Blood arcs out of Tanya. She keels backward, pulled by the force of it. Her body flashes see-through, then solid again, like the Glock did in my hand.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He yells. “Get him. Before his Action charges back up.”

Nonononononononono

Thoughts compress, jumbling together.

(Not the gravel lot, not the gravel lot)

I Unfurl(eyes open, this time), pulling in on myself, matter disappearing, like there’s a black hole in the center of my chest. For one microscopic second all of Rithium seems to morph, becoming a grey void, every person, object, and thing replaced by scrolling walls of text, lines of frantic code.

No time to stop and wonder.

Everything morphs back to normal as I Furl next to Tanya’s fallen body. Time still moves slow. Flashing lines of lucidity run across her like bolts of electricity. I’m already pulling my revolvers from the holsters, cocking back the hammers with my thumbs. To the other side of me, Sater is on one knee, pushing himself upright. His wide eyes pivot in their sockets, turning toward me with almost comical lethargy.

I point one of my revolvers at his face. Sorry, bud.

It’s the only way to keep him safe, now.

I pull the trigger, initiating a loud thump that echoes loud and relentlessly, soundwaves overlaying, trapped by my slowed perception of time passing. A spark of red issues at the tip of the barrel. Recoil bounces the revolver in my hand, pushing back against my palm.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

Sater’s face caves in, a massive hole bored by the sheer force of the bullet. His neck snaps sideways, body pulled inexorably toward the street.

There’s no flash, no see-through stuff. I would have had to use the Glock for that. I already told Oscar I wouldn’t do it. Never would. But this way he might be safe in the real, at least for another few moments.

That’s why I aim the other revolver at Tanya’s head. Her eyes are pure white, irises rolled back as she writhes in slow-motion on the ground. Something strange is happening, but she might not be dead yet.

Please be okay.

I pull the trigger, turning away just as the bullet makes impact with her skull.

Then, I turn, leveling a revolver in Oscar’s direction, while I try to raise the barrel of the other revolver up toward my head, so I can off myself. The movements of my arms and hands feel frustratingly sluggish, like wading in waist-high mud.

The revolver moving to point toward Oscar reaches its destination first. Oscar has his Beretta angled at me, one eye clamped shut as he looks down the sight. In my peripheral, I can see the clumps of Rifters behind and near me scrambling, pushing each other, trying to get out of the danger zone.

I pull the trigger, just as the tip of the Beretta flashes yellow. There’s a spark of light as the two bullets collide, pinning together in an arcing bit of shrapnel. They spin, swerve, and hit a Rifter in the head just a couple paces to my side. His head blows apart, body flashing once before falling, lifeless. Dead.

I can feel my Action Skill starting to wind down, time speeding back up to its normal cadence. Too late, I notice the bits of air curving inward on Oscar as he prepares to Furl. He disappears, and I feel a blast of air from behind, jostling me, whipping at my coat. I feel one of Oscar’s hands grab the revolver I’d been trying to point toward my head. His other hand is groping inside my coat, reaching for the Glock. I pivot, trying to shoot him, but his fingers find the Glock, and the motion allows him to easily pull it free from my belt. That feeling of the Dart’s connection to the Glock goes away as soon it’s off my person. Oscar releases my hand and sidesteps, ducking a shot from one of my revolvers and furling again.

Oscar refurls on top of a building on the opposite end of the plaza. He tucks the Glock away.