“They are dying,” he says, voice muffled. “The long-lived ones will do anything to survive. They control everything. They know everything.”... “You tried to kill me,” I say. Oleg rolls off the bed and onto his knees. He looks up at me, hair wild, blood smeared on his face. Blue and red flashes of light from police cars outside roll off his gray skin. His hands are clasped together, as if he is praying. “I tried to protect you,” he says. “You learned their name.” “Whose name? I ask. “You should run from here. They are coming.” “Who!? Who is coming, Oleg!?” “Miss June,” he says, tears in his eyes. “It’s the automat.”