Archive of Our Own ^beta

In hindsight, this was not his brightest moment.

Granted, his actual Least Bright Moment had been a couple days ago, letting a rhinovirus host drag him around the community and piss off many of his neighbors, but this took a very close second.

Namely, because he was about to confront some of those very same pissed-off neighbors. His buffest, loudest, most aggressive neighbors.

Common Cell was sure that his clone was either very brave, very naïve, or his unconventional awakening had traumatized the poor guy and skewed his rational decision-making. That still didn’t explain why Common Cell had decided to go along with it after days of nagging; he was specifically supposed to teach the new cell how to survive on his own, and “survival” also included “not sticking your neck out to get it cut.” And yet here he was. Standing in front of the hilum of his neighboring Lymph Node. He shot a glance to his side, hoping that his clone was having the same sort of misgivings that he was. Namely, “hey I’m terrified and we should leave.”

Nope, his clone looked entirely unperturbed, and gave him a bright, happy smile in return.

Common Cell sighed. There were only two ways this was going to go: either his clone was right, and they would be fine, or the older cell was right, and both their lives were going to end very shortly. Or at least be very painful in the near future.

He hadn’t realized that raising a clone was quite so much work. His clone had all kinds of questions, far above and beyond simply what he was supposed to teach him from the books: types of cells, types of pathogens, the future job he was inheriting. All too normal for his clone, apparently. That, or he had inherited his progenitor’s terrible judgment.

“We haven’t seen our neighbors in a while.”

Common Cell had been at his shelf, putting the books away; they had spent the last few hours busting through anaphase, and it felt like his head was about to explode. Never mind actually doing it, teaching this stuff was a whole different skill set. His clone looked very much like he was mentally done, and they agreed that they both deserved a break.

His clone was looking out the window, the door to the deck open to let some air in.

“Well, we won’t have any neighbors until new cells move in, since a lot of them were killed during the rhinovirus infection…” Which made other cells seem even more distant. Sure, he hadn’t been close to any of them, but just hearing other cells living life around him was something he had definitely taken for granted. The silence was a peculiar brand of terrifying. At least the repairs to the tissues themselves, his own apartment included, had happened quite swiftly; he and his clone had only been displaced for a couple days.

He pushed it from his mind for now, no need to burden his clone with more than he already had to think about, and went to fetch drinks from the kitchen.

His clone hummed a negative into the heel of his hand, eyes not budging from the window an inch.

“No, not other tissue cells. The ones in our house when I woke up. The loud ones.”

“Oh.” That was not what had been expecting at all. “That’s a good thing.”

That got the other cell’s attention.

“It is?”

“Yes. If tissue cells like us happen to have any Immunity Cells in their house, it means something very bad happened, or is about to happen.” He joined his clone on the floor by the window with tray of tea. “The T Cells, specifically, only show up if they have plans to kill someone.”

“Oh.” He sipped his tea thoughtfully. “They didn’t kill us, though, when they were here.”

“ ‘Cause we weren’t viral hosts, or cancerous, or defective. And we barely avoided one of those.” They had been awfully close to that outcome, though.  By minutes, if not seconds.

As if summoned by pure thought, the piercing, distinctive yelling started in the drill yard next door. Common Cell sighed. One day with a break from this would be nice. Someone must have agitated their leader something fierce, because there was more shouting than usual, both in volume, and the amount of voices in the yard.

His clone had his attention firmly back on the happenings outside the window.

“So…if we’re normal, and healthy, they wont hurt us?”

“I-I mean…” On paper, yes. He didn’t trust a single piece of paper to protect him from bloody fists of the T Cell Battalion, though. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. It just is!” He joined his clone at the window. Oh yes, Squad Leader was pissed, because there were a lot of Killer T Cells in that yard right now. The rows of smaller T Cells seemed to be taking the brunt of his fury, though. “It’s not just whether they will or won’t. It’s also just that they do. That they can. And that they enjoy it. Immune Cells of every stripe are bred and trained to be hatchet-men. I’ve heard rumors that the Killer T Cells are individually selected to join the Battalion, and that only the most vicious ones are chosen.” He gestured to the loud, verbally-brutal onslaught happening next door. “Which is how you get that.” Common Cell closed the window; air or not, it afforded a slight dip in volume that was most welcome. His clone looked surprised and disappointed, instead. “I don’t know how you don’t get a headache listening to it.”

“It doesn’t bother me.” His clone watched the goings-on in the yard with something akin to fascination. Common Cell didn’t understand the draw. “What happens to the ones that aren’t selected?”

“I…don’t know, actually. Like I said, it’s just something I’ve heard.”

“Have you asked them?”

“Who?”

“The T Cells.”

Common Cell stared at the back of his clone’s head like he was expecting a second head to be there. Given the other cell’s rapt attention on the window, it went entirely unnoticed and unappreciated.

“You must be insane. When they were here in the apartment, that was the first time I’d done anything remotely similar to exchanging words to them. And that wasn’t so much of an exchange as a scathing rebuke.” And he counted himself lucky to have escaped with just that. He almost hadn’t, as the sheer force of the Squad Leader knocking a rhinovirus host through the back window had taken Common Cell with it and over the deck, almost to his death. “Why so many questions about T Cells, of all things? Immune cells give me the creeps.” To put it lightly; there was something distinctly horrifying about knowing there was a massive army of cells whose sole purpose was to dispose of fellow cells who were no longer serving their role within the body, either due to viral infection or defect. White Blood Cells had a preferential taste in bacteria at least, despite being completely coco-bonkers berserk; T Cells could turn on their neighbors and allies at the slightest sign of illness. It was more nightmarish now that he had experienced it first-hand; an entire housing development, almost entirely overtaken by rhinovirus, destroyed in an afternoon. Other tissue cells had lived and worked here, made their lives here. Interacting with the rhinovirus host made him wonder how much of a cell remained when a virus took over. He had heard that the original cell was already gone once their nucleus was penetrated; they became living machines with the sole purpose of replicating the virus. But he and the rhinovirus host had done a lot of…not that, nothing that would help a rhinovirus in any capacity. Nothing productive, certainly, but definitely playful. Like there were still pieces of a functional tissue cell in there.

And a relatively small group of Killer T Cells had simply slaughtered their way through the problem without a flinch. Didn’t notice, and didn’t care. It made his skin crawl.

His clone shrugged.

“I dunno. I’m bored, I think, and they seem more interesting than reading or folding laundry.”

“Yeah. Boredom is a little part and parcel of what we do. It’s best to leave the inhabitants of the Lymph System well alone, though. They do not have any appreciation of humor.” And because the whole lot of them were absolute fun-puckering assholes.

“Hm.”

The fact that his clone still didn’t turn his attention from the window even the tiniest bit was worrisome. There was nothing to be gained about pondering the comings and goings of any Immune Cell, and the residents of the Killer T Cell Battalion were the absolute last on that list. Given their job, Common Cell considered it the natural order for tissue cells to stay far away from the cells born and raised to hunt them if things went the slightest bit awry.

There was a long enough period of time for Common Cell’s train of thought to deviate to other things before his clone spoke again.

“What about sports?”

“What about sports?” He was going to need some elaboration for this. There were many sports, and many rules, and he only knew a few of them well enough to teach it.

“If they don’t like humor, do you think they’ll play a game with us?”

Common Cell stared at him long and hard. Like the fascination wasn’t bad enough. Now he wanted to actually go over there? And play sports? With T Cells?

“Definitely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because they don’t like us! And we don’t like them.” He was hoping he was able to get his clone’s interest away from something as dangerous as agitating their neighbors further. Because even without the social separation between Immune Cells and everybody else, Common Cell and the rhinovirus had not made good first impressions. “And I don’t think those hard asses know how to ‘play,’ unless it’s with prey before they dispatch it.”

“I don’t really mind them.” And the crazy talk just poured out of his mouth, heedless of his progenitor’s horror. “The way you told the story, they saved my life.”

“Oh.”

Well.

He supposed that was true. Rhinovirus had had him dead to rights, oblivious inside the tank, with his progenitor pinned to the floor and powerless to help.

“The Macrophage who checked me for injuries was very gentle. She smiled a lot.”

Common Cell ran a hand uncomfortably through his hair.

“Macrophages and Killer T Cells are completely different cells. And don’t let the smiles fool you, Macrophages are still White Blood Cells. Very powerful ones.”

“Hm.” He didn’t sound dissuaded, which was not encouraging. “The Killer T Cells are always out in the big yard, doing stuff. There’s enough space there for a really good game.”

Nope. Not dissuaded at all.

“That is a fleeting dream, please stop wishing for it.” At this point, Common Cell only wanted it so that his poor clone would not be hurt when his attempts to reach across the divide were loudly—and perhaps violently—rebuffed. “I only ever knew one tissue cell brave enough to try, and he was infected by a rhinovirus and destroyed by those very same T Cells.”

His clone sighed, before perking up fast enough that it almost hurt Common Cell’s back just watching it.

“I’ll go ask.”

…what.

“Excuse me!?”

“I’m not afraid of them, like you. I’ll ask.”

First: blunt, but true.

Second: he couldn’t be serious.

Oh shit, just looking at that wide-eyed stare and grin, Common Cell knew he was one hundred percent serious.

“The hell you will!”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re Killer T Cells! ‘Killer’ is the first part of the name!”

“But you said they didn’t kill us earlier because we were healthy.”

“I-I…” He was not sure what to think of his clone, so naïve about life but awfully quick on the draw with what he’d learned. “I do not appreciate having my own words used against me. No, absolutely not. My job is to teach and protect you, and letting you traipse into a Lymph Node would be the opposite of both of those things.”

“But they’re your neighbors. Currently our neighbors. It would be nice if we could all get along. And then we’d be less bored!”

Less Bored was a very gentle way to phrase Absolutely Terrified.

“I cannot believe what I’m hearing.”

“It would be fun! We’d go from having no friends to having lots of friends!”

“I can’t see us being friends, really…” The idea of being remotely close to any Immune Cell made his gut clench. Given what had happened to his own progenitor… nope. Nope. Definitely not.

“Even if we weren’t friends, all we’d need to do is get along.”

“We’re not doing it. Absolutely not.” And he was determined for that to be the end of it.

That had been a couple days ago. To Common Cell’s surprise, his clone’s words had rolled around in his head constantly since the conversation had started. All we’d need to do is get along. They wouldn’t need to be chummy, just… not antagonistic. The longer he sat on it, the more his clone made sense. Killer T Cells didn’t just stroll around slaughtering cells left and right and with complete abandon. Probably. Maybe. Even though he felt his cytoplasm go cold at the thought of a T Cell fist deep in another tissue cell, infected or otherwise, the logic… sure seemed to stack up. No tissue cell had ever tried it, not as far as he’d ever heard, and what was the worst they could do? Yell at him. Like, that sure seemed pretty terrible, those brutes were loud, and they were sure not gentle when they yelled at those of inferior rank, but it also sure wasn’t apoptosis.

Granted, he did not have a good reputation over there, and just showing his face might lead to problems, but maybe asking up front for a game would intrigue or confuse them just enough that they wouldn’t thrash him for fun. Also he could give another, more heartfelt apology than the meek mumble he had pushed out on the floor of his shattered house. More of a peace offering, really.

The little spark of spunk that had overtaken him with the rhinovirus rose slowly in him, and after a couple more days of deliberating, he told his clone to grab a badminton racquet. They were going out. His clone was elated, and it was infectious. They were gonna do it. They were gonna do it, and it was all going to work out just fine. They had sprinted down the stairs and to the hilum of the Lymph Node next door, the only access for Red Blood Cells and other non-Lymphocytes.

And that what where his courage died suddenly. And so they found themselves here, outside the high, barbed-wire walls of a Lymph Node, holding their badminton racquets. Common Cell felt the stares of the few Red Blood Cells to exit the Lymph Node. Why yes, he did feel acutely self-conscious right now. He supposed he looked suicidal, standing in front of a Lymph Node brandishing a racquet. Another quick glance at his clone showed no such issue. What he would pay for that naivety that allowed him to stand here and not feel a single ounce of trepidation.

Deep breath in, and back out. He could do this. He could.

No he couldn’t. This was a terrible decision.

His clone just looked confused now. Even if he couldn’t, it felt like a betrayal to his clone’s excitement to turn tail and run. Even if that was exactly what he wanted to do. Go back to his small apartment that was nice, and safe. And normal.

And boring.

Crippling fear of boredom seemed to run in the strain, apparently. After all, his clone had to get it from somewhere.

His clone gave him a nudge with his elbow.

“Are we going in?”

“Yes.” Deep breath again. “Yes. I’m just steeling myself. Gimme a moment.”

“Those three Red Blood Cells that just walked out were the only ones I saw go in before us.” His clone rubbed the back of his neck, the most uncomfortable he had looked in days. At least he was a little bit cognizant of his progenitor’s unease. “Not sure if that is helpful or not.”

“No, it is. It helps.” Because if this went badly, then nobody would see his shame. Possibly hear it, since the voices on these guys could shake the walls, but if he was going to die embarrassed, then he would like to not have witnesses to it. “Let’s go.”

His clone nodded, smiled, and forged ahead immediately. He felt his mitochondria clench, and he grabbed his clone by the wrist, probably harder than strictly necessary. His clone cocked his head, bewildered.

“Let me… let me go first. They may not like me, but I don’t want them to take that out on you. And since you share my strain and look just like me…” Because if this went as sideways as he thought it would, his poor clone would catch the brunt of the fury meant for him. “Just… follow my lead.”

His clone shrugged, but nodded. Well. Guess there was no more prolonging it. He had already successfully run from this lot once, spurred by exhilaration and a genuine fear for his life. He supposed he could again, if it came to that. That was a little heartening; the T Cells may be able to put many other cells to shame in any athletic metric, but Common Cell now knew exactly how fast he could run. It wasn’t much, but that was more than enough courage for him to grab the metal handle of the front doors, yank them open, and march inside.

His first thought, before any cognitive ability could catch up, was that the inside of the Lymph Node was not just a gory, torturous death trap. The hilum was very much like a normal lobby, complete with reception desk. Somehow this shocked him; he expected… more weapons, he supposed, even after breaking into a dedicated armament closet for Macrophages and seeing how neat and organized those were first-hand. Even though it was quite obvious that arriving blood cells were expected to enter, make their deliveries, and then leave immediately—the reception counter wrapped around most of the main space, separating the reception area from the scattered tables behind it—the area was well-kept and immaculately clean. Of course, whatever else was inside the Lymph Node was behind the massive doors far behind the reception desk, clearly marked Authorized Access Only.

He did not have enough time for the apparent normal-ness of the hilum to start to soothe his anxiety. While there were not that many T Cells here in the hilum currently, only about a handful, the arrival of Common Cell and his clone had attracted their attention immediately. Before the door even swung shut behind them, every head had snapped in their direction. One he recognized immediately, the shoulder-length brown hair was somewhat distinctive and easily seen from a distance. Common Cell figured he had moments, if that, before he was recognized too. Given that the Killer T Cell was doing something at a table that apparently required the use of about five knives, he hoped it didn’t happen at all.

The furrowed brows looked more like confusion than anger; he supposed they had seen about as many tissue cells in here as Common Cell had heard about it happening. Namely, none ever. The frowns got deeper in the fraction of a second it took them to assess what he was holding in his hands. He supposed that was an odd occurrence, too. It was really quite alarming how quickly their appraisal of him happened; a reflex born of their occupation, parsing civilian from quarry as efficiently as possible. They hadn’t lunged for him yet, so he figured he was in the clear, until—

“Well. Look who it is.” The Killer T Cell behind the reception desk stood slowly, stare having not left Common Cell’s face even once. “Out of all the cells to walk through that door, you were one of the last on my list.”

Common Cell swallowed hard. He recognized this one, too. It was hard not to; he had an oddly soft-looking face, more similar to the regular batches of Naïve T Cells that got herded roughly across the drill yard at all hours of the day. The freckles just sold the look. Almost. The resemblance to young T Cells ended there, and it was distinctly terrifying to realize that none of that softness reached his eyes at all, all the more so with the slow grin sliding across his face that was definitely not friendly. He was unquestionably the starkest reminder that every cell in here, regardless of appearances, was a cold-blooded killer, and could turn another cell inside out with their bare hands if that was the most efficient way of destroying them. As far as T Cells were concerned he wasn’t huge, but when he swung himself effortlessly over the counter and began closing the distance it became abundantly clear to Common Cell that he was still only about half the size of the guy. And there were much bigger brutes in the Battalion.

Both the largest one and the loudest one were each conspicuously absent. Currently.

A quick glance back towards the tables confirmed that the one handling a horrifying amount of knives had not forgotten who he was, either; he had kicked his feet up on a nearby chair, leaning back in his own seat far enough to pick the front legs off the floor, but he was staring a hole into the side of Common Cell’s head, and sporting a lazy, lopsided smirk that was every bit as sharp as the knife he was twirling idling between his fingers. And despite being reclining, Common Cell was under no illusion that he—or any of the rest of them—couldn’t be on him at the drop of a hat.

This was looking like a worse idea by the second.

Legs, don’t fail him now.

Last time he bolted from the Lymph Node, he had the benefit of being outside, on the other side of a window and a wall from a lot of very angry T Cells. Even then, they had caught up on him frighteningly quick; Common Cell and the rhinovirus host had gotten out with barely seconds to spare.  He now had… a few feet, at most, and Freckles was clearing that distance quickly.

Yes, it was a dumb nickname but he had to tell them all apart. He would carry it to his grave; not even his clone would ever know.

The Killer T Cell stopped just out of arm’s reach; certainly within pouncing distance, but just far enough to pretend he cared about Common Cell’s personal space.

“And yet, here you are. Through the front door this time, at least.” He looked deceptively relaxed with his thumbs hooked through his belt loops. “I can’t decide if you are uncommonly brave, for a tissue cell, or uncommonly stupid.”

He would have been more offended by the barb if he didn’t currently agree. As it stood, he was taking issue with his own lack of foresight, as he had clearly not thought any part of this through aside from getting in the doors.

“H-hahaha, maybe a bit of both...?”

Freckles snorted and took the time to look him up and down, lingering quite pointedly on the badminton racquet that Common Cell clutched tightly in his hands.

“Interesting choice of…’armament’ you got there. Considering what happened the last time you were in here, I am incredibly suspicious.”

“No!” Given what tended to happen when T Cells were suspicious of anything, Common Cell would like to avoid as much of that as possible. “N-no. Nothing suspicious here. Not at all. Just, um…” And now he had to actually stand here and explain himself. “We uh…” Which was proving to be difficult. His tongue seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth. “We just…” He wasn’t even sure where to start.

“See, your inability to give me an unbroken sentence does not assuage my misgivings at all. Not even a little bit.” He took another step, and Common Cell felt distinctly cornered. It was most likely deliberate. “Why are you here, cell?”

Was it too late to say nothing and simply bolt? He turned his head to check the doors, they couldn’t be that far away—but they could be blocked by a few stealthy Killer T Cells who had managed to put themselves between Common Cell and the door. When the absolute hell had that happened? It meant that he couldn’t step back away from Freckles too much more without starting to get awfully close to punching range from another two T Cells. Also, there were more T Cells in this room now than when he arrived. Word must be getting out that they had a familiar “guest.” It was apparent that he would not be leaving unless they let him. He swallowed hard and turned back to Freckles, who’s smile had developed a nasty twist to it that let him know that he was taking some amount of pleasure from watching him realize that he was stuck.

“W-well, um. You see, I was, ah…” And the words tumbling around inside his head could not make it to his mouth without becoming a jumbled mess, which was embarrassing in its own right. The result was that no sound came out of his mouth at all, and he ended up making some weird hand gestures—still holding the racquet—that didn’t have any clarifying terms to go with them.

If he’d had any sense of humor at all right now, he would have noted bitterly that it was a perfect interpretive display of abject fear. It only got worse when he looked over Freckles’ shoulder as the really damned huge T Cell with the shredded sleeves and the gravity-defying bangs had entered through the big double doors behind the desk and moved to loom quietly in the back, and Common Cell punctuated his strange presentation with a quiet squeak.

Freckles snorted again and gave a half-roll of his eyes.

“Well that was about as clear as mud.” There was a smattering of growling chuckles from the ring of T Cells that Common Cell was sure to hear in his nightmares. Freckles closed the distance again, and Common Cell knew he was now well within arm’s reach. “Try again. With actual words this time.”

He could hear the soft, repetitive sound of metal on metal, and he figured Knives—yes, yes, dumb nickname number two—had found one or more scary ways to fiddle with his weapons. Or to terrify him deliberately. Or, most likely, both.

It was working.

“Yes. Words. I mean, of course words, how else would I—” Even as he heard every word fall out of his mouth and become more incoherent, he was powerless to halt the flow without coming to a hard stop, which did not help the whole Answer The Question problem he was having. “Ah, shit.”

Freckles made a sound that was half a sigh and half a hiss through his teeth.

“You are not doing much for my confidence, my suspicions, or my patience.” Because even if he was enjoying verbally batting Common Cell around, there appeared to be a limit in tolerance for semi-circular conversations. “I am about to have an outlet for my boredom, though.” He leaned down to put himself closer to Common Cell’s eye-level, which also had the effect of firmly and definitively invading his personal space.  “One last chance, cell, before I eject you from this Lymph Node so fast you will be tasting the back of your own throat, and you will pass by the last sneeze we launched.” His voice pitched down to something that was both soft and ice-cold, and Common Cell added it to the long list of terrors that would haunt him at night. “Why. Are you. Here.”

It was phrased like a question, but it certainly was not; Freckles was done entertaining Common Cell’s… everything, apparently, and opportunities to salvage the conversation were rapidly dwindling. Common Cell knew he had a couple short syllables to either make or break this whole event. Or the event’s big, bored fists were going to break him.

“Okay, okay. So, y-you see, we, ah…”

“We wanted to know if you guys wanted to play a game with us!”

The silence afterwards was deafening. Common Cell could do nothing but stare at his clone as his entire vocabulary (and probably also a decent chunk of his very soul) died right in his throat. He was also pretty sure every organelle in his body seized and stopped working, because for the first time since this engagement began his clone had the undivided attention of every Killer T Cell in the hilum. This was the most terrifying thing to happen so far this afternoon. His clone had been safer staying silent. At least Common Cell knew what to expect; members of the Battalion were violent, brutish, perfectly aware of that exact reputation, and enjoyed throwing it around. Obviously, as this entire situation illustrated perfectly. His progeny, unfortunately, was clearly willing to bumble directly into a conversation with an already irritated Killer T Cell, with no nuance or hesitation or anything. A quick look revealed not a shred of fear or anything else remotely similar, just that unbending, hopeful enthusiasm. He wasn’t sure where at all in their strain that trait had come from, or if it was unique to him. Common Cell didn’t have an ounce of it.

Upside, that hopeful enthusiasm appeared to have temporarily shocked the T Cells into not literally throwing them out of the hilum. Common Cell didn’t expect that to last longer than the next few seconds, but it was… a somewhat encouraging reaction.

“A game. With us.” Even if he was responding to his clone, Freckles had moved his scrutiny firmly back to Common Cell. Curious—also relieving and terrifying—was that even though his clone had attracted attention, it didn’t stick; instead of pouncing on his clone, Common Cell was distinctly aware that he was still the primary target. They looked exactly alike, and yet from the very beginning, they had locked onto him and not let go. A snide part of his mind reminded him that no tissue cell in their right mind looked so excited to walk directly into any base operated by Immune Cells of any stripe. That was probably how they could tell how young his clone was, which seemed to afford him a small amount of protection. “What’d you do, sip your tea, decide that it was a delightful afternoon for some sport, hold hands and skip your way over here?”

His clone shrugged, completely unphased. The very picture of blithely, naively innocent. And he clearly didn’t take the hint that they weren’t trying to talk to him.

“Almost. More running than skipping, though. We have been very bored the last couple days.”

Freckles looked back at his clone only briefly before returning his attention to Common Cell, brow cocked.

“Y-yeah, that’s basically the gist. Boredom. Addled his poor, young mind with nothing to do, you know? F-figured we should get out!”

“Reaaally.” The T Cell’s tone was as much a purr as a growl. At least this had pushed him back towards amusement, but that may not be much better than the alternative. “So bored that you thought the Killer T Battalion would have the time or inclination to play with you?”  Freckles leaned deeper into his personal space. “If we are ‘playing with you,’ believe you me that you will not like it.” His stare was piercing. “I’m playing with you right now, and that holds awfully true, doesn’t it?”

Oh, yes it did.

That clone of his, though…

“Your yard is so big! You have so much room to play whatever you want! It could be so much fun.” Common Cell almost buried his hands in his hair in horror. This kid had no sense of timing, or tact. Never mind cell division, if they made it out of here in one piece he was going to have to teach him the right way to talk to people before he got himself punched. “Certainly more fun that what we were doing.”

Freckles huffed, barely sparing his clone a glance now. It was almost comforting, in a way. He had been so worried about them falling on his infinitely more naïve clone than himself, but they seemed quite determined to keep Common Cell as their focus. Understandable, given the personal slight he had inflicted upon their superior. But his clone wasn’t quite taking the hint, still; they wanted his progenitor, not him, but if he kept opening his mouth it was going to chip away at their already-dwindling patience. He had to find a subtle way to shut his clone up before—

“I noticed that every time your progeny goes and pops off, you get incredibly squirmy and uncomfortable.” Oh shit. Common Cell reflexively swallowed hard, and Freckles’ grin got dangerously toothy immediately. “That, right there.” It felt like he was staring directly into his head as he let Common Cell stew in his immense discomfort for a while, before shooting a glance off his shoulder towards Knives. No matter how many T Cells were currently in the hilum, there was always a line of sight between these two. Common Cell wasn’t too frightened to take a hint; Freckles may be his interrogator, but the highest-ranking Killer T Cell in the room currently was clearly Knives. Some manner of unreadable nonverbal communication flew between the two of them, consisting almost entirely of cocked eyebrows and lazy, vague hand gestures, before Freckles straightened and hooked his thumbs back into his belt. That alone gave Common Cell a little extra personal space, and he certainly appreciated it. “Alright, cell, I’m intrigued enough to listen to what I hope, for your sake, is a very interesting story.” Another round of dangerous snickers rumbled from the ring of Immune Cells. Oddly enough—and Common Cell would have to ponder it later when his thoughts weren’t so scattered—the huge one with the Effect hat looked significantly more interested than any other T Cell in the room. “You’ve got two minutes, until the top of the hour. Convince me. Convince me that this is a good idea.”

His clone grinned wide, opened his mouth, and Freckles turned to him fast enough that Common Cell almost felt his own neck crack, and all the cytoplasm in his body ran absolutely cold. “Hush, you. You have already saved him from tasting the edge of the atmosphere. The adults are talking now, and he is going to finish this conversation without your help.”

Oh.

He had expected much worse.

His clone shut his mouth with a surprised click, and the Killer T Cell turned back to stare at Common Cell until it because painfully apparent that he was supposed to start talking.

“O-okay. So, yeah. Um. Boredom! That part’s real. We were very bored. Our jobs are not very exciting. Not doing it, not teaching it. Nothing. Made us crazy. Him more than me, I think. I told him this was a bad idea, but he must have gotten his crazy from me because, y’know, here we are!” Freckles didn’t say a single thing, still staring a hole into his head, and just began to pace as he listened. No, not pacing; circling him, slowly. About ten lumps immediately appeared in Common Cell’s throat. Even knowing that it was a display designed to scare him didn’t suddenly make it not terrifying. Prey instinctively did not like being surrounded. Besides his own words, the only other sound in the room currently was the slow, heavy cadence of Freckle’s boots, almost machine-regular in tempo. “A-and I um, we figured a game might be nice, and I don’t have many neighbors right now. I-I mean, aside from you guys, who are also technically my neighbors, even though we haven’t ever been very neighborly with each other, and… I…” And he was rambling, because he was avoiding the real subject. And it was so damned hard to push it out because the stinging combination of hatred and fear was an awfully tricky wall to climb over. Also because showing any vulnerability to a group of cells who could read such signs like a book, and were conditioned to put their bloody fists into anything soft enough to be deemed “vulnerable”, seemed like madness. But so did wasting their time, and now he didn’t have his clone to come and save him from their shortening fuses. His clone shouldn’t have to, either. “And, I’m sorry?”

The boot steps came to a hard, abrupt stop just behind his right shoulder.

“I’m sorry, for the other day. I am. I should have known, right from the start, that something was up. Membrane discoloration, actively displaying viral antigen proteins on his head, I should have known. But it looked like a hat with stars on it, and he was wearing one of our shirts, and he was on the other side of the damned barded-wire fence and no tissue cell was ever there and he was giggling and I think I was just so desperate for a change of pace that I was looking for anything to upset my routine. And breaking into a Lymph Node certainly does that.” He couldn’t stop. Holy hell, the floodgates were open now, and he couldn’t stop them. His pulse and anxiety skyrocketed at the lack of control, and the pressure just seemed to push the words out faster. “And he seemed to have it out for you Immune Cells as much as I did. Do? I’m still not sure. Because you all are distinctly violent and terrifying and you absolutely know it, clearly, and by the time we had pulled one over on a White Blood Cell I was hooked on knowing I could just make all your lives a little harder, for all the grief.” Because the Killer T Cell Battalion enjoyed maintaining the status quo on their violent social pecking order, and anything that could turn that on its head was just delightful. Bring their self-righteous asses down a couple humbling pegs.

In the process of snatching victory from the jaws of one monster, though, he had traded it for another much more malicious one.

“And then it was in my house, because I actually fucking invited it in for tea, and then it was tearing through my neighbors, and it tried to get me, it had me, and it almost had my incubating clone too. And suddenly it was inhibiting my work instead, and I hated how angry, and terrified, and powerless I was to stop it, and it was a humbling about-face. That it blew up in my face so hard. And I’m sorry that I put you all through that, even though you were much better equipped to deal with it than I was.” He supposed it was both serendipitous and ironic that the first members of the immune system he had pissed off were the cells uniquely conditioned to track viruses to their source.

He paused to catch his breath. A pin could have dropped in the far corner of the hilum, and he would have heard it. And oh boy, the scrutiny. He could feel it burning across his skin, and simply resolved to not look a single Killer T Cell in the eye right now. He was sure he wouldn’t have long to wait for a reaction, regardless. “I mean, that’s the long and short of it, I guess.” He gestured to his clone. “He’s here to play a game with a group of cells so far above him in physical ability it will be lucky if he remembers what hit him when it’s all said and done. I’m here because I needed to apologize. Kinda. I suppose that was more of a rant than an apology, though.” He gave a shaky shrug, and scratched nervously at the back of his head. “This whole thing is a bit of an olive branch, I guess.”

It was almost deathly quiet afterwards, and considering how loud these brutes usually were it was really quite unnerving. Eventually he heard the heavy boot steps behind him start up again, and Freckles took his sweet time coming back around to stand in front of him. Common Cell gathered the courage (like, kinda) to look up at him, and he almost regretted it. Almost, because while that stare hadn’t gotten any less intense, his expression was otherwise entirely unreadable. Just the fact that he had no way of knowing how the Lymphocyte was taking this was frightening. Not entertained, not irritated, just… well, whatever this was. Pensive, maybe, given that he had his arms crossed over his chest, idly drumming one finger against his bicep.

He eventually gave a soft huff, and it was almost alien to see him appear amused without also looking like he was fishing for a reason to carve Common Cell’s throat out.

“Well look at you. No mumbling or whimpering through any of that. It may have been a bit of a non-apology, but it was honest.” It sounded almost frighteningly like approval, and Common Cell sure as shit didn’t know what to do with that. After another moment’s appraisal he tossed another look back at Knives, who was finally rising from his relaxed position at the tables. The Killer T Cell shoved a couple knives back into their sheathes before giving a long, languid stretch. When he finally returned his attention to Freckles and Common Cell in the middle of the ring, he looked distinctly pleased.

“Well, I don’t know about you boys, but I am bored as fuck. Haven’t done anything meaningful in hours.” His grin widened. “Let’s hit the yard.”

The sound of almost two-dozen roaring Killer T Cells was deafening.

Common Cell had no idea what to think. He had been expecting a reaction…different than this, he supposed. He shot a shaky, nervous glance at his clone, who had the biggest, stupidest, happiest grin on his face that Common Cell really didn’t know what to think about. It was all much too abrupt a switch in atmosphere for his tired mind to handle. He would be much less confused if they all still acted like they were going to eat him alive. Instead he had to deal with… whatever this was.

Freckles was no help at all, with his thumbs hooked comfortably back in his belt loops, and looking actually, truly relaxed, and not the thin veneer of civility that had stood between Common Cell and what may well have been a very painful maiming. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the din just enough for Common Cell to hear it.

“Good job. Almost-apology accepted.”

Common Cell thought he was going to faint.

And then he almost jumped clean out of his own skin when Knives appeared much closer than over at the tables. The T Cell was sporting a wide grin, but even without the threat of being peeled like a banana, there was something sharp buried in the expression that Common Cell didn’t particularly want to be close to. Which was unfortunate because the instant he was within range he slung one almost shockingly heavy arm lazily around Common Cell’s shoulders.

Okay, now he thought he was going to faint.

If the Lymphocyte had any indication that Common Cell was uncomfortable, he didn’t show it at all. Or didn’t quite care.

“Now, I noticed that you only brought two racquets. Which is fine, but teams will just be more fun, yeah?” Common Cell was only half listening, too busy trying not to shiver. “Lucky us, you left a lot of equipment here when you last visited.” Knives turned just enough to bark at another T Cell. “Oi, go see if the Macrophages still have all that stuff from their armory. We’re about to put it to good use.” The other T Cell tipped his hat and made for the doors behind the desk. “And don’t be rude! Ask if they want to come with!”

Freckles gave an amused snort, drumming a finger on his belt.

“We are literally just snacks away from an actual party.”

Knives’ grin widened.

“I know, right? Better than doing nothing. Like, I know no dispatches is good, but no dispatches is also really damned boring.”

So this was what Killer T Cell boredom looked like? Some Definitely-No-Plan-Didn’t-Think-This-Through-At-All ideas? Not that Common Cell had any legs to stand on to disagree, clearly.

Both Lymphocytes continued to temporarily ignore him, still pinned under Knives’ arm.

Freckles cocked a brow.

“…should we, then?”

“Naw, that seems a bit much like pushing it.”

“We're already about to formally invite two tissue cells to where no tissue cells have any business being inside a Lymph Node.”

“Touché, but I would like to not push our luck too much.”

“About to push it off a cliff is what we’re about to do…”

“About pushing our luck…” And that deep, rumbling bass that Common Cell could feel in his chest could really only come from one T Cell in here. Oddly enough, the massive cell had his hand slightly raised, as if halfway-asking for permission. It made it seem like he was relatively low on the ladder of seniority, which didn’t make any damned sense because look at the size of that monster. Not that he had even the slightest clue how seniority or rank worked around here. They all seemed to just know; there certainly wasn’t any variation in uniforms to tell him otherwise. “What are we going to do about Squad Leader, when he eventually finds out?”

Knives gave an unworried huff, pushed through a smirk that was more than slightly impish.

“Don’t worry about Squad Leader. I’ll handle it when it comes up.”

When, not if, as if they were expecting this to not go over well with their loud, brutish boss.

Common Cell was rather hoping they could get on with it, because unless Knives had plans to hold him hostage all afternoon, he’d have to be released to actually play this incredibly one-sided game. Also, the sooner they started, the sooner he could be out of here before Squad Leader took notice, because even if the rest of them were willing to let the whole incident be fluid under the bridge, the one who possibly still harbored a personal grudge was the least friendly beast in here.

He almost jumped out of his skin again—Knives’ arm still made movement difficult—when he heard the door to the hilum open behind him. Whomever walked in was now the focus of every T Cell here, but all their expressions contained mild interest instead of derision.

“Oh. Sorry. I hope I’m not interrupting something.”

Common Cell almost recognized the voice. Deep and soft. He managed to turn his head just enough to kinda see around Knives’ elbow. The only thing visible on the person behind him was the white hat.

Oh shit.

It was like everyone he had screwed with was forming a conga line to get a piece of him today. Hopefully the White Blood Cell didn’t recognize him.

He felt Knives shrug.

“Nah, not interrupting, but I am curious as to what a Neutrophil needs with us. The Macrophages have dibs on bacteria in the Lymph System.”

“No, none of that. But I did find something during my patrol that I think belongs to one of you.” And Common Cell could hear the soft, slick sound of metal on leather, before a white-gloved hand passed a horrifyingly sharp, black-hilted knife directly over Common Cell’s shoulder. Too close to his face. Much too close. And Knives accepted it with the same hand that was slung across his shoulders. Spirits please save him…

Knives didn’t even notice, grunting as he turned the blade over in his fingers.

“Yeah, that’s one of ours, all right.”

Even though he couldn’t see much behind him, what was in front of him was scary enough as every Killer T Cell visible suddenly ghosted hands over various parts of their uniforms, Freckles and the huge one included, ostensibly checking that their own hidden armaments were still with them. He wasn’t sure if he was more intimidated by the fact that White Blood Cells carried all their weapons openly, or the fact that he suddenly knew that T Cells largely didn’t, with a few exceptions.

Freckles crossed his arms back over his chest.

“It looks hella new.”

“It feels hella new. The pommel hasn’t been broken in at all.”

The lopsided, unfriendly smirk flickered back across Freckles’ face again.

“Guess we know who’s not invited to this afternoon’s party.”

Knives huffed, tossing the blade to his other hand.

“I was not going to invite them anyways. You earn the right to a fun time in here.” And he grasped the knife blade in his fingers far more casually than Common Cell thought anyone had the right to grab a knife blade. “I look forward to finding out which panicked Naïve dropped their shit while on patrol. Squad Leader is going to have them doing laps all night.” Common Cell wasn’t quite sure what happened, probably more of their strange, really damned subtle body language, but all the T Cells between Knives and a wall in the far corner nonchalantly ducked their heads out of the way as he heaved the knife across the room, to lodge into a corkboard scattered with a large amount of headshots.

Oh. The Naïve T Cell roster.

Common Cell might not like being himself right now, but currently he was really glad to not be any of them. Being subjected to any punishment conceived by these brutes was probably the worst thing imaginable short of necrosis.

He heard the White Blood Cell behind him clear his throat.

“As that is all I came here for, I’ll be going.”

Common Cell presumed he turned to leave, but apparently nobody would be leaving this Lymph Node today without the T Cells say-so. White Blood Cells included.

“Don’t be in such a rush. We need someone impartial to keep score.”

“I… what?”

Common Cell could not say exactly what happened next, except that he was frog-marched through the Lymph Node—and he was decently sure that Knives made it as confusing as possible so that he wouldn’t be able to find his own way through here if his life depended on it—and ended up dragged out to the massive yard he looked at every day. It seem much bigger now that he was down standing in it. On the other hand, his clone came bouncing out of his own free will, ecstatic to just actually be here. He tugged happily on his progenitor’s sleeve.

“Look, we can see our house from here!”

Damn, he sure missed his house right now.

The White Blood Cell—sure enough, same one from the other day—was also pushed out onto the field, still under the guise of “this will be fun, don’t worry, you can just keep score if you want,” although he was looking distinctly kidnapped. He also looked somewhat resigned to his fate, and Common Cell could sure relate (although he had actually asked for this; the White Blood Cell had not). He was also not the only one dragged here against his will; while the small group of Macrophages that met them in the yard seemed quite delighted to be joining them (fully equipped with the “tools” that Common Cell and the rhinovirus had “gifted” them with), the Memory Cell most certainly did not.

Common Cell was now of the firm opinion that it did not matter if you were on friendly terms with them or not; Killer T Cells were rough with everybody, regardless.

Except Macrophages.

And Helper T Cells.

Oh, right. There was one brief lull in the exuberance, and the only warning Common Cell got was that every Killer T Cell in the yard came to a complete stop and saluted with perfect, choreographed precision when the goddamn Helper T Cell Commander himself stepped out into the drill yard, with the body’s highest-ranked Reg. T right on his heels. It wasn’t the loud guy who screamed a lot, but he was pretty sure that this whole endeavor could go just as sideways with these two here. To Common Cell’s utter bewilderment, the conversation had gone right from “what is that tissue cell doing here,” through “we’re about to have a badminton face-off in the yard, Commander,” and immediately to “oh, that sounds like fun.”

So apparently, if there was any punishment to be had, it would not be coming from him. He stood in the back and sipped his tea and otherwise watched with a detached sort of amusement.

And so, Common Cell and his clone had to ante up on their offer.

They started out playing two-on-twos, which was just as well any other option, because both he and his clone were equally outmatched. Even if it was just a friendly game, the T Cells were as intense about it as everything else, and Common Cell didn’t think he had run so fast for quite so long in his life, given how they had him and his clone sprinting all over the field. And staring down a T Cell that was determined to crush him, if only in points, was still quite intimidating. Still, he and his clone actually managed to score a couple points, which seemed almost… suspicious. Oh well, he’d take it.

It was actually going well, Common Cell could almost say he was starting to enjoy himself; at the very least, his clone was having quite a lot of fun, and that was worth it.

Of course, the raucous clamor of a yard full of Killer T Cells was bound to finally rouse their superior at some point.

As anticipated, Squad Leader was not pleased.

Not quite as anticipated, Knives staged a small mutiny.

Just a small, knowing nod to another Killer T Cell, who touched the brim of his hat in return, and they were off. They managed to grab their superior by the arms and bodily drag him onto the field, and he loudly resisted the whole way. He resisted when they pushed him directly into the badminton game. He resisted when they put a racquet in his hands. And then he locked eyes with Common Cell and oh boy it was evident he was going to take it out on him.

Sure enough, Squad Leader’s first serve left the field, and he was not any gentler with a single play after that. Common Cell wondered if this was just rage, some delayed retribution, or if the other T Cells were simply holding back when they played against him. Needless to say, Squad Leader did not allow him to score any points at all. He was almost happy when the other T Cells tapped their boss out of the game and let him snarl unhappily from the back of the crowd. At least the actual “play” part of the game could come back.

And then one of the side conversations got serious, and Common Cell got a lesson on exactly how carefully the other Lymphocytes had been lobbing softballs for him and his clone’s benefit. Apparently, one T Cell said something else semi-disparaging about another’s Thymus class, and the game became a case of four on four instantaneously. Upside, two T Cells joined the tissue cells’ team. Downside, the other side had four hulking Immune Cells, and this whole endeavor was now firmly the T Cell’s game.

Also yes, they had definitely been pulling their punches.

He had no idea how these guys were all so big and so fast. There was no point in trying to remind them how the rules of the game worked, and no time; each of those hits came fast and hard, and the shuttlecock never had a chance to touch the ground. The game was suddenly all about maximum power at maximum speed, and Common Cell knew that this was where he and his clone were done keeping up. From an outside perspective, it was fascinating to watch. The speed and power were rather to be expected; he wasn’t quite as prepared for the sheer amount of wordless coordination. He’d seen Macrophages and White Blood Cells work alone in the bloodstream, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen a group of T Cells smaller than about four, and the innate teamwork showed, even when it was just the pair on Common Cell’s team.

But it was currently two Killer T Cells against four, with the same level of coordination, so it wasn’t too long before they were out-maneuvered.

Unfortunately, the opposing team out-maneuvered the shuttlecock directly to Common Cell. Double-unfortunately, instead of getting out of the way, Common Cell reflexively moved to swing for it; he may not be able to match the pace of the rest of the game, but if they were going to pitch it to him, he was going to take it. Triple-unfortunately, the pseudonatural coordination and awareness did not extend to Common Cell or his clone, so exactly zero T Cells on the court expected him to do so, least of all his current teammates.

He saw stars. Colored motes. Multiples of every object. The whole shebang.

It would be a couple minutes, as he was being carefully watched over by a couple Macrophages, that his clone was able to tell him that he had gotten knocked clean off his feet by a wild backhand. The marginally less apologetic T Cells let him know that he had caught an impressive amount of air.

Nobody argued with him when opted to sit on the sidelines for a while. His clone joined him, replacing the White Blood Cell as scorekeeper; the Immune Cell gave him a quiet thank you, and slithered out through a gap in the fence as fast as possible.

One of the two Macrophages seated just behind him offered him tea. The last place he expected to be at the end of the day was drinking tea with a Macrophage. He accepted it as politely as possible—not actually too difficult considering he would do anything to relieve his throbbing head—and tried to be as subtle as possible when marveling at the dainty hand and well-manicured nails that could still snap him in half like a chopstick.

He felt a tug on his sleeve. His clone was grinning fit to split his face. Still.

“See? Nothing bad happened at all.”

Yes, ignoring that he had just gotten the cytoplasm knocked out of him, and that had been a causal blow of an accident. But other than that, and some deliberate intimidation… he still had all his limbs. And his life. Which was more than what he thought he’d leave with. He sipped his tea.

“By some miracle.”

“And it’s been so much fun!” This progeny scratched at his hair, suddenly cognizant that he may have a slightly skewed view of today’s events. “I understand why you might be having less fun, though. Is your head okay?”

“I’m fine.” He’d had worse done to him before. And despite his own misgivings, his clone was so happy right now…“And I’m glad you are having fun.” He was; it made most of this all worth it.

“I’ll admit, there was a brief moment when I kinda didn’t think this was gonna go well. When we were still in the hilum.” And his clone actually looked a little relieved; there was hope for him yet, if he managed to come out of that with at least a little more trepidation for walking directly into an Immune Cell hub.

Common Cell huffed into his teacup.

“You have no idea. There were a few instances when I thought Freckles was gonna eat me alive, just for fun. Glad they felt bored enough to listen today; I can only imagine how terrible this would have been if they were busy.”

“The book of cells in the apartment said that Killer T Cells aren’t phagocytes, though. Ooooh, you mean figuratively.” His clone nodded in understanding, before suddenly seeming to backtrack, looking at him in confusion. “Also… ‘Freckles?’”

Common Cell could not possibly clap his hand over his mouth fast enough to stop the gasp. Never mind the words that were already loose. Oh shit. Oh shit. He swore to himself that nobody would ever know. Not his clone, and certainly not them. And here he just went and… He was going to blame his knock on the head for his sudden lack of self-control. There was a soft “oh, how cute!’ from one of the Macrophages behind him, which meant that they had heard it perfectly clearly. And only a few steps away…

Knives was staring at him, wearing a rapidly growing grin laden with all manner of prickly mischief. There was a smattering of other T Cells in the vicinity that were giving him a combination of looks. Fortunately, the T Cell in question was quite a distance away, in the middle of the yard with a few others playing a game that looked much more like assault than any attempt at kickball. Given the fact that there was no let-up in the game, it did not appear that Common Cell’s blunder had reached nearly that far.

Yet.

Knives was still smiling at him.

Common Cell shook his head as fervently as possible; he would really appreciate if he did not. Knives’ grin just got extra toothy, and he turned towards the rest of the yard. Oh no, please no…

“Hey, FRECKLES!”

The whole yard went absolutely silent, and Common Cell was sure every Immune Cell could hear his pulse absolutely hammering away. The quiet snickers did not help at all. Freckles himself whirled around, pinning Knives under a look that he simply continued to grin into.

“Where the hell did this come from!?”

And Knives just slid his grin from Freckles to Common Cell, and that was all the clues necessary. Even at this distance, Common Cell knew he was in hot water.

“You!” And the Lymphocyte began advancing at the pace that was the cadence of a walk but the speed of a deliberate jog. “Is this shit your idea?”

He suddenly had a lot of mental images of getting his neck rung, and he wasn’t sure he could placate hard enough or fast enough to prevent this T Cell from mangling him.

His head hurt, but his legs still worked fine.

He absently heard the rustling of a Macrophage’s dress behind him somewhere.

“Don’t run.” She was quiet enough that it was almost difficult to hear her over the din of a dozen laughing Lymphocytes. For his benefit, though, he was sure. “Don’t run, stay right where you are. Regulatory T Cell is here, and even if she wasn’t, he is distinctly barred from deliberately injuring you without explicit authorization from a Helper T Cell, and I can guarantee that Helper T Commander here is not going to feel very inclined to do so.”

He wanted to believe her. He really did. On paper, it all made sense. But on the other hand…

“You think you’re being fuckin’ cute?”

Yeah, he didn’t always trust the rules as written on the paper.

He heard the Macrophage murmur softly again.

“That said, as long as he doesn’t ‘injure’ you, anything goes. If you bolt, you are going to trigger every reflex to pounce that he has. Only prey flees, after all.” He heard the sound of her teacup lightly tap her plate. “If I were you, I would sit right there.”

“Now I’m gonna have to hear this ‘freckles’ shit for fucking weeks! When I get over there—”

He may immediately regret not taking the Macrophage’s advice, but he also wanted a chance at deciding his own fate.

He turned briefly to his clone, who looked quite bemused, and gave him a rough, trembling pat on the shoulder.

“I’ll see you back at home, have fun!” At the very least, he had some confidence that the members of the Battalion brooked no ill towards his progeny, and he would be allowed to leave with little issue.

Common Cell himself popped up and made a run for the fence.

The cheers, jeers, and whistles started just as soon as the chase was on, and it was indeed a chase; Common Cell did not have to listen too hard to hear the bootsteps behind him. Upside, it made him run faster. As long as he was able to keep some distance between himself and Freckles—now clear he did not appreciate the name—he’d be okay. That, and hopefully they hadn’t yet patched the gap that he and rhinovirus had taken to escape the Lymph Node last time.

Holy hell, what if they patched the gap?

He was losing speed on the turns, and he didn’t dare look behind him to see how much his pursuer was closing the distance.

Common Cell supposed that now was as good a time as any to find out how quickly he could climb a fence.