Finale leaned against the wall beside him. He looked away from the crowd for the first time, noting that the ‘wall’ was a concrete pad that the building had been placed on. Some work still remained to be done to incorporate the pad into the surroundings. He climbed up on top of it, keeping his popper in reach of his frame-extended arm.

He settled into a crouch, perched on the ledge, and thumbs flipped at knobs and catches, adjusting the frame around his body. It ran up his spine and down each limb, with limb extensions past the hands and feet. The effect of the adjustment was to freeze parts of the frame, relax other parts, and set it up so…

He tested.

No, not quite. A supporting strut at his back remained rigid.

…Like this, then?…

He leaned back, stretched out his legs a bit, finding footholds further down, the back of the frame gave a bit, like a recliner might.

Catches T3, T7, L2, R2, W4-6, E4-6. Lock W7+ all the way down, same for E, he told himself. If trouble started, he’d have to flick them before leaping into a fight. It’d take three seconds, but relaxing the constraints and turning his frame into a recliner meant he could sit here like this forever.

Not that it would be forever. He could see the ongoing situation they’d been kicked out of. Twenty people in black uniforms, no capes, and it still looked like they were one mistake away from letting a portion of the crowd through. People cutting in line, people wanting to complain. People who saw the violence and numbers and wanted to voice their own concerns.

People, above all, who hated capes. Who resented them or resented their failures.

Cheit had their own processing, with papers to hand out, literature, a volunteer to be assigned to each family. They were more organized, but even they were in disarray.

He had to put his hand out to catch the pill popper—Finale had bumped into it as she climbed up onto the concrete pad that this tall building had been mounted on. He leaned as far back as he could, frame creaking, to look up at his friend, viewing her upside-down.

Finale smiled, looking a bit mischievous and a bit guilty. She dropped to a crouch with enough speed that he thought she might crash into him, put a hand on him to steady herself, and then used a gloved finger to wipe snow off of his goggles.

“Thank you,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing!”

She was so bad at lying.

“Don’t flip any of my switches, okay?”

“I won’t.”