The sniper saw what was happening and cursed. "Captain, look out!" He moved to help but was confronted by another of the things. Pilot turned and saw what was happening; at once he rushed to defend the Captain but the arm he had just deflected latched onto his wrist and yanked him back, its owner and companions closing about him in a circle, reaching for him. Snippy swore again and delivered a backhanded blow into a dangling jaw, trying to keep an eye on both the Captain and Pilot while simultaneously keeping himself and the silent engineer clear of the clawing dead hands that surrounded them. He kicked out and heard a ribcage give way with a crack, then glanced back at the Captain.

The lumbering figure was close behind him now and he could surely see its reflection coming nearer in the remnants of glass in the shop window, but he appeared either unconcerned or oblivious and continued his scrutiny of the clothing displayed on rigidly nonchalant models; myriad shades and styles of white tops with black collars and shoulder panels, promising to "proudly display you, the wearer's individuality with a stylish G-Directorate logo!". He appeared to be haggling with a nearby skeleton.

It was almost upon him.

Snippy beat back another opponent and raised his rifle, but it was too late, too close. From this angle it was impossible to shoot one without hitting the other.

Negotiations with the skeleton had broken down; the Captain was now gesticulating angrily. He pounded his fist against the crumbling wall to make his point. Behind him, a holographic advertisement projector extending out over the street at a precarious angle bade its damaged moorings farewell and plummeted to the ground, coming down on the head of the corpse whose fingers were mere inches from the Captains' scarf-covered neck. Hearing the crash, he swivelled and glanced down at the broken and oozing body and then returned to his bartering.

Snippy was – relieved, he supposed, but also more than a little annoyed.

"Amazing. Of all the possible outcomes, the one to be realised is always the one most beneficial to him. It's like - like he's in control of the way a waveform collapses - assuming the Copenhagen interpretation - and not even consciously… Ah, if only I could run some simulations…" the spectacle seemed to have wrenched the engineer out of his mute state. He studied the Captain, eyes and attention turned away from the battle. He didn't see it come up behind him, didn't see it reach out.

"Gromov!"

He turned just in time to meet the towering form face to face. It held him like a vice, pinning his arms to his waist, and pulled him close.

I didn't programme this, he thought as he was dragged forwards, this isn't supposed to happen! How could I have known when I started work on ANNET that it would all go so wrong? I'm going to die – I'm going to die like everyone else, because of what I made – it wasn't supposed to end like this!

"Aaaaaah!" was all he managed to articulate.

The thing had him against its chest now; it brought a hand up to its blinking headset. The engineer's eyes widened in horror before he closed them tight – thinking as he did so that he would never open them again. Not him. Not as he was.

Please – someone, remember me without hating me, he pled - then remembered that the last man on earth still in possession of his wits always had hated him, and always would.

I'm sorry – I'm so sorry…

Cliffhanger. Muahahahaha.