The man stood in the center of the crosswalk, arms limp at his sides, his mouth yawning open. He gurgled. Beside him, a woman with gray hair was hunched over, hands to her mouth.

The collected members of Erring Right formed a series of loose perimeters, standing amid and in front of vehicles that had all come to a stop. Even now, after the dreaming death, Gold Morning, and everything in between, these particular heroes were far from being veterans. They included retired heroes who had come out of retirement, rookies who hadn’t wanted to sign onto anything big with big expectations, people who had drifted away from other teams, and those who didn’t know what they wanted except that they wanted safety in numbers.

They were large in number, generally speaking. They were dwarfed by Advance Guard and Foresight, but those teams had organization. Erring Right was something that had formed organically, filled with opposing interests, and like most large teams, would inevitably fall to pieces. The members would form splinters and then head off in their own directions.

That was always going to be the case. This team that Aunt Carol and Uncle Mark had joined to keep brushed up on their skills was never supposed to be something bigger.

Even now, there were those who wanted to run or play it safe, those who wanted to make a move sooner than later. Some—Carol—insisted on the most measured approach. Others wanted to do the opposite of measured, because years in the field had taught them to operate on instinct. Capes shifted restlessly, allies looking to allies. Rookies looked to the mentors they had found in the group.

Crystal glanced at the other perimeters, other lines of Erring Right’s capes at other areas nearby. She then set her gaze forward. Those situations were for them to handle, this pair was for her squad here. Privately, she wouldn’t have minded the ‘shoot him now’ approach, but it wouldn’t help anything if she said so out loud.

The man smiled, ear to ear, his eyes wide enough to reveal the whites. A gray stain began to spread across the front of his pants, then the back. What began as a leak became a pumping, a stone-gray liquid with the consistency of oatmeal flowing out of his pants leg to pile up around his shoe. Bucketfuls of the stuff filled the one pants leg and then began to flow out of the other.

The smile didn’t leave his face as fluid bubbled out of his mouth, then ears. His skin distended as the stuff piled up beneath it, his smile remaining so tight that it threatened to tear at his flesh.

Skin stretched so tight it was translucent, he began sweating, and the strained-out version of the stuff had an oily sheen.

“Can I just shoot him?” Crystal asked.

“No,” Carol answered, her phone held to her ear.

“In the leg, even?”