I felt the gun move, my hand involuntarily shifting, unable to point directly at it. It was regaining some strength.

“Hit them!” I screamed the words.

Hoping others would hear.

The gun’s shuddering as it streamed out its golden laser got worse, and with my powers being weak, the forcefield wasn’t strong enough to take it. With it gone, my flight went too.

I and the gun dropped the last ten feet to earth.

The landing was rough. The gun wobbled on landing and the barrel nearly brained me.

Lying on my back, staring at the night sky above me, I closed my eye, holding it closed until Kenzie’s camera display came up. I navigated through. Checking on the others.

Sveta had collapsed, her limbs and lower body a spaghetti tangle of very flat tendrils. A Number Boy was very close to her, kneeling. Whippersnap wasn’t far, either.

Tristan was grimacing, a blur tearing across part of his body, blue shades dancing with red ones.

Other capes, all around them, were struggling, trying to find their equilibrium.

And Rain—

In trying to get to him, I saw a glimpse of what Kenzie had been trying to capture on displays to send out to others, alongside Kenzie’s hands, poised above the keyboard, doing nothing. She was saying something, going by how her head moved, the glance to her right at Chicken Little.

That display showed the map of connections between Titans. A map of gray tendrils and bright white straight lines. A red x between two.

I looked over at Rain, moving on to the next viewpoint.

It wasn’t his eyes I saw through, but an external view of the space beyond the dream room. He was out there with Colt, next to a crystal pillar. Working.

Love Lost stood on a ledge, looking out over the side. One of the agents from within the system had felt what we’d done, much as the Titans had.

We’d hit them where it hurt all of them.

And in the doing, we’d thrown our own powers for a loop.

I could feel my powers stirring, struggling to find their way back to even footing. I didn’t push the Fragile One to perform.

Instead, wincing as I was forced to put weight on my foot, I tended to the gun, checking it over. One rough catch, two short falls. I couldn’t keep treating it like this and expecting it to perform.

The Stranger was starting to draw near, now, or its range was increasing back to what it had been. I could tell because the area I couldn’t bring myself to look at was shifting, growing.

They were recovering faster than we were.

THAT DIDN’T NOT WORK