I don't register it at first. My brain feels scrambled -- like it's lagging, like my HIRC chats when I have bad cell reception, trying to keep up with the chaos happening around me. One second, I'm turning, trying to warn Maggie, and the next--

BANG! BANG!

--two more gunshots slam into her chest. The first one didn't stop her, so he doubled down, firing two in rapid succession. I see Maggie jerk back, her body twisting, her face scrunching up in pain, but my ears... nothing. No sound. Just this dull, high-pitched ring filling every inch of my skull like someone jammed cotton into my head and turned the volume to zero.

Everything goes quiet.

It's like the world decided to take a break, to go on mute. But there's no relief. The silence is overwhelming, worse than any of the gunfire, worse than the impact of the shots. My heart pounds in my chest, too loud, too fast, but that's all I can hear. The echo of my own pulse, thrumming through my veins, thick and nauseating. I try to call out to Maggie, but I can't hear my own voice. Nothing. My mouth moves, but it's swallowed by the void in my ears.

I can't hear anything.

She's wearing a bulletproof vest. Where did she get a bulletproof vest from? I only have time to think about that for a moment, running over the possibilities in the span of a third of a second. The flashes of brown underneath her cracked red athletic gear.

It's my bulletproof vest. She must have taken it from one of my old costumes in the music hall.

I see Maggie stagger, her arms trying to raise, but they look shaky, unsteady. She's holding on, but barely. Her body crumples forward a little, and I catch sight of her chest--the vest is doing its job, but damn, it's not invincible. Even from here, I can see the bruising already forming under her shirt. She's bleeding on the inside. Her ribs are broken. The way she's moving, the sharp, shallow breaths--she's in agony, and it's a miracle she's not already out for the count.

Before I can even think to move toward her, the world jerks back into sharp focus.

I feel it first before I see it - a sudden, searing pain in my shoulder.

The switchblade.

Mr. Nothing.

He's fast. Faster than I gave him credit for. While I was trying to check on Maggie, he went in for the kill. I don't need to hear the sound of the blade scraping bone to feel it, and G-d, do I feel it. A deep, gut-wrenching pain as the knife digs into my shoulder, bouncing off the bone with a sickening grind. I jerk, trying to pull away, but he's not done. Not even close.

The knife slides back, not because he's retreating but because he's digging around, trying to wedge the blade in the wound and push past the armored fabric of my suit. He wants contact. He wants skin. He's trying to turn me off, trying to find any shred of exposed flesh where he can touch me and shut down my powers.

He's not slick. I know exactly what he's doing.

I grit my teeth, biting back the scream that's rising in my throat. My blood's already starting to clot around the wound, my regeneration kicking in, but it doesn't stop the pain. And it doesn't stop him from digging deeper.

"Not a chance," I growl, shoving back against him, although I'm sure he doesn't hear me. It's like trying to move a brick wall. He's got size on me, way more size, way more mass, and he's using it. Grabbing hold of me, trying to reach a slit or a cut in my costume, and keeping me grounded with his weight. If I want to stand up from over top of him, he's going to make me have to carry him up with him.

I swing my arm, shark teeth slipping from my knuckles, aiming for his wrist. He jerks back just in time to avoid a full hit, but I graze him, just enough to make him flinch. His grip on the knife loosens for half a second, and I use that split second to roll away, scrambling to put distance between us as the ground seems to be having trouble deciding whether or not it wants to be mud.

The silence is still crushing, but I can feel everything happening behind me. The impact of projectiles: chunks of glass, bits of rock, slamming into the walls, the floor, the tanks. Maggie's repulsion fields are still going strong, but she's slowing down. Every time she dodges a hit, I see the strain on her face. Mudslide's not letting up, and she's bleeding on the inside. Bruises, broken ribs, internal damage, whatever else that bulletproof vest couldn't protect her from. All the energy dispersed into her.

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But I can't focus on that right now.

I've got my own problem to deal with.

Mr. Nothing's on me again in seconds, and this time, he's not bothering with the knife. He tackles me, slamming me into the liquefying-and-resolidifying floor, pinning my back against the hard surface. The ground under us ripples, shifting between solid and sludge as Mudslide alternates between trying to help Mr. Nothing and trying to keep Maggie away, but Mr. Nothing doesn't care. He's focused. His fist comes down hard, aiming for my jaw, but I block it with my forearm, feeling the shockwave of the impact reverberate through my bones.

I swing back, my fist colliding with his ribs. It's a solid hit, and I feel something crack under my knuckles - maybe a tooth, maybe his bones - but it doesn't slow him down. If anything, it makes him madder.

He's bigger than me. Stronger. Older. He's got years of experience, and he's not playing fair. I can see it in his eyes. Unlike every other time we've met, he's playing for keeps, because he knows that he's surrounded by superheroes on all sides, and if he doesn't kill me and get away with it, he doesn't walk out of this reptile house a free man. He's not here to toy with me. He's here to win, to neutralize me the best way he knows how.

But I'm not giving up that easy.

I twist my body, using the momentum to throw him off balance, just enough to get my feet under me. I lunge, aiming low, trying to knock him off his feet, but he catches me by the arm, his grip like a vice. He slams me back down, hard, his knee pressing into my stomach, forcing the air out of my lungs. My vision goes white for a second as the pain flares up, but I push through it, my hands clawing at his arms, at anything I can grab. My claws sink into the fabric of his sleeve, tearing it apart, trying to slice skin, but it's not enough.

He pulls the switchblade back out, and I see his eyes flicker to the exposed skin near my neck. I twist my body to keep it away from him, but he's faster, and the blade comes down again, this time slicing across my forearm. The pain is sharp, immediate, but I don't have time to process it. I need to get him off me. Now.

I shove my knee into his side, right where I'd hit him earlier, and he grunts, momentarily loosening his grip. I use that moment to slam my elbow into his face, the sharp point of my bone meeting his jaw with a sickening crack. He stumbles back, his hand flying to his mouth, and I see blood dripping from his split lip.

I don't stop.

I can't stop.

I charge at him again, my fists flying, each punch aimed with precision. I hit him in the ribs, the stomach, the face--anywhere I can reach. He blocks some, but not all. My shark teeth graze his skin, trying to punch holes in his padded clothing, leaving red lines in their wake, but he doesn't slow down. Neither of us does.

It's a brutal, desperate fight. His strength versus my regeneration, his experience versus my instincts. Every punch, every hit, every scrape feels like it's dragging me deeper into this chaotic, animalistic rage, but I can't let myself get lost in it. I need to stay focused, stay in control, or he'll win. It feels good again, to fight someone who can fight back, is what I think when his fist slams into my skull at top speed, rattling my brain around in my helmet.

The fuzziness clears out of the corners of my eyes like I've been crying for the past fifteen minutes and just now, getting punched in the face, they've cleared it up. My hearing still hasn't returned all the way, but that's okay. I punch him in the jaw back and drag my teeth down. Every time they make contact with his body, I feel the pulse - my powers turning off for a split second, making my entire body ache, turning the teeth in my knuckles into sharp pinpricks of pain where they connect to the bone.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Maggie--she's still fighting, still dodging Mudslide's attacks, but her movements are slower, more strained. She's hurt bad, and I don't know how much longer she can keep this up. I want to help her, but Mr. Nothing's not giving me any room to breathe.

He lunges at me again, his fist connecting with the side of my head, and stars explode in my vision. My body jerks to the side, my balance thrown off, but I catch myself before I hit the ground. I'm breathing hard now, every inhale sharp and painful, but I don't back down.

I swing at him again, but he catches my wrist, twisting my arm behind my back. The pain shoots up my shoulder, but I grit my teeth and push through it, using the momentum to throw my weight into him, slamming us both into the ground. I can hear it - just barely - a muffled thump beneath the buzzing in my ears.

The floor ripples under us, shifting like quicksand, but I don't let go. I pin him down, my knee pressing into his chest, and for the first time, I see something flicker in his eyes. Not fear--he's too controlled for that--but something close. Like maybe he's realizing he's not going to walk away from this as easily as he thought. I slam my knee into his balls and his entire body goes stiff. I could smack him in the head, but I've heard too many horror stories of people getting concussions, getting hit in the head a second time, and instantly dying.

Really, really don't need that on my conscience.

He thrashes under me, trying to break free, but I've got the upper hand now. I grab his arms, pinning them to the floor, and with one quick motion, I pull out the zip ties from my belt, looping them around his wrists. He struggles, but it's too late. I've got him.

With a sharp yank, I get his wrists tight together, stuck above his head. He's still straining, trying to kick me off, so I knee him in the balls again and get a second pair of zipties around his forearms, before pressing down on his shoulders with my knees until he lets go of his switchblade. I'm not going to give him that opportunity.

I smack it away, sending it skipping across the ground.

Slowly, the sound starts coming back, and all I can hear is Maggie screaming at the top of her lungs like a berserker.