Page 20 of Anarchy Missing

“The jellies,” Lincoln says. “They’re special because they heal in a weird way. And this particular kind,” he says, motioning to the giant blobs in the tank, “they have special cells that can turn into other cells. Maybe…” He runs his fingers through his hair like he’s thinking. “Maybe what they did to us at Prodigy School changed our biology. And maybe all those things I thought I was doing to myself to accept the changes were just a natural progression, or evolution, if you will, that came from mixing the jelly cells with mine.”

“And maybe when you gave me that injection,” I say, picking up his train of thought, “it changed me too.”

Thomas just looks at us. Blinks. “So I’ve got two freaks now? We’re about to enact the greatest political and social takeover in the history of the world and both my partners are a couple of super-freaks?”

“We need those nanites inside you,” Lincoln says.

“Now we’re making sense,” Thomas says. “We’ll just inject them into your blood and let Sheila figure the rest out. Problem solved.”

I don’t say anything. Just head towards the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Thomas asks.

Lincoln follows me and by the time we get to the main level and walk out into the living room, Thomas is there too. “Wait, Case,” he says. “Let’s just do it now. We need to get back on track.”

I ignore him and walk towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Lincoln calls. “We’re having dinner.”

“I’m not hungry,” I mumble, throwing the door open and walking out.

“What the fuck, Case?” Thomas calls. “You’re gonna ruin everything.”

“We still have shit to talk about,” Lincoln yells. “The note!”

I just keep walking until I get to my car. I don’t care, I realize. I don’t care about any of this.

I drive back to the city in silence. Don’t even bother turning on the radio. My head is filled with luminescent jellyfish, and nanites, and… death.

But I’m not dying. I know this like I know my own name. I’m not dying… I’m changing.

Into what though?

I take the corner around the mountains too fast, my sports car slipping on the ice more than once. But I can’t help wondering how far I could push my body before it breaks. I could drive this car off a cliff and see what happens.

I aim for the side of the mountain, for a guard rail up ahead, shift gears, press my foot to the accelerator, ready to give it a try.

But then I see… I see… the Blue Boar, standing on the side of the road—laughing and dancing. The way he was that night. Gleeful and insane.

I swerve, the whole car sliding on the slick roads. Skipping across the snow in the breakdown lane.

And because the car is nothing if not responsive, the moment my hands try to correct, it responds.

I drive the rest of the way home like it never happened.

There is something wrong with me.

Heat consumes my body. Snow melts under my feet, pooling into a puddle of water until small tendrils of steam swirl their way up my bare legs, surrounding me in a mist that disappears somewhere around my torso.

The city is calling.

It’s whispering in the predawn darkness as I stand here on the roof of my house.

Case, it says.

“What?” I ask it back. “What do you want?”

But it doesn’t answer.

So I get the knife and carve the anarchy symbol into my upper left arm. I watch the blood pour out with the heat and the red light.

And feel relief.

The deep cuts give me relief.