But we dive in separate directions.

Just like that, Adam pops back into the visible world.

“Shit,” he says, bringing his own blaster up and gunning down the nearest Mog.

“There!” shouts one of the other warriors.

So much for doing this guerrilla-style.

Seeing Adam in danger, Bernie Kosar is the first one to launch into battle. One second he’s a toucan, innocently flying towards the nearest group of Mogadorians, and a blink of an eye later he’s in the shape of a muscular lion, slashing and snapping his way through our enemies. A lot of the Mogs are still scrambling from the explosions and haven’t even seen Adam yet, so Bernie Kosar easily gets the drop on them. He’s faster and more ferocious than the last time I saw him fight, angrier maybe, and I remember that he nearly died back in Chicago. Whenever the Mogs do manage to draw a bead on him, Bernie Kosar shape-shifts into a smaller form—a bug or a bird—making himself an impossible target. Then, when he’s in a better position to kill, Bernie Kosar turns back into his predator form. The transitions are so smooth, it’s almost beautiful.

Our pet Chimæra has gotten really good at killing Mogs. And so have we.

A pair of Mogs to the left have managed to regroup enough to target Adam. They’re easily picked off by blaster fire from our group’s actual position. That must be Sarah and Mark, and they don’t stop shooting when those first two Mogs are dusted. There are a lot of warriors caught out on the scorched earth of what used to be their runway. It’s all empty space and no cover. I see Sarah put down two warriors in quick succession.

Marina runs out of the jungle to Adam’s side and then they’re charging straight into the fray. Some of the Mogs are trying to retreat and regroup, but others see them coming. They square up and take aim. Pretty soon the air is buzzing with blaster fire in all directions. The odds are something like twenty to one.

Not bad.

Adam takes the lead, bounding forward with big strides, his every footfall sending shock waves rippling under the Mogadorians’ feet. When the ground quakes it makes it nearly impossible for the Mogs to properly aim. Some of them go toppling into each other, blaster fire zigzagging in every direction but straight. One particular seismic blast results in a loud rending noise as two sections of ground split apart, half a dozen Mogs plummeting into a deep crevasse.

I guess we got our pit trap after all.