He’s right. He’d half hoped that he wouldn’t be. It was probably their only chance of survival- but still.
Buried in the sour mash of decaying brain behind that eerily perfect child’s face- a cyber-implant. The kind that allows an organic brain to use cybernetic limbs. And Lizard should know.
He’d picked up its faint signals as soon as he’d entered the Hole, had thought- hoped- it was just an echo of the one he’d installed in Witch’s broken skull. But no- he was right.
He concentrates on the transmitter, trying not to think about what being right meant.