‘Ahead’ was another four hundred meters, which was like flying across four and a half city blocks, except the tunnel had nothing to differentiate it except an intersection here, a sealed door there. The tunnel, though it was ten feet by teen feet across, was claustrophobic, and gave me a feeling like being suspended in air.

Then barricades, chunks of concrete piled up, scarred where they’d been hit by the shaker’s power. Past the barricades, I was in the gallery. A massive open space with a pillar skewering it through the middle.

The gallery had been named as one of the key grounds to hold, a defensible position and a place to turn into a base camp. I’d remembered because this was where the character assassinations had come from. I could see the groupings of desks, consoles, and concrete platforms with eight, ten, or twelve sides; I wasn’t about to count while there were other things going on.

The attack he’d flung back had been in hopes of catching someone else off guard. They’d been defending a position or mounting an attack. Trying to retake this space.

And they were in the midst of it. An ongoing battle that our side was losing. Tinkers in white came in as phalanxes, tinker guns fired, and I could see Stonewall enduring a pummeling as he fought to get close enough to a squad to start breaking some people, stone armor and shield chipping away, glowing, or facing an ever-increasing burden of what could have been acidic or radioactive slime, silver in color. There were four tinkers in front of him, backing away step by step while they coordinated their fire. Ten tinkers were behind him, battered and knocked down, their guns sent sprawling.

There were other capes, though precious few I recognized. Teacher’s predominantly wore white, had similar gear. I could see at least a half dozen thralls with powers, a few monsters that might have been master minions or thralls with drugs in their system, and a constant influx of more, rushing in to take up cover, fire over that cover, and apply a constant and unending pressure.

I’d have to trust the others to handle catching up and getting here. For now, people needed help.

The high ceiling made flying possible, but the sheer amount of tinker guns made flying a risk, too. I focused my efforts around the pillar, flying close to it so it would shield me, and corkscrewing around clockwise, then counterclockwise, before shifting direction.

Someone shot me. No lightning, no plasma, just a specialized slug and a gun that roared like a chainsaw. Wretch down. I adjusted course.

The follow-up shot caught my armor, right where my heart was. The impact sent me spiraling through the air.

I realized what was happening, and dive-bombed, straight for the nearest cover.

Teacher granted powers, and this included accuracy.