He looked annoyed at that. “If I was, and I wasn’t, it’s still putting paint on a house that’s going to burn down.”

“So you say, but you’re lonely and scared, so you came to old acquaintances for company,” I said.

“Fuck that,” he said.

“It’s a scary situation,” I observed.

“You think you’re getting one over on me, you get these quips—”

“They’re very satisfying, like when Kenzie tells you off and you don’t have a reply,” Sveta said. “You get this look on your face, like the mask skips. And then, unfortunately, you put it back on. Jessica had faith in you, you know.”

“You all think it means more than it does.”

“It means something,” I said.

“She stopped moving,” he answered, pointing.

I turned my full attention to the Titan Fortuna. It was hard to tell with distance factored in and the fact she didn’t have legs that moved.

“It means cracks in five, four—” he started, shifting his mass.

“What?” Sveta asked, alarmed.

“—Three, two—”

I hefted my gun.

He leaped from the building, and the light from my gun’s housing briefly illuminated him. Something between a jackrabbit, a kangaroo, and a humanoid in form, with a fur ruff around his neck, all black, with jagged incisors filling a wide, leering grin.

“—one,” his voice sounded small, as he dropped away from earshot.

I decided to take his word for it, grabbing Sveta’s hand to help give her a headstart, and then flying, gun aimed in case there was a moment of weakness or a critical point that needed shooting at.

I hoped he was lying, distracting us so he could get away without us slowing him down any further.

I hoped he was fucking with us, trying to put an expression on our faces like Sveta had remarked about seeing on his.

I hoped we were ready.

The first crack in reality spread, lancing up Titan Fortuna’s body, and tracing the specific lines of damage that the lasers had done to her, before forking up and into the air. The lights of powers close to her died.

The rest of the cracks followed immediately after.

Hopes extinguished.

Infrared 19.b

One hand resting on the gun at his hip, Gilpatrick used the back of his hand to push a door open. The room was dark, the air stale. The bed looked like the frame had been made by the occupants, with a thick headboard and footboard, crosses etched into each. The bed was made. A snapshot of life here.

A rifle was mounted above the headboard. Standard issue bolt-action that the government had produced for hunting, handing out to the people going out to the fringes. Gilpatrick walked down the side of the room, checked the adjoining bathroom, then under the bed, and finally removed the rifle from the mount. He popped out the bullet that was pre-loaded into the chamber.