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He paused as he came out of the bathroom. A crowd of students was staring at him, and he briefly lost concentration again. And Micah’s face flashed in his mind. ‘No,’ he told himself, squinting inside his helm. ‘Not yet...! Don’t think about it yet!’

He took a wavering breath and stepped forward. The crowd shied away from him, and he saw their terrified faces. They were scared of him, he suddenly realized. Of course they were.

But there was no time. Hector ran for the teacher’s lounge, as fast as his unenhanced legs would allow. He soon grew winded, but that wasn’t enough to slow him down. The sight of Sheryl, however, made him stop.

She was still alive. Geoffrey hadn’t gotten to her yet. Hector ran toward her. She seemed frightened of him, too--or of the helm at least--but she couldn’t see the puppets stalking her from behind.

Four of them. The closest one leapt at her. Hector tackled it to the ground.

He tried to encase the other three in iron, but he was only able to seal their legs. The one below bit him above the elbow and tore out a chunk of flesh. Hector grit his teeth and made a metal knife. The puppet flailed, trying to throw him off, and he buried the blade into its eye socket. Blood spurted onto Hector’s helm and gloves as he held it there until the puppet stopped thrashing.

The other three had all fallen over without the use of their legs, but they still crawled toward the fleeing Sheryl. Hector finished encasing them and then ran after her.

“Wait!” he yelled. “Sheryl! It’s not safe!”

“Stay the fuck away from me!”

“It’s me! Hector! Please stop running!”

She did not seem interested in listening.