“In the meantime, can you share some stories from the old days?” Finale asked, from her position on the ledge behind him. She leaned on his frame, which he’d partially detached from, causing the metal to squeak.

“War stories,” Withdrawal said. “Gotta call them war stories, to sound cool.”

“War stories,” Finale said.

“I might be running out of war stories,” Fume Hood said.

“Awwww.”

“I’ve told the one about my stint with Smokey? I would’ve been Bad Apple then.”

“Noo,” Finale said.

“Yes,” Withdrawal said. Then he frowned. His goggles had indicators at the edges—symbols more than words, because he was a bit slower with words than he would’ve liked. The light that appeared was the equivalent of a ‘check engine’ light. Fluid core? Heating? It appeared and additional displays appeared at a rate that made him think he was the one on fire, not Fume Hood.

Was something wrong? He could feel the heat prickling his skin inside his costume.

He didn’t have time to delve into it. Across the street, the line of people from the Patrol was losing out to the small crowd of fifty or so people. Some people who were waiting in the line of evacuees had gotten out of their car, pushing their way forward to yell—apparently about the delays and how the officers were more focused on this than getting things moving again.

When ‘this’ was what was keeping things tied up. Here and in just about every other place.

The added bodies meant the officers weren’t ready enough. Capes who had been hanging back sprung to action. People had broken through, and now they scattered, some going for things to throw. Others just trying to run, like they could get past twenty staff and everyone at the Cheit side of things, escape through, and have an apartment waiting for them.

If that was even their goal.

Withdrawal sheathed the tool he’d been using on Fume Hood’s fan, as Fume Hood ran forward, creating her orbs without throwing them. He started to lean back into his suit, and then decided he didn’t trust it. He put his right arm through the sleeve, strapped it in, flicked R-2 to lock, tightened R-0-1 for good measure—

A nervous-looking guy—the same guy his own age who had been shouting at him from the crowd—pulled a gun. He spun around, pointing it at capes, citizens from Cheit who were here to help.

“You don’t even regret your place in all of this!” the boy shouted. “You’ll do the same things tomorrow you’ve been doing for years! You’re actual poison!”

Withdrawal hefted his pill popper, holding onto his frame with his hand and foot positioning as much as the straps of it did their end of the work.

Too heavy. Alarm indicators appeared at his goggle’s edge.

“Cary!” he grunted.