The skull-faced Guppy Villalovez gestures violently. "Oh, yeah, I'm screwed. And it's going to take ages to die, assuming they don't just find me and slap my face back on. That's why I… locked the door." Guppy's hand pauses. "I have the keys. Where did you get—"

  "You're trying to die?"

  "Yeah? I mean, I've got the devil and the deep blue sea, and between the two of us I'd take the sea— hey, what are you temping for? The snake thing?"

  "Um." This might kill you if it keeps up. "Yes."

  "Heard it was going to hell in a handbasket. Not surprisingly. Everybody told Lester it was bad news, he didn't listen, look where we are— they told you the plan for it, right?"

  "…No…"

  "GET THIS. They're trying to dupe it."

  You pause. "Like… trick it, or…"

  "Dupe— copy it. Gooplicate it. Tried the skin, couldn't settle for the skin, now they're— well, gods know what. None of my damn business anymore."

  "That's…" Your handsign trails off. You can't take this anymore. Is this what people feel when they look at you? The burning? And only one of your eyes are gone. And not even gone, it's just they can't see the replacement, which isn't your fault. But maybe you should get an eyepatch. Or…

  "Sunglasses," you say aloud. Madrigal starts. "Wha— huh?"

  "Sunglasses," you repeat blandly. "I need sunglasses. I need… oh." Sunglasses have been slipped into your hand. They're exceedingly familiar. The rims are brass. Your head begins to throb when you slide them on. You keep them on, nonetheless, though they're too big for your face, though they're stealing down the bridge of your nose…

  ?They're not yours, Charlotte. You need rectangular frames.?

  "You look kind of pale," Madrigal says. "Should I take over? I'm not doing shit."

  "No!" you say, and think, and course correct: "No, I'm— I'm okay." Except you corrected too hard and it comes out too quiet, so you smile. It shows that you're okay.

  "Right." Madrigal nods, like she agrees, but she isn't turning back around— she's just leaning against the wall, over the monitors, watching you— because you can't be trusted, of course. You scoff, return to Guppy, and remember why you wanted the sunglasses. You take them off your cheeks. You put them over the eye sockets.

  You feel calmer, but not enough for it to count.

  ?Those look better on me.?

  You giggle, because the sunglasses don't look better on Richard; they look the same: he's so pale and his eyes are so pale and he's got those cheekbones and his skin is drawn so tight and only kind of puddles under his eyes. He might as well be a skull.

  Madrigal is looking increasingly concerned. (Maybe she's right. You're really on the last legs of your sanity and you're not sure why. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's just the stress all crashing in at once the minute you've got a break. Maybe you have underlying issues, too. The environment? The skull? Who knows? Who knows?)

  "Hello?" Guppy Villalovez hasn't died yet. "Is the temp gone?"

  "I'm still—" You hasten back. "I'm still here."

  "Oh, okay, good! I just wanted to say, uh, lock the door on the way out, okay? Capiche? You're a champ."

  "Um," you say.

  "Nice to talk to someone before I go. You get out of here, okay? I don't know what they offered you, but it's not worth it. Go live your life. Kiss a boy. Something like that."

  You can't respond to that. You're just staring and staring at the sunglasses and you're realizing they don't make anything better. They make it worse. They make it worse. You can see your own face in them, and it's— (well, it's batshit, and God save your sinner's soul for saying that, but there's no other word, and in your defense, you didn't say it, only thought it, and in your defense you didn't even really think it, it just appeared, and you can't get smited for that, right?)— it's you, and you think: oh my God, she's in my head. She's in my head. And indeed, your head feels fit to bursting. And you say, you snarl, to Guppy Villolovez, who cannot see or hear you (this is for the best)— "get- out- of- my- head—"

  >[-2 ID: 1/11]

  And Madrigal darts from the wall, and says "Charlotte," but in a very very particular tone of voice, and you say, pleading: "My head's full, Madrigal— it's full— I can't have anyone else—" as she takes you by the shoulder, and steers you to the opposite side of the room, and sets you across from her, and socks you, hard, in the shoulder.

  "Ow!"

  "Good," she says roughly, and works her mouth, and doesn't say anything else for a little while. And then she presses her hands together and says— "What the fuck?"

  "Don't curse," you say.

  "I'll curse as much as I fucking like, Charlotte. What the fuck?"

  You rub your shoulder. "I- I don't—"

  "Is this normal? Do you often go fucking insane, Charlotte?"

  "Um…"

  "Could you at least tell me when you're about to go fucking insane? You can't be high and mighty about it when you're gibbering on the floor—"

  "I wasn't gibbering," you say.

  "No! Because I fucking intervened, Charlotte! I don't really— the point is not that you're nuts. I have dealt with some real fucking pieces of work just fine. The point is, I'm not going to be so goddamned nice about it when I'm skewered through the abdomen and you're giggling. So work with me. Okay?"

  You cross your arms. "No."

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  "Oh, for the love of—"

  "Because it was a— that was a one-off. It's never happened to me before, it's never going to happen again. I was just— I was stressed."

  Madrigal stares. "I don't believe you."

  "W-why?" you sputter. "It's true! I don't have any sort of history— and look at me, I'm fine now, aren't I? That quick?"

  "And I don't believe that, either." Madrigal raises her eyebrows. "You look like you're in line to be executed."

  "I— what does that mean?!"

  "Dunno. But it's what you look like. So what are we doing about the— you know, the—"

  "Guppy?"

  "Yeah. I was eavesdropping." She strokes her chin. "So what do you figure—"

  >[1] Nothing. Leave her here. (To die slowly? Potentially being caught?) But it's what she asked for, right?

  >[2] You could— you could put her out of her misery, right here. You could make it quick. She'd never see it coming. Like, literally, she'd never—

  >[3] You could… make Madrigal do it. Right? She's probably a hardened killer, right? [Hard roll.]

  >[4] The flyer said… if she needed support, she could go to HR. You can't just let someone die. It's wrong! It's immoral! Take her with you to find HR.

  >[5] You have something you want to ask or say to Guppy first or in addition to the above. [What? Write-in.]

  >[6] Write-in.

  >99, 104, 1 vs. DC 50 - CRITICAL FAILURE

  "I mean…" You glance towards Guppy. "…can't we just take her along?"

  "What? You're kidding." Madrigal runs her hand backwards through her hair. "We're not taking a fucking deaf-dumb-blind skeleton— can she even walk?"

  "You don't ask those things," you chide. "It's rude."

  "It kind of matters, though! What's she gonna do, ride on your back? She's not riding on my back. She's gonna fucking get shot, Charlotte, she's not—"

  "She's going to die anyways."

  Madrigal sighs. "I mean, I guess. But she might get us shot, is the main thing."

  "You make a break for it then, I'll— it's not very honorable to leave her here. Better to get stabbed, have some final… glory… come on, please. Madrigal, please." You take her hand. "Please?"

  Her response is tinged with disgust and pity, and the pity is worse. "Charlotte—" She pulls her hand away. "Fine. If it matters so much to you. Wonder why you weren't so keen on the fucking sanctity of life when Ellery got shot?"

  The victory is hollow. You pull your arms to your chest. "He— I thought that didn't happen, according to you."

  "I don't know what fucking happened. Go ask—" She waves toward Guppy.

  So you do. "Hey, uh…"

  "OH. I thought you left." Guppy is wearing black nail polish, you notice, and you feel sicker.

  "Um, no. I was just wondering, uh, if you'd like to come with us—"

  "That's very nice of you, but I'm pretty set!" Guppy awkwardly pats the armrest. "I don't think it'll hurt or anything, that bit got cut out. Why don't you forget about me? Head back to work?"

  "I can't let you…" You shift uneasily. "I can't let you die like this. It's wrong."

  Guppy's fingers curl around your hand for a moment, and then she signs: "So?"

  So? You bite your lip. You need to take a different tack, clearly. "Um, it'd be… wouldn't you want to go out with a bang, kind of? Sort of a… celebration, you know. A final up-yours to management—"

  "Lester isn't that bad," she says. "He's a DICK to the temps, but if you get to know—"

  You shake your head. "Not Lester— Management, capital M. Isn't now the perfect time to stick it to them? For all the hell they've brought down on y- us?"

  You're guessing wildly, of course, but at least some of it seems to stick. "What're you planning, then?"

  God. What are you planning? "Targeted strike against the— against the snake. That's their latest thing, right? We'll go in there, um, we'll figure it out. You could help, Guppy, you could—"

  "How do you know my name?"

  You freeze, then remember. "It's- it's on the wall."

  "Oh, I forgot. Um, alright, I guess that's— it's going to go to hell, you know. It won't work."

  After all this, rejection's like a kick in the face. You crumble. "Um, okay, that's, that's—"

  "Doesn't matter much to me, though, so why not. Can't walk great, though— can I lean on you? Is that alright?"

  Oh. Oh! You nod vigorously across the room to Madrigal, who closes her eyes. "Yes! Yeah, you can— no problem. That's just fine. Um, I'll just— we gotta celebrate this. Hold on."

  Finally: something goes right, and you're not about to let it pass unnoticed. You bustle over to the wall and begin tearing down all the streamers you can reach. You move on to the balloons, after that, and only stop when you've realized you're missing something far more important. "Party hats," you mutter darkly.

  ?Check your pocket.?

  You check your pocket, and find party hats, and you're too caught up in the elation of the moment to remember that Richard isn't nice, that there's always a motive— you put a pink party hat on, and shove a yellow one into Madrigal's bewildered hands, and dance over to Guppy and place one on her head, too, which really does quite a lot to make her easier on the eyes. And then, because all this is in honor of Guppy, anyhow, you begin to tie the balloons to the arms of her chair, and the streamers—

  Madrigal has not put her party hat on. "Charlotte," she says seriously. "this is stupid. We've got a—"

  And she says other things, but you're not hearing them, because you're thinking: oh my God. This is stupid.

  Oh my God.

  >[-1 ID: 0/11]

  And maybe it's stupid that this did you in, but… it doesn't matter right now.

  You didn't die. You could never live that down— and anyways, Richard wouldn't let you. But, you thought, but— it's just so hard, being you. Nobody understands. Even you don't understand why you do things, sometimes. There's something— there's something missing.

  You don't want to die. But you can see the appeal of— of not being yourself. Not being anybody. No history, no baggage. No decisions. Must you always make decisions? Must… you always make decisions?

  Could you just— stop?

  "Charlotte?" says Madrigal, as if through a tunnel. "Charlotte? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to— I like your hat? Charlotte!"

  …