“Do you care to explain this, Intelligal?” Siren hissed, taking a few steps back.

“He . . . he should be dead!” Intelligal sputtered. “Those are hundred-load explodium missiles! He should be nothing but a stain on the floor!”

Angel kicked aside his melted motorcycle and stepped forward. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I have a superstrong exoskeleton then, isn’t it?”

My eyes narrowed. Wait a minute. The old Angel hadn’t had any superpowers that I’d known of, just a souped-up motorcycle. It looked like this guy was the new and improved model. My eyes strayed back to the hard body. In more ways than one.

“Don’t just hover up there!” Siren screeched. “Gas them, you fool!”

I started forward to body slam Siren into next week when a puff of light blue smoke exploded in my face. I coughed and gagged and tried not to retch. It was the same odd smell that I’d inhaled before outside the factory. The sweet, noxious stench worked its way down my throat and into my lungs. My arms and legs felt like gelatin, all loose and wobbly. Beside me, Angel choked and sputtered. We both slid to the ground, caught in a cloud of blue gas. I tried to focus. Where were Hermit and Mr. Sage?

“Hurry up! Get it loaded!” Intelligal’s voice drifted through the fog.

98

J e n n i f e r E s t e p

Metal screeched. Something hit the floor. Siren cursed. Somehow, I rolled over onto my hands and knees. Those bitches didn’t know who they were dealing with. I was Fiera. Member of the Fearless Five. Protector of the innocent. Superhero du jour. A little knockout gas wasn’t going to keep me from kicking their asses. Slowly, very, very slowly, I crawled forward. Metal dug into my hands and scraped my knees, but I ignored the pain and kept going. After about twenty feet, I broke free of the cloud. I drew in a deep breath of soot-filled air. I still felt weak and disjointed, but some of the feeling returned to my arms and legs.

Too late. Siren stuffed something in the side of Intelligal’s chair and hopped on the arm. The helicopter rotor popped up out of the back, and the chair whirred and flew right over me. I pointed my finger at them, but I couldn’t find the strength to muster up so much as a single spark. I couldn’t even roast a marshmallow, the shape I was in right now.

A pair of familiar green boots flashed in front of my face.

“Fiera! Are you all right?” Mr. Sage asked, his eyes bright with concern.

I coughed some more. “Johnny Angel . . . still . . . in . . . there,” I wheezed. My tongue felt like I’d eaten a whole tube of sugar-flavored toothpaste, sticky and gooey sweet. Yuck.

“I’ll get him,” Hermit said.

He took a breath, held it, and plunged into the blue gas.