Rip pulled out a Thompson submachine gun in one smooth motion, retrieving his wallet with one hand and the gun with another.

Cream slashed as Rip brought the muzzle down, the blade slicing through metal and wood. The gun fell apart in Rips hands, its muzzle and stock clattering to the floor.

Cream drew back for another slash and Rip retrieved a Webley loaded with enhanced bullets. He squeezed off a round without aiming, the gun barking in the darkened hallway, its flash lighting up the building’s interior like a bolt of lightning.

The bullet slammed into Cream’s middle. Blood blossomed like a flower over his stomach, staining his shirt. He snarled and swung wide and high with the blade.

Rip ducked before he could squeeze off another shot, the razor sailing in an arc above his head. Behind him he heard Blair dropping lightly through the hole in the stairs he made.

She pulled out a flashlight and turned it on, lighting up the dusty hall and shining it in Cream’s face as she raced toward him.

He roared in rage and threw a cloud of dust in both their faces. Then he turned and ran down the hall.

Rip coughed and pulled his shirt up over his nose.

“Don’t breathe it! Poison!”

Blair coughed and covered her face with a hand, but she had already sucked in a good lungful of the dust.

Slowly, she sat down.

Rip rushed to her, feeling a bit lightheaded himself. He squatted down beside Blair and held her shoulders, fanning away the dust cloud from her face.

She coughed again.

“Don’t breathe it. Cover your face.”

“Do you suppose . . . it hurts . . . enhanced people?”

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she slumped over.

Rip stared at her for a moment, shirt still over his nose. His nostrils tickled, the dust working under his makeshift facemask.

Slowly, his eyes constricted. Darkness swelled around his vision, and he slumped over, too.

-+-

Cream ran down the hall and into his room. The soporific cloud he had concocted, keeping in a pouch under his cloak for emergencies, would not keep the pair out for long. Certainly, both the man and the woman were enhanced. He had only a few minutes at most to get out of here.

He ripped open a dresser, pulling out a small bottle of vinegar filled with the earlobes of his recent victims. Each one represented a successful pruning, and even though he had no desire to walk around with his trophies, he did not want to leave them behind, either.

Because now it was time to leave.

He turned to head back out the door and stopped. There in the hall, blocking his way, two young girls stood staring at him in the gloom.

The electric torch the woman turned on still worked, providing more light in the hallway from its spot several feet away on the floor. He could see these girls were likewise dressed in RVS khakis.

“Get out of my way!”

Both girls smirked. They simultaneously unstrapped Tommy guns off their shoulders and slid back the bolts. They opened fire on him in the small room, a long line of bullets spewing into him at close range.

Some of them missed, even at this narrow distance. The ones that hit spattered across his enhanced body, breaking the skin and sinking an inch or two into his flesh.

He screamed in pain, taking a couple steps back. The girls advanced into the room, still pulling the triggers until their drums emptied, the sounds of empty shells pattering on the wooden floor like rain.

Abruptly, the gunshots were replaced with the sound of impotent clicks.

Still standing with his back against the wall, covered now with gunshot wounds like some form of massive bleeding measles, the physicker glared at them. Evening light filtered in from dozens of fresh bullet holes in the outside wall.

Painfully, he pulled out his blade and flicked it open. The girls’ eyes grew wide, and they quickly tried to swap out their drums.

With a yell, Cream jumped at Anna, swinging the blade like a scythe.

She squealed and skittered out of the way, struggling to reload.

Cream could not stop his momentum and crashed into the wall next to the door. The wood gave way in a shower of splinters, and he stepped out into hall while crunching through the paneling.

By this time, Molly had successfully slammed home a fresh drum. She turned and opened up on the physicker from inside the room, spraying him with more bullets out in the hall.

He covered his face and screamed, holding onto the razor. When her drum emptied once more he brought his hands down and glared at her, eyes red with rage.

Cream reared back to strike as Molly stared at him open-mouthed, amazed the man was still standing.

Before he could lurch back into the room, Rip showed up, enhanced wrench in hand. He looked woozy and unsteady on his feet, but he was awake.

The enhanced metal from both instruments clanged in the hall. Rip twisted, and the blade jerked out of the physicker’s hand. When it hit the floor, Rip kicked it away, skittering across the wood.

When he looked down to kick, that led to an opening where he was distracted. Cream slugged him in the face and Rip flew backward, dropping his wrench.

Cream stared at Molly, still in the room, and rushed her.

She screamed as he toppled over on top of her, blood smearing them both.

Anna jumped out the hole in the wall and looked down at the floor. There in the dim light, Rip’s enhanced wrench twinkled at her. She grabbed it and ran back into the room.

Screaming, she slammed the wrench into the back of Cream’s skull, putting in every ounce of adrenaline-fueled energy she could muster.

The wrench sank all the way in, and Cream collapsed, the life finally sapped out of him.

Anna panted, catching her breath, staring at the fresh corpse with the wrench sticking out of the back of his head.

“Molly? Are you alright? Where are you?”

A muffled voice came in reply.

“Get . . . him . . . OFF ME!”