy, and my wings weren’t meant for fixed-wing flight. Not really.

  The strain was intense. My wings curled under the load, and my flight muscles burned, trying to hold position instead of flapping.

  The G-forces, the rush, the control? It was worth it.

  My plummet slowed dramatically as I slipped into the airspace above the city.

  Silent. Smooth. Almost graceful.

  It was late Saturday night.

  The club’s security was out in force. Tight perimeter, visible presence. Even so, crowded lines were waiting outside the Palanquin. The sheer oppressiveness of the security seemed to comfort people, weirdly enough. Permitted them to come out.

  The thump of bass was audible even from up here.

  Curfew or not, it was packed.

  Maybe because of the state of emergency.

  People were strung out. Stretched thin.

  They needed release. A break.

  An illusion of safety.

  I needed that too.

  The street in front of the club was clear of cars. Everyone had come on foot. I didn’t want to blast Faultline’s patrons with a full-throttle touchdown, so I opted for something more traditional.

  The street would be my runway.

  The buildings on either side were three stories tall. I tucked my wings in tight to avoid clipping anything and rotated them for maximum lift and drag.

  I came in low and hit the ground feet-first—my upper hands planting beside them, claws retracted, fingers curled back to avoid catching.

  I skidded down the street with a sharp hiss.

  My skin was slick—too slick. Great for not getting rugburn.

  Terrible for traction.

  I flared my wings, angling them forward for resistance.

  Thrust hard in reverse.

  Still overshot.

  Came to a halt farther down the street than I meant to.

  I spun around, feeling sheepish, though hopefully not showing it, and approached the front doors at the same “human walking pace” I’d used earlier with the Undersiders.

  I wasn’t walking on all fours. I was gliding.

  There’d been some elevated voices, and a spike of alarm as I dropped from the sky, but no one in line had dared move. Not when it meant losing their spot. Still, all eyes were on me. Conversations faded to murmurs beneath the throb of bass bleeding from the club’s interior.

  I moved slowly. Lazily.

  No sudden motions, nothing aggressive. Just smooth, effortless forward motion.

  But like everything Apex… appearances were deceiving.

  I was probably going three or four miles per hour. Maybe more.

  I reached the velvet cord and the massive front doors.

  Two living walls in suits flanked the entrance—burly, manicured, and polished. One of them spoke into his earpiece. A beat later, the ropes were unhooked, and the doors opened.

  I stepped inside for the second time today.

  This time, into the full swing of things.

  It was a lot.

  Flashing lights, lasers, and strobes clashing against the ambient dark. Hundreds of people packed wall to wall. Dancing, drinking, shouting, grinding, making out. The air shimmered with heat and energy.

  It tugged at me.

  At the part of me that tracked motion.

  That hunted.

  The music was pounding. Heavy, layered bass that hit like a second heartbeat. I didn’t recognize the song, but it was my kind of music.

  Somehow, my brain was handling the onslaught.

  The lights, the sound: they hurt at first. A sensory slap to the face. But even that faded fast.

  I was adapting.

  The crowd parted around me as I moved, but it was packed, and my presence disrupted the quiet, instinctive flow of bodies that governed a space like this. People gave me space… but less than I’d expected.

  I was dimly aware—no, acutely aware—of every single person around me. Their exact positions. Their movements. Their angles and proximity. All of it tracked in real-time.

  Someone bumped into my hip. Another brushed against my leg. I could’ve moved, shifted, flowed out of the way, but doing so would’ve meant drifting toward someone else. Breaking someone else’s rhythm.

  So I let them bounce off me.

  I didn’t even twitch.

  I’d waded into the middle of the dance floor. Surrounded by bodies bouncing, swaying, and losing themselves in the beat. The lights. The moment.

  I felt it too. My head bobbed. Shoulders swayed. A low, easy rhythm. No choreography, just being.

  A raven-haired woman with an enticing figure danced directly in front of me. Tiny halter top. Even smaller skirt. Hips rocking and rolling. She moved like she meant it.

  I danced back. Swaying, winding, mirroring her motions. My tentacles curled and gestured in time with the music, tracing slow spirals through the air.

  I wanted to project playfulness. Not creepy-ass alien thing.

  So I cracked my jaw open a little and let my tongue loll out. Goofy, loose, like a dog on a hot day.

  She smiled. Laughed. I couldn’t hear the sound over the beat, but I felt it. It was real.

  We danced some more. I was still from the waist down—rooted, unmoving. Someone, drunk or on a dare, took a seat on my tail like it was a tree branch. Or a whole damn trunk.

  And no one screamed. No one ran. They just… danced.

  And so did I.

  My dance partner moved in closer, brushing the edge of contact.

  “You’re weird,” she said—still swaying, still in rhythm.

  She reached out, hesitant, fingertips grazing my face. I felt it, despite the rock-hard surface. Despite the armor. Her hand pulled back. Then, with a breathless laugh, she touched me again.

  I noticed that her pupils were huge, like saucers.

  “I kind of like it!” she said.

  I saw a motion directed at me from a balcony above.

  “You’re cute, but I am here for business. Have fun, huh?”

  Newter was waving down at me from above.

  I lowered my tail so my surprise passenger could get the hint. They stood up.

  I moved slowly. Deliberately. Every motion telegraphed. I didn’t want to spook anyone.

  I positioned myself beneath the balcony, then slowly rose, lifting until my eyes were nearly level with his.

  The private lounge up here was a velvet-drenched oasis. Newter lounged comfortably in one of several low, expensive-looking chairs. He was surrounded by half a dozen girls, all attractive, all looking either blitzed out or blissed out. Maybe both.

  He was sipping from a glass bottle of cola.

  Is he underage like me?

  “Sup! Wasn’t expecting to see you here!”

  “Yeah. Some shit happened after we left the thing. It was… pretty bad, being real. Need to talk to the boss and well, probably just chill.” I looked down and over my shoulder at the dance floor, then back to Newter.

  “You guys really have a good thing going here, don’t you?” I asked.

  He nodded rapidly, smiling some, but answering seriously: “Yeah. We do. You wanna talk, hang some?”

  I looked over at the girls. “What about them?”

  He laughed. “My body fluids are potent drugs. My whole body, really. Even touching my skin. You know, like a rainforest frog!”

  He thumbed over his shoulder at the girls. “I get to have some company who doesn’t care about the way I look for a bit, they get a harmless trip to la-la land. Pretty good arrangement. They’re all out, though!”

  I tilted my head.

  Body fluids…?

  He held his palms up, seemingly reading my mind. “No, nothing weird, man! I usually dip the tip of my tongue into a spoon with a drink or some water in it, they take it, and off they go.”

  I nodded slowly. “Sure, uh, we can do that. After my talk. Not sure how long that will take.”

  “I’m not going anywhere!”

  With that, I slid back down into a quadruped stance and made my way towards the back. I was directed by the staff back to the same room I’d been in earlier.

  I opened the door with my tail and entered.

  Faultline was seated in an armchair, relaxed, phone in hand, thumbs moving quickly as she texted. She didn’t look up as I approached and sat down, so I didn’t interrupt.

  A moment later, she finished whatever she was doing. The screen blinked off.

  The room was well-insulated. Quiet, almost serene, compared to the storm of sound outside.

  She looked up at me. “When I said a place to stay, I didn’t mean immediately.” A rare smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. I sighed, and she raised a brow.

  “So,” I began, “I left the meeting at the pub right after you and your crew. Wanted to settle my nerves. I stashed my phone and wallet on a parking deck by the Boardwalk and went for a swim in the bay.”

  “Bit cold, isn’t it?” She asked.

  “I thought that might be the case, but I wasn’t sure. No, it felt amazing to me. I swam out and just zoned out. Found out I don’t float, and I can breathe seawater. Hung out under the ocean for a little bit and tried to clear my head. It’s–I wish you could experience it. It’s so relaxing.”

  I’m rambling.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “Sorry,” I apologized.

  She waved a hand. “You seem stressed. Doesn’t bother me at all. Go on.”

  I clenched my jaw, and my tail rustled restlessly across the expensive-looking carpet.

  “I came out and wouldn’t you know it, I had a whole welcoming committee waiting for me.”

  She crossed one leg over the other, letting a steel-toed boot hang. “Who?”

  “Armsmaster, Miss Militia, Shadow Stalker.”

  I exhaled through my teeth.

  “He was out front and center, waiting for me. The other two were posted on rooftops nearby. Watching.”

  She nodded along and bobbed the toe of her boot.

  “He starts grilling my ass with question after question. Why was I by the Rig? Why was I out past curfew? What is my astrological sign?”

  I took a breath. “Eventually I just… got fed up with the shit and asked what this was really all about.”

  She was silent as I looked away and took a moment to compose myself.

  I didn’t turn back when I resumed speaking. “I’m just a supervillain now. Hanging out with filth and scum and loathsome individuals.” Irony dripped from my voice, then something sharper.

  “They were arresting me. Right there, on the spot. I told them I wasn’t going, that I wasn’t their enemy. That I wasn’t going to fight them.”

  I swallowed.

  “Then he attacked me. Tried to surprise me. Subdue me in one move.”

  Her boot stopped moving.

  “He fucking—”

  I caught myself. Took a breath. Tried to calm down. Just a little.

  “Before he even tried to arrest me, he accused me of doing recon. Of scouting the Rig in advance of an attack. Of planting explosives, sabotaging the place.”

  I stared at the wall.

  “Me.”

  I shook my head, voice rising.

  “Me!?”

  I’d fought for that place. Bled for that place. Nearly fucking died. I’m like this now, directly as a result of working there. And they want to accuse me of flipping and trying to blow it up on some paranoia-fueled power trip!?

  “So what did you do?” Faultline asked, her voice quiet, but her gaze sharp.

  “He swung that stupid tinker stick at me. I caught it. Locked it in a vice grip.”

  I shook my head, jaw tight.

  “Of course, it’s packed with a million gadgets, so he tried to electrocute me while I was holding it in place. Didn’t work.”

  I looked up, met her eyes.

  “So I ripped it out of his hands, took off, shouted for them to knock their shit off—then threw it like a javelin. Stuck it in the pavement by his dickhead-cycle.”

  I exhaled, long and slow.

  I nodded. “Yes. I—”

  I clenched one of my lower fists.

  “Fuck!” The word came out sharp, bitter. “Sorry. I just… I can’t get how everything can go to shit in under an hour. Sorry. I’m just…”

  I shook my head, angry and overwhelmed.

  “I’m hot about all of it. And arrested! Just like that! I haven’t even done anything!”

  I rose onto all fours, started pacing the room, heavy limbs moving with barely-restrained frustration. I needed to move. I needed anything to burn off the nervous energy boiling under my skin.

  Then it hit me.

  Realization.

  I stopped. Looked over at her.

  “And you told me.”

  I paused, heart pounding.

  “I listened. I did. But it doesn’t really sink in until it’s you in the crosshairs.”

  The anger started to fade with the realization, leaving something bitter in its place. Acidic. Hollow.

  Faultline, for her part, didn’t rub salt in the wound, at least. She took a deep breath in through her nose and exhaled. The corners of her mouth curled upwards, but the set of her eyes spoke of something between empathy and pity.

  “As I said this afternoon,” she murmured, “an all-too-common tale. Welcome to the club.”

  I looked down at the floor, my voice soft. “Just like that, huh?”

  “Just like that,” she said, nodding.

  I sank onto my haunches and lowered myself to my elbows. The fire was gone. The wind in my sails had vanished. My posture mirrored the hollow space inside me.

  “Fuck…”

  There was a pause. Then, gently: “It’s not so bad, Apex.”

  “I am unable to see any silver linings in my current position,” I said flatly, “with my hopes and dreams broken and tossed into the trash.”

  “Two things,” Faultline replied, still in that gentle tone.

  “Firstly, this was always going to happen. Sooner or later. It’s actually fortunate for you that it happened sooner. They turned out in force, yeah, but only because of the current state of emergency. If we weren’t in lockdown, they’d have dropped the full team on you. You’d almost certainly be in containment right now.”

  I grunted.

  “Secondly, and I am being brutally honest with you here–”

  I braced.

  “You made an incredible showing tonight at Somer’s Rock. There’s a lot of chatter happening behind the scenes. I’d call it nearly flawless execution. You stood your ground with arguably the strongest villain in the city, and then cut deals with the second-strongest. That takes either giant balls or suicidal idiocy—and you proved it was the former.”

  She paused, and I glanced up at her.

  “You earned a lot of credibility tonight, Apex. Just by keeping your cool. By talking. By not flexing until you had to.”

  Her voice shifted slightly, back to practical.

  “Now, don’t get me wrong. You will be challenged. It’ll get ugly. Favor-seekers in the E88 now have a very direct reason to want you humbled. You publicly humiliated the Merchants. And anyone paying close attention will have clocked the early signs of ties between you, me, Coil, and the Undersiders.”

  She didn’t need to say it: we all had enemies.

  I thought for a second, then asked, “You said nearly flawless. Where did I go wrong?”

  She grinned. Broadly, this time, genuine.

  “You could’ve easily gotten double your ask from Coil,” she said. “And he wouldn’t have batted an eyelash. Or eyelid. Whatever he’s got under there.”

  I blinked. Then groaned.

  “That is… insane. How can anyone have that kind of money to just casually throw around?”

  “He’s worth a couple hundred million, last I checked. Maybe more. The difference between hiring you for fifty thousand and hiring you for a hundred?” She shrugged. “It’s like choosing between the upscale coffee and the fancy upscale coffee. One’s slightly more bitter. That’s it. As for throwing it around? It's an investment, not an expenditure. You can be certain he's profiting off our work more than it is costing him, maybe even in the short-term. But he's a long-game player.”

  This world. This life. It was as alien to me as I was to the average person on the street.

  I was hopelessly out of my league, in over my head, clueless. And yet… somehow earning praise for doing nothing more than sitting at a table and talking.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” I muttered. Just a simple statement of fact.

  She smiled with her eyes. “I know. And it’s why I’m taking the time to help you.”

  I sat on that. I was still musing.

  I had a question, a tricky one. Prickly. But I didn’t see any point in dancing around it.

  Faultline didn’t seem like the kind of person who liked people dancing around things.

  “Can I trust you?”

  She shifted in her seat, slow and deliberate. Her foot kept bobbing, steady and unbothered. She folded her hands beneath her chin, elbows resting on the armrests. Watching.

  She studied me. I studied her right back.

  A moment stretched out like this, the only sound the muted thumping of a dance track.

  “Complicated question,” she said at last, “and a complicated answer.”

  She wet her lips.

  “The answer is both yes and no at the same time. Yes, because my ulterior motives exist on a different level than yours, and they’re unlikely to intersect. No, because trusting anyone without reason or leverage is foolish.”

  She rested her back against the chair, her gaze level.

  “I can help you, and I will help you.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “You’re a valuable resource, Apex. Some have already realized that. Others soon will. It benefits me to foster a good relationship with you, and it costs me very little. Some time and effort.”

  She paused.

  “I will tell you, Coil is likely thinking along similar lines. Hiring you was as much of a gesture as it was a transaction.”

  I would be frowning when asking: “Why is everything you say framed like it’s a deal? Like it’s all transactional?”

  Her brows knit slightly. The faintest furrow of seriousness.

  “Because everything in life is transactional, Apex. And the sooner you come to terms with that, the sooner you can begin to contextualize your role. Your place. And how to shape it.”

  “I don’t want to think of the world like that. All dollar signs and faction tokens. I empathize and connect with people. I don’t want to commodify my friends and family.”

  She gave a small, slow nod. Not dismissive, but like a teacher waiting for the student to reach the next step.

  “And don’t you see?” she said quietly. “That’s the same lesson you were already stung by earlier tonight.”

  She let the words settle.

  “What you think should happen, what you want to believe about people, and what actually happens, are rarely the same thing.”

  It stung to hear. I wasn’t sure if it was her words or the message underneath.

  I wasn’t sure what to say. I needed to think on it. Digest some.

  I changed topics. “I asked Coil to send you the money for the job. He mentioned a discreet bank account, and… I realized that all I have is my uh, you know, normal bank account. With my name on it. Probably not the smartest idea.”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s been handled already. We’ll take care of business tomorrow. That, and several other things.”

  She paused, then added, “Do you want to stay here overnight? It’ll let us get an early start, if you have the time.”

  That was very considerate of her. I honestly didn’t want to go back out and risk another confrontation with the PRT at the moment.

  Do they know where I live? Will they be waiting for me there?

  “Yes, thank you. I won’t inconvenience you, I’ll just sleep on the floor by the loading dock.”

  That got a reaction out of her. Her brows climbed high.

  “You want to sleep on bare concrete?”

  I sighed. “It’s basically what I sleep on at home. My hard parts…” I raised one big hand and clacked my hard forearm against a chest plate for emphasis. “...they support my body well enough. It’s not uncomfortable.”

  I added, softer, “…I do miss sleeping on my back.”

  “Hmm.” She tilted her head, thoughtful. “I can see how your size and mass would pose challenges.”

  “It's almost a disability,” I admitted. “If I’m being honest. I can’t go where I want or do what I want without damaging things. Or getting stuck.”

  She nodded. No pity, just acknowledgment.

  “Well,” she said, “enjoy the rest of your evening if you’d like. Food and drink are on the house. Don’t worry about portions.”

  She gave me a look: half practical, half amused.

  “I’ll meet with you tomorrow morning. We’ve got a lot to cover, and you’ve got a lot to learn. Expect to spend a decent chunk of the day here, if you can manage it.”

  I desperately needed the lessons. The guidance. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.

  “You’ll have all the time you can spare. I know I need it.”

  At that, she nodded firmly. She made no move to get up; she just pulled out her phone once again and started texting.

  I saw myself out.

  I headed back out, this time to the bar. Ordered a pitcher of iced tea. While I stood there, I let my eyes roam.

  The people looked happy. Intoxicated, perhaps in more ways than one, but happy all the same. Having a place like this, here and now? It was probably the best remedy people could get their hands on, given the chaos in the city.

  My pitcher arrived. I pulled out my wallet and tipped the bartender ten bucks, then stuffed it back in my hair. People seemed to get a kick out of that.

  Oh yeah? Feast your eyes on this.

  I grabbed the pitcher securely in two tentacles and lifted it. I brought my head vertical, opened my mouth wide, where hopefully nobody could see it, and poured the pitcher in.

  Half in one go, a big gulp, and then the other half.

  Refreshing…

  I brought my head back down and put the pitcher back on the bar with a satisfying clunk.

  Some people were laughing. Some were pointing and staring. Others were gossiping.

  I sat off to the side of the dance floor and enjoyed the music for a few tracks. I turned my brain off and just watched people. Lost myself in the chaos of it all.

  After, I headed for the stairs up to Newter's balcony. I very, very carefully tested them. No cracks, crunches, or groans that I could hear. No fractures I could see. I glided my way up them at a snail’s pace and made my way to the balcony.

  I had checked before coming up; it was supported by robust I-beams. I didn’t think I had anything to worry about, provided I didn’t get into any horseplay.

  Newter was there, chatting with a girl about something. The number of other girls present in altered states had dropped by half. He saw me, gave me an upnod, then went back to chatting. I sat and waited. I was content to do more of the same that I’d done before coming up.

  Five or ten minutes might have passed, then he fished out a water bottle and a plastic spoon. Pouring a splash of water into the spoon, he held it still, then dipped a serpentine tongue into the end. He handed the spoon to the girl, who took it with practiced anticipation. I got the impression this wasn’t her first visit.

  She downed it without hesitation. Set the spoon on the table.

  And within seconds…

  She was gone.

  Somewhere else entirely.

  Newter grinned, dusted his hands off, and stood up before dropping to all fours and coming over to me. “C’mon, let’s get out of here,” he called over to me.

  “Okay,” I said, hesitating a moment. “I gotta stick to like, ground floor or basement levels if you have them.”

  He canted his head to one side. “Why? Your power?”

  Dryly, I said, “No, I’m just really fat. Break the floor fat.”

  “Bullshit!” He cackled.

  I shook my head, which got me a look, then a shrug. “No biggie! Let’s head out back, it’s pretty quiet.”

  I followed him down and around like we were heading toward the loading dock, but he veered off instead. Knocked a set of fire doors off their magnetic retainers, letting them swing shut behind us. Three layers deep and a couple turns later, we emerged into a quieter corridor.

  Eventually, we reached a storage space: spacious enough for me to stretch out or move a little if I wanted. I sat down.

  He goofed off a little while we hung out. Turns out he can literally hang out. Like from walls, racks, and ceilings. Like a gecko or frog or something. Just his bare feet and hands planted on the surface, and he stuck to it securely.

  We chatted.

  “That sucks, man,” he said. “The PRT doesn’t give us too much trouble, but we also go out of our way not to get on their radar, and vice versa. I wouldn’t say they’re fans, but there’s some kind of arrangement or something.”

  “Do you like doing what you do? I mean, you seem to have a good thing here, but that doesn’t mean that this isn’t a lull in the chaos.”

  “Oh. Dude. I love doing this. Way better than anything else I’ve done, I get to have like a tiny slice of a social life here, the gang’s great, and we have done some wicked jobs.”

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  His eyes sparkled, and he grinned. “Not saying I’m a huge deal or anything, but we did fight Chevalier and Myrddin at the same time.”

  I drew my head back. “No way. You’re shitting me.”

  “Nope!” He said, popping the P.

  Chevalier and Myrddin. A stab of guilt hit me in the chest.

  I looked down at the floor and said quietly, “My sister plays them in our fighting game. Miss her, right now.”

  “Oh, you got a sister? Is she hot?” I looked up at him, catching the absolute shit-eating grin on his face.

  I reached out a tentacle to swat him, and he ducked with a laugh.

  “Yeah, my twin. And yes, she is hot. Hotter than me.” I was only a touch rueful in my response.

  Newter blinked his eyes like his brain was suddenly misfiring.

  “You’re a chick!? And hot!?”

  I suspected he was about my age, maybe a little younger. And that my guess about his brain misfiring probably wasn’t far off the truth.

  Teenage boy hormones, I thought. Predictable.

  “Yeah.” I let it just sit there. Filling the space in the room.

  “Wait- so. Wait.” Newter was cocking his head back and forth, hair flopping wildly. “I have so many questions.”

  “Well, shoot.”

  “You and your sister: same power?”

  Oh.

  “Oh! No. We’re fraternal, but we look very similar. Might as well be identical,” I answered.

  He bobbed his head, going: “Mhm, mhm. So, what, this is like a Breaker form for you?”

  Breakers: people who could shift into some altered state. Usually more powerful. Living fire, shadow clones, bodies made of energy or metal. Often still themselves outside of that form.

  I flexed my jaw a little and shook my head.

  “No, if anything, it’s sort of the other way around. I’m a… Changer. This is me-me, at least now it is. I can shift back into a more human state for a while, do normal stuff… but after a few hours, I have to return to this.”

  He stared.

  “Dude! …Dudette?”

  I wanted to roll my eyes so hard right now. “I’m really not that picky, honestly.”

  “Right. Dude! That’s huge. Even if it’s backward like you’re saying, the fact you can do that at all is amazing!”

  His voice softened. “You know what I’d give to be able to touch other people without having to have on latex gloves or waterproof clothing?”

  He leaned back in, curiosity flaring back up. “You ever tried changing into anything else?”

  He was all excited, rattling off ideas as they crossed his head.

  “I- no?” I tilted my head.

  Could I? Something… or someone else?

  “You haven’t even tried!?” His voice was strained.

  “No!” I exclaimed, a little defensively.

  “You totally gotta! Do me! Do me!”

  He dropped from the wall, landing on all fours, and crawled over to sit right in front of me.

  “I don’t want to use my power right now…” I protested weakly.

  “C’mon! Just for a minute. Try it.”

  I grumbled. “Fine.”

  I stared at him. Tried to picture myself as him. My power stirred, then answered. I let it flow.

  Newter’s jaw proceeded to drop, bit by bit, as I shrank, shifted, and orangified.

  The change finished, and he had craned in so far that we were practically nose-to-nose.

  “Bro. That is. AWESOME!” he shouted.

  I laughed—loudly—and mimicked his posture, mirroring his grin with only a slight delay.

  “Yeah, bro! I’m so fucking cool! I get people high and walk on walls!” I parroted him in his exact voice.

  He doubled over, clutching his side with one hand and slapping his jeans with the other.

  “Fuck!”

  I snickered and looked down at myself. Chest tattoo, clawed hands, splayed toes…

  Wha-

  “AHH!” I shrieked and clapped my hands over my groin. Two hands that were full of things. “AHH! WHAT THE FUCK!?”

  Nope. Nope nopenopenope!

  I released my hold and started shifting back pretty quickly. A little uncomfortable, a little crunchy and gross, but I did not want to experience what I had been experiencing.

  Newter was howling, keeled over on his side, cackling and wheezing.

  I was back to myself, thank god.

  He was crying and looked like he was about to pass out.

  “...screeched like a girl, hahaha!”

  “I am a girl! And I didn’t want my hands full of penis! Attached to me!”

  “Hoo–hoo, I gotta… oh god. Ow. Cramp. Ah!”

  I sat cross-legged, lower arms folded over my chest, while he flailed his way through a full-body laugh collapse.

  He wiped tears from his eyes and carefully dabbed the ones that hit the floor like he was cleaning up precious evidence.

  “Apex…” He took a shaky breath. “Sorry. I didn’t know that was going to happen, and I wasn’t laughing about that… too much."

  “Dude. You’re awesome. You know that, right?”

  I looked off to the side.

  His bare-faced sincerity cut right through my annoyance, and would’ve gotten a hell of a blush out of me if I were still capable of it.

  Grudgingly, I muttered, “I didn’t know I could do that.”

  Then, quieter—

  “And… it was kinda cool.”

  I changed the subject. “So you can’t touch anyone?” He shook his head.

  “What happens if you were to touch me?”

  He wiped his palms on his jeans and sat up a bit straighter, a touch more serious than before. “You’d get really high and pass out. Or go into a stupor for a little while.”

  “It’s not poisonous?” I asked.

  “Nah. Can’t overdose anyone, either. And it’s not addictive. Basically, the perfect knockout drug. And in tiny doses, like with my guests on the balcony, they have a great time for a bit, then come to. Guess they feel amazing after. Rested and sober.”

  He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I can’t get high off my own supply.”

  I thought for a moment. “Touch me.”

  He looked back up at me. “You want to get high right now? I mean, I don’t care if you do.”

  “I… don’t think it will work on me. Its body fluids, right?”

  “Wait, really? Why’s that?” he asked.

  “My skin is armor and pretty strange in a lot of ways. Most ways. Nothing sticks to me or absorbs. I’m like… Waterproof, like a duck? But for everything. Everything I’ve been able to find and test, at least.”

  He chewed his lower lip a moment, then said: “Sure. Lay down first, though. That way, if you do go out, you’re not going to crash over or break anything.”

  I nodded. That made sense. I lay down like I would for sleeping. Stretched out on my belly, my thorax, thigh, feet, and forearm plates cradling me. I tucked my tail up along one side.

  Newter stepped over it and brought a hand close to my lower left shoulder.

  “Ready?”

  “Mhm,” I replied.

  He tapped me on the shoulder, then waited. Fifteen seconds passed.

  “Anything?” I shook my head.

  He tried again. Waited. Then he tried touching a tentacle. Waited. A few other spots. Nothing at all.

  I asked him, quietly: “Do you want to… lie on me? I know… It’s not the same as being able to go out and do things like normal, but… It’s something, right?”

  My head wasn’t facing him, but I could still see him. His jaw clenching, clawed fingers twitching. He didn’t say anything, then nodded quickly. Like he was afraid he might change his mind.

  “Hold still.”

  Another nod.

  I looped tentacles around his limbs and laid him on his back in the valley between my bulging muscles where my wings anchored.

  I curled up some tentacles beneath his head, forming a cradle.

  He settled in.

  Riding on my back like he was floating at sea, his small frame rising and falling with each slow breath I took.

  My body was vast and still. But my breathing? That was the tide.

  I remained silent. So did he.

  This was nice. I was enjoying it, and I think he was too.

  A thought occurred to me, though. This was… pretty intimate. I didn’t want to send the wrong message.

  As quietly as I could, I said: “Newter?”

  “Mhm?”

  “I–um. Just so you know, I’m… queer. It sorta came to me after that–”

  He shook his head. “Dude. S’cool. I didn’t take it like that.”

  Then, softer, “This is… a hell of a gift. Bro to bro. Thank you.”

  I nodded just enough to slightly jostle him.

  I was bone-weary. Exhausted from exercise I wasn’t used to, the late hour, the incredible mental toll of the day’s events.

  I drifted off. Didn’t even realize it had happened until I was already gone.