VII: THE KEY
Slowly, carefully, Min slides out of her hiding place. The Faceless are gone—it must've been an hour since their splashing footsteps died down into the gloom. They carried away a haul of limbs and organs, all harvested from the Enforcer's struggling body. He's mercifully quiet now, a limbless husk bobbing in the floodwater.
Move your legs, Min tells herself. Go. Your first stop on Willow's map should be just ahead.
She forces herself to look at the Enforcer's mutilated body as she passes. It's more gruesome than she could have imagined. His throat is horribly distended, bruised to a livid purple by the thickening effluent he was drowned in.
His eyes are gone, too, Min realizes with a shudder. Not harvested—eaten. Something beneath the waterline must've taken them. She forces her legs to pump faster, sloshing through the roiling fluid as swiftly as she's able.
As the alleyway and its gruesome contents recede into the distance, Min takes stock of her feelings, probing them as gingerly as she might run her tongue over an aching tooth. Does this hurt?
No, she decides, frowning. But I think that it probably should.
***
"Willow?" Min gasps out the name, panting for breath. "I made it. I'm here." She sits slumped in a corner, her small body shuddering with exhaustion. Her legs tremble from fighting through rivers of industrial rain, and her sides ache terribly. But she's drier now, and the air is cool. Her father's raincoat lies in a crumpled heap at the door.
Fighting exhaustion, Min peers up to take stock of her surroundings. She's in what appears to be a small, upscale surgical parlor. Miraculously, the lights are on; the facility must be running on backup battery power, just as her apartment was. The building is windowless, and sturdy mechanical latches seal the doors.
It feels secure here, Min thinks with a shudder of relief. Safe.
Willow's voice purrs out through the parlor's PA system. "I'm so proud of you, Min. As bad as things are out there, I knew that you could make it."
Min takes a deep breath, savoring the purified air. "Can I just… stay? Wait here until you arrive?"
"Afraid not, kiddo," Willow sighs. "I'm not coming to the parlor, and you've got a job to finish."
"You're not?" Min braces for a pang of disappointment, but nothing comes. There's no sense of sorrow, or loneliness, or even frustration. All that she feels is numb.
"I wish I could join you, but no. And as much as I hate to say it, that parlor won't stay safe for long. There are… bad things… coming from the Runners' Gate. Much worse than anything you've seen so far."
Min remembers the Enforcer's ravaged body, the ruin of his gaping throat. "I'm not sure that's possible. And besides, 'worse' doesn't mean much anymore."
"That's your graftware talking, not you," Willow replies brightly. "Try not to confuse the two." A whirring noise fills the parlor as machines begin coming to life. "…Speaking of which, I've calibrated the autosurgeon. When you're ready, we can begin."
Min lurches into a sitting position in spite of her overwhelming fatigue. "Wait, what?! You said I was here for a key!"
"This city responds to graftware," Willow sighs. "That's just how it works, Min. What else did you suppose the key would be?"
An icy lump forms in Min's throat. "But I don't want any new grafts."
"It's nothing to be afraid of, I promise. Just a little skull extension, no bigger than a deck of playing cards. It'll slot in behind your left ear. And it's got a built-in communicator, so I'll be able to keep tabs on you. Warn you when danger is near."
Min blinks, trying to clear her spinning head. "I've heard stories about grafts… changing people. Rewriting who they are from the inside."
"I wouldn't worry about that, kiddo. The key's only had one previous owner. It may have an embedded memory or two, but nothing you can't handle. It's practically new."
"Who did it belong to?"
"Someone who doesn't need it anymore."
The autosurgeon's segmented arms blossom to life, unfolding as if to beckon Min in for a hug.
"Go on, Min," Willow says gently. "We can't afford to wait."
"...Okay."
Staring at the autosurgeon, Min grits her teeth. You can do this, she tells herself. It's just a small graft. You'll barely notice it. And after the gate is open, you can have Willow remove it again. Struggling to her feet, she stumbles forward and collapses onto the waiting surgical bed.
Min allows her eyes to flutter shut as the autosurgeon takes measurements of her neck and skull. The bed is deceptively soft, and the pillow cradles her head pleasantly. It's so very nice to lie down.
"I'm proud of you, kiddo," Willow says.
A nozzle in the device's smallest arm bathes the side of Min's head in a frigid antiseptic mist.
"Now relax. This won't hurt a bit."
