She used her power. Two blasts in quick succession. One to throw herself that way, and then one to fling herself at it at an angle. The hole was wide enough she could have passed through with her arms stretched out to either side, but the angle was steep enough her right shoulder grazed one side of the hole, and her left shoulder hit the left. She tumbled, and she felt the sting in her left shoulder that told her she would be bleeding.

The space on the other side was dark and cool. An industrial refrigerator hummed at the far end.

She used her power one last time, launching herself upward. She caught a shelf and felt it sway with her weight.

It steadied, and she waited.

“Trap?” one of the soldiers asked.

The woman soldier answered in a language Damsel didn’t recognize. Dutch or German.

Flashlights flicked on, and swept through the space. One beam passed beneath Damsel as she hugged the metal shelf. The metal was cold.

If that beam centered on her, somehow, then she would need to act. She would knock over all the shelves and scatter them, and then she would run.

The beam didn’t center on her. One found the hole she’d made in the far wall, leading into a dark hallway. Her escape route, if she knocked over the shelves. A red herring if she didn’t.

One of the parahumans moved further into the dark space. It was the mutating teleporter. He had four arms again. The one with the tube spoke up, his voice low, “No. We have other priorities.”

Then they were gone.

They would be focused on the truck.

Damsel smiled and dropped from the shelf. Her legs and shoulders hurt, but she felt good. Another win. This—this was far more of a thrill and far more productive than going to talk to a police officer that was looking for her, while in disguise.

All that was left was to wait. Soldat had to drive through another part of the city to drop off their things. She had interrupted that casual drive. Soldat’s convoy had stopped in the middle of hostile territory. One of two or three of the groups or players located in the area would hear or notice the truck being where it was.

She had no need to fight if she could manipulate her enemies into fighting each other.

She heard the confrontation begin. A boom from the one with the tube.

Imbeciles.

Damsel fully intended to leverage this. One side would limp away. She could go after them. If they sought shelter, she would threaten to collapse it around them.

She would break them.

“Damage in the alley,” someone said, far away.