Have you forgotten something?” the man snapped, and the woman gave him a level stare.

“I forget nothing.”

“Then why are you not already on your way?” He lifted his arm weakly and gestured toward the door.

“Time is running short,” she said. “I do not understand why we are spending our time—your time—pursuing this thing. I am better used here.”

The man was silent.

“We are seeing results,” she added, but he shook his head.

“We are seeing nothing.” He held up a finger before she could protest. “Anyone can discover a fire already burning, but Henry found a unique spark—created something truly different, something he didn’t deserve, or intend, to stumble upon.” He gave the woman a sharp look. “You will bring it to me.” The woman cast her eyes to the floor, and when she spoke there was something pleading in her voice.

“Am I not enough?” she asked softly.

“No, you’re not,” he said firmly, looking away.

The woman paused, then walked out the door, not looking back.

*  *  *

Neither of them spoke as they sped toward John’s apartment. He gripped the wheel until his knuckles turned white, trying not to imagine what they might find.

When he turned into the lot, he let out a shaky breath: the few cars belonged to his neighbors, and his door was intact. He gave Jessica a curt nod, and they got out of the car. Jessica followed close behind and stood beside him, facing the parking lot, as he unlocked the door. Jessica jabbed him in the side hard with her elbow just as he was about to turn the key, and he jerked it back from the lock. “OW! What the … ?” He whirled around angrily to Jessica, then immediately straightened his posture and threw on a big smile.

“Charlie!” he blurted. The elegant woman approached them, and John reflexively took a step back. “Where did you come from? I mean, we didn’t see your car. What a nice surprise,” he added hastily. The woman who was not Charlie smiled easily.

“I’ve been out walking, I wanted to clear my head. I realized I was near you and thought I’d stop by. Is that okay?”

John nodded, stalling for time. “Of course! It’s great to see you!” John blurted, painfully aware that he was overselling. “My place is a mess, though. Bachelor pad, you know?” He forced a grin. “Do you and Jessica mind waiting out here while I clean up a little?”

Charlie laughed. “John, you saw my dorm room last year—I can handle a little mess!”

“Well, unlike you last year, I’m not working on a crazy brilliant science project, so I have no excuse,” he said.

Jessica jumped in. “How about that project, Charlie? Did you keep working on it? How’s it looking?”

Charlie turned to Jessica as if seeing her for the first time. “I lost interest,” she said. John seized his chance: he unlocked the door, slipped inside, and locked it behind him before the imposter could follow. In his bedroom, Charlie, his Charlie was still curled up on his bed, her back pressed against the wall; she didn’t look like she’d moved since he left.

“Charlie,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, but I have to move you, now. I’ll be careful.” He scooped her up with care. She was warm in his arms, and her eyes twitched beneath her lids: she was dreaming. John held on tightly, looking around the room for a place to hide her—his failure to furnish the place beyond the essentials was working against him. John carried Charlie out into the living room: the couch was at an angle to the wall, leaving a tiny, triangular space behind it. John set Charlie on the couch temporarily, took a blanket that had been in a heap on the floor, and tossed it down into the space, giving her at least a little cushion. Then he climbed over, picked her up, and lifted her over the back, settling her on the floor. He barely fit, even standing, and he kept his eyes behind him as he climbed back over the couch, afraid of kicking her. There was another gray blanket draped over the end of the couch, something left by a previous tenant, and he grabbed it and spread it over Charlie, covering her face.

Someone knocked on the door. “John?” Jessica called. “Are you almost done cleaning?” There was an edge of panic in her voice. John looked around. There was no evidence of a mess, or him having just hurriedly cleaned one. He rushed to the bedroom and grabbed some laundry from his laundry basket, then carried it with him to answer the door.

“Sorry,” he said, aiming for a sheepish expression. “I don’t get a lot of guests.” Jessica smiled nervously and the other Charlie flashed a grin as she pushed in past him.

“Looks pretty nice,” she said, turning to him. “How’s the neighborhood?”

“… Fine,” John managed, disconcerted to be face-to-face with her, moments after the real Charlie. This time he could see the differences—he could have written a list. The impression that this woman, with her glamorous allure, was simply Charlie, grown into her beauty with grace and new self-assurance, was gone. Now, the individual features stuck out on her face like warts—each one a marker that this was not Charlie. Nose too narrow, cheeks too hollow. Eyes too far apart. Hairline too high. Eyebrows at the wrong angle. The disparities were minute, millimeters or less: the only way to be sure would be to look at Charlie and her robotic double side by side. Or one right after the other. The imposter Charlie gave him a subtle smile and shifted her balance, as though about to come closer. John cleared his throat, hunting for something to say, but Charlie had already looked away and was now glancing around the living room. Behind her, Jessica was giving him a questioning look, probably wondering where the real Charlie was. John ignored her: Not-Charlie strode past him into his bedroom, and he followed quickly.

“Right!” John bolted into action. “So, this is my bedroom,” he said, as if the tour had been his own idea.

“Nice,” Charlie murmured, surveying the room. She turned in a circle, taking it all in, then went to the dresser, and turned to inspect the room again from there.

“So, hey, we should all go hang out later or something!” Jessica said suddenly, but Charlie didn’t answer. Instead, she knelt slowly and peered under the bed. Jessica and John exchanged a nervous glance.

“Not much to see. It’s just me here.” John laughed. Jessica elbowed him and made a disapproving expression. I’m being too obvious again, he realized. John could feel his pulse in his throat, immediately regretting what he’d said. Please don’t look around. Charlie went into the bathroom and glanced around it, opening the medicine cabinet and examining the contents. Jessica gave John a perplexed look, then it occurred to her. She’s looking for signs that someone’s been injured. Charlie began to close the cabinet, then caught sight of her own reflection and paused, her hand still on the cabinet door, looking at herself. She was still for a long moment, then her eyes darted to John in the mirror, and she made a face.

“I hate mirrors,” she remarked, then turned away and pulled back his shower curtain.

“I know right? They add ten pounds,” John said mildly.

“I think that’s cameras,” Jessica corrected.

“Well, mirrors add at least five,” John whispered.

“Maybe you just need to lose weight.”

“Are we really having this conversation now?”

They continued to watch Charlie. “She’s searching,” Jessica whispered. “She’s not even trying to hide it.”

John worried. Charlie paused and opened the bedroom closet, then crouched down to look in the open space under his hanging shirts and jackets. She stood and went back into the living room: Jessica followed, sprinting to get ahead of her and sitting on the couch quickly, crossing her legs. Charlie went to the kitchenette and opened the refrigerator, then closed it.

“Are you hungry?” Jessica asked. “I’m sure John has something you can eat.”

“No, thank you. How have you been, Jessica?” Charlie asked, crossing the room to the couch. John’s whole body went rigid as he willed himself not to run across the room and yank her away. Instead, he opened the fridge himself, forcing himself to breathe as, from the corner of his eye, he watched her sit down beside Jessica.

“Anybody want a water? Or a soda?” he called.

“Yes, please,” Jessica said with a strain in her voice, coughing loudly. John grabbed two cans and brought them over. Jessica took hers eagerly. “Thank you,” she said with too much emphasis, and he nodded.

“Yeah, of course.” He smiled stiffly at Charlie, and she looked back: every moment she was there, he felt more and more like his skin was about to crawl off his bones. He would have thought it was a side effect of her chip, except it had not happened until he knew what she was.

“Sit down, John.” Charlie smiled, gesturing to the arm of the couch beside her.

“Sorry I don’t have chairs and stuff. I never meant to live here long-term,” John explained nervously.

“How long have you been here?” Charlie’s familiar voice was like tin.

John sat down beside her. “Since—everything. This is where I lived when I first came here.”

“Oh.” She glanced around the room again. “I guess I don’t remember it.”

“You never saw it,” he said, unable to keep the coldness from his voice. Jessica shot him a warning glance, and he took a deep breath. Charlie began scanning the room again. She stared straight ahead, her face taking on a look of concentration. Her eyes swept up and down the room in strokes, her head and torso slowly turning until she was looking almost directly behind her: in a second, she would see the gap behind the couch. “Charlie, I had fun the other night,” John said quickly, forcing himself to mean it. “Do you want to have dinner again tonight?”

She turned back around, looking surprised. “Yes, of course—that sounds great, John. Same place?”

“Same place. Around seven?”

“Sure.”

“Great!” Jessica declared, and stood. “Anyway, I have to go,” she said. “Want to walk out with me, Charlie?” She glanced nervously at John, and he got up quickly.

“I can give you a ride if you need one,” he volunteered, “I know you said you were walking.”

Thank you, Jessica mouthed from behind her back.

“No,” Charlie said. “I think I’ll keep walking. I’m not parked too far away. It’s really nice outside.”

“Okay, then,” John said. Charlie moved gracefully across the living room and let herself out. Jessica let out a long breath like she’d been holding it. They went to the window and, silently, they watched the imposter go, until she had disappeared around a bend in the road.

“What if she comes back?” Jessica said. “I don’t want you alone with that thing,” she finished, practically spitting the last word. John nodded in vigorous agreement.

“I don’t want to be alone with her, either,” he said.

Jessica looked thoughtful for a moment. “I won’t be gone long,” she said. “We need help. And if you don’t think Charlie should go to the hospital, then the hospital has to come to her.”

“Marla?”

“Marla.” And with that, she went to the door quickly. John walked out with her, and watched uneasily as Jessica got in her car and drove off. Then he went back inside and shut the door, locking and bolting it. A lot of good this will do, he thought as he slipped the chain into place.

“Charlie?” he called softly. He didn’t expect an answer, but he wanted—felt almost compelled—to talk to her. “Charlie, I wish you could hear me,” he went on, going to the bedroom closet and pulling out all two of his other blankets. “I think it’s safer for you to stay where you are than in the bedroom.” He pulled the couch a little farther from the wall, trying to figure out how best to make her more comfortable. At a loss, he grabbed a pillow and leaned down, reaching to remove the blanket that covered her face.

“Sorry I’ve only got the one pillow,” he said, trying not to lose his balance.

“’S okay,” came a muffled murmur from beneath the blanket, and John fell back, tumbling over the seat and barely catching himself before his head hit the floor.

“Charlie?” he cried, then lowered his voice as he climbed back up. “Charlie, are you awake?” There was no answer. This time he did not try to climb into the space behind the couch, and bent over to see. She was stirring, just a little. “Charlie, it’s me, John,” he said, his voice hushed, but urgent. “If you can hear me, hold on to the sound of my voice.” He stopped, as she sat up and pulled the blanket off her face.

He stared down at her, as astonished as the moment when he first saw her. Her face was red, and her hair was sticking to her skin after being under the blanket; her eyes were barely open; she blinked rapidly in the light, looking down and away. John leaped up and rushed to shutter the front window blinds. He closed the bedroom door and pulled the kitchen curtains. The apartment, never bright at its best, was nearly dark. He hurried back to Charlie’s hiding place, grabbed one end of the couch, and pulled it out farther, enough for him to crawl behind with her. She was still sitting, leaning against the wall, but she looked limp, like she wouldn’t be able to do it much longer. He reached out to steady her, but when his hand touched her arm she made a distressed, high-pitched noise, and he drew back instantly. “Sorry. It’s me, John,” he repeated, and she turned her head to see him.

“John,” she said, her voice thin and rasping. “I know.” Her breathing was ragged, and talking seemed to take effort. She reached out feebly with one hand.

“What do you need?” he asked, searching her face. She reached out farther and then he understood; he took her hand.

“I won’t ever let go of you again,” he whispered. She smiled faintly.

“Could get awkward,” she whispered. She opened her mouth as if to go on, then sighed, shuddering. John scooted closer, alarmed.

“What’s—” She took another breath. “Wrong with me?” she finished in a rush. She opened her eyes, looking at him plaintively.

“How do you feel?” he asked, avoiding the question.

“Tired … everything hurts,” she said haltingly, her eyes drifting shut, and he clenched his jaw, trying to keep his face neutral.

“I’m trying to help you,” he said finally. “Look, you have to know—there’s someone, something, out here impersonating you; saying that she is you.” Her eyes snapped open and she squeezed his hand suddenly: she was alert. “She looks just like you. I don’t know why, I don’t know what she’s after, but I’m going to find out. And I’m going to help you.”

“Afton,” she breathed, her voice barely audible, and John quickly reached over the couch to grab the pillow he’d brought.

“Can you lift your head?” he asked, and she did, slightly, letting him slide the pillow into place. “We know it’s Afton,” he said, picking up her hand when she was settled again; she squeezed it lightly. “I have one of the chips. Afton Robotics. Charlie, I’ve got this. Clay’s helping, and Jessica, and we’re getting Marla to help you get better. It’s going to be okay. Okay?”

But Charlie had drifted back into unconsciousness; he had no idea how much she had heard, or understood. Her hand had gone limp in his own.

*  *  *

Someone that looks like me … Never let go … John? Charlie struggled to order her thoughts: things that had made sense a moment ago were losing their shape, drifting out of reach in a dozen directions like petals on the water. The door …

“It’s going to be okay,” John said, but she didn’t know if he said it in her head or in the world. She felt herself slipping back into the dark; she tried to hold on, but the exhaustion was weightier than she was, pulling her inexorably down with it.

*  *  *

Charlie glanced at the door again. He’s late, or I’m early. She picked up the fork in front of her and ran her thumb over the smooth metal; the tines hit her water glass with a clear ding! and she smiled at the sound. She hit the glass again. How much does he know?

Charlie struck the glass again, and this time she noticed several other patrons turning to look at her in confusion. She smiled politely, then set her fork down on the table and folded her hands in her lap. Charlie took in a breath and composed herself.

*  *  *

As John approached the restaurant he could see that Not-Charlie was already there. She had changed her clothes. He hadn’t really registered what she had been wearing before, but now she had on a tight, short red dress—he would have remembered that. He stopped on the sidewalk, just out of her sight, steeling himself. He couldn’t get the other image out of his mind, the painted face with the soldering line splitting it down the middle. Charlie was sitting back in her chair; there was nothing in front of her but a water glass. She had ordered food when they last met here, but John couldn’t picture her actually eating it. He couldn’t remember noticing her not eating, either.

“Stop stalling!” came a crackling voice from his waist, and he jumped. He extricated the walkie-talkie from his jacket pocket and turned away from the restaurant before speaking into it, just in case Not-Charlie looked out.

“I’m not stalling,” he said.

“You shouldn’t be able to hear us,” Jessica’s distorted voice reminded him. “Did you tape the button down?”

“Right, hang on.” John examined the walkie-talkie: The tape he had placed over the button to transmit had come loose. He replaced it, flattening it down against the uneven surface with his fingernail. He slipped the device back in his pocket and went inside.

John glanced briefly around the restaurant as he entered. Jessica and Carlton were huddled together in a high-backed booth, out of Charlie’s sight. “Can you both still hear me?” John whispered. Carlton’s hand raised above the back of the booth momentarily with a triumphant thumbs-up, bringing a real smile to John’s face. John turned his attention back to Charlie, who had not yet noticed him.

She lifted her head abruptly from the menu as he approached the table, as if sensing his presence. She flashed him a bright smile.

“Sorry I’m late,” John said as he sat down.

“That’s usually my line,” Charlie joked, and he grinned uneasily.

“I guess so.” He looked at her for a moment: he had rehearsed things to say, but his mind had gone blank.

“So, I heard you and Jessica visited that old ghost town.” Charlie giggled. “What’s that place called again?” She leaned in and rested her chin on her hand again.

“Ghost town?” John said unevenly, trying to keep his expression neutral. It took everything he had not to turn and look at Jessica and Carlton behind him. Charlie was looking at him expectantly, and he took a sip of water. “You mean Silver Reef?” he said, setting down the glass carefully.

“Yes, I mean Silver Reef.” She was smiling, but her face looked tight, like there was something ravenous waiting just below the surface. “That’s a strange place to go, John.” She cocked her head slightly. “Just out seeing the sights?”

“I’ve always been a … history buff. The, the gold rush—”

“Silver,” Charlie corrected.

“Silver. Yes. That too. Just fascinating times in history.” John was tempted to turn and see if Jessica approved of his reply or if she was scrambling out of her seat to flee the restaurant. “You didn’t know that about me, did you?” He straightened his posture. “I love history: historic towns, places.” He cleared his throat.

Charlie picked up her water glass and drank; she set it down so he could see the red lipstick mark she left. John drew back slightly and looked elsewhere, searching for anything he could lock eyes with but her. “Why were you there?” Charlie asked, recalling his attention.

“I was—” he started, then paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “I was looking for an old friend,” he said, his answer calm. She nodded, then met his eyes. He blinked, but forced himself not to look away. He had seen eyes like those before: not the madness of Springtrap, or the uncanny, living plastic of the other robots, but the stark, brutal gaze of a creature bent on survival. Charlie was looking at him like he was prey.

“Did you find your old friend?” she asked, her tone warm, and out of place.

“Yes. I did,” John said, not flinching from her stare. Charlie’s eyes narrowed, the facade between them growing thinner by the moment. John leaned forward on his crossed arms, resting all his weight on the table between them. “I found her,” he said in a low voice. There was a brief flare of something on Charlie’s face—surprise, maybe, and she leaned in closer across the table, mimicking his pose. John tried not to flinch as Charlie’s arms slid closer to his.

“Where is she?” Charlie asked, her tone as soft as John’s. Her smile was gone.

“I don’t know what it will take to show these people what you really are,” John said. “But I can try all sorts of things before you make it out that door.” He grasped his soda glass, not looking away from her. “I’ll start with this glass of soda, then I’ll try a chair over the back of your head, and we’ll go from there.”

Charlie tilted her head, as though taking in his posture. He knew his hand was twitching, and his face was red. His heart was racing; he could feel his pulse pounding at his throat. Charlie smiled, then stood and gently leaned over the table. John set his jaw, keeping his eyes fixed on her. Charlie kissed his cheek, placing a hand on the side of his neck. She kept it there as she moved away, watching his eyes. Charlie smiled, her fingers resting on his pulse for a scant moment before letting them drift away. John snapped back in his seat as if she’d been holding him in place.

“Thank you for dinner, John,” she said, the words sounding almost giddy. She slowly let her hand recoil, as if relishing the moment. “It’s always so wonderful to see you.” She turned away, not waiting for a response, and went to pay the bill.

*  *  *

There was a long pause. “She’s gone.” John’s voice came over the walkie-talkie. Jessica looked to Carlton; he seemed slightly in shock, staring after Charlie like he’d been hypnotized. “Carlton!” Jessica hissed. He snapped out of it, shaking his head.

“She looks hot!” Carlton said.

Jessica reared back and slapped Carlton as hard as she could.

“You idiot! You’re supposed to be watching his back, not watching her butt! Besides, she put your father in the hospital!”

“No, no, I know. Very serious …” He trailed off, obviously distracted.

“Why did I even bring you along?” Jessica scooted out of the booth and got to her feet clumsily.

“Where are you going?” Carlton asked.

“I have an idea; stay here.” Jessica sighed. “You take my car.”

Carlton called after, but she didn’t stop to answer, merely threw her car keys behind her. Carlton made his way over to John’s booth.

“Hey. Are you okay?” John didn’t turn at the sound of Carlton’s voice beside him.

“No. Not really okay.” John leaned back in his seat, looking up at the plaster ceiling, then finally turned to look at Carlton. “Where’s Jessica?” John asked instantly.

“I’m not sure, she ran out …” Carlton gestured toward the parking lot, and John turned just in time to see Charlie pull out onto the road and drive away.

“She did something stupid, didn’t she?” John said wearily. Carlton met his eyes, then they both ran for the door.

*  *  *

Jessica kept low and snuck to the back exit of the restaurant; she could see Charlie was still standing at the front desk taking care of the bill. Jessica slipped out the back door and ran around the perimeter of the building, her high heels clacking on the sidewalk. She yanked them off and threw them into the bushes, then kept running, barefoot.

“Jessica, what are you doing?” she muttered to herself. As she rounded the corner of the building into the parking lot, she spotted Charlie’s car and made a beeline for it. The front door was unlocked. Jessica quickly popped the trunk, shut the door, and slipped inside, not closing the trunk lid all the way.

A minute later there was noise from inside the vehicle, and Jessica strained to listen: it sounded like voices. No, a voice, she realized after a few minutes. Charlie was talking, but there was no one answering her. Jessica concentrated, trying to isolate the sounds, but she could make out nothing: whatever Charlie was saying, it was unintelligible from the trunk. Jessica balanced herself carefully, trying to lay as flat as she could while bracing her arm in the air to hold the latch of the trunk. If she didn’t hold it tight enough, it would visibly bounce and Charlie would notice it. But if she pulled it too close, the trunk might shut, and she would be trapped.

After about ten minutes, the car stopped short; Jessica was thrown back against the wall, almost losing hold of the latch. Regaining her balance, she held very still, listening. The driver’s side door opened; then closed a moment later. Jessica heard the faint sound of Charlie walking away, crunching over gravel, then silence. Jessica sighed in relief, but did not move. She began to count: “One Mississippi … two Mississippi …” she breathed, barely a whisper. There was no sound but her own hushed voice as she counted all the way to sixty, then stopped and scooted closer to the trunk door. She gently eased her grip of the trunk handle, letting the hood rise slowly.

The car was parked in the center of a large parking lot, illuminated impossibly bright by streetlamps. The light was tinged with red, and Jessica turned to see a large neon sign directly overhead, flooding the lot with brilliant reds and pinks and blocking her view of anything beyond. The air buzzed loudly with the noise of what must have been a hundred fluorescent bulbs. Jessica squinted and raised a hand to shade her eyes: the enormous, smiling face of a little girl stared down at her, glowing neon against the night sky. She was made up to look like a clown: her face was painted white, and her cheeks were marked with round, pink circles, her nose a matching triangle. Her bright orange hair was tied up in two pigtails on either side of her head, and beside her were fat, red letters outlined in yellow. Jessica peered at the backward sign for a moment before the letters made sense: CIRCUS BABY’S PIZZA. The glare of the light began to hurt her eyes, and she looked away, then ran toward the dark building at the edge of the lot, blinking to get the afterimage of the neon sign out of her head. She stumbled through a row of hedges to press into a white brick wall, which seemed brand-new. She lowered her hand from her face, her eyes adjusted to the light, and she saw a long row of tall, vertical windows along the face of the wall.

She went to the nearest one and pressed her face to the glass, but the tint was too dark to see even a shadow of what lay behind it. Jessica gave up on the windows and walked quickly to the back of the building, keeping close to the brick wall. The neon whites and reds faded as Jessica made her way around back, sinking into darkness.

There was more parking in the back, though it, too, was unoccupied. A single bulb flickered above a plain metal door, throwing off a sickly yellow color, which seemed to stick to everything. Trash cans lined the wall, and two Dumpsters enclosed the small area, shielding the door from outside view. Jessica crept toward the door, careful not to step on anything. She gave it a gentle pull, but it was sealed shut. She balanced against the frame as she pushed herself up onto her toes, and grinned. She could see inside.

Inside was a dimly lit room. Charlie was there: she was in profile, talking to someone just beyond Jessica’s view, though she could not hear either voice. Jessica inched along the ridge, trying to see the other person, but all she could make out was the blur of movement as someone gestured. After a few minutes, her calves began to ache, and she eased herself back down off her toes and flexed her feet. She sighed and pushed herself up on her toes again, then pressed her face closer, cupping a hand over her eyes to block the outside light. It was no use—the room was empty, or at least, the light had gone off. Jessica stepped back and reluctantly turned to find another place to peer inside—then screamed, slapping a hand over her mouth though she was too late to stifle the sound.

Charlie smiled. “Jessica,” she said innocently, “you should have told me you were coming here, you could have ridden with me.”

“Right, well, I ran outside to catch you, but you’d already left.” Jessica stepped back, her heart racing. Every fiber of her being was telling her to run, but she knew she would never make it past the imposter who stood before her.

“Do you want to come in?” Charlie asked, still speaking like they were friends.

“Yeah, I’d love to; I just couldn’t find the door.” Jessica gestured back toward the parking lot. Charlie nodded.

“It’s on the other side,” she said, taking a step closer. Jessica stepped back again.

“What brings you here, anyway?” Jessica asked, trying to sound calm. Does she not know that I know? Will she let me leave if I play along?

“I can show you,” Charlie said. Jessica kept her face blank; her muscles were so tense they were beginning to fatigue, and she breathed in deeply, trying to relax. But Jessica was suddenly aware that Charlie was steering her closer to a wall where she would be pinned.

“It’s late, though; I should get going,” Jessica said, making herself smile.

“It’s not late,” Charlie protested, gazing at the sky. Jessica hesitated, grasping for an excuse, and Charlie’s eyes darted back to Jessica as she took another step forward. She was close enough for Jessica to feel her breath on her skin, but Charlie was not breathing.

Charlie smiled broadly, and Jessica drew back, her head pressing painfully into the brick wall. Charlie’s smile grew wider and wider, elongating impossibly, then suddenly her lips were split at the middle as a wide seam appeared, bisecting her face from top to bottom. Jessica shrank back, curling in on herself instinctually, and as she did Charlie seemed to grow taller, her limbs segmenting at the joints like a moveable doll. Her features slowly paled and faded away, replaced by the iridescent, clown-painted metal face they had just been able to make out in Clay’s pictures.

“Do you like my new look?” Charlie asked, her voice still soft and human. Jessica inhaled shudderingly, afraid to speak. The creature Charlie had become looked at her searchingly. For an instant, an acrid, chemical scent filled the air, then Charlie moved swiftly toward Jessica, and the world went dark.