That left one in the middle of the room, one unarmed and on the ground and no doubt climbing to his feet, and one coming around the corner, gun ready.

I flew, sliding the police officer along the floor. I twisted to hit the cabinet with my shoulder as we reached the end of the row. That would bruise tomorrow. I flew again, to move another direction, keeping away from the rest.

As we stopped, the officer had enough in the way of bearings to drop the gun. He drew his knee toward his chest, and then kicked the gun so it would slide on the kitchen floor.

Someone stepped through the doorway, stooping low and catching the gun in a way that wouldn’t have been possible if they hadn’t had a greater awareness.

No, as much as he was a master in execution, he was also a breaker. I had to be sensible. It didn’t make sense to fight a breaker like this when he was in his breaker state.

I pushed the police chief away, and then, reorienting, I flew straight up, through the ceiling. I felt my forcefield go down, bracing myself in case I brushed up against any wiring.

Second floor. I checked my surroundings. None of Kingdom Come’s people. The lullaby music was louder. The drones would arrive soon. I moved, hurrying down the hall.

I found the stairwell. I stepped into it, glancing down. No sign of an approach.

I peeled some of the metal away from the railing, stepped back into the hallway, and leveraged my strength to twist the metal around the door handle, to seal it shut. I knew there could be other stairwells, but at least this way I’d hear them if they tried coming this way.

Covering my back.

Priorities. Blindside was as classic a stranger as I’d ever dealt with. Out of action or out of consideration for now.

Lord of Loss was a brute. Textbook answer when faced with a brute was to ignore them as much as they allowed you to. It would take too much effort and it would take too much time when dealing with someone who couldn’t be decisively dealt with.

I could remember studying the PRT paperwork with Dean, doing the quizzes. He’d said the rule for brutes had an unofficial second part. That as much as you might try to put them off, they had a way of making you deal with them.

What had I said in response to that? I was a brute on paper.

Had that been the study session we’d had in my room? Dean would have been leaning against a pile of pillows at the head of my bed, Lyo-Leo on his lap, while Dean pretended to have him read the answers. I’d been sitting at the foot of the bed, papers and books strewn between us. Real homework and superhero stuff.