![]() Being Childs, I have already consumed what was left of Fuchs and am replenished for the next phase. Being Blair, I go to share the plan with Copper and to feed on the rotting biomass once called Clarke so many changes in so short a time have dangerously depleted my reserves. The world is busy destroying my means of escape. It has discovered my burrow beneath the tool shed, the half-finished lifeboat cannibalized from the viscera of dead helicopters. I take brief communion, tendrils writhing forth from my faces, intertwining: I am BlairChilds, exchanging news of the world. I am not: I am being Blair, and I am at the door. MacReady has told me to burn Blair if he comes back alone, but MacReady still thinks I am one of him. I see myself through the window, loping through the storm, wearing Blair. What matters is that these are all that is left of me. They are placeholders, nothing more all biomass is interchangeable. I escape out the back as the world comes in through the front. ![]()
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