This will be the last. 

No more poking about in labs. Threatening my sisters. The heavy gun at my hip. “You look so lovely in this shade of grey, Cat. Makes your skin glow!” 

Carla smiles winningly at me as she opens the door, lips as glossy and laminated as the first time I met her. 

Plastic. People tended to have sections of themselves that were plastic, (smiles especially) but her entire body glistened in that artificial way under the yellow lighting. 

“Always such a shy child. Just make sure to say a big hello to the nice men when you walk in, okay?” 

Consistently plastic. 

Six men turn to watch me enter. 

I recognize the one in the center immediately. His face is drowned in an eternal flow of melted butter, always stopping just short of his neck to be zipped back up to his head and continue the cycle. 

“Catherine. It’s lovely to see you.” There’s no doubt a smile somewhere underneath the thick fluid, but I ignore the offer of a reply. 

Today he’s a neutral sticky yellow. 

When he’s in a better mood, it has more cocoa, and when he’s not, peanut butter drips onto his shoes. 

“Don’t mind her, gentleman. She’s just a bit shy.” 

The current president. I wrinkle my nose. The churning fats are as unpleasant as always. 

My eyes drift to the first man, fidgeting behind the president, hands unripe mangos obviously too green to be picked. Every time he shifts his weight, spoiled milk drips from his ears and copper coins fall from his eye sockets. 

“I-It’s lovely to meet you… miss Caroline?”

Ugh. Gross. 

I point at him. “No.” 

Butter-President nods, and Carla takes him away. 

Muted stuttering echoes through the back of my mind, but the first man’s cries are lost on a cynic's ear. 

The second man is probably smiling at me, but it’s lost in the cascade of white sugar making up the lower half of his face. Though his hands are tucked behind his back, honey dribbles onto the floor behind him. 

I barely stop myself from covering my nose, the sweetness so sickening it makes me want to vomit. 

“Hi, little one. Did you pick out your dress? It looks very pretty on you.” His crotch is just as plastic as Carla’s face. 

I shake my head. The guards take him away. 

The third has a human face, salt-and-pepper coif and neatly trimmed beard. He smiles gently at me, and I tentatively return it. 

His entire body is plastered in… Meats? Generous cuts of ham and bacon crisscross his waist and his hips, neck more link sausage than skin. 

“It’s lovely to meet you, Miss. I’ve heard so much about you.”

He reaches out to shake my hand, and the meat squelches, blood oozing out of the muscle. Privately, I gag in my throat at how rotten it smells. 

“Nope.” 

I turn my gaze to the fourth.

His forearms and thighs are evergreen bark, knobby and lined, creaking as he shifts his hands into his pockets and steps forwards. His eyes are deep sea, too dark a shade of blue to be anything but black, and something lurks beneath the surface, a glowing lure bobbing in his irises. 

I swallow dryly. At least he wasn’t disgusting to look at. 

“A little young to be with the big shots, aren’t you?” 

He cocks his head at me and grins. His teeth are fanged. 

“No,” I whisper, and he looks unphased and escorts himself out with a little wave. And so the last, our fifth. 

I look at him. 

I see a man in a mottled brown suit too big for his bony stature. His tie is alarmingly orange, clashing with a mousy mop of hair and easter egg blue eyes. There’s some scuff on his shoes, spots of discoloration on his off-white shirt. 

And I see nothing else. 

He’s human. 

“Um… Mr. President, apologies for interrupting, but who is she? What is going on?” “Yes. He’s the one.” 

It feels nice to see nothing. 

“I appreciate it, Catherine. My little helper, isn’t she so resourceful? Carla, would you help our dear girl back home? She deserves a treat, maybe break open the cookie jar.” 

Butter-President speaks, but I keep my eyes on the fifth man, drinking in his figure for as long as I can. 

After a moment, I’ve already passed the acceptable threshold for me to stay. I turn, walking back out of the room with Plastic Carla by my side. 

It’s all pointless.

Butter-President used to be suit-too-big-for-his-bones and all easter-egg-blue too. Everyone turns in the end. 

Everyone. 

When I look in the mirror, what do you think I see?