"Sheesh, Box, give me a minute to at least get it open."

  It took me a while to find Dirt's backpack after he and Torch left for the village, its bulky shape camouflaged as well as everything else he hid in front of my face, but I eventually track it down. Unfortunately, the knot keeping it closed is proving tricky to undo.

  One of my limbs delicately slices through the intricate rope structure, and the top of the bulging pack falls open. I frown in disapproval.

  "That's not our pack, Box. It's Dirt's. You can't just destroy things like that."

  My other limb flickers over to a bush, committing some sort of extra-universal war-crime, and then the backpack ties reappear, draping loose and intact against the outside of the container.

  "I said this is-"

  ...not worth arguing about. I open the canvas sack and start removing its contents.

  "Pistol. Another pistol, heavier caliber. Ammunition for the pistols. Sub-machine gun. Ammunition for the sub-machine gun. Short knife. Medium knife. Disassembled rifle. Ammunition for the disassembled rifle. Dirty underwear...? Ugh, gross. Two days worth of rations. Bedroll. Toiletry kit. Three books... wow, didn't know Dirt was into that. Two camouflage cloaks. Thread and needle kit. Some ants."

  I dump the last occupants of Dirt's pack onto the forest floor, wishing them the best of luck. They're a long way from home, but hopefully they'll find a way to survive. I feel at the pack in case there are any hidden pockets but nothing reveals itself amidst the shapeless canvas.

  "Looks like that's it."

  "...why on earth would Dirt have one of those in his pack?"

  "Can't wait," I reply sourly. "Hey, whatever happened to that 'pulse rifle' from last night, anyways?"

  I think back to the blur of madness that followed Wires' death. This time, remembering it doesn't fill me with an instant burn of grief, and I suspect Box is interfering again, but it allows me to study things more dispassionately and in greater detail. Box is right. We had four limbs, and they were more... capable, in some way. I was able to use them as weapons in their own right, not just as conduits.

  What Box is suggesting sends a chill down my spine.

  "So, the crazier I am, the stronger we get?"

  "Yeah, you think so?" I ruminate on a thought as I neatly store the non-combat items back into the pack. "So, is that going to happen every time I die? We lose all our limbs and stuff?"

  "Wait, 'upgrades?' Why do I need upgrades?"

  "Yeah, but why are they looking for us, Box?" I ask, my eyes roaming across the line of knives and guns. Now that we have another limb, I'm assuming I can attune another weapon to go with the kukri. Should I take one of the pistols?

  "Yeah, you said that this morning, when we were talking with Broom and Great Grandpa." I start putting the rifle together in swiftly flowing motions, assembling the receiver's multiple parts. Everyone in the village knows how to use a hunting rifle in case of a Glowbeast attack, or simply to procure food, though it's been a while since I last broke one down and I suspect Box is helping me. "What makes us so special?"

  "That's a suspiciously round number."

  I finish assembling the receiver and mount it in the wooden frame.

  "Complications? That doesn't sound good."

  I sit back on my heels, thinking. I have to take what Box is telling me on faith, but I don't see a good reason for it to lie to me, considering how intertwined our lives are now.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  That gets a snort of laughter from me, and I reach for the rifle barrel. A couple solid twists screws it into the receiver and frame.

  "So why did he die? Your creator. Couldn't you keep him alive like you did for me?"

  "I assume that's bad?"

  One of my limbs hovers over the long shape, then both disappear.

  I start packing away the rest of the weapons, leaving the cloaks for last.

  "What does that ability do? And why did we pick the rifle? I'm not exactly a sharpshooter."

  "Why does it matter what the range is?" I put the cloaks in and tie the pack closed, hoisting it onto my shoulders, marveling at how light it feels. Normally I'd have struggled to lift something that heavy, but it doesn't feel like I'm carrying anything at all. "You talk about it like it's important."

  "That limitation's dumb. What are the ranges?"

  "And we're just stuck with that?"

  "You said you were limitless. That sounds pretty limited to me."

  A green arrow appears in my vision, leading away from the forest, and I move into a steady run. My limbs pick off the occasional small creature and shrub, gradually restoring my health to full and refilling my biomass reserves. It still feels gross to do it, but I'll probably need the energy when I find the Corporate Marauders. I turn around and run backwards for a bit, expecting to see a steady trail of withered devastation, but there's surprisingly little sign of our passing.

  "What happens if we use up all the biomass?"

  "...oh. Okay, then. No eating the trees, though!"

  I crest a broad hill carefully, making sure not to silhouette myself against the skyline, and scan the next valley. Nothing visible that shouldn't be there, just endless expanses of brackish shrubs and hardy wildflowers. The green arrow hovers over a distant mountain range.

  "'The trees are the village, and we are the trees,'" I recite, thinking back to Great Grandpa's lessons. "'One dies so the other may live; an endless cycle.' Without the trees, we wouldn't have survived the end of the world. Without us, they wouldn't have either. Great Grandpa says it's a lesson the Old World failed to understand, which is why we must never forget it. Part of being a Memoriam is making sure everyone else remembers."

  I set off down the slope, bright orange and yellow wildflowers offering their heady scents to the mid-afternoon air. Insects flit from bush to bush, and I keep an eye out for the telltale swarm that signals a crabroach, but things remain calm.

  "Yeah. Usually we only cut one down when someone dies, and then we plant a new one that their remains will nourish. It's different if there's an emergency, but it has to be a real emergency. Like, destroy the village type emergency. For everything else, we make sure what we take can grow back."

  I fall silent, thinking about Wires. Have they recovered his body yet? I can't imagine Broom is approaching the fallen starfly with anything other than extreme caution, so he might still be out there. Hopefully I can return in time for his funeral. I owe him an entire forest for saving my life.

  I slow to a halt in the middle of the valley, surprised at Box's advice. I'm not tired, and we need to find those Corporate Marauders before they can threaten the village. I won't let them do what they did to Wires to anyone else. All around me, wildflowers wave gently in the slight breeze, an ocean of orange and yellow.

  "What is it, Box?"

  "And?" I don't understand what Box is trying to say. "If you're warning me to be careful when we find the Marauders, don't worry, I will be. I'm not going to risk letting any of them escape because I went berserk again."

  "...oh."

  I find myself moving towards the green arrow again, mechanically sprinting through the scattered brush. Box... no, we ate Wires. He'll never have a tree planted over him, a legacy of his life that might help someone else's life in the future. His uncle won't get to see him one last time before he goes beneath the earth for good.

  I want to scream, howl, shriek my anger to the perfect blue sky overhead, but all I am is numb. All I can do is keep moving forward towards the green arrow, our first step in finding the rest of Wires' killers.

  "...is that you, Box? Messing with my mind?"

  "...oh."

  I keep running, prickly bushes bouncing off my uncaring arms. Normally they'd draw blood, but I've forgotten how to bleed. Monsters don't bleed.

  I crest a hill, then another, and another, the mountain drawing ever closer. Just put one foot in front of the next, over and over and over. Build Wires a forest he'll never see.

  My leg muscles suddenly lock up, pitching me face-first into a pricklebush. Thorns fire everywhere, including into my cheek and ear.

  "Ow! Box, what the fuck?!"

  I start feeling again, a mixture of pain and anger that shatters the dead shroud veiling my thoughts. Why on earth did Box do that to me?

  A cluster of red dots appears in my vision, between me and the green arrow, whatever they are currently obscured by the pricklebush's tangled branches. I carefully extricate myself from the spiky lengths and peek over the top.

  A dozen familiar chitin-armored figures are moving along the hillside, boxy weapons held in alert postures. Eight are carrying what I recognize as pulse rifles, but the other four have unfamiliar armaments, and their armor looks bulkier.

  "What do we do, then?" I snarl, gathering my hurt and rage and funneling it towards the swiftly marching troops. I can worry about my own issues after I get some revenge for Wires.