The hand boy couldn’t move, but Vista could, at least a little. Grimacing, the young heroine began extending the space between them. Their March changes tracks, slipping to where Vista, partially trapped in a cage of hard light, couldn’t follow her with a turn of her head or her eyes. The ground still shifts and alters, but it is easier going.

The one in black steps into her way.

“Don’t, Caryatid!” Vista shouts.

“But—”

“Don’t! If it’s between you or me, it should be me!”

“I don’t do this to save my own skin!”

“Neither do I! But you have that cute teammate to look after!”

“Move,” March warns.

The Dragon-mech was shifting position, finding a vantage point to shoot that didn’t involve bystanders. Their March matched it by adjusting her position, ready to evade.

“I’m invulnerable,” Caryatid growls.

“I blow up invulnerable people,” their March answers.

“She does,” Vista says. “Go. Run. Make sure everyone’s on the same page.”

The three’s March remained silent, but the three faces could track how she thought. The messages that flicker through the mind’s eye.

Last page.

Caryatid slides away, gliding across the ground. March advances, skipping forward as the gun fires above her, dancing around to put her rapier to Vista’s heart.

“Back away from the—”

March doesn’t stop as the rapier points at the heart, continuing forward and using both hands to overcome the resistance of the hard breastplate. She presses forward until the hilt sits flush against Vista’s armor plate.

The face that focuses on the explosive fuse was what allowed the sword to slide into and through the material. Now it charges it, lets the charge grow with every passing half second.

“This was fun.” Their March gave Vista a pat on the hair, her face close to the girl’s. She whispers. “Don’t worry. What comes next is neat. You got a cool, dramatic end.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m sorry you don’t get to see what happens next, but I need this city unpacked.”

“Fuck you,” the words are strained. She raises her voice, draws in a breath.

Their March peels away, ducking to one side, rolling over the hard light cage that encased a quarter of the rooftop. There was gunfire, chipping off one of the ears of her mask. Vista’s chest explodes, and the incoming gunfire stops, as if the shooter is momentarily stunned. The clatter of shards of breastplate and fragments of hard light are a distraction, a fraction of a second more time to slip away, while others avert their eyes from the mess.

As the city unfolds, their March is aware of everything. Her allies are busy or defeated, but her way is clear. The city starts to fold back to its normal position, once distant landscapes becoming distant again.