Saturday's head hits the moon-white mask with bone-jarring crack, and Saturday has, briefly, the satisfaction of the bitch's black-pit eyes widening in a refined expression of surprise.

Then shards of ice rip into her brain, radiating out to her eyes. She screams, falling - then caught, the familiar shape and fur - friend it's okay friend - pulled away as she moans and writhes in pain. There's a vise clamping down on her temples and she can't see anything through the blooms of unnatural color in her eyes.

"Fuck, bad idea - "