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“Well,” said Haraway, “it’s here.
 
Can’t get a signal.
 
Can you?”

Sadie tapped the back of her neck.
 
“No link,” she said.
 
“I don’t put that shit in my head.”
 
She pulled out a small rectangle, thinner than the parchment they used to record tithes.
 
“Phone’s got nothing.”

Laia managed to get the bag open.
 
She saw a big metal pair of scissors, the handles long, the cutting ends short and thick.
 
She pulled it out of the bag, setting the thick end against the collar, and tried to work the handles.
 
It was hard — they were long and she almost couldn’t hold them.

“Well, you’ll just have to trust me,” said Haraway.

“Not likely,” said Sadie, turning back to the rain.
 
She tossed a glance at Mason.
 
“He doesn’t look good, though.”

The scissors cut the collar with a solid sound, the teeth snapping shut as the two ends of the collar spun away.
 
The metal gave her a farewell kiss, the sharp end nicking a line in her jaw.
 
Laia could feel the blood start to well, but ignored it, the feeling of the hand at her throat lifting, the world’s colors coming back.
 
She stood, walking towards Mason.

Haraway spared her a glance, then turned back to Sadie.
 
“We need him.”

“We?” said Sadie.
 
“Or you?
 
I’m used to getting along just fine without—”

“What, like how well you were doing with your boyfriend back there?”
 
Haraway snorted.
 
“Please.”

Sadie shrugged, reaching into a pocket in her black jacket.
 
She pulled out a crumpled packet, silver edges peaking through her fingers, and lit one of the…
cigarettes
.

Laia ignored it, taking Masons hands in hers.
 
He flinched, trying to pull away, then squinted at her.
 
“You’re…
 
I remember you.”

“Come inside,” said Laia.
 
“Come out of the rain.
 
It’s burning you.”

“It’s…
 
I’m scared,” he said.
 
“They keep coming.”

“Who?” said Laia.
 
“Who keeps coming?”
 
She pulled him inside, the water trickling down the white suit he wore, the fingers that she held hard and cold.
 
Gloves
.
 
The word held itself in her head.

“All of them,” said Mason.
 
“All the people I’ve killed.
 
I drowned them in my head, and they won’t stay dead.”

The other two women had fallen silent, Laia pulling Mason close to the fire.
 
He followed her, docile like a small child, and she pulled him down to kneel in front of her.
 
She leaned next to him, whispering into his ear.
 
“Close your eyes.
 
There’s no one here.”

Mason swallowed, but shut his eyes, his hands still in hers.
 
Laia reached out with her gift, going below the white suit, below the flesh, seeing the blood beating in his veins.
 
Her mind touched it — the flow of a million million tiny living things, and the demon riding along on them.

She closed her own eyes, then breathed out,
pushing
.
 
The demon was surprised, struggling, and Mason gave a small cry.

“Shhh,” said Laia.
 
“I’ve almost got it.”
 
She held the million pieces of the demon in her mind, then slammed down on it.
 
She laughed with the joy of her gift as she pushed the demon out through his skin into the air.

Mason coughed, shuddering, his eyes snapping open.
 
He leapt to his feet, hand coming up in a fist above her face —

Sadie’s hand was on his wrist.
 
“No,” she said.
 
“Look.”

Mason turned his head to follow her gaze.
 
A silhouette of mist was already fading away, the shape of his crouching form, as the air from outside picked it apart and pushed it away.

“What—”
 
He swallowed, then pulled his wrist free.
 
He coughed, then moved to the break in the wall, throwing up into the street outside.

Sadie took another pull on her cigarette, blowing the smoke out.
 
“You know,” she said, “there’s something you don’t see everyday.”

“How’s that?” said the man with perfect clothes.

Zacharies rubbed the marks around his throat, the collar lying on the table between them.
 
“It is…”

“Better?”

“Amazing,” said Zacharies.
 
“Thank you, my friend.”

The man smiled —
perfect teeth!
— And said, “It’s nothing.
 
You must be worried about your sister.”

“Yes,” said Zacharies.
 
“How do we get her back?”

“It’s tricky,” said the man.
 
He looked at the room around them, people bustling from table to table.
 
“My… colleague.
 
From Apsel Federate.”

“The angel?” said Zacharies.
 
“I should have believed Laia.
 
I was such a fool.”

“Angel?” said the man, a hint of perfect teeth showing again.
 
Then he laughed.
 
“I get it.”

“Something is funny?”
 
Zacharies felt the words clumsy in his mouth.
 
The man had explained that the metal seed they’d planted in his skull was letting him speak with their words, but the words felt different, alien.

“A little,” said the man.
 
“There’s nothing heavenly about him.”

“But I saw—”

“Armor,” said the man.
 
“You saw urban assault armor.
 
Or riot gear, maybe.
 
I don’t know, it’s Federate tech, and there’s a fine line there anyway.
 
A bit out of spec, but it got the job done.”

Armor
.
 
Zacharies knew the word, but where he came from armor didn’t grant people the power of gods.
 
“I know what I saw.”

“Yeah, ok,” said the man.
 
“An angel.”

Zacharies spread his hands in front of him.
 
“My sister, she’s younger than me.
 
Idealistic.”
 
He was trying the word on for size.
 
“But she’s a believer.
 
What she believes in always come true.”

“Really,” said the man.
 
He tugged at his shirt under his jacket, the stitching too fine to be seen with the eye.
 
“Always?”

“Yes,” said Zacharies.
 
He gestured at the people around them, moving in chaotic symphony.
 
“Not always clearly, but she sees.
 
She wouldn’t have…
 
Not this way.”

“What do you mean?” said the man.
 
“Not enough angels?”

“Too many,” said Zacharies.
 
“Look here.”
 
He lifted one of the bagels sitting between them.
 
Zacharies had eaten six of them, his mouth bursting with the wonderful saltiness.
 
He bit into it, his seventh, and continued around his mouthful.
 
“This food?
 
It is exquisite.”

“It’s just a bagel,” said the man.
 
“Not a very good one.
 
The cafe on this level’s just a bit average, you know?
 
Apparently engineers don’t care.”

A man in a white coat approached their table, gesturing at a spare chair.
 
“This seat taken?”

“Fuck off,” said the man with perfect clothes, adjusting his tie.
 
The man in the white coat paled, turned and walked away.

“It’s things like that,” said Zacharies, “that make me confused.”

“He was an asshole,” said the man.
 
“Works in Weapons Applications.”

Weapons.
 
Applications
.
 
“How do you…
 
How do you not know how to apply a weapon?”

“Exactly,” said the man.
 
He made a fist, pointing with his index finger, bringing his thumb down.
 
“You just point and shoot.”

“That’s his job?”
 
Zacharies brushed his fingers against his shirt
— fine, perfect cloth —
looking at the empty plate.
 
His belly was full.
 
More than full.
 
He was in the city of angels, surrounded by people.

Ordinary people, perfect people.

“You want some more?” said the man, gesturing to the plate.

“Check with them first,” said Zacharies.
 
“Others may be hungry.”

The man looked at him, then laughed again.
 
“They might be, at that,” he said.
 
“But they can buy their own damn bagels.”

“They — they don’t need to eat?”

“They need to eat all right,” said the man.
 
“But here?
 
Zacharies, if you stay with us, well.
 
No one ever goes hungry at Metatech.”

Zacharies looked down at the collar again.
 
“My sister?”

“She’ll be welcome,” said the man.
 
“We’re a family-first company.”

“What is…
 
What will it cost?”
 
The word came from his mouth, foreign.
 
Cost
meant the whip, the iron, the fist.
 
But if he could get Laia here, he would pay it.
 
For her.

“Ah,” said the man.
 
“That’s the thing.”
 
He gestured at the collar between them.
 
“You said this was holding you back.”

“Yes,” said Zacharies.
 
“Removing it was like taking a hand from around my throat.”

“Gotcha,” said the man.
 
After a pause, he leaned forward.
 
“What does that mean, exactly?”

“It’s like…”
 
Zacharies waved at the window, the rain slicking the glass
— glass, spun fine and clear
.
 
“It’s like always being under a cloud.
 
Then walking out into a clear day.”

“Sure,” said the man, then he slouched back.
 
“Still don’t know what on Earth you’re talking about.”

“Ok,” said Zacharies.
 
“Who is the master here?”

“Master?” said the man.

“Yes,” said Zacharies.
 
“Who controls your leash?”

“That’s a funny question,” said the man.
 
“Or a funny way of asking it.”

“You have a master, surely,” said Zacharies.

“I’ve got a
boss
,” said the man.
 
“I’m no-one’s servant.”

“You keep servants?
 
Not slaves?”
 
Zacharies looked at the plate again.
 
“I think I would like another bagel.”

“Not something else?”
 
The man frowned.
 
“That’s a lot of bagels, man.”

“There are…
 
You have other things?”

“Sure,” said the man, tipping his head to the side.
 
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I’ve got something on the way.”

“How?” said Zacharies.

The man tapped the side of his head.
 
“The link, kid.
 
You’ll work it out.”

Zacharies frowned at the collar, then lifted it in his hands.
 
It was crude metal, dirty, black.
 
“Who tells you when you may use your gift?”

“Gift?” said the man.
 
“I’m not sure I’d call shooting fools in the head a gift, but whatever.”

“No,” said Zacharies.
 
“Your inner gift.”

The man frowned at him, then looked at the empty plate.
 
“You’re not allergic to wheat?
 
Not having some kind of chemical imbalance?”

“No,” said Zacharies.
 
“I don’t know.
 
I’ve…
 
I don’t think I’ve eaten this much before.”

“Ok,” said the man.
 
“Me neither.
 
Seven bagels is some impressive shit.
 
Zach?”

“Yes,” said Zacharies.

“Zach, we don’t have magic inner powers and weird monkey friends in the sky.
 
I get missions.
 
I fix problems.”
 
He frowned at Zacharies.
 
“You said you could show me your gift.”

“Yes,” said Zacharies.
 
“Once you removed the collar.”

“Right,” said the man.
 
“It’s removed.”

“I need…
 
Permission.
 
From a master.”

“This master,” said the man.
 
“Was he that asshole who came through with you?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, he’s not going to be anyone’s master for long.
 
Reed have a reputation.”

The night closed about him, the pain in his mind extreme, as Laia whimpered in the darkness near the master.
 
If he could just get free, he could —

“A reputation?
 
Will they hurt him?”

“Absolutely,” said the man.
 
“Probably a great deal.”

“Good,” said Zacharies, spitting the word out.

A woman wearing green arrived at their table.
 
“Who wants the steak?”