Miles removed his bow from his shoulder and drew a coated arrow, knocking it and pulling the string taut, pressing the back door open slowly, as if a gust of wind or explosion had edged it open. Judging from his focus and the look in his eye, he was prepared to fire as soon as he had the spellsword in his sightline. At the same time, Talia made her move.

“What was that?”

All three heads turned towards the source of the noise, away from the backdoor.

I held my hand at my side.

snapped the crossbow into my hand as I aimed for the spellsword’s lower body and fired a bolt, just as Miles loosed his arrow. His bow had significantly more power than my crossbow, but that worked towards our purposes here.

The spellsword—a cocky looking man wearing a fashionable tabard over jeans, immediately spun, dodging out of the way of Miles’ arrow. But he wasn’t prepared for the follow-up shot, which planted itself in his thigh. He grunted and went down.

I sprinted forward, climbing a small railing and vaulting over it to subdue a man who appeared to be sorting something at a foldout table. flared as he reached beneath the table, drawing out a massive chrome handgun I’d only ever seen the likes of in movies.

If that went off, everyone in the building would hear it, exterior conflict be damned.

It was either his hesitation or over-dedication to trigger discipline that saved me. I closed the distance in seconds, grabbing the barrel of the gun and slamming it upward into his forehead. He reeled back, stunned by the blow, and I used the opportunity to disarm him, pressing the release button and pulling back the slide just in case there was a round in the chamber. The round ejected from the top, clattering to the floor, and I dropped the gun after it.

In a blind panic, he dove for the gun, giving me an ample opportunity. I didn’t know whether he had another magazine or not, but it didn’t matter. I got the garrote around his neck and pulled, using my left hand as an anchor and applying leverage with my right.

One Mississippi.

Two Mississippi.

Miles was still dealing with his target. I’d thought they would both be civilians, but the slimmer man had the foresight to open his inventory and prove me wrong, withdrawing two daggers. Miles skipped backward, drawing his blackjack. Just like back at the receptacle, he watched the man’s eyes rather than his weapon.

The man lashed out at Miles’ chest. Miles shifted, keeping his feet planted, then swung his blackjack at the man’s outstretched wrist. The man let out a cry of pain as his knife flew across the room, and another cry as Miles disarmed him, driving a fist into the man’s jaw and sending him spinning like a top, catching him with the garrote before he could topple entirely.

Eight Mississippi.

A spout of fire saturated the room in dark orange. The Spellsword was back on his feet, wobbling, one hand outstretched as he poured a short gout of flame towards Miles, uncaring of the collateral damage. Miles changed tactics, using his grip on the garrote to throw the man over his shoulder and drag him out of harm's way.

Eleven Mississippi.

I needed to intervene somehow with Probability Spiral.

There were a few options. Tripping him up, using an overhead light, or messing with his aim. But Miles wasn’t like Nick, or Jinny, or Sae. He wouldn’t just take chance things happening in our favor as providence. He was probably already suspicious after the guard in the alley. This needed to be meticulously coordinated.

I loosened the garrote slightly and pulled it back, lifting my target's head up, so he was looking towards the wall, then slammed his forehead into the concrete. Before the garrote even hit the ground, I was loading another bolt into my crossbow and aiming it upward, towards the metal frame directly above housing two long tube lights. I aimed at the rear supporting wire with my crossbow, reaching out with simultaneously.

I fired.

The back wire snapped, the frame swinging forward perilously and slamming into the back of the spellsword’s head, the metal frame echoing like a muted gong. His thin sword dropped from his hand as he stumbled forward, reaching back towards the wound with a stunned expression. After several long blinks, he made the gestures standard Users made when they were navigating their menu.

Then he stared at it, visibly confused.

Trying to call for help.

I couldn’t help but smile. Before we went in, Miles gave me the details on one of his feats.

”It’s called Squelch. It’s a general feat, so anyone can use it. I found it by accident, because I’ve been trying to learn all of them, and melee fighters give me the most trouble, so I started there. It’s in with a bunch of generically named CQC shit, like Bash, Rend, Sunder. The naming convention doesn’t exactly fit, but it’s close enough that you could easily skim over it if you weren’t reading each feat separately. Hidden in plain sight. It can be toggled on or off, and when it’s on, all comms in you or your party’s immediate vicinity are disabled.”

I’d double-checked to ensure he wasn’t lying. Squelch was there in my feat list, surrounded by melee skills that were still grayed out. The information was invaluable. And had just risen to the top of my must-acquire list.

I hopped over the unconscious body, charging the spellsword before he could come out of his daze. My shoulder impacted his stomach and I grabbed him behind the knees, trying to topple him. He didn’t quite fall, though he was pushed back, his feet scraping along the concrete as he wrapped his arms around my back. I felt him take a deep breath.

There was a bone-shattering impact and Spellsword fell, dragging me to the ground, blood leaking from the side of his mouth from where Miles had hit him.

I pulled myself to my feet, sporting several new bruises and feeling the residual effects of my previous injuries even more now.

“Damn.” Miles shook out his hand. We were both breathing hard, but the fight had clearly taken more out of me than him. He half jogged to the door, and placed his ear against it. “Nothing. We’re not blown. Thank god they’re making a decent racket out there.” Casually, he reached up and grabbed the steel wire from the still hanging lamp, studying where it had severed and frayed. “That was a hell of a shot. I’d call you an idiot for trying it, but it worked.”

“Wasn’t sure why he’d just shrugged the sedative off, didn’t want to waste another coating.”

“Could be a buff. Magic types have a lot more to play with than we do.”

“Yeah.” I was leaning against the folding table heavily, and my eyes naturally tracked to its contents. “Miles,” I called in alarm.

There were dozens of wallets, clutches, and purses littering the table. Some of them were already cracked open, ID’s removed and scattered around.

“Well, one thing’s for sure. They were definitely focused on Users.” Miles took one look at the table and frowned, moving an assortment of junk aside and revealing a map beneath.

“They’re sorting them by region.” I realized. “But why?”

“Remember why you told me you wanted to keep the body-count down?”

“Because they’re our neighbors—oh shit.”

“Region nine, six, and eleven. Lot of attention given to the ID’s of people from those regions, while the rest are just scattered around. All regions are having difficulty filling their receptacles.” Miles said grimly. “And if those regions do fail—“

“There won’t be anyone left to find them. Or at the very least, people from those regions will have their hands full for quite some time.” I said.

Miles crossed the room, grabbed a tarp covering something obtuse and awkwardly shaped, and yanked it off. There was a pile of weapons and armor beneath it.

“Any chance they’re just robbing them?” I asked, my voice strained.

“No. Something’s tits-up in the state of Denmark. This is a processing area.” Miles pointed back towards the door. “They bring people through, identify them, strip them of weapons and armor. If the gear was the goal, they’d have it further in and locked down, or at least sorted. Instead, it’s an afterthought. Like they don’t care if any of these three idiots happen to grab Dick’s Compensating Longsword of Fertility and sell it on the market.”

I was starting to form suspicions, but stayed silent.

“Pre-dome, I’d say we were dealing with human trafficking. Could still be that, but the way they’re doing this—under the cover of the biggest disaster in US history? Could be way off base, but…” Miles clicked his tongue, and looked at me. “I’d bet good money there’s a necromancer in the building.”