Our lives have been a constant exercise in irony. We were created to bring peace, and we brought war. We were both human and machine, yet rejected by the proponents of each. We all ultimately fought for the same thing, and yet no one won. We wanted to save the human race and ended up slaughtering it. Even our final battle was ironic. Rather than use the high-tech weapons everyone feared our creation would bring, we used the land itself, our bare hands and some household explosives, sharpened sticks and nails. If the Terrans had lived to see it, I’m sure they would’ve appreciated the irony, and perhaps, they would’ve felt justified in the end.

—Cindra, Letter to Omega

Everything happened quickly, simultaneously, a blur in my mind.

Inside some bodies with a heartbeat and many without, I presided over the beginning of the end. The connection between the androids and me, boosted by Fane, gave me a new understanding of them. They weren’t as sentient as he was, yet, filtered through him, their awareness was reflected the way he expressed his emotions. The heart of a fox, beating too quickly. The sharp edges of a hole in the ice. The warming rays of a synthetic sun on skin that shouldn’t feel.

There were only three ways up to where I sat with my back pressed to the tree, conducting my orchestra—two paths that wound around the island and eventually curved up to my oak, and the wilderness in between. Some of our enemies chose the paths; others chose to take their chances in the untamed grasses and trees.

Both were mistaken.

Information buzzed through my mind like a wasp in a bottle—ferocious and unrelenting. On both sides of the island, the interlopers held their guns at the ready, searching for their first target.

For a few minutes, all was quiet. The hunters fanned out to cover more ground, keeping Ethan in the middle of the pack, surrounded by an honor guard. They ranged further apart, their eyes searching, their tension mounting as they waited for us to make a move. For one, the strain became unbearable, and he shattered the silence.

“Where the f—”

He crashed through into our defenses, and chaos erupted all over the island.

Agony tore the man’s voice from his throat as thick metal spikes bit deep into the flesh of his leg. He lost his balance, his weight pushing his leg down and causing the wooden jaws to snap together and devour his calf. Screaming a curse, he clutched at his leg reflexively, trying to pull it out of our trap until his flesh tore and glazed his hands with slippery blood.

Several of his comrades broke ranks to help him, oblivious in their haste. All around him, they stepped into the concealed cluster of traps, their weapons flung into the brush as their cries echoed over the island, a cacophony of shrieks and Ethan’s orders. Fear rose over the island like a miasma, its musk mingling with the haze of metallic blood and salt.

“Shut up!” Ethan backed away from his writhing men. “Do you want to tell the entire island where I am?” Infuriation creased his face as he issued new orders. “Leave them. We have to get to the center of the island, to that goddamned giant tree they’re cowering under. You—” He pointed to a man and a woman at the rear of the group, “stay and help them. And for God’s sake, if they don’t shut up, shoot them.” He moved away, motioning for the rest to follow.

I gave them a single minute to clear the area. Now.

Two androids stepped out from behind the concealing brush. Through their eyes, I watched the pair who’d stayed to help their companions freeze, one of them nearly dropping his weapon. Clearly, Grace hadn’t told them about the androids. Thank you, Grace.

The shock on their faces was comical, theirs mouths agape as they blinked rapidly, trying to counter the mirage. They’d undoubtably seen numerous androids before the war, but probably not ones of this level of sophistication, so uncannily like them, but so obviously not human.

The twin androids stared back at them, youthful faces composed. Their fine silver-blond hair and wide, thickly-lashed blue eyes were ethereally incongruous with the mundane whimpers of suffering and sharp scent of terror surrounding them.

An agonized cry from one of the injured pierced the hypnotic sobs of pain.

The trance was broken.

One of the men raised his gun to shoot then lowered it to wipe his hands on his trousers before lifting it again. The barrel shook as he pointed it at the twins.

“Help them,” he demanded. “Or I’ll blow your heads off.”

The twins nodded and walked over to the ensnared men, each taking a place behind one. Turning their faces toward each other, they cupped the captive’s heads in their hands and snapped their necks.

Thorns drawn across bare skin. The serrated leaves of holly.

Yes. Keep going.

Shrieks erupted from the other captives as they tried to wrench themselves free, their fingers digging in the dirt as the bitter scent of urine mixed with blood. A shot rang out, and the female twin’s arm jerked back, broken and bloodless. At the lack of blood, the shooters began to come undone.

Take them out first—the ones with the guns.

The twins tilted their heads in acknowledgement and stepped forward again, pushing past the long barrels of the rifles. Stunned, their opponents scrambled back, one of them falling and discharging her gun harmlessly into the air.

A Venus flytrap, satisfied at last.

The twins smiled.

Ninety-three.