“Skins?” I say, not fully understanding.

  Henry points a thumb at me, talking to Cassidy. “Was this guy born in the seventies?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I was. Then I missed a few decades. What the hell is a skin?”

  “It’s like in a video game,” Cassidy says. “The player models have graphic skins that can be stretched over existing models to make them look like different characters.”

  “That can work?” McCoy asks.

  “Theoretically,” Delgado says. “We use pre-made skins, exactly as Cassidy described. The armor’s cells can shift to any color in the spectrum. The trick is that they’re not nearly as small as human cells, so your…resolution isn’t going to be great. Up close, you’ll look funny.”

  “As long as we don’t look like Teletubbies when we walk out of here,” I say.

  “Well,” Delgado says. “We’re still beta testing, right? So, we haven’t generated many serious looking skins. They’ve mostly been for fun. You have a few options.”

  I sigh. “Lay it on me.”

  “Uhh, the Simpsons. Photo realistic skins of Scooby Doo and the gang. The Avengers. Project Nemesis characters—probably your best bet…and you.”

  “Me?” I ask.

  “Remember when Chuy got angry at you for spraying her with the hose?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t—Hold on. That was you?”

  “Burnett,” he says quickly. “We needed to see how convincing it was from a distance.”

  “I got so much shit for that,” I grumble.

  “Is he smiling?” Delgado asks.

  “He’s wearing a mask, dummy,” Cassidy says.

  Delgado sounds relieved. “Right. I’ll pretend he’s smiling.”

  Henry raises a hand. “Dibs on Collins. I totally want boobs.”

  “Doesn’t work like that,” Delgado says. “Best bet is to match a similarly sized character. Sooo….”

  “Soooo?” I ask.

  “Uploading. In three, two…”

  Beside me, McCoy’s armor flickers to life, starting at the bottom and rolling up to his head. All the tiny color changing cells coating the armor’s exterior shift, changing not just his clothing, but his masked face. When it’s done, he’s the spitting image of Jon Hudson, the main character of the Nemesis TV series.

  “Holy shit,” I say. “It worked.”

  McCoy looks down at his hands. “Definitely looks off close up.”

  “Then let’s keep our distance,” I say.

  Delgado sounds pleased. “Uploading the rest.”

  Henry transforms into a gray-haired, mustached man who looks like he’s seen action in ’Nam or Korea, if it was still the 80s. He’s a helicopter pilot on the show. Woodstock, I think. Cassidy takes on the look of a smart woman with tied-back, black hair and a power suit. Very professional.

  “I’m Cooper,” she says, looking down at herself. “She’s kind of my opposite, but whatevs. This is absolute fire.”

  Still fighting off the effects of the mysterious Mia Durante, Jonas becomes a different man dressed in brown and green, with a face more serious than mine.

  “Hawkins,” Henry says, identifying the character.

  My turn, I think, and I look down. The transformation slides up my legs, starting with a pair of blue jeans. A tan button up shirt follows. I’m about to ask who I’m supposed to be when some creative shading leaves my chest looking full and feminine, a sheriff’s badge pinned on the right side.

  “Seriously?” I ask. “You made me Collins?”

  “She’s the closest to your size,” Delgado says. “Just…don’t talk.”

  “I was already groped by a pair of future Nazis,” I say. “If I get felt up again…”

  Jonas grunts, seething with mental pain. “There’s…more. Coming through now.”

  “Can you shut that off?” I ask him. “Block them out?”

  He clutches his eyes closed. When he opens them, he looks clearer, but it’s taking an effort. “They’re not like other people. Their thoughts… They’re screaming at me.”

  I chamber a round in my sound suppressed M4, which thanks to Delgado and Burnett, is genuinely silent. If I want it to make sound, I can activate one of three sound settings. First is a Star Wars blaster sound effect. Second, I shit you not, is a collection of farts. Gets a lot of laughs on full auto. Last is a screaming fox. I know what the fox says, and it’s fucking horrifying. What I really want are screaming bullets. Burnett says he’s working on it.

  The rifle can be camouflaged like the rest of my armor, but its shape can’t be changed. So, I hold it casually at my side and step out into the sunset-lit square. No one gives me a second glance. They’re far more interested in, or terrified of, what’s happening at the mound. McCoy is similarly armed. Henry has his curved kopis sheathed on his hip. Jonas has a sword over his back. Called it the ‘Sword of Mars.’ No idea what it means, but it seems important to him. Cassidy is armed with her wits and the ability to make people shit themselves in fear.

  “Try not to draw any atten—”

  A scream tears through the air from the Dome. A woman. Everyone in the square stops moving, eyes on the Dome.

  A second scream follows. A man this time.

  People are dying.

  Before I can shift gears, Henry as Woodstock blasts into the air, his body silhouetted by the orange sky.

  “Okay,” I say, giving in. “New plan. Fuck subtlety.” I put an arm around Jonas and help him stand. “Rotate to the Dome in three—”

  Cassidy rotates away.

  “Every damn time,” I mutter, and I follow with Jonas.

  A moment later, the two of us slide out of the white void of the fourth dimension completely unnoticed—because it’s pandemonium.

  Normally, the Dome would be impossible to ignore at sunset, the orange light gleaming off its gold-plated surface, resting atop a sea of blue mosaic tiles and Arabic religious inscriptions. Today, it’s the least interesting thing atop the Temple Mount.

  A gate stands in front of the Dome, fifty-foot tall columns lined with glowing symbols. A red field of energy stretches out between them, shimmering with hexagons, as a group of confused looking people pour out.

  They stumble into view, silhouettes at first, then the sun’s light reveals their true horror.

  Layers of blood covers their skin and shredded clothing. Matted clumps of coagulation and organs dangle from their hair. Teeth gnashing, they look at the surrounding crowd that’s steadily backing away, no longer seeing God in the mysterious gate.

  This is the work of a very fucked up mind.

  The silhouette of a tall, broad man catches my attention, not because of his size, but because he’s not hunched over. Not running. Not apologizing. He stepped out of the gate, clean, dressed in a black leather trench coat, his face partially hidden behind a thick beard. He’s just watching. Observing.

  Henry lands beside me. “Hey, no fair. You beat me here.”

  I ignore him. “You seeing this back home?”

  “Seeing it,” Delgado says.

  “What the hell are they?” Wini asks, on the comms with Dan.

  “People.” I step closer, trying to make out faces. “The ones we encountered on Porter.”

  “The sad zombies?” Delgado asks.

  Sad is an understatement. Back on Porter, a planet we renamed after our fallen comrade, Cassidy absorbed their abject despair and released just a small bit of it into me. I’ve never been that sad in my life. Not on my worst day. “Yeah.”

  A lone woman approaches me. She’s petite, her tattered clothing unrecognizable. Caked-on gore coats every inch of her. Bits of flesh dangle from her chin.

  I glance at Jonas. “Is this her?”

  He nods, looking supremely uncomfortable, eyeing the horde, flinching as their screaming thoughts careen into his closed off mind.

  Holding my weapon at the ready now, no longer worried about who sees it, I head toward the woman, hoping for, but not counting on, a peaceful parley.

  I stop a few feet short of her, and I’m glad when she does the same. She looks nervous. Is wringing her hands together. Biting her bottom lip.

  “Mia?” I ask. “Mia Durante?”

  Her face screws up, and I think it’s because a man’s deep voice has just come out of the buxom redhead from TV.

  But then her eyebrows turn up in the middle, mirrored by the downturn of her lips. “You…you know my…” She looks about to burst into tears. Emotion hiccups from her mouth as a single word I can’t quite make out.

  I lean closer. “What was that?”

  “I’m…sorry,” she says. “I don’t want to.”

  Her lips peel back in a sneer, revealing blood-stained teeth and the meat of some former meal warbling beside her canines. “I don’t want to do this!” she screams—and then charges, arms outstretched, fingers hooked, mouth open and ready to bite.

  The rest of the mob—now at least fifty people—follows her lead.

  12

  MIAH

  The horde of rabid, chattering capybaras are thrown into a frothing bloodlust after the dismembering of their comrade at the hands of Bree. They shriek and charge en masse, like children who have just raided their parent’s dresser for coins and are now pursuing a passing ice cream truck.

  “Don’t let one of them past!” I shout. Laser wings crackle, extending from my back and lifting me off the floor. I’m ten feet up and moving toward the gate, well out of reach from the— “Holy shit!”

  I roll to the side as a pair of domino-sized incisors nearly lock onto my arm.

  They’re stronger and faster than they look. Smarter, too.

  I arc a little higher. From above, their movement doesn’t look as chaotic as it did from below. They’re organized. In some kind of complicated formation. Moving in tandem.

  They don’t seem especially smart, and they don’t appear to be communicating, which means…they’ve been trained.

  And they have a target.

  Despite moving toward the team, the majority of the capybaras are angling away from direct confrontation. Instead, they’re following a path that will take them behind pillars, around the defenders, and straight toward the Pope. Easy target. Maximum chaos.

  First step in preventing that—destroy the damn gate. My wings flare bright, whisking me toward the papal altar and the glowing gate in front of it.

  “Nighty night,” I say, and I’m instantly glad no one is within earshot. The new crew seems…cool. They probably all have catchphrases. Going to need to work on mine…after I turn this thing to dust.

  My eyes relax, the cells inside allowing the passage of energy from within. At first, it’s visible light. Then I focus it into a beam of energy capable of cutting through—

  The beam strikes the column, splits, and refracts in a dozen directions. Containing the same power as the original blast, the beams punch holes in the columns, the domed ceiling, the floor, and the papal altar itself.

  What the hell? I carved up the gate leading to Tartarus, but this… The gates must have been upgraded.

  From a distance, Bree says, “I thought you said, ‘No damage?’” She spins around in a circle, clutching a capybara’s hind limbs, the creature wailing angrily. She lets it fly, pancaking it against a statue that cracks in half and topples onto the fallen, crushed beast. Behind her, Sarah shield-bashes the roidents left and right, breaking bones with every strike, only to have them reform seconds later. Hildy seems to be the only one making real progress, despite her lack of powers. She’s good with that sword, and the capybaras she dismembers seem to stay that way.

  Chuy hasn’t had to fire a shot yet, but it’s only a matter of time before some of the capybaras sneak past—and more are coming through.

  Attention back on the gate, I extend a laser blade from my arm. I swing hard, driving the laser light into what looks like black stone. Sparks fly, bouncing off the floor, my body, and the capybaras below—several of which are set ablaze by the white-hot embers.

  “Seriously?” Sarah shouts, backhanding a capybara so hard that its head tears halfway off, before reattaching just in time to get punted. “You’re supposed to be making this easier, not harder!” She kicks the roident, sending it flying in my direction. “Heads up!”

  I duck as the capybara spirals past, expelling a long twisting strand of bloody drool. The frothing beast strikes the back wall behind the altar and thumps to the floor, immobilized for just a moment. Then it’s back on its feet, rejoining the furry Blitzkrieg.

  My laser blade extinguishes, and I inspect the damage I’ve managed to inflict. There’s a scorched line on the pillar, but it’s otherwise unmarred.

  Damnit. Why won’t this thing break?

  “Sarah!” I shout.

  She spins in a circle, batting back three capybaras that bounce and flail before righting themselves. “What!”

  “My lasers can’t cut it! Can you do your Earth-thing?”

  “You guys need—” Hildy swings her blade, decapitating a capybara. “—ugh, better names for things!”

  The roident’s body stumbles past her while the head lies beside her foot, mouth still twitching, eyes still moving.

  Still alive, but not regenerating.

  A thought tickles the back of my memory. A tidbit of knowledge. But it’s lost when the walls start quivering. Sarah reaches out for the gate like Darth Vader air-gripping another obstinate Imperial officer. Her face strains, but the gate shows no signs of damage.

  Because they’re not from Earth, or even made of something found on this planet.

  When a crack cuts across the ceiling, grit dropping down into my hair, I shout, “Stop! It’s not working!”

  Going to have to old-fashioned brute force this.

  A capybara lunges at Sarah’s neck. She doesn’t see it coming. I’m about to shout a warning, but it’s not necessary. A blur of pink springs across the Basilica, tackling the creature and tearing it apart before bouncing off the wall and pouncing on the next target. The capybara is already reforming, but it’s such a mess it will take some time—

  —something Chuy is keen to remind me we’re short on. “¡Darse prisa! This sphincter ain’t gonna unpucker itself!”

  Luckily, basic Español and hurrying are things I can do. Powered by alien laser wings, I launch toward the Basilica’s far side, cruising over the battle in progress.

  “Sarah! Get ready for a pickup!” She gives me a serious nod. Understands the plan. I can hit hard, but no one—maybe on the planet—packs a punch like Sarah.

  In the second it takes me to pass overhead, I sever two capybaras in half lengthwise with a blast from my eyes. Before I can see if they’re healing, I’m passing over Chuy and the wide-eyed, pale-faced Pope. When I’m moving this fast, everything around me feels slow. I can’t help but laugh when the Pope’s voice calls out upon seeing me overhead, “Che cazzo!?”

  No idea what it means, but I get the vibe he’s putting off. Probably should have introduced myself before going all angelic inside the Vatican. Live and learn, I guess. Next time I’m battling killer capybaras inside a holy place, I’ll take a moment for greetings and explain that I’m not an angel—I’m just a normal dude infused with DNA from an alien race that might have been humanity’s inspiration for the winged version of the Bible’s messengers.

  That’ll go over well.

  I stop at the far end, turn back the way I came, and turn on my mental afterburners. The Basilica is large enough to inspire awe, but the football-field-length space doesn’t feel large when you’re accelerating toward the speed of sound in a split second. I don’t have a speedometer telling me how fast I’m going, but I’ve gotten good at reading the pressure building against my face. If I push myself much faster, I’m going to break the sound barrier inside the Basilica. Don’t even want to think about the damage a contained sonic boom would do to the structure—or the people inside it. So, I stop accelerating and angle myself toward Sarah.

  She raises her strong arms, waiting for a ride, even as capybaras close in on her. “This better wooooork!” she shouts, as I snag her by both forearms, yank her off the floor, and accelerate her to near the speed of sound. An instant later, I fling her forward and come to a stop.

  Sarah launches toward the gate, fist cocked back.

  She lets out a battle cry and unleashes the mother of all punches.

  The resulting shockwave isn’t as loud as a sonic boom, but it knocks everyone and everything to the floor aside from me. Dust rolls through the Basilica, colliding with the far wall. When it settles, I find Sarah lying on the floor at the foot of the gate.

  It’s still standing…

  But the red sheet of energy is missing.

  It’s deactivated, I think, and I watch as the top half of the right pillar comes loose and falls toward Sarah.

  I launch forward again and catch the half pillar. I expected it to swat me to the floor, but it’s not hard to manage. Strangely light for something so hard to break. I place it on the floor and look down at Sarah. “Okay?”

  “Peachy,” she says, pushing herself up with a grunt. “Don’t worry about me. Go save the Pope.”

  “Right,” I say, and I’m about to launch into the fray when Sarah takes my hand. “Your lasers. They didn’t heal afterward.”

  When she lets go, I fly back to the nave, ready to hack and slash everything on four stubby legs. En route, that single word-nugget of knowledge reaches its destination in the forefront of my mind.

  Hydra.

  Low to the floor, I fly through the capybaras’ ranks, cutting off heads with my forearm blades. “Cut off their heads,” I say to Hildy, as I pass. “It cauterizes the wounds and keeps them from—”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing?” she shouts, out of breath. I need to remember that more than half the team are normal humans now. They’ll get tired faster and take less damage. Hildy is tough, but not immortal. I swing back around and unleash a series of quick eye blasts that slice through capybaras like…well, like a laser through flesh and blood. Unfortunately, they work just as well on the Basilica’s marble floor, stone walls, and ivory statues.