Nick was torn as whether to eat the candy bar or use it as bait for the beetle. Cold water dripped off of his sodden balaclava as he thought about it, hitting his nose and heading for the moist floor. He stuck his tongue out and caught a drop, the water tasting acrid and sweet to his beauty-starved mouth. He thought of rolling in the cold grass outside his uncle's cottage when he was young, the dew sprayed by the clouds soaking his coveralls clear through to his Lulu Lizard Underoos.

He opened the candy bar. Re-Entry, it was called. It looked stale and inviting. The beetle chittered in the dark, wet basement. Nick tore off one small chunk, loving the way the caramel stuck to his fingerless gloves, like cobweb. He gave the piece of candy an underhand toss into the dark, wet basement. It disappeared into the gloom, the heat from his hand dissipating rapidly into the cold air. Nick placed the rest of the bar at the top of the stairs, and backed off a metre or two.

The beetle scratched and clicked, and Nick waited.

The building's roof had gone to hell a week ago, when an LAV had come screaming out of the sky and ripped it to shreds. Nick had gone to the hospital, and lain there for a week, grimacing against the pain in his shoulder. When he had returned, he'd noticed right away that a bug had moved in. There were signs, and he'd grown far too adept at recognizing them. So he'd gone to look for bait, for there was no way he was going to venture down into his dark, wet basement alone to confront an insect spirit.

Nick waited, and cupped the twin globes that lay in his jacket pocket. They were so cold today. He was glad all over again that he'd never had his eyes replaced. Roger had always said it was the only way to see, but Nick knew Roger had trouble with blurriness sometimes, trouble that wouldn't go away if he rubbed his eyes.

The beetle wasn't moving. The rain was letting up a little, the drips coming less frequently, more softly. Nick's fingers were stiff around the re-bar. His legs were coiled under him, and he waited to spring upon the bug that wasn't moving. The rain kept falling.

After waiting for long minutes, he heard the beetle shifting down in the dark, wet basement. It scrabbled around for a while. Nick heard the scrape of its legs on concrete, and the plop of wet leaves & paper being shoved aside by its probing mandibles. He imagined how its form would look poised above the hunk of chocolate. He sighed. Another bug to kill, or he'd have to leave this house. It was really an irrational thought, since he'd have to leave anyway. The roof was gone, and winter was almost here. He'd need shelter. But the bug had to die.

It had stopped moving again, and begun another round of the waiting game. Nick didn't mind. The rain was stopping, and he could see a hint of sun. It was weak, like everything here, but it was beautiful. It made lines of shadow upon the refuse-covered floor that Nick squatted on, lines that made Nick shiver. There, he saw a clear separation between dark and light. Here, hunkered down in a demolished bungalow, cold and wet from acidic rain, hunting a giant insect that had invaded his home, there was no line. Just a fade to black.

There. It was moving again. Nick stayed still. The Re-Entry bar lay glistening and beaded with drops on the floor, and gave off a sweet scent of sugar. Nick's stomach turned over, making a low moan. The rain was ended, and the sun grew brighter, spilling light down over the first few steps, illuminating the entrance to the dark, wet basement. Nick shifted silently, letting blood get into his legs.

Then the beetle was into the sunlight. It was a small specimen, and Nick knew that it would die easily. There were vestiges of human hands at the end of its segmented legs, and its face was a bizarre mix of insect and mammalian features. The sun made its mahogany carapace shine. It hovered over the Re-Entry bar, and waved its feelers back and forth in the wind. It was turning toward him when the re-bar crushed its skull. Nick dodged a swipe of its leg, and crashed the re-bar into its back. After a few more hits to its legs, the bug was unable to do much except rock back and forth upon its belly. Nick didn't kill it. He knew the other bugs would.

The streets were empty, and Nick stepped over a bag of motor oil-soaked rags. His stomach grimaced again at the thought of the chocolate bar, but not too hard. Even it had no hunger for toxin-doused food. Nick hoped he could find a new bottle of fabric-strengthener, or the rain would eat away his clothes in a couple of days. He dropped the gore-striped club as he walked. The sun made this wreck of a city almost mythical, he thought, a modern-day Atlantis. He began to hum under his breath, and walked a little lighter.