“Pretty fucking freaked out,” someone else said. “What is this? That used to be one of the jail’s dogs.”

“They came after a team of heroes with the same setup and plan yesterday,” I answered. I turned around, looking at Etna and Crested, who were being given a wider berth by their new cellmates. “Past three days, things have been going a bit downhill.”

“A bit,” Tristan said. He rolled his shoulder, like it was sore.

“You alright, Capricorn? You’re not healed yet.” Rain was asking from the doorway that separated the lobby of the station from the hallway with the rows of cells.

“Yeah,” Tristan said, and it wasn’t clear if he was saying he was alright or if he was agreeing he wasn’t healed. “We needed some muscle.”

“We need you in one piece,” Sveta said.

Tristan pulled off his gauntlet, and shrugged a bit to create a gap he could reach his hand inside, between neck and armor. It came away rich with blood.

“Shit,” he said. He immediately switched out to Byron.

“Could really have used his power,” I said. “We’ll get you attention ASAP.”

Byron nodded.

“What’s going on?” a man asked. He approached the door of one cell. He had a goatee made more pronounced by a jutting chin, narrow eyes, and styled hair. By his outfit, which was a Patrol combat uniform that had been stripped down enough for regular wear, I had to assume he was an instructor.

“You’re Harris?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Were you here before or were you called in?”

“Called in. We arrived and it was chaos.”

“The staff at this jail must have been exposed to the power effect somehow,” I said.

“The food,” Rain said. “On the desks, everyone ate food from the same place.”

“Good eye,” Byron told him, head bowing a bit. He had to be anxious about his brother. And the constant pounding of fists on the front door. And the dog that was still struggling. Ineffectually, thankfully. “They would have had to give food to the dogs.”

“They probably did,” another boy said. He seemed young to me, which was odd when he was probably older than Rain and definitely older than Lookout. “There are four K-9s here. One for contraband, two for regular police work, and one for search and rescue. One of the regulars is pregnant with a litter, she wouldn’t get food.”

“You pay attention to that stuff, huh?” Sveta asked.

“I come here regularly on my shifts.”

I nodded. A clearer picture, now. We’d come in knowing the basics, though, and the basics hadn’t changed. The basics were bad.