Scotty’s armor went nuts, responding to his fear and anger and Sprite’s still drawn handgun. Long arms and short tongues formed everywhere as he came toward her, his apparent size increasing fourfold as tentacles grew. Sprite’s initial assumption that the armor was purely defensive was about to be proven incorrect.

She backed away, squeezing the trigger. Advancing arms batted bullets aside, ricocheting off the concrete.

Scotty shot his arm forward and seven thin strands flew out straight at her, ends coming to points reflecting the early morning sun.

The small framed mechanics ace screamed in horror at the monstrous hybrid.