She reached past the gun and up into her ribs, digging for the liver and digging into the liver. Pointed fingernails helped her to sever the connective tissue, and to get her fingernails in and around just enough that she could get a grip on it. When she tore it out, she felt the damage to nearby parts that were still connected by tatters and webbings of tissue.

A second later, the wounds were puckering up, the liver drawing into itself to close up the damage, hardening around where the damage was worst.

With a practiced throwing motion, she cast the gallbladder out and over the employee’s head.

It exploded outward without much noise, but with a visible puff of smoke and a spray of fluid, with a volume far exceeding what the tiny organ should have held within it spreading out over pavement and ice.

That D.J. didn’t seem to notice suggested it was quiet enough that Breakthrough hadn’t heard.

The person stopped running before she ran into the caustic acid. They looked back to see what was happening, and Sidepiece aimed a pistol at them.

“Listen carefully,” Sidepiece said. “That acid’s nothing compared to what I can do to you if I hurl something bigger at you. And I will. I’ll throw something at you that will make you a greasy smear. The only way you live is if you listen. Nod if you understand.”

The person nodded.

“Take your phone out, drop it.”

The electronics employee did as instructed, pulling the phone from an inner coat pocket. The phone bounced instead of breaking. A protective case.

“Kick it into the acid there.”

“Please.”

“Now.”

The person kicked, but the traction of the case was enough that it barely traveled.

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Sidepiece warned.

“I tried—I’ll…”

It took two more kicks to get it into the puddle.

“You’re going to reach into your car and move very slowly. You’re going to drop the keys. You can kick them under the car. I’m being real fucking nice, because the alternative is to destroy your keys and leave you without your car.”

The person obeyed.

“You’re going to sit. All lights and engine off. You put your hands on the dash, and you don’t move until we give the say-so.”

Sidepiece made sure the employee obeyed.

“If you have to piss, piss yourself. You don’t move a muscle.”

It was another few minutes and another six cars—the new ones parking much closer to the mall—before any cars joined the cluster that were parked in the corner of the lot.

“It’s the Undersiders,” D.J. reported. “Bunch of kids ran off. Going shopping I guess. Adults stayed to talk.”

“Figured,” Sidepiece murmured.

“It’s a meeting about fire… the Undersiders set a fire to burn intel. Hm.”

Sidepiece waited.

“Tattletale wants to protect sources. Antares is threatening to leak intel.”