Marathon takes a step forward, and I immediately take stock of our situation. Three of us: me, Maggie, and Sundial. Four of them: Marathon and his three goons - Brass Knuckles, Baseball Bat, and the human refrigerator. One exit, currently blocked. Cramped space filled with folding tables, a mini-fridge, and whatever else they're using to run this operation.

  We're not here to win. We're here to get out.

  "Blink," I whisper into my earpiece, keeping my eyes locked on Marathon. "We're going hot. Repeat, we're going hot."

  No response, just static. Great. "Tasha?"

  "Problem with your comms?" Marathon smirks. "Lots a buildings are electrically shielded these days. Even abandoned ones."

  Brass Knuckles cracks his neck, the metal on his hands catching what little light filters through the boarded windows. Baseball Bat taps his weapon against his palm, a rhythmic thump-thump that sets my teeth on edge. The human refrigerator simply stands there, massive arms crossed over his chest, blocking the exit with his bulk alone.

  "Flashpoint," I murmur, "we need an exit."

  Maggie nods almost imperceptibly, understanding my meaning. Sundial shifts her weight, and I can tell from her posture that she's already scanning the immediate future, looking for openings.

  "Boys," Marathon says casually, "let's show our guests out. The hard way."

  They move all at once - coordinated, practiced. Refrigerator Guy lunges for Maggie, massive hands outstretched to grab. Baseball Bat swings at Sundial, the weapon whistling through the air. Brass Knuckles comes straight at me, metal glinting on his fists.

  Sundial moves before Bat Guy even completes his swing, stepping inside his guard and redirecting the momentum of his attack. The bat whistles harmlessly past her head as she grabs his wrist and forearm, using his own momentum to send him crashing into a folding table. The laptop slides dangerously close to the edge. Marathon lunges to save it, his eyes wide with alarm, taking his sweet time to not get involved in the fight.

  I duck under Brass Knuckles' first swing, feeling the air displace above my head. He's fast but telegraphs his punches. Second swing comes in low - I sidestep, but he's quicker than I expected. Metal slides against my ribs, and pain explodes across my side. Not broken, but definitely bruised.

  "That all you got, wolf girl?" he taunts.

  I answer by growing teeth along my knuckles and driving my fist into his stomach. The teeth puncture his shirt, drawing first blood. My blood sense instantly maps the contours of his circulatory system - and there it is, that familiar orange fizz. Jump, definitely.

  He grunts in pain but doesn't fold like he should. Instead, he grabs my wrist, squeezing hard enough that I hear my bones creak. His eyes widen in surprise when my bones don't immediately snap, and my eyes widen in surprise as I use teeth to push his hand further away from the surface of my skin, biting back up against him, forming a layer. Something a little like Instant Armor. But pointier.

  Across the room, Maggie has her hands up defensively, force fields shimmering invisibly around her palms as Refrigerator Guy tries to corner her. He's moving with unnatural precision, every step calculated to cut off her escape routes. He takes swipes, swings, and palm thrusts unbecoming of a street fighter, angling them right around where Maggie is about to be just half a second too fast. Precognition? Or what?

  "Little help!" Maggie calls out, backing into the wall.

  Sundial is handling Bat Guy efficiently, using his wild swings against him, but she can't break away. Marathon stands back, watching, seemingly content to let his goons do the work. He's protecting the laptop, cradling it like a baby.

  I need to create some chaos.

  I twist suddenly in Brass Knuckles' grip, growing teeth along my forearm. They slice into his hand, forcing him to let go with a yelp. Blood drips onto the floor, and my sense of him sharpens. More blood isn't more better, but it's easier to see in the dim light here just from the sheer phosphorescence, the faintly glowing overlay in my brain.

  "You bitch!" he snarls, shaking his bleeding hand.

  "Tell me something I don't know," I mutter, then drive my foot into a nearby metal chair, sending it skidding across the floor with a deafening screech. It crashes into one of the folding tables, knocking over a stack of boxes that spill their contents - small packages of different colored pills. Jump, in all its variants.

  Marathon's head whips around at the noise. "Watch it!" he hisses at his goons. "Keep it quiet!"

  I use his momentary distraction to rush toward Maggie, slamming my shoulder into Refrigerator Guy's back. It's like hitting a brick wall - the man barely budges, but he does turn, annoyed that I've interrupted his pursuit.

  "Force spike!" I shout to Maggie.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  "Web throw!" she yells back, putting both palms together like she's doing something from a video game. There's a loud, painful whump that hits the air, followed by another, and another, punching into Fridge Guy with all the concussive force of an angry, prepubescent jackhammer.

  Not enough to escape, but enough to give us breathing room.

  "We need to go!" I tell her, keeping one eye on Brass Knuckles, who's advancing again, blood dripping from his hand onto the floor. "Now!"

  "Working on it," Maggie grunts, casting another force field to deflect Brass Knuckles' renewed attack.

  Sundial has Bat Guy in a joint lock, his arm twisted painfully behind his back, the bat lying useless on the floor. But Marathon is moving now, setting the laptop down carefully and approaching Sundial from behind.

  "Sun, six!" I shout, using the clock-face direction system we've all picked up from cop shows.

  Sundial drops and rolls without looking, clearly having already seen Marathon's attack in her precognitive vision. Marathon's kick passes through empty air, and Sundial pops up behind him, delivering a precise strike to his kidney.

  Marathon doesn't even flinch.

  He turns, surprisingly fast, and grabs for Sundial. She evades again, but her expression shows a sort of annoyed surprise. Another palm strike to the temple, and Marathon's head snaps back but without bending, just like how mine moves when I'm clenching.

  "You're not the only one with tricks," Marathon says, his voice steady despite the exertion, teeth bared.

  I'm still processing this when Brass Knuckles rushes me again. This time, I'm ready. I sidestep his charge and stick out my foot, sending him crashing into Refrigerator Guy. They collide with a satisfying thud, momentarily tangled together. Bat Guy is lying on the floor, trying to unfuck his hyperextended elbow, groaning in pain.

  "Exit!" I shout to Maggie, pointing at the narrow path that's opened up. She slams her force fields against the hinges of the door loud enough to make it creak and rattle, and then shoves herself an inch off the ground with a forcefield-propelled jump to avoid one of the downed goons reaching out to yank her leg. Another forcefield stomp down onto his hand, and I find myself wincing. That's gotta hurt.

  Three down, temporarily. Only Marathon stands between us and the exit now.

  "Not bad," he says, not even breathing hard. "But I'm not stopping 'til you cry uncle."

  He moves with unexpected speed, intercepting Maggie before she can reach the door. His fist connects with her stomach, driving the air from her lungs. She crumples, force fields flickering out, and then he grabs for the fabric of her costume.

  "Flash!" I shout, lunging toward them.

  Marathon turns to face me, still holding Maggie by the collar of her costume. "Stay back, or the kid gets worse than winded."

  I freeze, calculating options. Sundial is beside me now, her stance ready but cautious.

  "Let her go," Sundial says, her voice cold. "This doesn't need to escalate."

  "Too late for that," Marathon replies. "You broke into my place, snooped through my stuff, and now you want to walk? That's not how this works."

  Behind him, I notice Maggie's fingers twitching. I need to keep Marathon talking.

  "What's the deal with the different colors?" I ask, nodding toward the spilled Jump pills on the floor. "Marketing gimmick, or do they actually do different things?"

  Marathon snorts. "You really think I'm going to give you a product breakdown? Interested now that you're on the losing team?"

  "Just curious about what you're pumping into yourself," I shrug. "Making your blood all fizzy and orange."

  "Just a side effect," he says, eyes narrowed. Bat Guy is slowly rising up behind Marathon, a makeshift splint or whatever made out of ripped up chunks of his shirt tied around his bad elbow. Trying to loom menacingly. Trying.

  Maggie chooses that moment to act, generating a small but intense force field right at Marathon's wrist. He yelps in surprise, his grip loosening just enough for her to twist free. She immediately creates a larger field between them, pushing him back, and then does another spiked stomp on his toes, the propulsive force between them throwing Maggie back towards me.

  "Move!" I shout, already lunging for the door.

  Sundial is right beside me, Maggie scrambling to follow. We're almost there when Refrigerator Guy recovers, placing himself solidly in our path - I grab Maggie, whose feet aren't touching the ground, and throw her towards the door like a missile.

  "Dodge this!" I yell, loud enough to get his attention, as Maggie gets on all fours and propels herself into his knees. Whatever he's got - precognition, muscle memory, whatever, there's only so many ways you can distort your body to avoid three people coming at you from different angles. At least one of us has to break through, and it's Sundial, grabbing a chunk of his hair, hand under his armpit, flipping him into the other three like a bowling ball.

  Maggie has the door open. Sundial is through. I'm three steps away when Marathon appears in front of me, having climbed over, scrambled, like a child in a playpen, ducking over the human avalanche.

  "Not you," he says, grabbing for the back of my neck.

  I duck under his arm and drive my teeth-covered fist toward his midsection. The impact feels like hitting concrete, but I feel my teeth penetrate his jacket, drawing blood. Again, that orange fizz in my blood sense, but stronger, more concentrated than his goons. Whatever he's using, it's premium grade. Either Fly, or he's on multiple doses of the same kind of Jump. I don't know. I'm trying to scrape out more sensory data - the way his blood feels thin and syrupy instead of thick and syrupy, the way it's fizzy-er than everyone else's. He's a long time user. Maybe since Jump first hit the streets.

  I am thinking about all of this as his fist collides with my jaw. I clench as hard as I can, but it's not fast enough in terms of reaction time. I whip back and spill towards the door.

  Marathon barely seems to notice the wound I left on him. "Cute trick." He swings again, his fist connecting with my shoulder, spinning me around.

  Pain explodes through my arm, but I use the momentum to continue my turn, coming back around with a kick aimed at his knee. He shifts just enough that I catch his thigh instead of the joint, robbing the blow of its effectiveness.

  "Bloodhound, now!" Maggie shouts from the doorway, her palms together, the air in front of her shimmering. A small pile of Jump is in between her fingers, and it goes flying like buckshot pellets towards Marathon. His flinch reaction is enough, covering his face in expectation of something worse to come. I scramble forward on all fours, diving through the opening toward the exit.

  I'm halfway through when something metallic clangs against the wall beside me. Marathon growls in frustration behind me. The door is right there. Sundial and Maggie are already outside, urging me on. I push to my feet, lunging for freedom.

  And then, inexplicably, the world inverts. Something yanks my ankle with impossible force, and suddenly I'm upside down, suspended in mid-air just inside the doorway. The blood rushes to my head as I dangle, my hands scrabbling uselessly at empty air.

  "What the--"