Riley had been awake too long.

But somewhere in the exhaustion, clarity struck: they needed her alive.

That was the good news.

The bad news? They'd figured out she was hiding in the labyrinth of air ducts.

She'd made it as far as the main dock. Watched the last ambulance pull away. Missed it by seconds. Now there were too many security guards between her and freedom. Too many guns. And they'd collected all the EVA suits—locked them up tight.

They were sealing off the complex. Clearing it sector by sector.

Her stomach ached from hours of crawling. The path to the farming sector was already sealed, so she turned back toward the hospital.

She paused when she heard voices through the ductwork.

"Remember," said one of the guards, "you shoot the head. Not the body. Anyone hits the body, I'll kill you myself. Got it? They're flooding the ducts with anesthetic. Keep the vents sealed. I don't care how stale it gets."

A grunt of acknowledgement.

"Why not send in drones?" another asked.

"The ducts are metal, dumbass. Blocks the signal."

No one had any better ideas.

"She's either climbing out or passing out. If she climbs out, she's yours. One little Martian girl. You can handle that, right? I know how horny you all are—whoever bags her can have her before the surgery. Boss just wants the liver and bowel. Move with purpose. Go to your posts."

Riley's face burned with fury. But she stayed calm.

She heard the hiss before she smelled the gas. Knew what was coming.

She pulled the oxygen mask over her face. Released the valve. Clean air.

Time to move.

She kept crawling. Found a section that connected to the nurses' housing—repurposed from the old living units. She remembered them. From before.

She reached a side duct above a shower unit. Started unscrewing the grill.

Just as it came loose, a nurse walked in. Shower flipped on. Steam hissed.

The noise masked her drop. Riley landed quietly. Swung the oxygen bottle like a club. Hit the nurse from behind.

The woman grabbed her head and spun around.

"Ow," she said, blinking. "That hurt."

Riley froze. The nurse was still standing.

She started to turn.

"Who the fu—"

She didn't finish. Collapsed to the floor.

Riley looked down at her. Checked the badge.

"Nurse Margaret," she read aloud. "Lucky me."

She tied the nurse up. Looked at the locked door. Looked at herself.

She was so filthy, even she couldn't stand it.

Later, cleaned up and feeling halfway human, Riley checked on Margaret. Still out.

Behind the mirror was a makeshift pharmacy—prescription drugs, clearly stolen from the hospital. Riley used the room's AI assistant to figure out what would keep Margaret down for the night.

When the nurse stirred, Riley was ready.

"This," she said, holding up sleeping pills and a glass of water. "Or this," she added, lifting the oxygen bottle.

"If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead already."

Margaret nodded groggily.

Riley dropped the pills in her mouth, added a couple Advil for good measure.

"Consider that a kindness."

Ten minutes later, Margaret was snoring on the floor.

Riley suited up. Nurse's uniform. Badge pinned. Surgical mask. Cap. Hid her blue streak. She looked the part. She was the part.

She stepped into the corridor.

The first sign of the attack came with the lights.

Flicker. Then again. Then the radiation alarms started howling.

She'd been getting ready to slip out. Had secured Margaret better, made proper restraints from tubing and cord.

Messages lit up across the internal hospital network—one after another. Urgent. Desperate. They were running out of time. Getting closer to the scheduled surgery.

A static screen on the wall showed the hospital's local social feed. It was in full panic mode now.

The lights flickered again.

Radiation warning still blaring.

Riley smiled behind her mask.

"Colt," she whispered. "You beautiful dog."