“What would this thing even do?” Malloy whispered, seeing nothing weapon-like hanging on it. “They said it was powered by human spirit?”

“Whatever that is.” Peck muttered, “Hold hands, sing songs.”

“No.” Malloy muttered. “It has to be more obvious than that.”

“Kumbayaaa....” Peck sang in a quiet whisper when they heard an ominous 'VWUMP' resonate from the copper machine. They gasped and instinctively fell to the floor like it was a gunshot. The two waited and stared closer at the pink fluid; there was something inside of it.

Malloy squinted and could see tendrils of bluer pink, indications of movement that kicked the water aside in mushrooming circles. The knock came again, and in an instant, pressed against the thick glass, was a struggling human hand. It's slim long fingers were outstretched, gasping for air. After a faint moment, the hand collapsed back into the pink fluid, disappearing slowly from back to front like a Cheshire cat.

“There's someone in there!” Malloy whispered.

“It's dead.” Max croaked, paralyzed in his shock.

“No, she's not!” Malloy yelled. “I'm getting her out!” He took out a pencil and starting to scratch numbers and figures underneath the line.

“She?? Malloy. I'm stopping you now.” Max argued, standing over his shoulder and not making a move towards the Doctor. “I am. I'm going to do it. I'm doing it now.”

“Max.” Malloy looked up at Peck and grabbed him by his lapels. “Get away from me.”

Peck didn't hesitate. He ran, pulling the fire alarm on the way out of the room. Of course he would. Of course.

Malloy desperately wrote next to the chalk lines, but this was a trap was too clever, so there just wasn't enough time to try and clear it. Calls echoed from the ceiling and a gun shot hit the table behind him as another bullet ricocheted near his foot. Thankfully it was so dark in this factory and he was so close to the doomsday machine that no one wanted to hit with a bullet. These knights don't normally miss.

Seeking for inspiration outside of mystical algebra, Malloy saw something more useful; he heaved a desk chair from behind a table and threw it into the battery. It could have killed everyone on the state—had the machine been explosive—but Malloy was willing to risk it for his hunches.

With a crash, the glass cracked top to bottom and thick liquid poured out of a massive hole, chalky like milk and thick as honey. Flowing with the heap was a girl with dark hair who washed up on the floor like seaweed. Her over-sized clothes hid her figure, but when Malloy looked into her long face, she couldn't have been more than 16.

“Can you breathe?” Malloy asked, ducking down and picking up the girl as she coughed from deep in her lungs and spat out the goo. “Can you?”

She gasped, looking up and gasping when she saw his face. There was a glint of recognition in her own eyes and she shook it off quickly. “I have to get away.” she whispered fearfully.

Malloy fished in his pocket for the flashlight on his phone; at every spot that his light landed he came on dead ends as shouting fired up from behind him.

They should have shot him by now.

With a pang in his chest he knew why that was—they were keeping him for a death worse than gunfire. Ferdinand didn't know how he would help this girl now, and all he had was that desperate hunch stronger than any hunches he ever had; the one that he only felt once before and always regretted.

“Hold on.” The girl muttered.

“Any moment now...” Malloy answered as he heard footsteps from all around him. He swiveled and caught Sophie in his narrow spotlight.

“Finally.” Sophie piped. “I've always wanted to kill a hero.” And it was the last thing Malloy saw before it happened.