Secondhand turned and walked away, around the corner, and then reached down to his belt. Drawing in a deep breath, he deactivated his power.

Noise assaulted him, heavy boots and heavy armor, voices.

“—coordinated attack!”

“Which direction was it?”

He laid them out, five charges stuck to the wall in three seconds, head height to waist high, at the corner of the hallway. He would have placed more, but the running footsteps got close enough they were only a few feet away, just around the corner.

He used his power again, thumb flicking the activation for the battery to accelerate the process. If he didn’t, it took a minute or two before he could use his power again.

Walking back around, he put himself behind the pair, safely away, and leaned against the wall, hands in his pocket, detonator in one hand.

Undoing his power, noting his battery time remaining, he listened for two more footsteps, shielded the ear closest to the pair with one hand, then activated the detonator.

The explosions from these localized charges weren’t large by any means, but the crack they produced was sharp and satisfying. Every ounce of weight he carried while using his power was a burden that made every step forward harder. Something like a grenade was too heavy, too obvious.

Secondhand waited, one hand still at his ear.

“Capricorn!” the voice was hoarse, shaky. “Capricorn!”

He remained where he was. It was tempting to see the results, to figure out how to better approach things in the future, but poking his head out risked being seen, and he had to wait roughly a minute before his power was available, unless—

The fear aura washed over him, and his heartbeat skipped, his thoughts stumbling over one another. Every ache and pain he had from wading through the mud was exaggerated as he used his power instinctively, prematurely, because terror wasn’t something he was used to by any measure.

Rather than burn himself out and find himself slowed but unable to walk, he switched on the battery. It was at forty percent, and he burned it down to fifteen percent to get himself fully situated in the slowed time.

It didn’t help. The fear soaked into him, took the strength out of him, and made his fingers fumble at the buttons for the battery.

He grit his teeth, bearing it, stepping away from the wall.

Getting through that wall the cannon had blasted through would be miserable, doubly so because he was having to endure this, but he was confident enough. Maybe this emotion fuckery fucking shit would motivate him to push through.

Fuck, this sucked.