A single stone spike was propelled by the geyser behind it. It didn’t fly true, but it didn’t need to. It hit the mess of silver lines Rain had produced along the raised metal shutter and the top edge of the loading bay door, and the silver lines all flared. Things came down in pieces. Triangles of metal and chunks of concrete.

Shields were raised, and electricity crackled and arced out, the rocks and metal bouncing off, repelled by powerful electromagnetic forces.

Another constellation, another geyser of water, this time aimed downward and at an angle. The water went low while shields were raised high. Three of the four were bowled over, electric weapons and shields making contact with water.

They didn’t seem bothered. Protective gear, potentially. That was… disappointing.

The one who had remained standing and weathered the falling debris looked down, and she saw more silver lines on the ground a few feet down from the lip of the loading bay entrance. A few had already ‘popped’ as debris hit them, and cracks ran deep and straight. As some faded, Precipice threw more blades down. Hopping down would be potentially disastrous.

“Going!” the woman called out, as she turned around and ran for it, shield slung around to her back to protect her as she retreated.

“Guard her retreat!” one of the guys on the ground shouted, using his shield to help himself stand.

Swansong fired her power, a continuous blast that provided the recoil that let her sail over their heads. Her feet tapped the wall twice before she finally dropped down, rolling in the shallow water and rising to her feet with another short blast for the propulsion.

Sveta followed a similar route, grabbing the wrecked shutter and lip of the loading bay door and hurling herself in. Her landing was rougher, but that was mitigated by the fact that her body became a mass of tendrils coiled like springs as the parts made contact, then reformed after. Then she grabbed something on the wall to slingshot herself forward again.

I didn’t watch further. I had three guys to deal with, and there were three more at the doorway. Two more—one was running after Sveta and Swansong.

“Stand down,” I told the three.

The look on the doughy, bearded man’s face was blank, hollow, almost uncomprehending. He looked like the epitome of unhealthy, and between that and the blank stare… he was one hundred percent a thrall.

“Fuckin’ hurts,” the other guy whimpered. He was on his knees, cradling his hand. Another thrall… but I didn’t miss that his buddy looked at him with fear and sympathy.

Thralled, but not without humanity and care for his friends.

“Stand down,” I told them.

The big guy came after me. His buddy joined him, a guy muscular enough that it showed despite the coveralls and jacket. All neck and bicep.