The Wasp Commander reduced his grip down to one hand and reached down to detach the magazine from the rifle as he abandoned it to the tendrils. No use giving her something to shoot him with. He fired the one round that was already loaded, then let go, kicking the weapon away and drawing his pistol, wheeling around.

It didn’t matter. The boy fired his own pistol, placing a bullet directly down the barrel of the Wasp Commander’s weapon. His gun detonated from the internal pressures and stresses.

Swansong used her power to leap up, taking advantage of the chaos. The Wasp Commander gave an instruction to Dripfeed, who closed into melee with the parahuman.

She used her power, which threw off his aim, but he kicked her in the ribs, and it seemed to do a number on her, dropping her to one knee. She used her power again, aiming at the floor beneath his raised foot, and propelled herself backward, into the hole she’d come up from. Dripfeed checked for permission. The Wasp Commander gave it. Dripfeed chased.

The boy was the real concern. The remaining three guns turned his way. Without the pressure on Tress, however, the tendrils reached across to seize them by wrists and hands. Shutter gripped one of the bands of flesh in one hand and shredded his palm and fingers.

While they were held, the boy walked up, striking each one of them once.

The Wasp Commander last of all.

“Why did you come?” Tress asked, as the boy advanced. “Wait, don’t—”

The boy stepped forward, two weird stuttering steps like he was dancing or feinting, before he lunged forward, closing the distance, and struck the Wasp Commander.

The world spun as the Wasp Commander stepped back, found no footing, and fell into the hole.

His head cracked hard against concrete, and he felt his special knowledge flee him, his regular thoughts scattering into darkness and brightness, stillness, and noise. He tried to lift his arms and legs and found them too heavy.

The boy smiled, looking down at him.

“Why did you come?” Tress asked.

The Wasp Commander struggled to listen. If it came down to him needing to justify the use of extensive medical skills and resources and needing to justify keeping his position, it would help to have information on the enemy to barter with.

“Are you coming with us?”

“With you, yes.”

The Commander heard footsteps, and with his head unable to move without stunning pain, he had to guess who it was. Dripfeed.

It was Swansong.

“All okay?” Tress asked.

“I took his leg. The other fell into my blast,” the heroine said, head turning, white eyes showing nothing and staring into nothing. A concerned look crossed her face. “Do you have water?”

“No, I drank the last Capricorn gave me. Why?”

“It’s not important.”

“Didn’t he give you a bottle? I saw you drink just five minutes ago.”

“Yes,” Swansong said. She made a face.