It was a question of waiting until they were caught, then aiming for the concentrated mass, favoring the side with captain that had just tried to shoot her. Aiming wasn’t a guarantee, but her throwing arm was well practiced.

She lobbed it, and her timing was perfect, because it went off while over the heads of the crowd. On any ordinary day, the kidneys produced a chemical blast, concussive, congealed, and activated—like napalm with something more noxious instead of fire.

That was on an ordinary day. Her kidneys were packed with kidney stones, which would have better been described as sea urchins that chose to dwell in the kidneys.

Her power translated that quality into a kind of aggressive shrapnel. Ten people were cut down. Three of them hadn’t even been in the radius of the initial detonation.

Even on an ordinary day, most of her organs had another effect. The blood they shed and the bits of flesh they carved out were activated, much like her kidney had been.

A smattering of smaller explosions followed the first detonation. Where blood had sprayed, it ignited, burning like oil that had been touched with a lighter, brief but hot enough to hurt.

“You assholes are a mess!” she cried out.

“No,” Disjoint said. “You’re hurting us more than them if you say it.”

“You need to get organ-ized!”

Muscle came away in strips. Pulling at the stomach muscle near the spine made her thigh tremble. She flicked the strip out in the direction of a pair of people who were finding their feet. The explosion was smaller, localized, and put them down. Muscle was clean—too concussive to tear away chunks and cause a chain reaction.

Nailbiter swatted at the stragglers, sending them sprawling. Sidepiece quickly pulled away another segment of muscle, nearly losing her footing as nerves got to her, and then flung it out, as best as she could. Straight into the mass.

“Can’t stomach what I’m dishing out?” she asked.

“Stop, please, mercy,” Disjoint cried out, from the distant rear of the fracas.

She smirked.

Three more Patrol soldiers remained. They looked like leadership, and two of them had riot shields. Nailbiter was playing with her food now that the rage had subsided. A prod here, a poke, trying to get over, under, and force a continual retreat that put the Patrol leaders further from their fallen friends.

Nail-fingers and feet that had been sharpened down into singular points stabbed the ground near the fallen, but by careful positioning or sheer luck, Nailbiter didn’t stab anyone who was lying on icy pavement.

She tugged out a knob of fat, from between organ structures. Fat burned like blood did.

With index finger and thumb, and a bit of the enhanced strength that her hands and forearms had, to help with the tearing, and throwing, Sidepiece flicked the glob of fat.