The guide was again struggling with tonight’s quarry.

It was his own fault; he’d chosen this. The assistant was sure of this now. The man they were trying to tear down was of the military sort. They didn’t always stand out but this one was proud and strong, and had been looking for a fight before they’d given him one. “A good body,” the guide said, trying it on and taking it off, before leaping in.

The assistant had to admit there was a lot of artistry to how the guide morphed, sleek as oil slipping from one container to another, reshaping himself large to small, man to woman, elder to child. He had no shortage of good bodies so why he’d chosen this particular one, for a fight no less, was a mystery.

The tussle crashed out of the confinement room into the main hall, which had not yet been painted. The assistant gave them a few seconds’ head start and followed.

The bricks around them were stained like a butchers’ block and the floor striped with red; this meant the knives had come out. No matter what the guide looked like, the knives always seemed to make an appearance eventually. Like his true being was the knives, and the human body attached was just some kind of vestigial growth, a camouflaging cloak.

The soldier was armed, but he’d gone for his pistol too late because his fingers were already gone. They lay on the floor, like sausages.

The guide was going at his face now, stick-thin arms grasping knives that didn't seem to fit them properly.

“Now, now,” the guide said breathlessly.

Not words of comfort but a call to the assistant, who hurried forward with the jar. The grunts of pain and the excess of blood weren’t doing it for him tonight. It all just seemed so implausible.

When the guide hopped off the writhing quarry, a soon to be newborn, the assistant met his eyes, and the face that was a mirror image of his own. The same eyes and nose and ears. The same hair, albeit a bit ruffled (hardly at all, considering the fight that had occurred). The same limp stature. But the smile wasn’t right. The guide had practiced his smile extensively, so he knew what was wrong with the copy, but didn’t say. There was never a reason to give the guide any more secrets than was absolutely necessary.

“Shall we go for another?” the guide asked.

“Don’t be unreasonable.”

“I have reasons. Tonight’s our last night. And what do I always say?”

“Live a little. But what do you mean, our last…?”

The soldier was still. So was the assistant. The guide swaggered away to rest his shoulder on the moldy table and scrape the scum from his knives, whistling with a mouth that the assistant had thought was incapable of whistling. He’d have to try again sometime.

“I- if we must go on, you should remove that handicap you’ve put on,” the assistant said.

“You mean this?” The guide slapped his face, which was also the assistant’s face. And laughed. “Very humble. But I can handle it.”

“Twins stand out too much. And you can’t run or fight, looking like that. You could get hurt and caught. That man almost...”

“It’s just a costume. I can handle it. Besides, this isn’t about him or me. It’s about you. Since tonight’s the last time we might ever see each other, I thought I’d try this out on your behalf. Let you know what you might be capable of, if we had the same inclinations. Sometimes I wish we did.”

For one gleaming moment, the assistant's heart swelled with empathy. It was a hell of a trick. “I don’t even know your name.”

The guide contemplated his reflection. “I got the name Freenet from somewhere. I’ll probably keep it.”

There was some sadness to what he said. Born without a name or a form, it was no wonder some of them fought the way they did, put their souls into their knives and actions.

But it was a trick. With this one, everything was a trick.

A laugh from the guide as sharp as his knives. “I just had to give a name to make you mist up? Should have jumped the gun sooner.”

The soldier was waking up.

“You’re a lot cooler than a lot of helpers I’ve been stuck with. But I’m not really a fan of how you just look and smile and never say shit.” The knives were sheathed with a metallic ringing. “It’s probably going to work out for you. Worms like you know how to dig in and hide. That’s why, since it might be my last chance, I just really wanted to see you squirm.”