"First thing's first" said Cheryl, who was still pretending she was Fern for the benefit of two sea mammals. "This killing me thing, what kind of proof did this freak want?"

"Substantial biomaterial" said Blowhole 2. "Presumably somethin' a greyzoner can't remain functionate without. Guess that part's gonna be tricky."

Cheryl brightened. "HA! That's it?! No sweat! I got this, just hang on...no peeking, boys!" she winked and turned around, as if the thing she was about to do occupied a similar social space to changing your undergarments, which it sort of did depending on the zone.

She pulled one of her arms into her sweater and squinted, tongue between her teeth, like someone trying to concentrate while they thread a needle. Whatever she was doing sounded more like a bunch of empty tin cans rattling around, along with a cartoonish "boing" and a bit of a slide-whistle sound, before a rather large, round lump made its way down her other sleeve and into her hand, like a basketball trick.

"TA-DA!" she said, proud of the very cool and funny thing she knew how to do since childhood.