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at her leg, trying to pull the metal loose. I tug on it, but it won’t budge. I search around frantically. Where’s a freaking crowbar when you need it?
    A few feet away, the caneis partially covered by debris. I pull it out, and shove it between the two rungs that catch her ankle in a vise. My whole body weight pushes down and the wood creaks under the pressure. Caliga grabs her leg and tugs. I live a million years in a few seconds as she pulls it free.
    “Come on, let’s go!” I wrap my arm around her bony waist. She puts her arm over my shoulder and we exit the lab like we’re in a three-legged race for our lives. The stairwell is only ten feet away, but a galloping rumble comes from our left.
    “Stop! Everyone in this place is under arrest. Hands on the wall.”
    There are two uniformed police, and they’re as tall as Hex.
    One of them has bio-armor covering his skin—Teggwear, courtesy of Aureus’s SkinGuard. They’re both wearing helmets with dark shields covering their faces. Each is armed with a stumpy black stick. Neural guns. Caliga unwraps her hand from my shoulder. She takes a shaky, hobbling step forward.
    “Oh god, you’ve come! They kept us prisoner here. They’ve been hurting us. Thank you!” Her voice quivers with gratitude. I almost scream at her for being the worst turncoat ever, when her hand makes a tiny gesture behind her back. She flattens her palm and stiffens her fingers, paddling the air between us.
    She’s telling me to wait, and keep calm.
    “My leg. I can’t—” Caliga crumples to the ground. Her face scrunches in pain. Fine, I’ll play along. It’s this or get fried with their guns. I crouch over her, feigning concern and make a show of touching her leg, covered in bandages.
    I gesture to the nearer officer. “She’s hurt. Please. We need help.”
    The far guard speaks into his helmet. “We need medics up here.” He turns to us. “Keep your hands where we can see them, and we’ll get help.”
    “They were awful. They’re monsters.” Caliga starts to cry, and I’m amazed to see real tears. The nearest guard holsters his gun and kneels forward to put a hand on her shoulder.
    Excellent.
    Caliga grabs his hand, and pulls him into a bear hug. “Oh thank you!”
    Only I can see what the other guard can’t—that her victim is now drooling, unable to speak, unable to see. Soon, he crumples over and I grab the gun from his holster. I aim, but it doesn’t fire.
    “Put the weapon down!” the other officer shouts. “I need backup on floor ninety-eight. Now! We have an officer down!” He takes several steps back and fires at us. A sizzling noise flies over our head and hits the wall.
    “Holy sh—” I start to yell, when Caliga hisses at me.
    “The gun! It’s F-TID activated. Put his hand on it!”
    Another neural bullet hits the guard draped over Caliga. His body is so numbed up now, he’s barely breathing. He didn’t even jerk when the shot hit his bare neck, one inch below Caliga’s face. I grab his hand and press his fingertip to the trigger.
    I’m not aiming, but the effect of shooting crackling neural bullets has the right effect. The officer balks as a shot bounces off his Tegg-enforced skin. He curses and backs away, still shooting at us, still hitting his comrade, three, four times.
    I manage to hit him in the back of his knee, by sheer luck. He goes down like a fallen tree, helmet bouncing on the floor.
    “Come on, get this guy off me.” We push two hundred and fifty pounds of dead weight off Caliga’s body and cling to each other as we take to the stairs. I let go of her suddenly.
    “Wait!” I run back up, tugging the helmet off the officer and putting it on. Inside the helmet, I see a flash of listing red words, floor plans of Carus with a dozen moving, labeled dots. Suddenly, it goes blank, and the darkness is replaced by flashing, angry red letters.
    Error: R-ID mismatch
    I tug the helmet off and toss it. Doesn’t matter. I got what I needed.