Acrylic, bewildered, looked around nervously.

Fetus’ now-gloved hand remained at her ear. “What?” she demanded, unusual emotion coloring her voice. “Why?” Frustrated, she glanced our way. “Hard Drive says meet them at the parking garage,” she reported, grabbing the railing and jumping down between levels of the zigzag series of stairs. I winced; her hands must have been in tremendous pain from the electromagnet. Had it not been for her Faraday gloves, the metal railing on the fire escape would certainly have made things worse.

“Are you out of your minds?!” demanded the brainwashed Acrylic.

“No,” Fetus calmly answered him as she jumped, “but you are.” Her voice grew fainter as she gained distance between us. “As soon as we get back, we’re restoring you from your memory backups.”

“You heard the lady,” I commanded, grabbing him by the arm of his coat, dragging him along with me.

“Listen, lady, I don’t know what your deal is—” he shouted, but the loud, warbling hum of a security drone interrupted him.