Flip (The Slip Trilogy Book 3) by David Estes

back. She breathes deeply through her nose, gritting her teeth, remembering her purpose, picturing the faces of the friends she could save by slaying this particular dragon.
    Her hoverskates ease forward.
    She hears a distant sound and stops, listening.
    She waits, wondering if she really heard anything at all, or if she’s just desperately seeking any excuse to delay the task at hand. The sound was real, she realizes, cocking her head as it grows. The noise of the battery-powered aut-car racing by isn’t particularly loud, and yet it seems to split the silent night in two as Destiny shrinks into a crouch, hoping the passengers aren’t paying close attention to the sidewalks.
    Just as it passes her, the vehicle slows, stopping suddenly halfway down the block, the doors opening upwards, like a butterfly extending its wings the split-second before it takes flight. Destiny’s heart is in her throat, pounding out a rapid rhythm. Was she spotted? And if so, will she run or fight? The decision has always been an easy one— run —but now she finds herself battling internally. Running doesn’t feel right anymore.
    She draws the knife, gripping it tightly in front of her.
    Two shapes emerge from the idling aut-car, one on each side. She waits for them to turn, to squint into the dark, to run toward her.
    They don’t. They do the last and most unexpected thing they could do:
    They open the manhole cover, which clinks when they push it aside. One of the shapes disappears, descending the very same ladder she and Harrison once struggled to climb. The second shape follows the first, pulling the cover after him, the metal shrieking on the asphalt before clanking hollowly back into place.
    The Destroyer has visitors.
    Are they friends or enemies? Destiny wonders, propping herself against a wall to watch and wait. She’s going to be here to see how this plays out, no matter what. This is her purpose for living, clinging to the only thread she feels like she has left, a thin gossamer strand coiling around her. Maintaining her. Keeping her alive.
    I’m alive , she reminds herself.
     
    ~~~
     
    The electric pain from the last round has receded into a dull ache that seems to permeate every centimeter of Michael Kelly’s body, becoming more a part of him than his own flesh and bones. It’s like he’s built on pain, and if it were to disappear completely, he would go with it, fading into oblivion. Despite the sense of peace and relief that comes with the thought, it isn’t welcome, not when his wife and sons are still out there trying to survive—or at least he believes they are.
    “They must be,” he whispers to himself. The words come out as a frog’s croak, the voice weak and unrecognizable, even to his own ears. He knows he’s trying to comfort himself, to convince himself, but he also knows it makes sense. Why keep him alive if not to use against his family? Surely not just to torture, although the cyborg does seem to get a certain measure of glee from watching him scream and writhe.
    At some point the seconds became minutes and the minutes hours, but beyond that, he doesn’t know if it’s been days, weeks, or even months since his captor last visited him. Only the small truth that he hasn’t died of thirst gives him comfort that months haven’t passed. That and the fact that his beard isn’t long enough yet. He doesn’t even notice the hunger anymore, the pit in his stomach as much a part of life as the throbbing in his head.
    He knows something strange is happening. He heard the animalistic roars echo through the chambers beyond his iron door. He heard the mutterings and rantings of his captor. And then he heard silence, which was almost worse. For all he knows, the Destroyer has left him to rot. Would that be worse?
    The silence is so complete and so long that he can’t stop his head from jerking up when he hears the clinks and clanks of metal shifting. Part of a dream? The final fading remnants of a waking